When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(40)

Max frowned as he walked her back to her room. “You’ve exhausted yourself the past few days. My mother tells me that you have been doing far too much. I want you to rest more, petite, especially in light of the fact that you were quite ill not too long ago.”

Lysette waved away his concerns. She had been familiarizing herself with the plantation and looking for ways that she could be of use. There were supplies to be ordered, bookkeeping, cooking, baking, cleaning of furniture, rugs, drapes, and linens, and endless laundering and mending. Although Lysette thought Irénée and Noeline did a commendable job in running the Vallerand plantation, she saw a few things that could be improved. However, she feared that the older women might take offense were she to try and alter any of their longstanding habits.

“Max,” she said, slipping her hand into his large one, “I would like your opinion about something…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t you think that some of the ways things are done in this house are rather old-fashioned?”

He stopped in front of her bedroom. “Actually, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, I suppose it’s nothing a man would give much thought to. A hundred little things, really…” It would be necessary to train at least two more housemaids to keep the huge mansion as scrupulously clean as it should be. There were sunfaded drapes and carpets in several rooms that needed to be replaced. She had discovered treasure troves of silver that hadn’t been polished in years. And from what she had observed, there were never enough fresh linens on hand. That was only the beginning of the list. At Irénée’s age, there were things she simply didn’t see. But how to address such matters without upsetting Irénée— that was the problem.

“I think I understand,” Max said wryly, taking her narrow shoulders in his hands. “Listen to me, petite— you have the right to turn the entire house upside down, if you so desire. Noeline will do as you tell her, even if she doesn’t agree. As for my mother, it won’t be long before she’ll appreciate having the leisure that other women her age enjoy. In the meanwhile, I have no doubt about your ability to match her stubbornness. Handle her as you see fit, and I will support you fully.”

“But I do not wish to distress her—”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll provide her with more distress than she can bear.” He grinned suddenly. “Only her grandsons can do that.”

“All right. Thank you, Max.”

His thumbs caressed the edge of her collarbone, and he smiled lazily before brushing a kiss against her forehead. “Good night.”

She expected him to let go of her then, but he hesitated, his hands flexing on her shoulders. Lysette’s heart skipped several beats, and she could not stop the sudden wobble of her knees.

Now it would happen, the thought raced through her mind. Now he would ask to come to bed with her— and she no longer had the excuse of unfamiliarity to hold him at bay. To her surprise, she wanted him so much that it no longer seemed imperative to win his heart first. “Max…” she said unsteadily, trying to find the words to encourage him.

“Good night,” he said at the same time, kissing her forehead once more. “Get some rest, doucette.”

He turned and left her to wrestle with a peculiar sense of disappointment.

———

“Burr will arrive tomorrow, without a doubt,” Governor Claiborne said, wiping his perspiring face with a handkerchief. “Damn this heat. And I’m told that the barge he will arrive on was a gift from Wilkinson. Our Wilkinson!” He sent a glare out the window as if the governor of the Upper Louisiana Territory were in plain sight.

Max settled comfortably in his chair. Amusement touched his expression. “Ours?” he repeated. “He might be your Wilkinson, sir, but I don’t care to claim him.”

“Blast it, how can you smile? Are you in the least bit concerned about what might happen? The two of them, Burr and Wilkinson, make a powerful pair!”

“I’m concerned, yes. But if Burr’s plans are, as we suspect, to seize the Louisiana Territory and Texas—”

“And Mexico!” Claiborne reminded him testily.

“And Mexico,” Max continued, “he’ll need considerable funds from many sources. Funds he won’t be able to get, with or without Wilkinson’s influence. The Creoles have a saying, sir: Il va croquer d’une dent.”

“Which means?”

“He’ll munch with only one tooth.”

Claiborne refused to smile at the quip. “There’s a possibility that Burr will procure all the money he needs from Britain. He’s become damned cozy with the ambassador from Great Britain.”

“The British won’t finance him.”

“They might,” Claiborne insisted. “At the moment the United States and Britain are hardly on friendly terms.”

“However, Britain’s current war with France means they can’t afford to back a losing cause— and Burr’s tongue is too loose for his plans to prove successful.”

“Well.” Claiborne was silent for a moment. “That’s true enough. His enterprise depends on utter secrecy, and I have been surprised by the rumors of things he has said publicly. It is not like Burr to be quite so foolhardy with his words. Overconfident rascal!” He frowned. “If the British won’t finance Burr, he’ll turn to Spain.”