Little Black Girl Lost 4 (13 page)

Chapter 38

A
ubrey shook his head like he wished Louis didn't exist, so he couldn't embarrass him or anyone of their ilk. With rancor, he said, “Don't mind him none, Lauren. He doesn't know any better. People like
him
give homosexuality a bad name. People like
him
make it difficult for us all. We have to
hide
who we are because of floozies like him. No man should have to hide who he is. We should be able to be who we are without fear of those who don't understand our tastes.”

Aubrey gently took her arm and placed it around his and started walking down the stairs. “So, what kind of work do you like to do, Lauren? What kind of skills do you have?”

“I am a coiffure and couturier,” she said confidently.

“Hmm, you don't say. A hairdresser and a dressmaker, huh?”

“In that order, yes, sir.”

He raised a brow and said, “Are you any good?”

“Very good, Aubrey,” she said and laid her head on his shoulder. “I started watching my mother make clothing when I was about two years old. She recognized that I wanted to do what she was doing, so she started teaching me how when I was five.”

“I see, and how old are you now?”

“Almost seventeen,” she said like a teenager who wanted to be seen as an adult.

“I see. So you've got ten years experience.”

“Almost eleven. But yes, about ten years.”

“That's impressive. What about designing? Do you know how to do that, or are you just the type that makes what others create?”

“I make my own clothing.”

He looked at her. “Did you make that dress you have on?”

“No. Amir's mother made this for me.”

“Who's Amir, and how did the sleeve get torn?”

“Amir is the man I love. We were taken together. He's still on the Isle of Santo Domingo.” She forced another smile. “How the sleeve got torn is something you don't need to know about. Right, Aubrey?”

“I guess not.”

He showed her most of the house, where everything was, and introduced her to the staff—all of them men.

They were approaching the east wing of Bouvier Manor where the library was. Aubrey said, “You know, I was thinking. You and Mrs. Bouvier could get along great.”

“Why do you say that?” She thought for a second and then frowning, she said, “Mrs. Bouvier?”

Aubrey laughed. “You heard me right. Mrs. Bouvier.”

Lauren's frown tightened and then loosened when she thought she understood the conundrum. “Oh, okay. He told me he had a sister.”

Aubrey laughed again. “He does have a sister, but her name is Mrs. Tresvant.”

Lauren thought for a moment and said, “Tresvant. Tresvant. I know that name. There was a man in the auction market that people called by that name.”

“Yes, that's him, Walker Tresvant, and he's married to Monsieur Bouvier's sister.

She stopped walking and looked Aubrey in the eyes. “Are you saying Monsieur Bouvier is married?”

“That's what I'm saying.”

Totally astonished, she said, “Does she know about him?”

Aubrey was so full of glee he could barely contain himself. “Yes, she knows all about him and his
unusual tastes,
Lauren.”

Befuddled, she shook her head and they started walking toward the library again. “Do they have children?”

“My, my, my, suddenly you are full of questions,” he said, laughing. “There are children, yes. But they don't belong to Beaumont.”

Intrigued, she had to have all the spicy details now. “So the children don't have the Bouvier name?”

Aubrey's smile bubbled to the surface. “Hold on now. I didn't say that. The children have the Bouvier name.”

Absolutely hooked now, she had to know the intricacies of the inexplicable yarn that filled her ears and danced in her mind, making her gluttonous for more particulars.

She said, “You simply must tell me how that can be if the children are not Monsieur Bouvier's.”

Laughing heartily now, he said, “But they are Monsieur Bouvier's children.”

She stopped walking and gently turned him so that he faced her. She needed to see him, look into his eyes, and get all there was. There seemed to be a wealth of information that eluded her; information that he doled out bit by bit, like he had her on a leash, controlling her more with each mouth-watering revelation.

Thirsty for more, she said, “Aubrey, you are a cruel man. You lead me to a spring of cool, fresh water . . . let me look at it, but you only allow me to wet my lips. Come on now, explain that to me. Tell me the whole story. Let me drink.”

“Okay, okay, I'll tell you. Monsieur Bouvier has a younger brother named Tristan. You get it now?”

Barely letting him finish his sentence, she said quickly, “You mean his brother is the father of their children?”

