Josephine: Bride of Louisiana (American Mail-Order Bride 18) (10 page)

J
osephine held
her hands as still as she could. They hadn’t stopped shaking since she’d heard the news about Pierre’s father, Mr. Bernard, arriving today. Bernadette had told her at breakfast, and it had been all she could do not to run down the road and never look back.

The day had been long and she didn’t know what time he would arrive. She’d taken several walks outside, asked Bernadette if she needed any help in the kitchen--and got shooed away every time--and finally had resigned herself to reading a book in her room while everyone seemed to be very busy making preparations.

She’d read the same page at least three times when she heard a commotion outside. She threw the book down on the bed and rushed to the window, peering down at the stairs leading up to the porch, the huge, white columns flanking each side.

Clouds of dust flew from carriage wheels hurrying down the long, willow-lined drive. People from the entire plantation seemed to come from every which way, gathering on each side of the tall porch. The smiles on their faces calmed her nerves a bit--they seemed genuinely happy that Mr. Bernard was returning.

The carriage halted in front of the shrubs lining the side of the house. The driver hopped down and secured the horses to the hitching post. Pierre strode toward the carriage, his smile broad as he reached for the door and swung it open.

Josephine stepped back a bit behind the sheer white curtains that fluttered in the breeze coming through the open window. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she didn’t want anyone to see her--well, gawking. She’d meet Mr. Bernard soon enough, but she wanted just a glimpse beforehand. Maybe it would calm her nerves even more.

She stepped back even further and raised her hand to her chest as a very large man stepped from the carriage and looked up at the mansion with his hands on his hips. He smiled and nodded several times then embraced Pierre, kissing him on each cheek. Pierre stepped back for a moment and the man she assumed was Mr. Bernard greeted Jerome in the same fashion. It was more of an education for her to see men kissing each other on each cheek--she’d seen her father do that with her uncle once, but never again. The men she’d met only shook hands.

After Mr. Bernard greeted his son and Jerome, he embraced Bernadette warmly. Their eyes met and Bernadette wiped away a tear, Josephine thought. She knew that Bernadette had been a good friend of Mr. Bernard’s wife, and she must have been a good friend to him, as well.

She turned away from the window as Mr. Bernard greeted each and every one of the plantation workers who had come to greet him. How could a man who clearly cared about people--about how they felt and who they were--insist that his son do something so completely and utterly--well, stupid?

She looked at the clock on the mantle next to her own private fireplace. It was only an hour until she was expected downstairs. She shivered at the thought and opened her wardrobe, searching for the perfect dress for the evening.

Pierre had told her that she would be meeting him at supper and to dress appropriately. He’d explained that his father truly was a decent man and was just following instructions in his expectations that Pierre be married, but she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of people would require such a thing.

She sighed and looked down on the ground as the pearl earring she’d been trying to fasten to her ear slipped out of her hands, skittered across the floor and underneath the nightstand. These were the only earrings she had, and she really wanted to look nice for Mr. Bernard. She got down on her hands and knees and peered underneath the nightstand. Closing one eye, she tried to see around the corners of the mahogany set of drawers and when she couldn’t, she slipped her hand underneath.

Her fingers curled around--well, not an earring but something that felt like paper. She pulled it out from under the dresser and brushed off the dust that had settled on it, pulling her handkerchief out and sneezing into it.

She frowned as she looked at the lovely, elegant writing on the front.

T
o
Bernadette

S
he turned
it over in her hand. The faded ink had also run at some point, its letters changed into long, black rivers. How long had the letter been under the nightstand, and what did it say?

Voices grew louder outside her window, laughter flowing in. She smiled, hoping that Mr. Bernard was truly the nice man that Pierre described him to be.

She reached back under the nightstand, retrieved her earring and stood, tucking the envelope under the stand of the lamp. If the letter had been under the nightstand long enough to gather dust, surely it could wait one more day to be delivered to Bernadette, and she would give it to her first thing in the morning.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she tightened up her corset--her own, this time. She wasn’t taking any chances tonight with one that was too tight. Her earring bit into the flesh of her ear lobe, its metal clasp clicking suddenly as she jumped.

She wished she wasn’t so nervous. She’d spent days learning all she could and her hands still weren’t under her control, her nerves jangling. Pierre said she’d done well, and Bernadette, too. She just hoped it was enough.

