Sweet Piracy (30 page)

Since Madame Delacroix had to be informed of what had transpired in her absence, the home of her brother proved an excellent place to put her in possession of the story. The close quarters, hushed with imminent death, and the likelihood of being overheard prevented her from giving full vent to her rage. She was forced to confine her strictures and rebukes to a sibilant whisper. It was debatable which was greater: her horror and indignation at the chances her daughters had taken with their precious reputations, or her angry chagrin at having ordered a real marquis to quit her house. She had no trouble deciding where the blame lay. She unhesitatingly placed it on Caroline’s shoulders. Only the lack of a reason she could give to her brother and her sister-in-law precluded her from sending Caroline packing on the instant. The same restraint prevented her from commanding her family to take to the carriages and return to Beau Repos where she could relieve her suppressed feelings. Quieter reflection convinced her that it would look odd indeed if she departed after her many protestations of devotion to the dying woman. More important, the prospect still dangled of gaining possession of her aunt’s diamonds. For these reasons they were forced to stay on in the overcrowded house, trying for the most part not to get in each other’s way and, when they met, behaving with exquisite and uncomfortable politeness which masked a host of other emotions.

In the end the disputed gems went to Amélie, the only one of her relatives, the elderly patient said, who had the good sense to remain quiet in a sickroom.

Ladies were not expected to attend funerals. Immediately after M’sieur Delacroix’s return from that sad ceremony, the boxes and trunks were packed, the carriages called for, and the family set out for Beau Repos. The tedium of the journey was relieved by Madame, who lost no time in loosening the rein held on her ire. She raked Amélie and Estelle mercilessly over the coals, in one breath calling them witless little idiots who could not go on without their mother’s guidance, and in the next excusing them in order to lay the fault of their actions at the door of their scheming vixen of a governess. She plotted ways of regaining the favor of the Marquis, giving instructions toward that end to her daughters, which caused them to look at each other in despair. The loss of the diamonds made her wild and she did not hesitate to inform Amélie that she felt cheated by her own daughter whom she suspected of learning guile and treachery at the knee of the woman who had wormed her way into the household at Beau Repos. She, Marie Delacroix, would not be shocked to learn of other less harmless debaucheries being conducted beneath her root, perhaps among the male members of her family!

It was at this point that M’sieur Delacroix, feigning sleep in a corner of the coach, opened his eyes. “That will do, Madame,” he said in a voice of such cold distaste that his wife stared.

“But — but Bernard,” she stuttered. “Surely you realize what this woman has cost us?”

“I realize nothing of the kind, and I do not wish to hear another word on that head. I understand from Anatole that I may shortly expect visits from Hippolyte Gravier and Victor Rochefort. If these two gentlemen are still inclined to offer for my foolish and headstrong daughters, then I am inclined to relinquish to them the responsibility of keeping two such minxes under control.”

“Oh,
Papa
,” Amélie said, her eyes shining, while Estelle launched herself across the rocking coach and flung her arms about his neck.

“There, kitten,” M’sieur Delacroix said as he helped his youngest daughter regain her seat. “I think we will allow your sister to be wed first while you have your customary season, but if at the end you and the Gravier boy are still of the same mind, then we will call it settled.”

Estelle subsided, looking satisfied, but there was also a rather shy and different look about her that boded well for the future.

“As for Mam’zelle Caroline,” M’sieur continued, regarding the cameo-like profile that lady presented as she stared out the window, “I imagine it is too much to expect that she will remain with us after what has been said. I can only offer her my deepest regrets and ask that she will accept whatever assistance it may be in my power to give.”

“Bernard, are you apologizing for me?” his wife demanded in scandalized tones.

“Unfortunately, Madame, yes,” her husband replied.

“Oh, how could you?” Madame moaned, sinking back into her seat in a flood of hurt tears. “My condition—”

“Estelle,” M’sieur Delacroix said bleakly, “hand your mother her vinaigrette.”

The day after their return to Beau Repos M’sieur Delacroix dressed himself in his finest, took up his Malacca cane, and drove away for a morning visit to Felicity. He returned some hours later with the intelligence that their distinguished neighbor intended to leave them. The estate had been transferred to his cousin, Victor, as a wedding gift, subject, of course, to the approval of the chosen lady’s father. The Marquis would give himself the pleasure of paying them a farewell call the next day. He had expressed a particular wish for a private interview with Mademoiselle Caroline.

Madame’s demeanor became alarmingly stiff at this last piece of news, but under her husband’s questioning gaze she remained silent.

To make up for the cavalier treatment the Marquis had received at his last formal visit, he was received with all the pomp due royalty. Colossus accepted his hat and gloves with reverence, he was plied with wine and sumptuous viands, and his every word was given the hushed attention usually reserved for the final benediction of high Mass. When he no more than hinted at his request to speak to Mam’zelle Caroline alone, the salon was vacated with such alacrity that he was taken by surprise.

Watching the expression on his face, Caroline had to smile. He turned in time to catch the twitch of her lips and his own curved in a wry response.

“It seems I am
persona grata
again,” he commented.

Instantly her features resumed their grave expression. “Yes. I fear that I am responsible for your loss of that position. I — I must ask you to forgive the error that — that caused it, and believe that I never intended it to happen in that way.”

“Oh, I absolve you of blame. How could I not, when I could have corrected the wrong impression with a few words?”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, her gray eyes mirroring the combined relief and bewilderment she felt.

Indecision touched his face as he considered the question, then he swung away with a small shrug. “Does it matter? At the moment that is not as important as the reason we are here.”

Caroline, almost certain she knew what he was referring to, made an attempt to avoid the subject. “I don’t believe I ever told you how much I appreciated your aid in rescuing Amélie and Estelle. I don’t know what we would have done without your assistance.”

