When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(35)

Thank God that age and experience had taught him to believe otherwise.

———

The next day Bernard held a glass of rich red wine between his long fingers as he contemplated his older brother. This was their first opportunity to talk privately since he had returned from France. Max had been gone all day, superintending the repair of a faulty bridge on the property. He had come into the library without changing, intending to have a drink while his bath was being drawn. The filthy condition of Max’s clothes attested to his active involvement in the repair of the bridge.

Bernard could not help being amused by his brother’s appearance. “That isn’t the way I would have expected you to spend the day after your wedding,” Bernard said.

“Nor I,” Max replied wryly as he sat down and crossed his legs, heedless of the crusts of mud that fell from his boots to the fine Aubusson carpet.

“I see you have not changed in one regard: Nothing is right unless you do it yourself. There is no call for you to wallow in the mud and sweat like a field hand, is there?”

Max tightened his mouth with annoyance. Neither Bernard nor Alexandre wanted any of the responsibility of running the plantation. The only times they entered the library were to reach for the liquor decanters on the sideboard or to extend their palms for their monthly allowances.

However, both of them— Bernard in particular— criticized him freely when they did not agree with his decisions concerning the plantation. The irony was, Max didn’t even enjoy farming, and had inherited little of his father’s fierce love of the land. His interests were directed far more in the areas of business and politics.

Furthermore, his increasing political activities had changed his perspective on more than a few issues. Many of the politicians who visited from the northeast had made no secret of their abolitionist views, and as he debated with them, Max had found it difficult to defend the system of slavery that he had inherited. Many of their points had made him increasingly uncomfortable and even guilt-ridden.

He had heard that President Jefferson himself had mixed views on the issue of slavery, trying to balance questions of ethics with economic concerns. Max’s own moral dilemma, combined with his lack of interest in farming, had made the Vallerand plantation a burden that he sorely wished he could discard.

“Since I seem to be the only Vallerand available to run the plantation,” Max said sardonically, “I believe I’ll do it as I see fit. However, whenever you or Alexandre wish to assume some responsibility, I will yield gladly.”

“Our father decided long ago what roles we would assume,” Bernard said with a philosophical shrug. “You were to be the paragon, the choicest of all the aristocratic offspring in New Orleans… the head of the family. I was to be the prodigal, and Alexandre, the libertine. How dare we step outside the parts we were cast in?”

Max gave him a skeptical glance. “That is a convenient excuse, Bernard. The fact is, Father is gone, and you may do as you choose.”

“I suppose,” Bernard muttered, studying his boots.

In the uncomfortable silence that ensued, Max considered ways of broaching the subject that had to be discussed. “Were the Fontaine daughters truly that unappealing, Bernard?” he finally asked.

Bernard gave a weary sigh. “No, no… but how could I possibly consider marriage when I know that somewhere out there I have a woman and an illegitimate child who need my protection?”

“It’s been ten years,” Max said flatly. “By now she’s probably found a husband.”

“And that is supposed to comfort me? That some other man is raising my child? My God, every night for the past ten years I’ve wondered why she left without telling me or her family where she went!”

“I’m sorry, Bernard,” Max said quietly. “Back then I might have been able to do something about it, but instead…”

He fell silent. At the time he had been too involved in the turmoil of Corinne’s murder to give a damn about his younger brother’s unfortunate affair with Ryla Curran, the daughter of an American boatman. Bernard and the girl had known that marriage between a Catholic and a Protestant would have meant disaster for one or both of them. When Ryla discovered she was pregnant, she virtually disappeared. In spite of Bernard’s efforts to find her and the baby, ten years had gone by without a sign of them.

“Bernard,” Max said slowly, “you have searched long enough for them. Perhaps now you should let go of the past.”

“Is that what you’ve decided to do?” Bernard asked, changing the subject abruptly. “Is that the reason for this precipitous marriage?”

“I married her because I want her,” Max said evenly.

“You did not stay the night with her— the entire household knows.”

“The household be damned. It’s my marriage, and I’ll conduct it however I wish.”

“I know you will,” Bernard said lightly. “But I think you’re a fool for ignoring tradition. Remember, you should spend at least a week alone with your new bride.” He smiled suggestively. “It is your duty as her husband to break her in properly.”

Max scowled. “Perhaps someday I’ll ask for your opinion. In the meanwhile—”

“Yes, I know.” Bernard’s dark eyes flickered with humor. “By the way, have you decided to give Mariame up?”