Her hands held out in front of her, she desperately hoped they would stop trembling before she had to sit down to dinner with Pierre and his father, knowing that her spoon would clatter in her soup if they didn’t.

She’d spent days learning all she could and now was her time of reckoning. Her fate--and that of Pierre and the plantation--would be decided soon. To think that not long ago she was a simple seamstress with very little to look forward to and now, people’s entire futures depended on her.

She shuddered and looked at herself one last time in the mirror, nervously adjusting one last stray bit of her hair. Smoothing her skirts, she shrugged her shoulders and sighed. She may as well meet her fate.

J
osephine paced
a few more minutes before she opened the door to her room and stepped out into the hallway. She hung her head for a moment, gathering her resolve and jumped as she heard Pierre’s voice.

“You look stunning, Josephine.”

She smiled and curtsied for him, her ears heating at the compliment. She looked up at Pierre’s piercing, blue eyes and kind smile and felt her nerves settle. Even though they would not be married in the real sense of the word, she felt safe around him. Being around Pierre was warm and comforting, and she marveled that she would have grown to feel that way in the short time they’d known one another.

She looked around at the grand hallway, up at the beautiful ceiling and down the paneled, mahogany walls. As he held out his arm for her, his smile wide, the now-familiar buzz she felt when their skin met rocketed through her.

No, no, no. She shook her head, willing away the sensation of his nearness, the masculine scent she’d come to know as his making it even more difficult. She could not allow this--this nonsense. Pierre had not said as much, but she knew that the plantation was his life and there would never be anything as important to him as that. Not even her.

“Are you all right?” Pierre asked. “Are you cold?” His brows furrowed and he covered her hand on his arm with his own.

Josephine shivered at his touch but smiled up at him. “No, I’m fine. Truly.”

Pierre cocked his head to one side as he looked at her. “All right. But I imagine you’re a bit nervous, and I hope it’s not too much strain on you. After last night, I--”

She waved her fan toward him. “Yes, that was quite embarrassing. I never knew that having tied a corset too tightly could...” She cringed at her words. Corsets weren’t discussed between men and women in polite company but it was just one more thing she’d forgotten. “Oh, I’m sorry--”

Pierre smiled his brilliant smile and laughed. He squeezed her hand and said, “Josephine, you are entertaining, at the very least. I’m learning quite a bit about American ladies--likely as much as you are about French ones.”

“Honestly, there is so much to learn about being a French lady, I forget sometimes. American women are much--different, I think.”

Pierre sighed and his eyes softened as he looked at her. “Yes. Much different.”

She wasn’t at all sure if that was a compliment or if he was still mocking her, but she decided she couldn’t worry about that now. She had a dinner with his father to get through without dropping a spoon or talking about corsets.

He guided her down the hall toward the top of the stairs, pulling her along as she looked again at all the portraits on the wall. She pulled him to a stop in front of the one she’d admired before, of the younger couple and a child.

“Who is this, Pierre?” she said, pointing at the portrait.

His eyes clouded as he gazed at the picture. She looked up at him and waited as he silently squinted at the picture. Finally, he sighed and said, “That is my father and my mother. And the child is me when I was--I have been told that I was five years old at the time.”

Of course it was him. She looked more closely and recognized his eyes--their brilliant blue--and his dark hair. As she studied it, the resemblance to his mother became quite clear, and as she looked at the man, she recognized him from earlier. He was the man who’d stepped from the carriage.

Her heart tugged at the thought of this happy family torn apart. She looked up at him and the sorrow radiating from him was more than she could bear. She needed to say something--anything--to lighten the mood. All she could think of to say was, “Pierre, what happened to her? Your mother?”

Her heart leapt to her throat as he stiffened. Couldn’t she have asked about something else? Anything else? But she’d been fascinated by this portrait and now that she knew who it was, her curiosity got the best of her.

“You do know that she passed away when I was ten. Of influenza. There was quite an outbreak that year and although we did all we could to save her, she was a casualty of the epidemic. Many on the plantation were lost.”

“Oh, goodness,” she said, her hand to her mouth. “My parents passed away--of influenza, also.”

He turned to her and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, her heart racing at his touch.

“I am sorry for your loss, lovely Josephine. It was a long time ago, no? But the pain remains. It is difficult to open your heart again after a loss like that.”

