Patricia Rice (12 page)

"Where are we going now?" Michael caught the attention of a colorfully dressed mulatto and winked when she smiled back.

Catching the exchange, Nicholas replied wryly, "Somewhere I'm sure you'll appreciate. Since I haven't paid you any wages yet, the treat's on me."

As Nicholas introduced his new overseer to the occupants of the tastefully decorated bordello and watched him led away, he breathed a sigh of relief. Having an observer around could be extremely inconvenient at times, especially when that observer was related to someone as perspicacious as Eavin. But Michael would be well taken care of for the rest of the night. Nicholas shook his head at the offer of the young woman waiting patiently on him, put his hat back on his head, and strode out with the gait of a man who knew precisely where he was going and why;

* * *

"Why don't I write an editorial on the unlawful power of men like Reyes who can threaten the livelihoods of honest working men like warehouse owners?"

The speaker was a long-legged Kentuckian with uncombed curls the color of radishes and ears that stuck out at odd angles from his head. Despite his appearance, Daniel knew the printing business and had a way with words that more educated men never mastered. Nicholas held him in respect, but he shook his head negatively.

"Reyes is an old man, Daniel, and this thing with Raphael has bent his mind. He has a wife and younger son I would not insult. There will be no name calling. But I think we should begin questioning the safety of the warehouses and what protection is offered for the owners of the contents. As past fires have proved, our fire brigade is useless, yet the docks are covered with unprotected cotton and half the buildings in the area are still timber, and in the present economy, insuring those bales is beyond the pockets of most planters."

"To what point?" Daniel watched Nicholas with suspicion. Saint-Just wore the tailored frock coats, ruffles, and high hats of a gentleman, but he had a mind like a steel trap. One of Daniel's goals in life was to stay out of that trap.

'To the point that they demand brick warehouses with tile roofs, of course," Nicholas replied smoothly, pulling on his gloves. "Ones like I mean to build."

Daniel choked, coughed, then managed a grudging laugh. "No one ever said a paper had to be entirely altruistic, I suppose. Does this mean I can write my article chastising Congress for not developing a standing army?"

"Only if you also chastise the states for not providing their volunteer armies on longer terms. Did they really think Napoleon would have got as far as he did if he let his troops go home after two months?"

"Now wait a minute! We don't want to go conquering other territories—"

"But we'd damned well better start defending this one, or we'll see a king ruling us again. And you know as well as I do that we're losing this war because we have no one to fight it."

"That's fine for you to say. You can buy your way out of any draft. My talents are with words, not guns. This volunteer business is shit. We need a real army, one that gets paid for doing the work of an army, made up of men who are willing to kill to protect our country."

"Men who are willing to kill for a living—the prospect is daunting. And who would pay for this army? You just said you can't afford to pay someone to take your place. Do you think it would be any less expensive if Congress took over the task?"

Daniel glared at him. "Have you ever heard of a government yet that couldn't think of a way to tax their constituents? I'm just hoping they'll figure out how to tax you and not me."

Nicholas laughed. "I've got someone at home you really ought to meet. She said almost the exact same thing the other night. The two of you together would be dangerous." He picked up his riding crop and started for the door.

"Why don't you bring her by next time? Maybe the two of us together can bring you around to the right way of thinking."

Standing in the doorway, Nicholas turned back to look into the dimness of the shop. "Over my dead body," he said pleasantly. "I'm keeping this one to myself."

Chapter 11

Eavin brushed a splatter of mud from the yellow petal of the daffodil, then in a fit of longing for spring, she plucked the fat green stem. The open blue of the sky held promise of warm days and short nights, but the winter wind still cut through the wool of her old coat. The single yellow flower was the only hint of spring to be found in the mud flat that was the yard.

Imagining how the old house would look with banks of azaleas along its foundation as she had seen elsewhere, Eavin didn't notice the rider until he was almost upon her. Expecting his arrival, she turned with a welcoming smile as Jeremy Howell leapt from the saddle and approached with an eager step.

In his hand he carried a huge bouquet of daffodils to dwarf the single yellow bloom she held.

"Jeremy, how lovely! Come in out of the wind and let me find a vase. I want to show them to Jeannette. It's still too wet for her to go outside."

Jeremy made a wry face behind her back as he followed her up the stairs. However he approached Eavin Dupré, she always managed to divert him to the nursery. He felt exceedingly awkward courting a woman over the gurgles of a child too young to walk.

"How is your mother? I've been meaning to visit, but Nicholas won't let me out when the rains start. He says the road floods too quickly."

"Unfortunately, he is right. That is why everyone else is in New Orleans, where they can dance and visit all within a few blocks of each other. But for a change, I am not annoyed with my father for not finding us a house there."

Eavin inserted the flowers in the vase that Clemmie brought, carefully ignoring the innuendo behind Jeremy's words. She was learning to be very good at avoiding the charming habit of these Louisiana men of sprinkling their conversations with blatant flattery. She still felt the personal references to be embarrassing, and she merely smiled and led him toward the nursery.

Jeannette cooed and babbled and batted the flowers with her hands before turning expectantly to the man entering the room. Eavin laughed at Jeremy's helplessness when the babe waved her hands at him.

"Nicholas spoils her terribly. She already thinks all men ought to bow before her and give her everything she wants."

"I never pictured Old Nick as a family man. The image still fails me. I guess I shall have to linger and watch him in action. It's time I started learning such paternal duties."

Eavin glanced up in surprise. "You are planning to marry?" He seemed much too young, although she supposed he must be several years her senior.

Jeremy's tone was wry. "I thought I had made my intention clear. I know Alfonso has been calling regularly, but I didn't think he had engaged your affections. I had hoped you would see that we suited much better."

