Tears of Gold (51 page)

Nicole sat silently watching Mara, biting her lip nervously before she asked hesitantly, “Is it true? Is that man really Nicholas? Is he my half-brother?”

Mara turned and eyed the young girl. “There can be no denying the resemblance, and your mama’s reaction should be proof enough.”

The butler entered carrying the silver tea service while two maids followed behind carrying trays, one loaded down with enticing confections and the other with a silver chocolate pot, the hot chocolate giving off a rich aroma. The tray was placed near Nicole.

Paddy’s eyes brightened as he caught sight of the trays, his dark brown eyes feasting on the dainty cakes. Without waiting to be invited closer, he stationed himself at Nicole’s elbow as she prepared the tea.

“Paddy,” Mara said softly, signaling him to seat himself beside her on the sofa.

“It is all right, mademoiselle,” Nicole said with a charming smile, “for I have a sweet tooth too, and I understand the little one’s impatience. I always have chocolate in the afternoons,” she confided as she poured out a cup. “You wish to have the chocolate, Paddee,” Nicole teased him, her pronunciation of his name causing him to make a comical face. He eagerly accepted the cup, then placed it with a regretful sigh on the table as he waited in patient silence beside Nicole. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. “Tea for Jamie, please, ma’am,” he said politely, surprising Mara by his thoughtfulness. Jamie had positioned herself near the corner of the room where she could sit unobserved, her gray eyes missing nothing of what went on even as she worked the embroidery in her lap. Her role as maid, companion, and governess left her in a vague social position and so she preferred to keep quietly in the background.

She was deeply touched as she watched Paddy balancing a delicate china cup and saucer brimming with tea in one hand and a plate full of carefully selected sweets in the other. His eyes glued to the sloshing contents of the teacup, he slowly placed each foot in front of the other as he made his way to Jamie’s side, then returned for his own treat.

“Why did he come back? What does he want?” Nicole spoke suddenly, worried apprehension etched across her rounded forehead as she handed Mara her tea. “The scandal of it all! Oooh, he shall ruin everything. My fiancé is a most important person, mademoiselle. Jean-Claude is heir to Belle Saulaie near St. Francisville, and his family also has townhouses in both New Orleans and Natchez. I am very fortunate in becoming a member of their family,” she informed Mara importantly, a smile of satisfaction curving the corners of her mouth slightly upward. “I am to be wed in the spring. It will be the wedding of the year, and such a grand occasion. It will take place in the St. Louis Cathedral, and there will be a detail of Swiss Guards who will precede me up the aisle. Since Papa has died, Uncle Etienne will escort me. Oh dear,” Nicole added worriedly, looking at Mara with huge dark eyes full of anguished horror, “do you suppose
he
will wish to attend? It will be most uncomfortable if no one will speak with him, and then he will be forced into defending his honor should someone insult him. It is not fair, mademoiselle. He is a horrible man to do this to me,” Nicole cried, forgetting that Mara had arrived with that horrible man.

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to cause you any inconvenience, Nicole,” Mara tried to reassure her.

“It is just as well that we will not be coming here after the wedding but will be starting our married life at Belle Saulaie instead. In fact,” Nicole added, her eyes narrowed in speculation, “none of my new family need ever meet him. We will be going to Belle Saulaie in a couple of weeks and will stay there with Jean-Claude’s family until we wed. So I needn’t worry. Nicholas will have had to leave by then,” she concluded with a triumphant smile. With a sigh of relief she changed the subject before Mara could inquire why Nicholas should have to leave by then.

“What kind of gowns are they wearing in Europe now, mademoiselle? My dearest friend, Leonore, is just back from Paris, and she says they are all wearing demi-trains now. My best colors are a deep rose and a pale yellow, and when I am wed, I will be able to wear bright colors and much more daring gowns. I grow so tired of this white all the time. Did you know that Brussels lace…”

Mara tilted her head as if attentively listening to Nicole’s views on fashion, but she let her thoughts drift away as she wondered what was going on upstairs between Nicholas and his stepmother.

