Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(59)

“Perhaps someday—”

“Never. It’s not in me.” He closed his eyes, indicating the conversation was over.

Thoughtfully Celia wandered out of the room and shut the door behind her. She could not imagine Justin being in love, nor could she think of what kind of woman would inspire him to it. But she was certain that if he ever did succumb to love, it would be only once, and for him it would be a dangerous, destructive emotion.

The double parlors were filled with callers. One day a week was visiting day, when the ladies of New Orleans paid calls to one another, partook of refreshments, and exchanged news and gossip. This week it seemed that every girl, matron, and tante within traveling distance had found the Vallerand plantation the most inviting place to visit. The news of Philippe Vallerand’s return had exploded throughout the city.

The horde of callers was doubly large because Lysette had cultivated many friendships with American women as well as Creoles. It seemed that only under her roof could the two groups mingle harmoniously. There were many reasons for the conflict between Creoles and Americans. In the last decade Americans had poured into the city and begun to take control of the city’s wealth, business, and government. They were building a new section of the city uptown to compete with the Creoles’ Vieux Carré. Creoles considered it indecent to squabble over pennies as the Americans did. They regarded the Americans as crude, unprincipled merchants, always in a hurry, badmannered. The Americans thought the Creoles were lazy and decadent, their men hot-tempered, their women too flirtatious.

The Vallerands, however, were oddly compatible with both cultures. Both Maximilien and Lysette had come from families with established names that no Creole could reproach. Their bloodlines were undeniably aristocratic. But Maximilien was respected by the Americans for the small but efficient shipping business he owned and managed. Moreover, he was a friend of the American governor. Lysette was a respected matron held up to Creole girls as an example of proper behavior, yet she was young and stylish. She spoke perfect English and counted many American women among her friends.

“What would you do,” one of Max’s Creole friends had asked him curiously, “if an American someday expresses the desire to court one of your daughters, Max? Certainement you would not allow such a thing! You see that this interaction with Americans can lead to no good!”

“I would judge the man by his own merits,” Max had replied with shocking candor. “Being Creole would not automatically make a man deserving of my daughter’s hand, just as being American would not make him undeserving.” It was quite a liberal view, but then, Maximilien had long been known as a man of unorthodox beliefs.

Lysette’s voice could be heard all the way upstairs as she sought to calm the excited chattering and squabbles brewing among her guests. Her usually soft voice had an edge that cut through the noise as she invited them all to partake of refreshments. The scent of strong, heavily sugared coffee rose to the upstairs rooms where Justin prowled.

Justin did not dare show his face for fear of being beset by a crowd of eager women. As Lysette had explained to him, Philippe had been the most sought-after doctor in New Orleans. The combination of his medical skill, handsomeness, and quiet charm had made him exceedingly popular, and the news of his “return from the dead” had been welcomed enthusiastically.

“Bien sûr, Philippe,” Justin muttered wryly. “I see now why you were so eager to take up the medical profession.”

He limped along the hallway with his cane, his ears pricked for the sound of Celia’s voice from downstairs. Many questions were being asked of her, but her replies were too quiet for him to hear. As he passed by the door of Philippe’s room, closed as always, he heard a noise from within. The hair stood up on his arms, and he felt a small shock. How many thousands of times had he burst into Philippe’s room unannounced and dragged him away from his books? Memories flashed through his mind. He could almost believe he was a boy again, and that if he opened the door right now he would find Philippe there. With a hand that was not quite steady, he reached for the knob and turned it.

The door swung open, and Justin was confronted with the small upturned faces of Lysette’s daughters. His half-sisters. They were sitting on the floor with a polished wooden box between them, and several small objects scattered about. Searching through Philippe’s possessions, he thought. It was only natural for them to investigate.

Evelina and Angeline stared at him with round hazel eyes exactly like their mother’s. They were both exquisite replicas of Lysette, with almost no trace of Vallerand in their features. So far they had avoided Justin, instinctively cautious of coming face to face with the stranger who had appeared so mysteriously and caused such an uproar. The girls knew without a doubt that he was not Philippe, the half-brother they had adored.

Justin looked at them curiously, having taken little interest in them until now. He had caught glimpses of them around the house and thought them pretty creatures, but felt no sense of kinship to them. “What do you have there?” Justin asked mildly, hobbling into the room.

Silently Evelina scooped up handfuls of the scattered objects and put them into the box as quickly as possible. Angeline seemed frozen, her gaze fastened on Justin’s face. He smiled at her and levered himself into the chair with difficulty.

“Arrowheads,” he said, peering down at the floor. “Philippe and I used to find them along the banks of the bayou. One time we even found a hatchet. Choctaw Indians used to live here a long time ago. I suppose we always hoped that if we looked hard enough we’d find one or two. Or maybe a pirate.”