Tears of Gold (55 page)

With a small, fringed parasol tipped casually over her shoulder, she disappeared up the steps toward the house, Mara losing sight of her as she walked beneath the covered gallery.

“It’s a woman,” Mara told Celeste as she turned away from the window and reseated herself by the tea table.

“Ah,” Celeste murmured as if Mara’s words only confirmed what she had been expecting.

“Madame St. Laurens,” the butler intoned in a deep voice from the parlor doors.

“Celeste, how well you are looking this morning,” Madame St. Laurens greeted her as she made her way into the room on a wave of heavily scented perfume, her gauzy veil floating out behind her and revealing the delicate beauty of her face. And an undeniable beauty she is, Mara thought with a strangely growing feeling of dislike. She didn’t like the patronizing note in the slightly amused voice, nor the offhand way the woman threw down her gloves and stole on the sofa as if she were mistress of Beaumarais.

Narrow blue eyes, no less pale than her gown, were now turned on Mara with curious inquisitiveness as the woman helped herself to a cup of tea. Celeste caught the look, smiling with strange satisfaction as she noticed the hostility in the newcomer’s light eyes as she assessed Mara O’Flynn, the Irishwoman’s stunning beauty disconcerting her.

“Amaryllis, Madame St. Laurens, this is our guest, Mademoiselle Mara O’Flynn.”

“Mademoiselle,” Amaryllis said coolly, nodding her blond head regally, then insultingly turned her attention to Celeste.

So this was Amaryllis, who had once held Nicholas’s heart in the palm of her hand—and perhaps still did.

“And what may I do for you, Amaryllis?” Celeste inquired politely, yet distantly as her gray eyes slid away from the coldly amused look in Amaryllis’s pale eyes.

“You ask
me
that?” Amaryllis asked, some of her amusement fading as she sensed a subtle change in the older woman’s attitude. Glancing over at Mara pointedly, she said, “Shouldn’t we discuss this in private?”

But Celeste only shook her head. “Soon we will have no secrets here. What do you wish, Amaryllis?”

“I am not amused,” Amaryllis told her brusquely. “Do you hope, perhaps, to drive the price up more by pretending unconcern about my visit? Well, I do not play the game, Celeste,” she said in a hard voice. “You either accept my offer for Beaumarais now, or sooner or later the creditors will be here on your doorstep and then Beaumarais will have to be auctioned off. Then you will be sorry, for it will not fetch much. Who but me would want it anyway?” Amaryllis took a sip of tea.

“Bien, I think we understand one another,” she said in a businesslike voice as she pulled a large envelope from her muff. “Here are the papers already drawn up. Sign them, now,” Amaryllis told her as she placed them on the tea table with barely concealed impatience.

***

Nicholas let Sorcier have his head as the big bay stallion’s hooves sent the thick mud of the road flying in all directions. Clearing the topmost rail of the fence Nicholas sent Sorcier across the sloping field until, climbing to the top of a small rise, he halted the big horse’s headlong flight. He stared out over the wide river gleaming in the sunshine below. He glanced along the levee, knowing that somewhere along that length of red bank his father had fallen into the swift current of the river below and drowned. Nicholas’s green eyes stared hard at the now-empty levee. If only he could see what had actually happened. With a sigh of frustration Nicholas nudged Sorcier with his heels and sent him along the riverside as he slowly made his way upstream until finally coming to what used to be Beaumarais land. He pulled up just short of the new fence that now divided the two properties. On the far side lay fields that would, during the long, hot summer months, yield white cotton along the straight rows stretching away into the distance. Field hands would work from sunup to sundown with long sacks thrown over their shoulders, dragging the ground behind as they threaded their way through the rows of cotton, picking the tufts and filling their bags.

Nicholas glanced back at Beaumarais land, and the fields that had been left unplanted, tall weeds growing unchecked across the land. Nicholas’s hands tightened unconsciously on the reins as he remembered the past glory of Beaumarais, when they had sent the biggest crop of cotton downriver to New Orleans. Turning Sorcier around, he cut across the fields and headed back toward Beaumarais, stopping briefly at the rows of slave quarters now standing empty and silent, doors gaping open, some off their hinges. Chickens roosted in the rafters.

Only the slave quarters nearest the great house were still occupied by the house and yard servants. The abandoned slave quarters, as well as the barren land, told the story about Beaumarais. There would be no more big crops this year or next for Beaumarais. Most of the slaves had been sold, something Celeste had neglected to mention to him.

