16

Please sit.” Henry Lafreniere motioned to a ponderous leather-cushioned chair, appropriate in an attorney’s office.

Tom stifled his aversion to the occupation. Attorneys had claimed they would help Pa but ended up taking everything. They’d fought over the spoils like the Roman soldiers had with Jesus’s clothing.

Henry Lafreniere bore little resemblance to Catherine. From the high widow’s peak carved from thinning brown hair to the bland gray eyes, he revealed none of the spirit that infused Catherine’s every movement. Lafreniere removed his spectacles and leaned back in his chair, the gray silk waistcoat clean and unrumpled.

“My clerk informed me that you are here about some long-lost cousin.”

“Catherine Haynes.”

“That is a married name?” Lafreniere twirled the bow of the spectacles between his fingers, sending the lenses side to side. “I’m not familiar with anyone named Haynes.”

“No, she is not married. She’s from England.”

“England? We have no connection to that country. My family has lived here for generations. Before that, we came from France.”

Was it possible Lafreniere didn’t know about Catherine? Had he believed the tale that Lisette Lafreniere had died after her grand tour and was buried in the family crypt? Tom judged Lafreniere to be in his mid- to late thirties. He would have been a child when Catherine’s mother supposedly died. He might never have heard the truth.

“Her mother, Lisette Lafreniere, married an Englishman.”

Lafreniere smirked. “Lisette Lafreniere is interred in the family crypt.”

“A casket might be there, but Catherine assures me that her mother is buried in England.”

“I see, though perhaps you do not. Miss Haynes must be a fortune seeker. We see them from time to time.” He brushed at the air. “They are soon sent their way.”

“She’s no fortune seeker.” Yet a worm of doubt wiggled into his mind. What proof did he have beyond her comely face and assertions? “She has her baptismal record.”

“False. They always are. Would you care for a cigar?”

“No, thank you.”

Lafreniere opened a box and extracted a single fat cigar. “I can take a look at her so-called document.” He cut off the end of the cigar and lit it. “I’ll soon find errors proving it a fake and put an end to her ambitions.”

A cloud of foul-smelling smoke made Tom’s eyes burn. “It isn’t false.” Catherine had shown nothing to indicate she was posing as an heiress to claim an inheritance. Given the state of the plantation, there wasn’t much worth inheriting. “I don’t see her seeking to inherit. She wants to make the plantation profitable.”

Lafreniere’s gaze narrowed. “What does she know about Black Oak, or any other plantation, for that matter? Nothing. As a woman, she couldn’t possibly know what is or isn’t profitable.”

“She can see. The plantation certainly doesn’t look prosperous.”

Lafreniere tapped lightly on his cigar. “Is that her assessment or yours?”

“Both.”

“You are familiar with the operation of a sugarcane plantation?”

Tom felt the blood creep up his neck. “No, but the buildings ought to look tended. Whitewashed at the very least. And there should be more help around.” He could name a dozen things, but that was sufficient to alert an absentee landowner. “Maybe you haven’t been out there recently and don’t know its current condition.”

Lafreniere blew out a plume of smoke. “Your speech marks you as a northerner. You know nothing of our ways.” He leaned forward. “Since you are Miss Haynes’s advocate, I suspect she too lacks any knowledge. If this supposed heiress has something to say to me, she can do so in person without an intermediary. Please ask her to call on me. Alone. Meanwhile, I suggest you return home, Mr. Worthington.”

That was the third time Tom had been warned to leave, all by different people. He ought to head back to Key West with Rourke and leave well enough alone. Catherine’s future was not his business. She had given him no reason to think they had a future except for the way she’d clung to him in the pigeonnier. Even though he’d fought the urge to kiss her, he’d felt her desperate passion.

She was afraid.

That was reason enough to stay. But there was also the matter of his father’s ship. The black ship, as Boyce had called it. Perhaps Lafreniere knew of it.

The attorney blew out another cloud of smoke. “If that’s all, I am a busy man.” After drumming his fingers on the desktop, he stood and began to make his way around the desk.

