Josephine: Bride of Louisiana (American Mail-Order Bride 18) (6 page)

J
osephine stared out the window
, as she’d been doing all night. She’d watched the full moon cast shadows from the willow trees as they blew gently in the wind and the horses as they grazed then became still. She counted the lights as they blinked out, one by one, in the small cottages on the plantation that she could see out the window.

None of that could erase the horrid memory of the evening from her mind. Several times during the night, hot tears had spilled from her eyes and she’d laid her head in her hands.

Now, as the wispy clouds turned pink, then orange with the new rays of the sun, she couldn’t help but think what would become of her. As much as she wanted to blame Michelle for this disaster, she really could only blame herself. She’d been able to keep her father happy as she learned French and about French food, but she’d had no idea that the requirements of this level of society was so much more than she ever could have imagined.

Pierre undoubtedly would be asking her to leave soon, and she sat on the bed with her reticule open, dumping its contents on the fluffy white comforter. She counted the few bills and coins and wondered if she had enough to get back to Boston. She didn’t think so, but she did think maybe she could get back to Mississippi. Maybe Michelle would let her stay for a while and give her some time to see what she should do.

She opened the drawers of the vanity and, finding them empty, crossed to one of the nightstands, hoping that she might find some paper and something to write with. Sending a letter to Michelle was her only options, and she wasn’t sure, but she thought maybe Pierre would be kind enough to allow her to stay until she received a response. It shouldn’t take too long as steamboats traveled up and down the river quite frequently.

Sitting down at the vanity, she cringed at the memory of the look on Pierre’s face--kind, but knowing--and she was grateful that at least neither he nor Jerome had said anything about her unending faux pas. She’d stolen a glance at Bernadette several times and her heart tugged at the pain on her new friend’s face--clearly on Josephine’s behalf.

She picked up the pen and dipped it in the inkwell.

D
ear Michelle
,

I
do
hope that you are happy, and that the town you now live in--and your husband--are both treating you well. That is my most ardent wish for you--to be happy.

I, unfortunately, made a mistake coming here. Contrary to your counsel, I was not able to successfully produce the manners required of a lady of society. What were we thinking? It’s more likely that a frog could become a prince.

I will be leaving shortly, and am hoping that I might stay with you and your new husband for a while, to give me time to sort this all out. I do realize I am asking a lot from you--and your husband--and if it is inconvenient I do hope you’ll tell me. I believe I can stay here for a while longer until I secure another option.

I miss you very much and look forward to seeing you at some point.

A
ll my love
,

Josephine

S
he sighed
as she lifted the paper up and blew on it until she knew the ink was dry. She placed the cork back in the inkbottle and stood, stretching her sore muscles. Sitting in the chair all night had taken its toll on her neck and back. It was still early--barely sunrise--and she dreaded having to see Pierre or anyone else in this house. She couldn’t put off the inevitable, though, but she could take a walk before they awoke, maybe clear her head a little and certainly stretch her legs.

She dressed quickly in her gray work dress and pulled on her old, scuffed boots rather than her new, delicate slippers. They wouldn’t be appropriate for walking out side--and besides, she’d need to give all of these beautiful dresses back. Her heart tugged at the thought, but it was the right thing to do, of course.

She grabbed a wrap and threw it over her shoulders. She quickly pinned her hair up--all of it--and went downstairs, out the front door and down the brick steps.

A horse whinnied in the distance and she was drawn to the sound, breathing in the crisp morning air. Her head already felt clearer and she started off, walking in the directions of the cabins she’d noticed.

As she passed under a giant willow she stopped, ducking behind the huge trunk as she watched the young mother and little girl she’d seen the day before. And the day before that, now that she thought about it.

The child was beautiful--maybe three or four years old--with caramel-colored skin, black hair and blue eyes. It was a strikingly lovely combination and Josephine didn’t think she’d ever seen a person before who looked like that.

Her mother was equally lovely, her skin just a bit darker and her eyes brown, but a beauty, nonetheless. She wore rather simple clothes, but a bright blue apron over it that was of some fabric Josephine hadn’t seen before--even in the factory.

She ducked behind the tree, only the top of her head peeking out, as Pierre walked over to the woman. His long strides brought him there quickly, and he smiled at the woman, handing her a basket covered with a checked napkin. The child ran over to Pierre, wrapping her little arms around his knees. He laughed and scooped her up, taking a muffin from the basket the woman held and handing it to the little girl.

He set her down on the ground, ruffling her hair before she ran into the house, muffin grasped tightly in hand. He said a few words to the woman--who couldn’t have been much older than Josephine--smiled, and turned back toward the house.

Josephine hung her head, knowing that it was time to seal her fate. She walked toward the back of the house, where the kitchen would be, past the shrubs lining the side of the house. As she passed the young woman, their eyes met. The young woman nodded at Josephine, her brilliant smile seeming genuine and sincere.