Josephine’s heart ached--for Pierre and his family, but also for her own. Her mother had never recovered after her father died, and she had followed him into heaven shortly after. She’d been fortunate that her aunt had taken her in--Michelle’s mother--or she would not have had a home.

“Yes, it is difficult to open your heart once it’s been torn apart. But I can hope that the challenge would be worth it--to find love, to accept it and no longer be alone in the world.”

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. The future she’d dreamed of and hoped for was not to be hers. She knew that now, and the thought of losing something--Pierre--that she’d never even had ripped her apart. She turned toward the portrait and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand.

She willed her mind back to the present, determined to make the task before her a success to help this complex, endearing and passionate man. She knew she could not have him--not the way she wanted, his heart and soul hers and hers alone. But she would do what she could to make him happy. She couldn’t bear the thought of him losing everything that he held dear--his mother
and
the plantation.

Forcing a smile, she turned back to Pierre and placed her arm through his again and said, “I think it’s time, don’t you?”

“
F
ather should be here shortly
,” Pierre said.

She turned and met his broad smile with a curtsy.

Relief flooded Josephine as she preceded Pierre into the parlor after dinner. She’d come out of the event unscathed, no spoons on the floor and no hair in her soup. She’d even used the right silverware for each course--at least she thought so.

“Dinner was wonderful, but the company was even better,” Mr. Bernard said as he entered the room, reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. His bright, blue eyes--much like Pierre’s--twinkled as he bowed slightly.

He turned to Pierre and extended his hand. “I am so pleased for you and Josephine, son. She is a charming young lady, and I am honored that she will be joining our family.”

Pierre winked at Josephine as he reached for his father’s hand, shaking it heartily.

Mr. Bernard took a step back and stifled a yawn with his hand then rubbed his eyes.

“You look tired, Father. Is there anything we can do for you?”

His father smiled and patted his stomach. “I do apologize, but between that wonderful meal and my long journey, I believe I must bid you good evening.”

“We certainly understand, Sir. It was very nice to meet you,” Josephine said as Mr. Bernard turned toward the door.

He turned back and nodded once more toward Josephine. “A sincere pleasure, my dear. And I will sleep all the better knowing that all is well at The Willows and tomorrow we will be planning a wedding.”

Josephine watched as Mr. Bernard climbed the stairs and when he’d reached the top she turned back into the room to see Pierre take two long strides toward her.

She gasped as he wrapped his arms around her waist and spun her around, his smile so infectious that she couldn’t help but laugh, too.

“Magnifique,” he whispered in her ear and her heart swelled that she’d made him so happy.

He set her down and lifted her chin, his eyes not leaving hers. Her cheeks colored and she lowered her lashes, wishing that she might someday feel the warmth of his lips and knowing that she’d feel the same buzz she did when their hands touched.

His eyes searched her face as he ran his finger down her jaw, lifting her chin. “Lovely Josephine. How can I ever thank you for what you’ve done?”

She closed her eyes, her heart aching at the thought that all she wanted was to become his. When she felt the warm press of his lips on hers, she couldn’t help but respond, wishing he’d wrap his arms around her.

Her heart sunk as he pulled away from her, his eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, Josephine. I don’t know what to say...”

Josephine held her finger to his lips and said softly, “Pierre, you’ve made it very clear that you cannot--will not--have a real relationship. Thank you for your honesty, and for trusting me.”

He hung his head, rubbing his eyes. He looked up, sorrow in his eyes, as he said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, Josephine. It’s not fair to you.”

Horrified, she gathered her skirts and ran out of the room and up the stairs. She stopped to catch her breath at the top of the stairs, closing her eyes as she heard Pierre calling her back.

She ran to her room, shutting the door behind her. Her heart raced as she leaned against it. How could he have done that--given her a taste of something he knew she could never have?

As her heart rate slowed, she realized what an error she’d made--flying too close to a dangerous flame--and leaving when they had things to talk about. Maybe they could find a way to get to know each other better. He wouldn’t have kissed her if he didn’t want that, would he have?

She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, and tomorrow was a big day--wedding planning. She shook her head and smiled at the thought.

And if Pierre was truly to be her husband--real or not--they’d need to be in this together. As embarrassed as she was that she’d run out, she needed to go back downstairs and apologize, make it right so that things between them wouldn’t be uncomfortable.