Nicholas rode along the narrow dirt road running beside the great house and noticed for the first time the run-down appearance of Beaumarais. He could see the water line staining the walls where the flood waters had risen higher than ever one year, the rich earth still looking sunken around the foundation. The low kitchen wing hadn’t been repainted or repaired in years, while overgrown shrubs choked the formal walks leading through the gardens where roses, gardenias, and crepe myrtle would have once flourished. Too many idle hands, Nicholas thought as he eyed several young men sitting near a large banana tree.

Nicholas dismounted in front of the stables and saw to the unsaddling and rubbing down of Sorcier himself. He was making his way along the gallery when he noticed for the first time the carriage sitting in front of the house. The sharp, staccato sound from the heels of his riding boots marking his progress, he entered the entrance hall of Beaumarais. He ran a careless hand through his black hair as he walked without hesitation into the parlor. Sweat glistened on the wiry, dark hairs of his chest where the fine lawn of his shirt was opened, and his thighs rippled with muscle under the tight covering of his leather breeches.

“I’m afraid Celeste is no longer in a position to sell Beaumarais, Amaryllis,” Nicholas spoke suddenly from the doorway, a sardonic look entering his eyes. “For you see, I am now the owner, and I’m not interested in selling.”

Amaryllis spun quickly around, surprised by the abrupt interruption.

“Nicholas?” she whispered, her light blue eyes widening in disbelief as he obliged her by moving closer. Mara’s fingers clenched painfully as she watched the look of surprise on Amaryllis’s face change into something else. Her eyes traveled over every inch of Nicholas’s tanned face and casually attired body. Mara thought Nicholas had never seemed more attractive nor more out of reach as he stood there with the easy grace of a man who knew where he belonged.

“Satisfied?” he asked softly, his own eyes lingering with almost insulting familiarity on Amaryllis.

“You came back.” Her voice sounded strangled, her cool sophistication crumbling away from her as she continued to stare at him. Amaryllis sank down on the edge of the sofa.

“Y-you own Beaumarais? How? I don’t understand? When?” she demanded, finding her tongue on a wave of growing anger.

“Last night,” Nicholas informed her as he walked over to stand behind Celeste, who was nervously watching the confrontation between these two arrogant, determined people. Her thin hands fluttered over the tea set in agitation. “I thought it best to keep Beaumarais in the family.”

“Last night?” Amaryllis repeated shakily, turning frosty blue eyes on Celeste. “My God, you knew I’d be coming today to make you an offer, and yet behind my back you sold the place?”

“It was not really behind your back, Amaryllis,” Nicholas said, and it seemed to Mara that his voice softened over her name. “After all, I think I’ve more right to Beaumarais than you. And,” he added with a cynical look at Celeste’s lowered head, “I doubled your offer—which was surprisingly low, my dear.”

His words were deceptively soft and silky and Amaryllis flushed guiltily. “The way the plantation has gone downhill,” Amaryllis defended herself, “Celeste was lucky to receive an offer at all. Well,” Amaryllis drew a shaky breath, “I seem to have received quite a few surprises this morning, as well as a rather large disappointment. If you will forgive my rudeness, Nicholas,” she said as she tried to regain some of her composure, “what are you doing back here?”

“Philippe asked him to return,” Celeste found the courage to answer Amaryllis. “He wrote him a letter and told him that he knew Nicholas had not killed François.”

Amaryllis’s razor-sharp gaze met Nicholas’s as she absorbed this. “So, this is true, Nicholas? Your father believed your story of so many years before? It is most curious after such a long time. What did he know?” she asked bluntly.

Nicholas smiled as he shook his head and denied her any satisfaction. “That is a family matter, Amaryllis, but soon the truth will be known to all,” he baited her, watching her reaction with a speculative gaze.

“I see. Forgive me for intruding,” Amaryllis responded, not in the least bit sorry. “I still cannot believe that you are here talking to me,” she said, intentionally linking their names together.

“He is also a very wealthy man, Amaryllis,” Celeste delighted in telling that piece of information to her fair-haired neighbor. “He’s been out in California where they’ve had the gold rush. Nicholas struck it rich.” Celeste repeated the phrase she’d heard used the evening before and which sounded to her very remarkable.

