When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(23)

Still, most Creoles tolerated Maximilien. The Vallerands had been a significant New Orleans family for decades. Regardless of his shameful past, he was invited to the important social events of the year… but not to the small, intimate family gatherings, where real attachments were formed and deepened.

“We all know you would never have condoned anything improper, Irénée,” spoke up Catherine Gauthier, a young matron who was friends with some of the younger Vallerand cousins. “But the poor girl has been ruined just the same. The fact is, she has spent more than two weeks under the same roof with Maximilien, who is undeniably the city’s most notorious… gentleman. No one blames Etienne Sagesse for not wanting her now.”

Everyone murmured agreement, held out their cups to be filled with more coffee, finished the last crumbs of pastry, and began on a new plate.

“Of course there will be a duel now,” Marie-Therese said. “It is the only recourse left to Sagesse. Otherwise his honor would be forever besmirched.”

“Yes, everyone knows that,” Fleurette said, daintily dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. She assumed an expression of objective interest. “Irénée, what did Maximilien do to make this girl decide to stay here rather than return to Sagesse?”

“He did nothing at all,” Irénée said primly.

Claire and Fleurette looked at each other knowingly. It was obvious the girl had been seduced. Either that or she had been threatened with violence. Maximilien was such a wicked man!

———

A native of Virginia, William Charles Coles Claiborne was only eight-and-twenty when President Jefferson appointed him the first American governor of the Orleans Territory. Although Creoles had been opposed to him, it was a coalition of money-hungry Americans and French refugees who constituted the greatest threat to Claiborne’s administration.

Among those whom Claiborne wisely considered a danger were Edward Livingston, a New Yorker who had come to New Orleans to make his fortune, and General Wilkinson, the ranking officer of the army and newly appointed governor of the Upper Louisiana Territory. Both men had more or less allied themselves with Aaron Burr, who was encouraging them to stir up strife among the most powerful residents of the territory.

Max had many doubts about Claiborne’s ability to weather the events that were taking shape. Although clever and determined, Claiborne was still grieving over the loss of his wife and only daughter to yellow fever the year before. The press attacked him ruthlessly, alleging he was a gambler, a reprobate, and had treated his wife cruelly before her death. Worse still, Claiborne’s attention was frequently distracted from the Burr problem by the increasing number of pirates infesting Barataria Bay and the bayous to the south of New Orleans.

“The problem,” Claiborne said ruefully to Max as they sat in heavy mahogany chairs and discussed the latest events in the city, “is that the bandits know the swamps better than my own police force, and they are far better supplied and organized. President Jefferson has promised a number of gunboats to help combat the pirates, but I fear they will not be in suitable condition. Nor will there be a great number of enlisted men to choose from.”

Max smiled wryly. “I should point out that most Creoles will not be in favor of strong measures to oppose privateering. The local merchants will cause quite an uproar if you remove their access to duty-free merchandise. The fortunes of many respectable families have been founded on smuggling. Here it is not always considered a dishonorable vocation.”

“Oh! And which respectable families are you referring to?”

The question, asked in a tone of suspicion, might have caused many to recoil in unease. Max only laughed. “I would be surprised if my own father had not contributed to the pirates’ cause,” he admitted.

Claiborne looked at him sharply, startled by the bold revelation. “And with whom do your sympathies rest in this matter, Vallerand?”

“If you’re asking whether or not I have a hand in smuggling, the answer is…” Max paused, drew on his thin black cigar, and blew out an even stream of smoke. “Not at the moment.”

Claiborne was torn between annoyance and amusement at the man’s insolence. The latter won out, and he chuckled. “Sometimes I wonder, Vallerand, if I should count you as friend or foe.”

“Were I your enemy, sir, you would have no cause to wonder.”

“Let us talk of your enemies for a moment. What is this my aides tell me of the rivalry between you and Etienne Sagesse over some woman? And some ridiculous talk of a duel? Merely a rumor, I hope?”

“All true.”

Surprise appeared on the governor’s face. “You would not be so impetuous as to duel over a woman? A man of your maturity?”

Max’s brow arched. “I am five-and-thirty, monsieur— hardly in the doddering years of infirmity.”

“Not by any means, but…” Claiborne shook his head in dismay. “Although I haven’t known you long, Vallerand, I consider you to be a sensible man, not a wild-blooded youth who would sacrifice all in the heat of a jealous rage. Dueling over a woman? I would have thought you above such behavior.”

Max’s lips twitched in amusement. “I am a Creole. God willing, I will never be above such behavior.”

“I have no hopes of understanding the Creoles,” Claiborne said with a slight scowl, thinking of his brother-in-law, who had recently been killed in a duel while defending the memory of his sister. “With your women, and dueling, and hot tempers…”