"Jeremy!" Astonished, Eavin returned the flowers to a table and sat Jeannette in her crib to play with her toys. The homely functions gave her time to think before she had to face her caller again. She had recovered herself to some extent by the time she turned and met his gaze. "I'm sorry. I just thought you were being polite by keeping me company when Nicholas is away. I didn't think..."

Jeremy brushed a stray strand of hair from her brow. "It's been a year since Dominic died. I didn't think it was too soon. Surely you can't mean to wait until Nick marries to turn over your guardian duties to someone else."

The thought of Nicholas marrying had never occurred to her. Eavin's eyes widened. Of course he would, eventually. And then Jeannette would have a real mother instead of just an aunt. The idea tore at her heart, but she disguised the pain with a smile as she took Jeremy's arm and led him from the nursery.

"I admit to not having given it any thought at all, Mr. Howell. The past year has been a terrible one for me. You'll have to excuse me for burying my head beneath the pillows. Perhaps it has been a little soon for me to start thinking about anyone else."

Jeremy stopped her in the shadows of the stairs. He was several inches taller, and his light brown hair fell in his face as he bent earnestly over her. "You're not like these French girls around here, Eavin. I may call you Eavin, please? They make me feel like an ill-mannered hillbilly. You make me feel as if I'm as strong and experienced as Old Nick. Say you'll consider my suit. I don't want any other but you."

Before Eavin could offer a word of warning, Jeremy bent his head closer and closed his lips over hers. The sensation was quite pleasant. His grip on her arm was strong and secure. She felt none of the panic or fear she was accustomed to feeling when approached suddenly. His mouth was like a warm caress, and she didn't offer the proper objection when he finally lifted his head and regarded her questioningly.

"You're very persuasive, Mr. Howell, but we scarcely know anything of each other," Eavin said. "Before you decide anything rash, I suggest you talk to Nicholas. You're a good friend . . . Jeremy. I would like to see you stay that way."

A slamming of a door at the rear of the house indicated someone entering, and they quickly stepped apart, coming down the stairs just as Michael erupted into the hall below.

Michael narrowed his eyes suspiciously he didn't have time to indulge in arguments. "The river's reaching the top of the levee," he said curtly. "Nick said to get everyone out when it does. Grab some clothes and round up the servants while I have the carriage and wagon hitched up."

"Were are we going?" Eavin yelled after him.

'To New Orleans," was the reply drifting back as Michael strode out of sight.

* * *

The rain had begun again by the time the caravan of wagons and carriage arrived in the city. Teething, Jeannette was fretful in Eavin's arms, and the damp cold penetrated every layer of clothing to make everyone miserable. Rather than awed at this first glimpse of the graceful city beyond the dock, Eavin was only relieved at the proximity of dry rooms and fires.

The carriage halted outside a lovely town house wider than its neighbors while the wagons rattled down a passageway through the courtyard and back to the servants' quarters. Nervously, Eavin gazed up at the closed shutters and wished Nicholas were here. Michael was already scrambling down and giving the driver instructions. Filled with trepidation, Eavin allowed someone to help her from the interior into the shelter of an overhanging gallery.

Black servants hastened her inside, with Michael on her heels. Jeannette was openly weeping now, and Annie took her in her arms, patiently rocking her while they waited for their hostess to appear. It took a moment before Eavin realized the elegant woman languidly approaching had to be Nicholas's mother. It was rather difficult to imagine Nicholas having a mother, but this was certainly the type that he would have.

Scarcely giving her sodden guests a second look, Madame Saint-Just directed the servants with a careless wave of her beringed hand.

"Take the child and her nurse to the old nursery, Maudine, and show her companion to the room next to it. Have a brazier carried down. The rooms will be cool. You, sir," she turned to Michael, "may take the rooms in the
garçonnière
. Rufus will show you the way."

No word of welcome or introduction, no acknowledgment beyond the dispatch of a bored general. Eavin recognized that she had been firmly set in her place. Had she not been damp and chilled and worried about Jeannette, she might have had a word to say about this summary dismissal, but the argument seemed too trivial to pursue. She was the child's nanny, no matter what face Nicholas tried to put on it.

Refusing to allow misery to seep into her bones like the cold, Eavin followed Annie through endless corridors and stairs to the servants' rooms assigned them. The damp clung to the walls beneath the endless patter of rain, and the braziers the servants carried in did little to relieve the chill. If she had been put in her place by her greeting, her quarters now gave certain indication of where she stood. She was a servant with only slightly better status than the slaves in the attached building.

This was the position she had undertaken when first she had approached Nicholas about staying. She should not complain about her treatment now just because Nicholas had odd ideas about squiring her to parties to avoid becoming entangled with marriage-minded females. This was her place, and she should be happy with it. It had to be better than returning to Baltimore.

She helped the maid unpack Jeannette's clothes and linens. While Jeannette nursed, Eavin cleaned off the dusty crib and laid it out with clean sheets while she told herself this was much better than waiting for the river to overflow and wash them away. She ought to be accustomed to the damp by now. Baltimore certainly wasn't one of the driest cities in the world.

But she couldn't help feeling relief when she finally heard Nicholas enter below.

* * *

Handing the waiting servant his cloak and shaking the water droplets from his hair, knowing he only succeeded in disheveling it to a wild mane, Nicholas kissed his mother's cheek as he entered, then started for the stairway. "Where did you put Eavin and Jeannette?"

Coming in from the back entrance, Michael entered the hallway in time to catch Madame Saint-Just's reply.

"You mean the Reyes bastard and her nurse? Where do you think? I am not totally inhumane. I'll not put a child out in the cold. They're in the other wing, of course."