***

“Why did you come back?” Celeste demanded weakly as she reclined against the pillows of her canopied bed, her slender hands fluttering nervously over the satin quilt tucked up around her. “My God, but you look like Philippe. It is like seeing a ghost,” she continued without waiting for his answer. “When Damaris called for me to come see who had arrived, why, I never imagined it could be you, of all people. And now, of all times. And then when I recognized you, I thought to myself, no, it cannot be, and yet the eyes and mouth, so much the same,” she spoke haltingly. She shuddered delicately as she rambled on in a faint voice. “I knew Philippe was dead, but there was that moment of horrible doubt as I stared at you. Why?” she demanded beseechingly, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “Why come back now? How can you dare to show that wicked face of yours in New Orleans? After all the misery you have caused for this family, I cannot believe that even you would be so cruel to return.”

“Celeste,” Nicholas spoke his stepmother’s name quietly as he said gently, “I was asked to return by my father.”

Celeste’s gray eyes widened in disbelief. “What?
C’est impossible
. He never spoke your name in this house after you left. He forbade mention of your existence. You were dead to him, the same as François. You lie. Now that he is dead and cannot send you away you think you can return and become master here? Well, you have no rights here at Beaumarais. You no longer belong here,” she said hoarsely, the vein in her temple pounding with excess emotion.

Nicholas reached into his pocket and carefully withdrew the treasured letter he had received in San Francisco. “This does not lie, Celeste. I would not have returned otherwise. I swore never to return the day I was driven from my home,” Nicholas told her coldly. “This is the
only
reason why I have now broken my vow.”

Celeste stared at the letter as if it might reach out and strike her, but finally she put out a shaky hand and accepted it. Nicholas watched in silence as she pulled the frail sheet of stationery from the envelope and began to read. The letter began to shake uncontrollably as she neared the end, and she held the back of her hand against her trembling lips.

“Mon Dieu, what does this mean?”

“It means, Celeste, that my father knew of my innocence. He knew the truth of François’s death. He had forgiven me and wanted my forgiveness of him,” Nicholas said without hesitation, eyeing her intently as he watched her reaction.

The letter dropped from Celeste’s stiff fingers. She had instantly recognized the handwriting as Philippe’s, and the straightforward look in Nicholas’s green eyes that were too familiar convinced her that he was not lying.

“B-but he never spoke of it. Never did he say a word of this to me. Why?”

“You have been ill?”

Celeste nodded absently, then looked up at Nicholas with just a touch of bitterness in her expression as the corners of her mouth turned down with discontentment. “Do you know what it has been like for me all these years to be the second wife of Philippe de Montaigne-Chantale? I think I have always been pitied by my friends, for everyone knew how much Philippe loved your mama, the very beautiful Danielle. He was heartbroken when she died. I think he never had a whole heart to give to me. I could never compete against her memory,” Celeste said sadly, “and when I could not give him the sons he needed, well, he was disappointed in me. This I know.”

“You can’t be blamed for that, Celeste,” Nicholas dismissed her claims.

“You wait and see how you feel when you have no son to inherit what is yours one day, then you will feel different,” Celeste accused him bitterly. “It is the same with all men. But when I found I was with child after so many barren years, oh, the joy of it all! I knew that this would be the son that Philippe had wished for since…well, for so long. He was so happy when Jean-Louis was born. It was feared that I might lose him, but God was watching over us.”

Celeste pressed her aching temples, shaking her head as if still unable to believe what had happened. “One day he returned from his daily ride filled with such rage and hurt. I could not reach him. He would not speak with me and he locked himself away in his study the whole night. He was a changed man the next day and even little Jean-Louis could not bring a smile to his lips. He went to New Orleans the next day, and then…” Celeste whispered tearfully, “he had not even been back for two days before he died.”

“And you have no idea what he had found out to cause him such anguish?” Nicholas probed gently.

But Celeste could only shake her auburn head sadly. “Non, I knew nothing, not even that he had forgiven you, Nicholas, but I am glad for his sake that he did before he died. It had grieved him for so many years,” Celeste said generously even as certain doubts began to darken her eyes to a cloudy gray color. “Nicholas,” she said looking him directly in the eye, forcing her voice not to quiver, but failing as she said quickly, “it changes nothing. He may have forgiven you, but there was no will that named you heir as he said he would do. I am owner of Beaumarais, this you cannot change,” Celeste warned him as if ready to pit her feeble strength against his.

