Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (18 page)

Her face frozen, Alice murmured, "My congratulations to you both." Only the glimpse of rage and hurt in her eyes before she lowered her gaze from Hugh's face revealed her chagrin and disappointment.

Then as the others looked on, Micaela was stunned when Hugh gallantly presented her with a ring, a delicately wrought thing of gold and pearls. Brushing a kiss against her pale cheek, he murmured, "Did you think I would forget the most important symbol of our betrothal, sweetheart?"

"N-n-non.
But when did you...?"

He bent near her ear and whispered, "I rose at dawn and rode to New Orleans. I returned with just enough time to bathe and dress." He sent her an enigmatic glance. "I did not want my betrothed to find me wanting."

Wordlessly she stared up at him, a part of her touched by his consideration, another suspicious of his motives. He was a stranger. Not only a stranger, but a man whose culture and ways were different from her own. And she was to marry him.... She sighed and decided with a streak of good Creole practicability that for the sake of her future happiness her wisest course was to view his actions in the best light possible.

A muted smile touched her lips. "Thank you. It was very kind and thoughtful of you."

Hugh cocked a brow. "What, no barbed reply? Now that we are betrothed does this mean that I will no longer be the target of that sharp tongue of yours?"

Before Micaela could reply, Jasper came up to them, and, slapping Hugh on the back, he cried,
"Mon ami,
I am so happy! Did I not tell you that only a Creole bride would do for you? I am elated that, for once, you actually followed my advice."

Green eyes sparkling with pleasure, Jasper extravagantly kissed Micaela on both cheeks. "You have me," he told her gaily, "Jasper De Marco, to thank for your good fortune,
chérie."
He winked, adding outrageously, "And I expect for you to name your firstborn son after me! I tell you now, I will be devastated if you do not name me godfather to him also."

Micaela blushed, and Hugh grinned. "And what if our children are all girls, my friend? What then?"

"Ah,
non!
Me, I am certain that before many years pass, there will be an entire
litter
of Lancaster sons to bedevil all our Creole maidens."

It was several minutes before Micaela could decently escape from the crowd, and at the first chance, she sidled outside to snatch a moment alone. In the pale moonlight she stared down dazedly at the ring on her finger. She was betrothed! It seemed incredible, part dream, part nightmare.

"You think that you have been rather clever, do you not?" Alice Summerfield said from behind her.

Micaela whirled to stare at the other woman. Alice's face was pinched and hard, her mouth held in a thin, tight line and her blue eyes blazed with dislike.

"Mademoiselle
, I am sorry," Micaela began softly, "that you feel this way."

"Sorry!" Alice hissed. "I do not need
your
sympathy." Her hands opened and closed convulsively. "I do not know what sort of trick you used to force an offer from him, but I tell you—it is you who will be sorry." She gave an angry titter. "He loves me! We planned to marry—and you stole him from me!" Fury glittering in her eyes, she said bitterly, "You think you have won, but I do not envy you becoming the wife of a man who is only marrying you because he was forced into it."

A horrible suspicion took root in Micaela's mind. Had Hugh told Alice the circumstances surrounding their betrothal? Her voice tight, she asked, "And how do you know he was forced into it,
mademoiselle?"

An expression of confusion crossed Alice's face, as if she could not conceive of any other reason for their betrothal. "Because he was going to marry me," she said stubbornly. She gave Micaela a scornful look. "And the only way you could have gotten a proposal out of him was if you tricked him."

The relief which swept through Micaela was nearly palpable—Hugh had not revealed the truth. But Alice's certainty that Hugh would have married her, that he loved her, sent a pang through Micaela, and an odd ache bloomed in her chest. Quietly she said, "Again,
mademoiselle,
I am sorry that you feel the way you do, but I can do nothing about it."

Behind Alice's fury, it was apparent that she was suffering, that the announcement of Hugh's betrothal had hurt. Micaela felt a stirring of pity. Her life was not the only one to have been changed so painfully. Impulsively she reached for Alice's hand, and said softly, "I am sorry for your pain. You must think of your future. You are young and very beautiful—someday there will be another who will touch your heart."