Tom did not rise. “Does the plantation have its own ship?”

Lafreniere halted. The pause was tiny but enough to tell Tom that this question had caught the wily solicitor by surprise. “Why would it?”

“To ship out the sugar?”

Lafreniere smirked. “There are plenty of barges and steam tugs willing to haul sugar.”

“For a fee.”

“Less than the cost of maintaining a ship and hiring a crew.”

Lafreniere had a point. Yet the earlier hesitation told Tom he’d hit upon something that Lafreniere didn’t want to discuss. Further questions would only make the man more wary. Something peculiar was going on at Black Oak, something that neither DeMornay nor Lafreniere wanted him to discover. Something that could very well put Catherine in danger.

Tom slowly rose. “You make a good point.”

Lafreniere’s expression stayed taut, his gaze still narrowed. “Why do you ask, Mr. Worthington?”

“I am a sea captain.”

“Ah.” At last Lafreniere relaxed. “Seeking employment? Or a fortune, like Miss Haynes? I assure you that neither is to be found here.”

“So I see.”

Disappointed, Tom bid Lafreniere farewell and stepped out into the sultry air. The bustling streets filled with pedestrians, hawkers, peddlers, carriages, and horses did nothing to ease his discomfort. Something was very wrong at Black Oak, and Catherine was stuck in the midst of it.

“Are many dances held here at Black Oak?” Catherine asked Aurelia as the maid arranged her curls for the evening.

“Ain’t never been none since I got here.” Aurelia glanced toward the door even though DeMornay had not returned from the fields yet.

During yet another long afternoon of unsuccessfully looking for items on Tom’s list, Catherine had come to the conclusion that none of them were on the premises. Tom must be wrong about DeMornay stealing his father’s ship. That made her feel a tiny bit better about tonight’s arrangements.

“Of course you will come with me to Titchwood.” Often Catherine had brought a maid when no family member was available to escort her. This evening she needed someone as a buffer between her and DeMornay.

Aurelia’s nimble fingers stilled. “No, miss.”

Catherine fought a wave of panic. “Then who? Surely not just Mr. DeMornay and myself.”

“Walker see after you and drive de carriage.”

“No footman?” Catherine had scraped to save every shilling at Deerford, but she always had both driver and footman when taking the carriage.

“Don’t know. Ain’t never seen Massa take out de carriage for a ball.”

“It’s not a ball. It’s a simple country dance. I insist you join me.”

“Massa won’t like it.”

“Master?” Aurelia’s wording perplexed her. “Don’t you mean ‘the manager’? Mr. Lafreniere is your master, not Mr. DeMornay.”

Aurelia finished Catherine’s hair and adjusted the ruffles on her regal blue gown. “Don’t never see Massa Henry.”

“Never? Surely he visits the plantation at least once a year.”

“No, miss.”

“Wasn’t he raised here?”

“Don’t know. I weren’t here den.”

Catherine was getting nowhere with this. Clearly the family had become deeply estranged if the son never visited his father, even at his deathbed. Deep sorrow welled as she recalled her papa’s gradual decline.

“Then there truly is no family,” she whispered. The deepest hope of her heart was crushed.

Aurelia set down the curling tongs. “Dey go off here and dere, like boys is wont to do.”

“I have no experience with that, never having had a brother.” Catherine shifted her perspective to another point that had troubled her since she arrived. “What is it like living here? How are the servants treated?”

Aurelia fiddled with Catherine’s already completed hair. “Don’t know about dat, but if I was you, I’d be gettin’ gone right soon.”

Catherine ignored the repeated warning and returned to the subject Aurelia was avoiding. “You know how your family is treated.”

Aurelia busied herself tidying Catherine’s bottles and jars of creams and liniments.

“If I’m to be mistress of Black Oak,” Catherine continued, “I want to do everything possible to ensure contentment, even happiness.”

“Happiness ain’t for dis life.” Each word was coated with bitterness.

Again Catherine wondered about Aurelia’s past. “How did you come to be here? Who brought you?”

The housekeeper’s face hardened. “Done come by ship.”