“There are many things we need to discuss, Celeste,” Nicholas began, only to be interrupted as Celeste sunk back against the pillows and raised a weak hand in protest.

“Not now, Nicholas,” she pleaded. “I must rest. I grow fatigued so easily since my illness. This news has upset me greatly. We will talk more, Nicholas, this I promise you. But later, please. Not now,” Celeste said as she closed her eyes wearily, the gesture dismissing him as effectively as words.

Nicholas stood up, but before he left he asked one last question. “The diary? Do you know where it is?”

Celeste opened her eyes as she stared up at her stepson in confusion. “The diary? Non, now that I think about it, I haven’t seen it. He used to write so many things down in that book. It was always in his desk. You will have to ask Etienne, or Alain, for they handle the business affairs of Beaumarais now, and they have access to the desk. They might have seen it.”

Nicholas nodded thoughtfully, then turned and quietly left the room as her head lolled sideways on the pillow. He was standing at the head of the stairs when he was startled by a well-remembered voice calling out his name.

“Nicholas! They told me, but I could not believe such a miraculous thing.”

“Uncle Etienne,” Nicholas said softly as he stared down at the silver-haired man who stood waiting at the foot of the stairs, his beaming expression one of open welcome. “You haven’t changed,” he laughed as he quickly made his way down the grand staircase.

And, indeed, with the exception of his silvering hair, Etienne Ferrare looked exactly as Nicholas remembered him from their brief encounter in Venice almost ten years ago. He was a slender man of slightly less than medium height who had an air of elegance about him that was as natural to him as breathing.

“You flatter me by kindly overlooking this silver mane of mine,” he said as he stretched out and hugged the broad-shouldered form now towering over him, “something I can no longer pretend to do when I look into the mirror. To see you walking down the stairs in the hall of Beaumarais once again, that brings back the happiness of my youth.”

“It is good to see you, Etienne,” Nicholas said as he gazed down warmly at his mother’s brother.

Staring up at Nicholas with the blue eyes that reminded Nicholas of his mother, Etienne said, “It is no less a pleasure for me to see you standing beneath the portraits of your ancestors. I never thought I would see this day.”

Nicholas glanced around. “I thought never to step foot inside Beaumarais either, but I have.” The words sounded almost like a vow never to leave again.

“Has Celeste seen you yet?” Etienne asked with a worried frown. “This will upset her greatly I fear.”

“It already has,” Nicholas told him regretfully, “for at first sight of me she fainted into my arms. I’m afraid I remind her much of my father.”

Etienne nodded in understanding. “Yes, I suppose your sudden arrival would come as a shock. In fact,” he added with an apologetic smile, “I must admit to being extremely curious myself about your return. Incredible timing,” he murmured beneath his breath.

“It would seem as though my father confided in no one about his letter asking me to return home.”

Etienne could not hide his surprise. “Philippe sent for you? B-but that seems most extraordinary. Forgive me, Nicholas, but in all of these years he has never once spoken your name to me. Why should he send for you?” he asked.

“Because he wanted my forgiveness, Etienne. He finally discovered the truth about François’s death,” Nicholas told him simply.

Etienne remained thoughtful for a moment. His slender fingers caressed the head of his cane as he tapped it lightly against the tiles. “And what was the truth, if you do not mind an old man’s curiosity?” Etienne inquired softly.

“That I am innocent of all guilt, or at least of fatally wounding François. For having taken part in such a fool’s game…of
that
I am guilty. But not of killing my brother. My father knew this in the end. He knew who had really killed François.”

Etienne’s cane had stopped its tapping. He now stared up at his nephew, a very intent expression hardening the gentle blue eyes.

“But he did not confide this information to me. He left a diary, and in this he said that he had written down the whole story,” Nicholas said, then added with lazy indifference, “but unfortunately it seems to have disappeared. You haven’t by any chance seen it?”

Etienne shook his head. “A diary? Non, this I have never seen,” he said in a disturbed voice before a sadly mocking smile touched his lips just briefly. “You will forgive me, please, Nicholas.”