Alice jerked her hand away. "I do not want another man! I want Hugh!" she almost wailed, as if her wishes were the only ones that mattered.

Annoyed. Micaela snapped, "
Zut!
Hush, you foolish creature. Believe me,
mademoiselle,
if I could give him to you, I would!"

Alice's eyes went round. "You do not want him? How can you not? He is so handsome and very, very rich."

Wishing she had kept her tongue still, and conscious that with a few ill-chosen words she was in danger of exposing the careful facade erected by her family, Micaela muttered, "Of course I want him. As you said, he is rich and handsome."

But Alice's suspicions were aroused. Speculatively she eyed Micaela. "I know he does not love you... and you apparently do not love him...." She gasped as enlightenment dawned. "You are only marrying him because of the business!"

Micaela was not about to get into her reasons for marrying Hugh. Feeling that she had spent enough time with Miss Alice Summerfield, she said frostily, "You may believe what you like,
mademoiselle.
I do not wish to be rude, but I think that it is time we rejoined the party."

Uncaring if the other woman followed her or not, Micaela fled inside. Alice's words pierced her confused emotions like hot needles. She already knew that Hugh did not love her, but Alice's confirmation of that fact hurt in ways she had never expected. And the hurt did not abate one bit when she looked up a few minutes later and noticed that Alice had indeed followed her inside, but was now smiling enchantingly up at Hugh. Micaela's fingers bit into the flesh of her hand. I am not jealous, she told herself fiercely. I am
not!

Jealousy would have been the least of her emotions if she had been privy to the conversation that was taking place between Alice and Hugh. And she would have been astonished at Alice's broad interpretation of their brief conversation.

Looking seductively at Hugh over the rim of her wine goblet, Alice said, "She is not in love with you, you know."

His expression shuttered, Hugh glanced at her. His first instinct was to ignore her, but that devil curiosity prompted him to ask, "Oh, and how do you know that?"

"Because I just had a very interesting conversation with her. And she told me so."

Hugh's eyes narrowed. "She told you so?"

"Ummhmm. That and the fact that your marriage will be purely a business arrangement. She was very honest about it." She shot him a considering look. Driven by the need to strike back, she added, "It is only because you own the largest single share of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree that she consented to the match. Your marriage will be a very good thing for her family." Alice smiled deprecatingly. "You know these Creoles—they will do anything, even sacrifice themselves, for their family. Such a pity you fell into her clutches."

Hugh's gaze found Micaela standing across the room from him. Intently he stared at her vivid features as she smiled at something her brother said. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "I did not fall... perhaps, I went quite, quite willingly. Did you ever think of that?"

"You are not serious! What about us?" Alice demanded, color burning in her cheeks.

"What about us?" Hugh asked, tearing his gaze away from Micaela.

Under her breath, Alice muttered, "Well, I thought, that is, your attentions led me to believe that—"

"I am a very good friend to you and your family," Hugh gently interspersed. "None of you knew anyone in New Orleans when you first arrived, and I did what I could to make things easier for you."

Their eyes met for a long time. "And that is all it was?" she asked painfully.

Hugh lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "That and my sincere admiration for your beauty."

Her lip trembled, and she looked away, blinking furiously. There was a small silence, and then she tossed her head and gave a tight little laugh, "There is young
Monsieur
L'Aramy. I seem to remember that I promised him the next dance."

A moment later she was gone, having amply fertilized, watered, and added a few of her own to the seeds of doubt which already lay between Hugh and Micaela.