As she turned and opened the door, she touched her lips and smiled. At least she’d gotten one kiss.

Her eyes grew wide as she stepped out into the corridor and right into the chest of Jerome. He hadn’t been at dinner and she had been glad of it--the smaller the audience, the better. Her nerves had been on edge as it was.

“Oh, Jerome,” she said as she stepped out, wanting to catch Pierre. She stopped short as he held up his arm against the doorjamb. She took a step back and looked up into his eyes, crinkling her nose at the smell of alcohol wafting from his direction.

She crossed her arms over her chest and asked, “What do you want?”

He took her elbow and turned her back into her room, closing the door behind him.

Her stomach tightened as she backed up toward the window. He shouldn’t be in here with her--she knew that--but what was she to do?

“Josephine, lovely Josephine,” he said, his lips curled up in a leer.

She clutched at her collar, her heart thudding against her ribs. What could he possibly want with her? She’d done everything he wanted her to, and now success seemed certain.

He paced slowly in front of the door, his hands behind his back. Rubbing his eyes, he stopped and folded his arms over his chest. Leaning against the door, he said, “There is something I need you to understand.”

Josephine wished Pierre would come and take Jerome out of her room. She didn’t want to understand anything at all that Jerome had to say, but she sat down at her vanity as he was between her and the door.

“I’ve heard about your success this evening. I am utterly and completely surprised.”

Josephine held her chin up, proud of her efforts. “Why would you be surprised? You’ve all helped me, and I worked very hard.”

“Ah, there’s the problem, dear Josephine. Yes, we helped you, but you weren’t supposed to be so good at it. That was not my expectation. So I am surprised--and disappointed.”

Josephine frowned and stood. “I don’t understand. What do you mean? You were instrumental in bringing me here.”

“Yes, you’re right. But you see, you were to fail. I never thought a seamstress from New England could convince my uncle that she had any breeding or grace at all.”

“I thought he needed a bride to gain his inheritance. That’s what he told me.”

“That’s true, my dear, and he does need that. But what I need is entirely different.”

Josephine shook her head, her hands folded in her lap, confusion washing over her. She looked up at him and folded her hands in her lap, wishing again that Pierre would come and straighten all of this out.

“Now you must listen to me and do as I say. I will have a carriage waiting for you tomorrow at dawn. You will be in it and it will take you back to wherever it was you came from.”

Josephine stood, her hand to her chest. “I will do no such thing. Pierre and I are planning our wedding tomorrow.”

Jerome crossed over to her in two long strides. She cringed as he touched her chin. “Poor, dear Josephine. You do hope that Pierre could love you, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

She dropped her eyes, but looked back up at him, her resolve firm. “I don’t know what could or will happen between Pierre and me, but I do know that he wants to move forward. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I’m staying.”

Jerome sighed, grabbed Josephine’s wrist and pulled her toward the window. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face the glass, pointing in the direction of the cabin of the mother and young child she’d seen several times.

“Do you know who lives there?”

She hesitated, then said, “A lovely young lady with a darling daughter.”

Jerome laughed. “And have you seen the darling daughter’s father?”

She tilted her head and realized she hadn’t. She’d only seen Pierre talking to them and bringing them muffins. She gasped and turned around, her eyes full.

“Yes, you see now, don’t you? He can never love you, even if you stay.”

Josephine slumped into the chair by the cold fireplace, her mind numb. Could that lovely girl be Pierre’s daughter? She thought back to how lovely she was, her black hair and piercing blue eyes, and covered her mouth with her hand.

Jerome walked over to her, crouched down and looked her in the eye.

“You will be on that carriage, or I will tell my uncle that you are a fraud, and Pierre will lose the plantation anyway.”

She looked up at him as he stood. “Why are you doing this, Jerome? You are Pierre’s cousin--his family.”

“I have my reasons, and they are not your concern,” he said as he walked to the door. “When you disappear, I will tell Pierre that you got cold feet. He will be disappointed about the inheritance, but he’ll get over it. As he’ll get over you. He doesn’t love you anyway--you know that.”

He reached for the latch, pulled the door open and turned to Josephine. “Be on the carriage at dawn, my dear,” he said as he sneered and walked out, closing the door behind him.