Could it have been Tom’s father’s ship?

“How long ago?”

“Ten, twelve years. Cain’t say exactly. We don’t count da passin’ days like white folk do. We count days ta glory.”

Aurelia’s words tugged at Catherine’s heart. With no hope here on earth, those like Aurelia must cling to God’s promises of a mansion prepared for those who love Jesus. “One day you could be free. Great Britain freed the slaves.”

“What man can free someone’s soul?”

“A courageous man can write laws—”

Aurelia’s derisive snort cut her off. “Laws don’t mean nothin’.”

“They do. It can take time, but the enslaved peoples are now free throughout the British empire. One day that will be true for you too. America will see reason.”

“Change come wid great cost.”

Catherine couldn’t deny that. The upheavals, the poverty, the repercussions were serious. “But right must prevail.”

Aurelia didn’t respond, and Catherine began to wonder if such drastic change could ever happen in this woman’s remaining years. The streaks of gray meant she was not a young woman. Her worn frame, once tall and strong, bespoke a life of hardship. Lives without hope wore down quickly.

This place seemed caught outside time. Would tonight’s dance be the same? Catherine’s nerves fluttered as Aurelia put away her day dress.

“What should I expect tonight? Will there be many people there? What sort of dancing? Are ladies expected to accept every invitation? What is considered proper?” She knew nothing of this society. What was considered mannerly in Staffordshire might be offensive in Louisiana. Why had she agreed to attend?

Aurelia closed the armoire doors. “If dat be all, miss.” Her gaze remained rooted to the floor.

Catherine could expect no help from her. Aurelia likely had no experience with Louisiana society. Catherine must muddle through and hope the neighbors would grant her leniency.

She sighed. “I suppose so.”

Aurelia turned to go but paused at the door. “You oughta wear jewels.”

What a peculiar statement. “I have no jewels. All Maman’s jewelry is gone.” Except the pearl earrings.

“He has some.”

“He?”

The housekeeper didn’t answer. She simply slipped from the room.

An answer wasn’t needed. The only person Aurelia could have meant was DeMornay. But why would a plantation manager have jewels? He received only wages. Unless he skimmed profits from the plantation. She recalled the “corrected” accounts.

There was another possibility. The strongbox. What if the lost inheritance was Maman’s jewels? What if DeMornay had stolen them? Was that what Papa regretted losing?

The plantation manager had not yet returned.

She slipped onto the veranda. Bumping on the shutters the other night had opened them. She could get into the office before DeMornay returned and learn once and for all what was in that strongbox.

DeMornay lifted her gloved hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. Catherine fought a wave of revulsion. She had failed to get into the study before DeMornay returned from the fields. The shutters had not sprung open this time, and before she could find something to pry at the latch, he had ridden up on horseback.

Gibson had run into the yard and taken the horse. DeMornay didn’t even acknowledge the boy. Catherine had slipped behind the veil of a curtain and watched Gibson walk the horse to the stables. The young boy, perhaps nine or ten years of age, had a proud, erect carriage. His coloring was lighter than that of Aurelia. The younger boy, Hunt, tagged along after Gibson like a puppy. No one had called them brothers, but the resemblance was too great to think otherwise.

Tonight the children were nowhere in sight. Neither had Tom returned or sent word in the four days he’d been gone. Had he returned to Key West? Had he fallen into danger? Why no word? She’d expected something, even a note thrown through her open bedroom window. Nothing. She was alone.

Except for DeMornay, who at last released her hand.

“You are more beautiful than any woman I have ever seen,” he said. “Your hair the color of a fine stallion, your eyes like emeralds.”

The last caught her attention. Aurelia had hinted that he had jewels. “You have seen emeralds?”

She’d hoped to catch him in a falsehood, but DeMornay was too quick.

“An expression, my dear, though I have seen an emerald’s fire. I go often to the city and have entered jewelers’ shops on business for my employer.”

“My cousin buys emeralds for his wife?” The plantation must be more profitable than it appeared.

“No, but the jeweler had one on display.”

