When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(14)

“It was not a good marriage, then.”

“No,” Irenee said softly. “I don’t believe anyone would say it was.”

To Lysette’s disappointment, she would reveal nothing further about Vallerand’s mysterious late wife.

———

The entire Vallerand household was disrupted as Justin tried to sneak in the house past midnight, bloodied and battered from a brawl. Max cornered him immediately, dragging him into the kitchen and giving him a scalding lecture. Lysette could hear the clash from her room on the second floor. Overwhelmingly curious, she crept to the top of the stairs and strained to hear their argument.

“You cannot treat me as if I were a child! I’m a man now!”

“So you claim,” came Vallerand’s biting reply. “But a man does not bully others into fighting merely for his own entertainment.”

“It’s not for entertainment,” Justin said hotly.

“Then why do you fight?”

“To prove something!”

“That you’re quick with your fists? That won’t take you far, Justin. Soon you’ll reach the age when fistfights turn to swordplay, and then you’ll have a man’s blood on your hands.”

“Then I’ll be like you, won’t I?”

Startled by the words, Lysette sat on the shadowy top step and listened intently.

“No matter how bad I am, I couldn’t possibly be worse than you,” the boy accused. “I know all about you, Papa. And I know about your plans for Sagesse and Mademoiselle Kersaint.”

A long, nerve-wracking pause followed. Finally Vallerand growled, “I have reasons that you know nothing about.”

“Don’t I?” Justin taunted.

“It seems you’ve heard the rumors.”

“I have heard the truth!”

“No one knows the truth,” Vallerand said flatly.

The boy spat out a hoarse word and ran from the room. Lysette leapt from the stairs and fled back to her bed, scurrying to avoid being caught eavesdropping. When she was safely beneath the covers, she stared blindly into the shadows, wondering if she had heard the boy correctly. What was the word he had hurled at his father? It had sounded like murderer.

But that couldn’t be right, she thought, deeply troubled, and her fists curled tightly against the covers.

Chapter 3

Max was gone all the next day, attending to business in town. In response to Lysette’s questions, Irénée replied that he was meeting with Governor Claiborne.

“How did Monsieur Vallerand become acquainted with the governor?” Lysette asked, fascinated.

Irénée shrugged. “I am not entirely certain, as Max rarely discusses his political activities with me. However, I do know that when Claiborne first took office, he asked my son to help him negotiate with the Creoles and shape his positions to make them acceptable. Like most Americans, the governor does not always understand our way of doing things. And because Max is owed many favors by Creoles and Americans, he is often able to persuade them all to agree to Claiborne’s policies. Max also helps to calm unrest in the city when Claiborne has made a misstep.” She clicked her tongue as she added disapprovingly, “These Americans— such a troublesome people.”

Like most Creoles, Irénée considered Americans to be barbarians, with few exceptions. Rough and unrefined, Americans were preoccupied with money, fond of drinking to excess, and impatient with the Creoles’ leisurely way of doing things.

Only Americans would be tasteless enough to replace the Creoles’ quadrille and cotillion with the reel and jig. Only the hypocritical Americans would criticize the Creole habit of relaxing on Sunday instead of sitting in stiff-backed pews from morning till night.

Later in the morning, Lysette explored the plantation at her leisure, shielding her complexion with a parasol to prevent a detonation of more unwanted freckles. However, her usual energy was sapped by the heat, and she soon became aware of a nagging pain in her temples. Retreating to the house, she turned her attention to the light needlework Irénée had provided. Soon the blazing summer heat seemed to invade even the most shadowy parts of the house. Perspiration glued her garments to her skin, and Lysette pulled at her clothes irritably.

When Irénée retired to take a midday nap, declaring herself fatigued from the heat, Lysette did the same. She trudged into her own room, stripped down to her undergarments, and stretched out on the cool white sheets. A housemaid unrolled the baire, a gossamer net that kept mosquitoes away from the bed. Staring up at the eight-foot-high canopy of the bed, Lysette waited for sleep to overtake her. Although it had been three days since her journey along the bayou, she had still not fully recovered from it. She was exhausted, and she ached down to her very bones.

———

Quietly Justin slipped into the library, his gaze darting from one end of the room to the other. The library was stuffy in the afternoon heat. Books lined up in endless rows seemed to look down from their shelves like sentinels.

The bulk of Max’s staunch mahogany desk, with all its mysterious drawers and cubbyholes, stood between the draped windows. The sight of it sent a shiver down Justin’s spine. How often he had seen his father sitting at that desk, his head bent over documents and books. The drawers were filed with keys, receipts, papers, and strongboxes— and, Justin hoped, the object he was looking for. Swiftly he moved to the desk and searched it, his fingers peeling through the contents of each drawer.