* * *

As if in a nightmare, Micaela drifted through the days before the wedding. On the surface, she was furious at the trick fate, or perhaps the very man she was marrying, had played on her. Yet deep within herself, buried so deeply that she was hardly aware of it, was a tiny spark of excitement, a thrilling, insistent eagerness to begin her new life as Hugh's wife. She did not admit her emotions to herself, instead, she pushed them determinedly from her mind just as she did the memory of all those times a glance from Hugh's gray eyes would set her heart beating so fast she feared it would leap from her breast. She pretended to forget the way that gleaming smile of his had made her feel vibrantly alive. She definitely did not dwell on the memory his kiss. Bah! She would not remember those times. Rather she would remember his hateful words the night he had sworn not to marry her and Alice's assertions that she was the one he loved as well as François's opinion that Hugh's only reason for marrying her were cold-blooded, mercenary ones.

Their wedding was set for Monday, the twenty-first of May. They would be married in New Orleans, and as was custom, at the St. Louis Cathedral at four o'clock in the afternoon. And despite her wish to the contrary, at the appointed hour, Micaela found herself standing at the
Américain's
side before the priest, her family and friends seated solemnly in the pews behind them. Wearing a gown of rose silk decorated with pearls, her great-grandmother's wedding veil crowned with orange blossoms resting on her head, a bouquet of orange blossoms held in her hands, she heard herself exchange the vows which would make her Hugh Lancaster's wife. She watched numbly as he slipped on the two interlaced bands of gold which had been inscribed with both their initials and the date of their marriage. It was over. She was married.

The faces of the guests passed fuzzily before her, most were smiling and happy, but there were a few dour expressions amongst them—some of the most rigid Creoles, still not quite accepting the fact that a member of one of their finest families had aligned herself with a mongrel
Américain.
Alain Husson was among the latter.

His arm still in a sling, Alain forced himself to attend the wedding, as much to still any speculation about the state of his emotions as a penance for having not managed to kill the
Américain.
The rage, fury, and chagrin burning in his chest when Hugh slipped the rings on Micaela's finger were indescribable. Somehow he managed to keep his features composed, while every instinct urged him to surge to his feet, take his sword, and run the
Américain
through. Thinking of Hugh lying dead on the steps of the altar brought a genuine smile to his face. Anyone who saw it marveled at his generosity toward the man who had married the woman believed to be his own future bride.

As Hugh's best man, Jasper stood beaming at the A
méricain's
side. When the newlyweds left the church, Jasper was the first to congratulate them and remind them again of his desire to be named godfather to their firstborn son.

Following the wedding there was a grand banquet held at the Dupree town house, the atmosphere, the wine, the food, and the music superb enough to satisfy even the most exacting European taste. The meal passed in a blur for Micaela, and she hardly tasted any of the spicy gumbo, delicate turtle soup, roast veal, baked ham, and golden brown pastries which were served to her.

When the dancing began, Lisette and
Tante
Marie, acting as a surrogate
grand-mere,
discreetly hustled her away upstairs to the suite of rooms that she would share with her new husband. The older women helped her undress and put on a charming nightgown of finest lawn, lavishly trimmed with lace and emerald green ribbons. In minutes she was settled beneath the bedclothes.

Micaela had spoken little. With a faint frown on her face, Lisette murmured, "It will not be so very bad,
ma petite.
Hugh seems a nice young man." She bit her lip. Creole brides were notoriously innocent about the physical side of marriage, and Lisette was uncertain how to approach the subject. It was her duty as a loving mother to give her daughter some warning of what was to come. What happened in the marriage bed was not something they ever discussed, and though, unlike many of her contemporaries, Micaela was much older, she was still very innocent. Lisette cleared her throat and muttered, "You know that you will share this bed with your husband?"

Micaela glanced at her and nodded, a quiver, half fright, half excitement going through her.

Heightened color in her cheeks, Lisette asked, "Do you understand that you must allow him to do what he wants with you? He now has the right to"—her flush deepened—"touch you as he pleases and do 'things' to you." Her discomfort growing, she muttered, "No matter what your husband does to you tonight, you are not to cry out or fight him—it may be painful the first time and embarrassing, but you will grow used to it. You are to submit to him like a good Creole bride."