She thought of Captain Rutgers at that moment and wondered how often siblings wreck marriages because they don't have the discipline to say no to their passions. She remembered the heartbreaking story he finally told her about his brother Jonah. At first he denied that he had a wife or family. But after spending so much time with her in his quarters, reading, writing, and discussing a myriad of subject matter, he revealed all, just as Amir said he would. She won him over, and truth be told, he won her over a little, too, though she would never admit it.

Aubrey nodded.

She was in heaven now, yet she wasn't satisfied. She wanted it all. She wanted every morsel of the enchanting meal he was serving her.

“How many children do they have?”

As much as Lauren was intrigued by the tale, Aubrey was more intrigued telling it. Everyone at Bouvier Hill knew what was going on and pretended they didn't. Lauren, on the other hand, didn't know anything. To her it was fresh gossip. Her enthusiasm made telling an old story seem exciting and new.

Unable to contain the unfettered elation he felt churning within, he smiled broadly and said, “Four.”

“Four? Well, where are they?”

“Visiting relatives in Tallahassee.”

“Tallahassee? Where's that?”

“A place called Florida.”

“Where's that?”

“A long way from here.”

Curious, she wanted to know as much as she could about the Bouvier family. Any information she obtained could be useful in wrecking the family, or securing her release. She was fine with either scenario.

Captain Rutgers had told her she could earn her freedom. She wanted that, and a measure of revenge. As far as she was concerned, she and Amir weren't supposed to be in North America or on the Isle of Santo Domingo. In her quest for revenge, she had conveniently forgotten that she had left Adesola and run away with his younger brother.

She said, “Okay, so, Tristan doesn't want children of his own?”

“He has children of his own.”

“I meant with his own wife.”

“I know. That's what I meant, too, Lauren.”

She thought about what he had just said, and it all began to become clear. Having figured out the answer wasn't good enough. She had to hear it from the man who seemed to have all the answers and knew all the inside information about the family who now owned her.

She said, “Wait a minute. What are you saying?”

“You know what I'm saying.”

She shook her head. It made no logical sense. The man who owned her didn't like women, he liked men. And he was fine with his younger brother not only having sex with his wife, but producing children with her as well.

“So, Monsieur Bouvier is fine with all of this?”

“Yes. It works out for everyone. But only the people in this house are supposed to know about it. It's a huge secret. Whatever you do, don't ever repeat it. It would ruin the Bouvier family.”

“Sounds like it's already ruined to me, Aubrey.”

“Just remember, nobody's perfect . . . including you. Ready to meet Mrs. Bouvier?”

She smiled and said, “Sure. Why not?”

Chapter 39

A
ubrey opened the French doors that served as an entrance to the library. The room was as magnificent as it was large, easily fifty square feet. The marble floors were breathtaking. The ceiling was high and offered thick wooden arches throughout. In the middle of the room sat a long, stained-oak table with five chairs on either side and two at both ends. Several couches and a few smaller tables filled in the center of the room. Built-in bookshelves lined both sides of the room and threatened to touch the ceiling. Stained glass surrounded by brass chandeliers hung from the ceiling in a perfect line. Lamps with the same design as the chandeliers were on the tables and walls.

Tristan and Cadence Bouvier were sitting on one of the couches, chatting like long-lost lovers. When they heard the door open, they stopped talking and synchronously swiveled their heads to see who was interrupting their limited time together. They were careful to keep sufficient distance between them, just in case someone entered unannounced; this made it easier to conceal what everyone on the plantation and beyond already knew.

Tristan and Cadence were approaching their fortieth birthdays, and they were still a good-looking pair. Although Tristan and Beaumont were blood brothers, they looked more like stepbrothers. Tristan was much taller than Beaumont and strikingly handsome, which was why Cadence, a pretty, petite, buxom blonde, wanted to marry him instead. They were instantly attracted to each other the moment Beaumont introduced them. They would have married, but the bulk of the Bouvier fortune would be left to the eldest son when their father died. Besides, Beaumont was a far better businessman. Tristan was an empty suit. He looked good, but he lacked substance and a sense of responsibility and dependability. For those reasons, he and Cadence made a good match.