She returned the woman’s smile and kept on toward the kitchen, one foot in front of the other, feeling as if she was heading to the guillotine.

Head down, she trudged up the back stairs of the house and reached for the latch of the door. Just as she was about to open the door, it swung open and she looked up in to the startled eyes of Pierre.

Her cheeks blazed as he looked down at her. His eyes softened and he held out his hand to help her up the steps. “I’ve been waiting for you in the kitchen. There are freshly baked muffins and coffee that Bernadette has made for us.”

Her brows furrowed, surprised that he wasn’t angry or asking her to pack. As embarrassed as she still was, she was willing to take her lumps and move forward. She followed him and he stopped at the kitchen door, waving his arm inside for her to precede him.

She walked in slowly, removing her wrap and sniffing at the delightful aroma of coffee. As soon as she did, she shivered at the memory of the last time she inhaled an aroma--and her hair promptly fell into her soup.

Bernadette handed her a cup of coffee with a gentle pat to her shoulder. “I’ll leave you two alone, ma cherie,” she said as she shot a glance at Pierre and left the room.

Josephine sat down at the kitchen worktable and sipped her coffee, avoiding looking up. “Pierre, I--”

Pierre sat down across from her and held up his palms. “Josephine, let me speak first, if you don’t mind. I have something I’d like to...ask you.”

Ask? Asking her to leave, no doubt. She took a deep breath, set her coffee down and looked up at him, ready for whatever was coming. It certainly wouldn’t be unexpected. She knew how important this all was to them and she’d failed.

Pierre reached across the table, taking her hand in his. Puzzled, she cocked her head to one side. Certainly he was anxious for her to go. None of this was necessary--it actually made it worse as her hand tingled in his. Better to just go.

She pulled her hand back and sat straight in her chair, ready for the blow she knew was coming.

His eyes radiated sympathy, and her heart tugged. “Josephine, I know that last night didn’t go that well.”

She clasped her hands in her lap. “That is an understatement, Monsieur.”

“Pierre,” he corrected. “Pierre. And I would like to make a proposal to you, as we have already invested a substantial amount of time and effort in this endeavor. You’ve traveled halfway across the continent, and I think there may be a solution.”

She raised her eyebrows. “A solution?”

Pierre cleared his throat and he stood, pacing on the other side of the table. Josephine followed him with her eyes, wishing he would just say what he was going to say.

“I would like it very much if you would consider staying.” He sat down again at the table and folded his hands in front of him.

“Staying? Surely you’re joking, and that is very cruel. It was evident to everyone last night--including myself--that I do not have the skills or breeding to do what it is you need of me.”

Pierre circled his thumbs around each other. He took a deep breath and said, “No. You may not now, but I’d like to teach you. Please stay, Josephine. We--I--need your help.”

Josephine’s head reeled and her eyes grew wide. This was not at all what she’d expected. She stood and took a step back, sure he was mocking her. “Monsieur, that is truly unkind.”

He stood and walked around the table, taking her hands in his. “I am not mocking you. We have run out of time, and if you would be kind enough to stay and accept a bit of--help--I would be most grateful.”

She pulled her hands away, the sensation unsettling. If she did consider accepting his offer, the last thing she needed was to have any feelings--about anyone or anything at The Willows. It would be her undoing.

Squeezing the letter to Michelle in her pocket, she realized that she owed it to herself--and to Michelle--to give this a try before she turned up on Michelle’s doorstep.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked straight into his crystal clear blue ones. “All right, Pierre. I will do my best to try to make this work.”

He hung his head briefly and rubbed his eyes. When he looked up, his eyes had softened once more and he said, “Thank you, Josephine. I am truly grateful, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

She gripped the letter once more and decided to send it anyway and she would at least know whether she was welcome at Michelle’s or not, just in case the time came that she needed to leave in a hurry.

“
P
ierre
, she really is a kind young lady. Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” Bernadette poured another cup of coffee as Pierre explained his plan.

He warmed his hands on the mug and sighed. “Bernadette, you know as well as I do how ridiculous this situation is. Why on Earth would my inheritance be tied to whether or not I’m married? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Bernadette turned away, reaching into the icebox for anything that might go into a picnic basket. Josephine had gone upstairs to change her clothes as Pierre had suggested they take a tour of the plantation and if they did that, they would need to eat at some point.

“Bernadette? Did you hear me?”

“I did, young man. You know I loved your mother very much. Enough to know that if that was what she wanted for you, she had a good reason.”

Pierre watched as she lowered her eyes and looked away, reaching into the cabinets below for a loaf of bread. She took out a tin of foie gras and added it to the basket, along with several imported French cheeses.