“Well, well,” Amaryllis murmured as she got slowly to her feet and walked over to Nicholas, stopping less than a foot away from him as she gazed up into his eyes. “I suppose I can forget some of my unhappiness in losing Beaumarais since it is
you
that I lost it to. You are here at Beaumarais where you have always belonged. It has been a long time. May I welcome you home, Nicholas?” she whispered softly, her eyes losing their brittle quality as she placed a slender, well-cared-for hand on Nicholas’s arm. Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her lips against his mouth in a lingering kiss.

Mara’s fingers wrapped around the arm of her chair, her nails scoring the soft underwood as she stared in pain at the blond head held so close to Nicholas’s dark one.

Amaryllis stepped back, her hand slow to leave his arm as she returned his look from lowered lids, her pale eyes glowing through the dark fringe of lash covering them.

Nicholas was the first to glance away, and Amaryllis seemed startled by the ease with which he broke the contact between them.

“Have you met Mara O’Flynn?” he asked casually as he left her side and made his way purposefully to Mara’s.

Amaryllis frowned slightly. “Yes, I have, Celeste introduced us,” she answered, her tone of voice leaving no small doubt that she thought Mara of little importance. But as her eyes caught the movement of Nicholas’s tanned hand covering Mara’s shoulder, then moving to caress her cheek, her estimation of the Irishwoman began to undergo a change.

“I thought she was Celeste’s guest,” Amaryllis said abruptly as it began to dawn on her that Mara was Nicholas’s friend.

“Did you? Mara and I have known each other for several years, and we are quite close friends,” he said softly, looking down at Mara’s dark head almost tenderly, the look confirming Amaryllis’s suspicions.

Mara’s golden eyes met Amaryllis’s cold stare, and she knew she had an enemy in the pale-eyed Frenchwoman. Many years had passed since Amaryllis and Nicholas had been lovers, but the feeling had not faded with time. Mara knew instinctively that Amaryllis hadn’t given up trying to win either Beaumarais or Nicholas.

Amaryllis found her composure with difficulty this time. After a second she managed to smile. “You must come to my small party tomorrow night at Sandrose. I shall enjoy reintroducing you to society, Nicholas. Celeste, Mademoiselle O’Flynn,” she added politely, with feigned hospitality, “you will attend as well?”

Celeste glanced up from cuddling Jean-Louis, a doubtful look on her face. “I will see. I am still not up to much entertaining, as well as still being in mourning for Philippe.”

“Yes, of course. But you must have Nicole come with Etienne. I invited him last week and he said he’d come, so,” she concluded as she adjusted her fur across her shoulders, then picked up her parasol and muff, “I shall expect to see you tomorrow evening, if not sooner.” Her provocative glance at Nicholas was a blatant invitation. For now, she seemed content to have him escort her to her carriage. “Au revoir,” she said with a satisfied smile as she tucked her hand in the crook of Nicholas’s arm.

Mara followed their progress from the room, her face showing her feelings as her eyes mirrored her unease. So Nicholas had bought Beaumarais. He had made his decision. Mara glanced around the stately room resentfully, knowing that his ties to Beaumarais were stronger than any he could ever feel for her. He would never leave here, she thought despondently. He had come home, and here he would stay. And here was Amaryllis, who was just as beautiful as Mara had feared.

Mara stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, Celeste, I would like to rest for a while,” Mara said as she caught Celeste’s curious gaze.

“But of course, mademoiselle,” she answered, unaware of Mara’s turmoil as she looked back down at her son and sighed with relief. Her confrontation with Amaryllis was over, and indeed, it had gone much easier than she had anticipated. But then, Nicholas had been here, and the Nicholas who had returned to Beaumarais was no longer the hotheaded young man he had once been, but a cold-blooded and ruthless man of the world. Yes, Celeste thought with deep contentment, he was quite capable of handling Amaryllis.

Mara entered her room thankful for the quiet she found there, but she couldn’t relax and found herself pacing aimlessly back and forth. She thought of Paddy and decided to see what he was up to. But Paddy’s room was empty, his soldiers left scattered and forgotten across the floor. Mara returned to her room and, selecting a knee-length mantle, stepped out onto the deserted gallery and silently made her way down the outside staircase to the brick path below. It winded through what must once have been a beautiful garden but now was overgrown with weeds and shrubbery that choked the path. Mara lifted her skirts aside as she swept along the neglected walkway. A sudden gust of wind caught at Mara’s skirts and blew them around her ankles. She glanced upward at the blue sky and saw in the distance clouds that were growing steadily higher and darker by the minute as they boiled into thunderclouds that would bring rain to Beaumarais by afternoon.