“I was glad of the opportunity to be of service,” he said over his shoulder in a brusque tone that did not permit any elaboration on the matter.

“We are most grateful,” she said in defiance of the unspoken edict, “and we will be sorry to see you leave us. I believe you return to France?”

He agreed. “Since the defeat of Napoleon last month in Belgium, I have had information that the Bourbons will almost certainly return to power. If I am in France at the correct time, with the correct form of persuasion, it is probable that the confiscated estates of my family will be returned. The wars of the past years have greatly depleted the coffers of my country, and they must be replenished in some fashion.”

“You must be anxious to return.”

“In some ways, yes. It will be a challenge, to rebuild France and the Rochefort estates using the best of the old ways with the best of the new. I shall need a great deal of help. I shall need you, Caroline.”

Caroline clasped her hands in her lap, staring down at them. He had been too clever for her, manipulating the conversation to achieve his end in spite of her attempts to thwart him.

“Have you nothing to say?” he asked more quietly as he came to stand beside her. “I am asking you to be my wife.”

She lifted her head to meet his eyes, then looked away again. “I — there is no need of this, I assure you there is not.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“It isn’t difficult. I mean that I hold you in no way responsible for the tale Estelle concocted to save herself. You do not have to offer for me to save my good name. In a few days, as soon as some form of transportation is arranged, I am going to return to my uncle’s house in Natchez. It will be a farewell visit, for I intend to book passage to England as soon as it may be arranged.”

“I believe I begin to comprehend.”

“So you see,” she went on bravely, “there is no need for you to sacrifice yourself for a tale which will doubtless be left on this side of the Atlantic.”

“And if I were to tell you that I would not consider it a sacrifice?”

She managed a small smile. “I would not believe you. I can see as easily as anyone that the last thing you need as you return to the full enjoyment of your former title and estates is the encumbrance of a wife who is of the nationality of those who were so recently at war with your country.”

“The nationality of the people who gave me shelter in my exile,” he corrected.

“I think that when you return to France, you will find that makes little difference.”

“Then there is no way I can persuade you?” he queried, his voice holding an odd note of passion which she translated in her mind as gratitude for her refusal.

“No, I think not,” she answered.

“Then permit me to salve my conscience by accepting the use of the
Egret
for your journey upriver to Natchez. She shall be at your complete disposal for as long as needed. If you so desire, the crew will wait upon the end of your visit and take you downriver to New Orleans to meet a ship bound for England.”

“You are very kind, but I couldn’t accept—”

“I insist. The
Egret
will call for you — say, in the morning?”

Having won the largest point, she had no will left to argue these lesser ones. “I can be ready by then,” she agreed.

Satisfied, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. With a quiet farewell, he left her.

Making her way to her bedchamber, Caroline sat down upon the end of her bed. She pressed the fingers he had kissed to her cheek, then leaned her head against the tall post of the bed and let the tears run slowly, one by one, down her cheeks.

The
Egret
was lying ready at the landing of Beau Repos when the household awoke. The children, rising early as usual, discovered it and came running to tell Caroline before she had even had her morning coffee. Feeling some urgency to be away, Caroline rose and dressed herself in a gown of green cambric banded in gray. That done, she gathered up the last odds and ends to be packed, then sent word to Colossus to have someone carry her things onto the ship.

She had said her good-byes the night before to all except one. That one was Tante Zizi. With her bonnet dangling from her hand, she now went along the back gallery to the elderly lady’s corner bedchamber.

Tante Zizi was sitting in bed drinking hot chocolate from an elegant and fragile china cup. “Ah, my dear,” she said as Caroline tapped on the French door standing open to the morning freshness, “I wondered if you were going to come bid me
adieu
.”

Caroline took the frail hand held out to her. “Certainly,” she said. “You should have known I would.”

“So I should. You have beautiful manners, unlike some of the present generation I could name. Never mind that. Let me wish you a safe, swift journey and, when you get to where you are going, every happiness.”

“Thank you,” Caroline murmured.

“Perhaps I should tell you, I took the liberty of saying a few words to Rochefort about the little misunderstanding I cleared up in regards to his proper title. I hope you don’t mind an old woman’s interference.”

“Not at all. I may not see him again, but I am glad to know that he will not think so harshly of me.”

“I don’t believe his is a petty nature,” Tante Zizi observed, then setting aside her cup, patted Caroline’s hand. “You will endeavor to let me know how things turn out for you?”

“I shall certainly try,” Caroline agreed.

“Good. Then Godspeed.”

On the front gallery the children were waiting to wave good-bye. Caroline hugged them every one, then set her bonnet in place and tied the ribbons tightly under her chin. M’sieur Delacroix waited to escort her to the levee. Picking up her skirts, she took his arm and descended the stairs, a childish chorus of
au revoirs
ringing in her cars.

At the gangplank she gave M’sieur Delacroix her hand.

“Mam’zelle,” he began, then stopped, his kindly eyes holding a worried frown. When he spoke again it was to ask if she had everything for her comfort, including a luncheon basket from the kitchen and the sum of money he had pressed upon her in the name of salary. Receiving her affirmative answer, he bowed and stepped back to let the gangplank be raised. Though she realized he would have liked to say more, she respected him for his reticence. In spite of everything, his loyalty remained with his wife.

Gripping the ship’s railing as orders were given and the ship began to glide out into the channel of the river, Caroline waved to the children lining the gallery. Above her the sails snapped and billowed, filling with wind, and lines were hauled tight and secured. Through a blur of tears she saw the white-columned comfort of Beau Repos dropping away behind them.