He turned up his nose and said, “Are you trying to starve us? You know I don’t like that stuff.”

“Blasphemy, Pierre,” Bernadette said as she grinned at him, adding chocolate and several other things from the icebox to the basket. “I’ll make sure there’s something included that you
will
want to eat. When did you lose your taste for French delicacies? Your mother would roll over in her grave if she knew.”

Pierre laughed and reached for a grape, popping one in his mouth. “Ever since you’ve known me, I believe,” he said as he patted her shoulder. “So why all this now?”

She set down her knife and wrapped the chunk of very strong cheese she’d just cut in a napkin, placing it in the basket beside the bread. “If you truly expect your father to be happy with this, she needs to at least be familiar with French delicacies--whether she chooses to eat them or not. He would know in an instant if she’d never heard of foie gras and didn’t know what it was.”

“I’m not exactly trying to fool him, Bernadette. Just help Josephine be acceptable for whatever his version of this mythical French
lady
is.” He reached into the pie safe and took out the pie Josephine had made that they’d had last night at dinner. He’d never had it before, and she’d explained it was a New England favorite, Boston Cream Pie. “And some of this, please?”

“Ah, you liked that, I see.” She laughed as she took the pie from him and cut two pieces, wrapping them as well and placing them in the basket that now was getting full. “About that...the mythical French lady, as you called it.”

She gestured for Pierre to sit across from her as she sat herself. “We haven’t discussed this for a very long time, Pierre.”

“Discussed what?” he asked as he reached for another piece of chocolate.

She wiped her hands on her apron and leaned on the table toward him. “How much do you remember about your mother?”

Pierre’s hand stopped in mid-air as he turned to look at Bernadette. “Why do you ask?”

“You were so young when she passed away. I’ve often wondered how much you remember.”

He closed his eyes, trying again to conjure up a memory--her voice, her hair, her scent--and just as the other night, it was difficult. He couldn’t.

“I’m sorry to say not much. I look at her picture regularly, and try to remember--but it always seems just out of reach.”

“She was very special, your mother. It’s a shame that you don’t remember more. If you did, you’d know exactly what your father’s version of a perfect French lady is.”

She pushed herself back from the table and covered the basket, handing it to Pierre. He frowned, looked at the basket and up at Bernadette.

“I don’t mean to confuse you, dear boy. But I will say that Josephine--rough as she would be, according to your father--possesses many of the best qualities of your mother. Kindness, compassion, the gift of laughter not the least of them. I’m pleased that you’re giving her a chance--if you sincerely want to help.”

“Is that so, Bernadette?” Jerome said as he walked into the kitchen and reached for some chocolate himself. “I’m a little older than Pierre, but I don’t remember much about Aunt Vivienne, either.” He lifted the napkin from the basket in Pierre’s hands. “Does this mean that it went well? Are you and Josephine beginning your lessons?”

Bernadette smacked his hands from the basket. “You mind your business, young man. Let Pierre do what he needs to do.” She looked past Pierre to Josephine standing in the doorway and pushed past them both, wrapping her in a hug. “I’m so pleased that you’re staying, my dear. I fixed a basket for the two of you--the trip around the whole plantation takes some time and I didn’t want you to get hungry.”

Pierre squinted at his cousin to quiet him. Jerome shrugged, his eyebrows raised as he turned back to the chocolate. “I had the buggy brought around for the two of you--just in case.” He smiled and nodded at Josephine.

This was uncomfortable enough for Pierre and he was anxious to leave the unwelcome comments behind. He turned to Josephine and paused--he blinked several times as he took in her change.

When he’d first seen her in town, he’d thought she was beautiful, even in her drab, worn attire. Her laugh had lifted his heart even then, before he even knew who she was.

Then last night, she’d been beautiful as well, but he had been saddened on her behalf at the obvious disaster and her despair.

This morning, she’d been strong and stoic, clearly expecting to be asked to leave, and he was impressed at her willingness to re-consider, to try again. He admired her courage.

And now--now, as he looked into her sparkling brown eyes, heat crept from his collar. He cleared his throat and looked down at the basket, turning away from the brilliant blue dress that set her brown eyes and honey-colored hair to light.

This wouldn’t do at all. Best to stick to the plan. Teaching only.

“You look lovely, Josephine. Thank you for reconsidering my proposal, and I look forward to showing you around your new home.”

Jerome’s smile widened as he said, “Yes, Josephine. We are most grateful and pleased to have you here. You two enjoy your day.”

Pierre caught his wink as he nodded at Bernadette. “Thank you, Bernadette. We will be back before supper.”

“Thank you all. I’m very sorry that I--well, I will do the best I can.”

She smiled and nodded at Jerome and Bernadette, turning her wide, brilliant smile toward Pierre. His heart pinched and he held out his arm to her, hoping that this just might work after all.