“Oh.” Somehow DeMornay always managed to find a plausible explanation. “I have never owned an emerald.” But Maman had. The sudden memory flashed through her mind. Maman had held the pendant up to the light so Catherine could look through it.

“Do you see the mark on one corner?” Maman had prompted.

Catherine nodded while her mother explained that it was a flaw. “My mother, your grandmère, gave it to me when I was a little older than you are now. She showed me the flaw and told me to always remember that only God is perfect. Nothing and no one who will ever live on this earth can claim perfection except Jesus. From the first, your papa admitted his flaws, and that is how I knew he was the man destined to be my husband.”

Catherine had measured every suitor by the same standard. If he interested her in any way, did he admit his failings? Thus far, none had. Even Tom, who made her pulse race, did not see his flaws. Not that he had many.

Her thoughts fled at DeMornay’s next words. “Perhaps you soon will have your emerald, my dear.”

The endearment made her shiver. How she wished Tom were here. She cast a prayer into the heavens. Bring him to me, Lord.

“You are chilled,” he exclaimed. “Aurelia, fetch a shawl for Miss Haynes. The finest one.”

Catherine doubted Aurelia would dare return with anything that did not match the finery of Catherine’s blue silk ball gown.

DeMornay stepped into the unused chamber located directly off the entrance and returned with a glass of dark liquid. Spirits, no doubt. She had smelled them on him before, though he never drank enough to lose his head.

Aurelia brought Catherine’s fine white shawl shot through with gold threads. It sparkled in the lamplight.

“Thank you, Aurelia,” Catherine said after the housekeeper helped her put it on. Though DeMornay frowned on kindness toward the servants, she would continue, even before him.

Tonight he did not reprimand her.

“Shall we go, then?” DeMornay held out his arm.

Though she hesitated to take it, she had no other choice. There was only DeMornay. Tom had not bounded to the door in answer to her prayer. She must accept that she would arrive on the arm of hired help. That was certainly not a proper escort, even if he did assume greater authority than most plantation managers. What would people think? If Titchwood was anything like home, the rumors would soon fly.

She did not under any circumstances want to be linked romantically to DeMornay. How she longed for Tom’s presence. An ache settled over her heart and refused to leave. What would he tell her to do? Refuse to go. Lock herself in her room if necessary. But that would solve nothing. As possible heir, she must behave like the mistress of Black Oak. That sent a fleeting smile across her lips. Very well. That’s what she would do.

Once they’d settled in the carriage and the wheels began to roll, she took command. “Naturally, you cannot escort me into the dance.”

His black eyes stared at her, and nothing issued from his lips.

“It is not proper when we are not in any way attached.” She spoke more forcefully than she felt. “Our stations cannot ever be considered equal, since I am of Lafreniere blood. I must uphold the standards of my upbringing.”

His lips twisted ever so slightly. “Do you wish me to follow at a safe distance?”

His comment made her wishes sound callous. Yet propriety was essential when one was first introduced to new neighbors. This was her chance to learn what they really thought of Black Oak and DeMornay. She did not need him hanging on every conversation.

So she lifted her chin, determined to have this her way. “I appreciate your understanding. This is how it must be.”

“I will not allow any harm to come to you.”

“That would be your duty.”

“But you wish not to be seen with me.”

She steeled herself not to flinch. “I do not want anyone to misconstrue our relationship. I am a Lafreniere. You are the plantation manager.”

“If you are concerned about others’ opinions, I can inform you of them now, before we arrive.”

“I wish to determine that for myself. You will learn that I seldom take the word or opinion of others as fact.”

DeMornay chuckled. “I have already learned that, but this time perhaps it will be to my advantage. Of course I will heed your wishes, but do not expect me to leave you to the vultures. Should anything untoward occur, I will sweep you off to safety.”

Apparently DeMornay intended to extend the cage well past Black Oak borders.

“I am no fragile dove, Mr. DeMornay. I have undergone my Season in London and am well acquainted with the wiles of men.” She paused, letting that thought sink into his mind. “Nothing escapes me. Nothing.”

Hopefully he understood that arrow was meant for him.