Cadence Bouvier was a renaissance woman. She was the first of six brothers and sisters, and was used to controlling everything and everyone. Beaumont had been the same, except he was a man, and that little distinction gave him the upper hand in their male-dominated society. His obvious homosexuality rendered her feminine wiles impotent; refusing his sexual advances—not that there were many to begin with—left her feeling totally unnecessary.

Beaumont was the only man she had ever met who had everything together. When her father-in-law died and left everything to him, he redecorated the entire house without so much as a word from her. He didn't even accept her opinion; when she offered it, he told her that her taste in decor was reminiscent of a brothel. Bouvier Manor was a place for heads of state, not lonely men looking for ladies of the evening.

He was even a better cook than she. His self-sufficiency made it easy to start an affair with his younger, irresponsible brother. Besides, the marriage was more of a merger of two rich families who wanted to solidify their fortunes. Even though Cadence's family had money, she was a woman, and the money and the business were left to the men.

She thought she had found her place in life when she realized that Tristan needed her. He was a boy in a man's body. His wife, Christine, thought he was the catch of a lifetime, being a Bouvier. But in truth, Cadence ran Tristan's household, not him. She was his counselor, his confidant, and his consort. She influenced every major decision he made. She decided where they would live, made sure all his bills were paid on time, and told him how to discipline his children. Beaumont would not allow her to run his house, so she ran Tristan's.

To this day, Tristan's wife did not know how much Cadence loathed her. She had the man Cadence wanted but could never have, unless Beaumont died and left her everything. There was no way he'd leave Tristan anything of significance—at least that's what she thought.

“Mrs. Bouvier,” Aubrey began, “this is Lauren Renee. She just arrived today, and she says she has a talent for both making and designing clothing.”

“Really?” Cadence said and raised her right brow. “Judging by her current appearance, she must have a talent for looking like something the cat dragged in.” She looked at Tristan. ”What do you think?”

“Oh, I don't know, Cadence. Perhaps you should give her a chance. With all the men doing all the women's work around here, what else is she going to do, work in the cane fields? She's far too delicate a creature for that kind of manual labor.”

“Perhaps you're right.” She looked at Lauren again. “Where are you from? Judging by your accent, I suspect you're from the Isle of Santo Domingo. Am I right?”

“Nigeria,” she said, looking at the floor like Rutgers had taught her.

He had told her that the Southern white woman was insanely jealous of good-looking quadroons and octoroons because white men couldn't get enough of them. While Lauren was neither quadroon nor octoroon, she was fair-skinned and she was beautiful. Her eyes alone were enough to mesmerize any heterosexual male.

“Aubrey, are you serious?” she nearly screamed. “Even if she were the best couturier in New Orleans, she has no idea what we wear here.”

“May I speak, Mrs. Bouvier?” Lauren said.

“Speak, child.”

“I've been making clothes for more than ten years, designing them for about six years. I'm a fast learner. Show me your designs and I'm sure I can come up with something you'll like.”

Cadence liked her right off; she was confident for such a young girl. But she didn't want to let on. Sternly, she asked, “How old are you?”

“Almost seventeen, Mrs. Bouvier.”

“Sixteen, huh? Going on thirty, I suspect. Am I right?”

“I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Bouvier.”

“Sure you do, Lauren. That's why I like you. You know when to talk and when to keep your mouth shut. Not many women know how to successfully combine the two. You might just work out.

“I have a clothing store in town, and there's an octoroon ball this fall. Tomorrow, I'll see if you're half as good as you
think
you are.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bouvier. You won't regret this.”

“I better not.” She looked at the torn sleeve again. “So, what happened there?”

Silence.

“Hmpf. I see. Well . . . you two run along now. We were in the middle of something when you barged in.”

Smiling devilishly, Tristan said, “I'd like to know what happened to that dress, Lauren. I'd like to know who tore it. Was it my dear brother Beaumont? Was his manhood attempting to reassert itself? I simply refuse to believe that Aubrey or any of the other men of the house would touch you. And I certainly don't believe you, being a designer, would rip such a fine dress. You have no reason to.”

Silence.

Hearing nothing from either of them, Cadence said, “You two run along now. I'll see you tomorrow, Lauren. I'm sure we're going to get along famously.”