When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(41)

“How do you know that?”

“I and many others have suspected for some time that Wilkinson is secretly in the Spanish pay.”

“Is there any proof?”

“No, but the suspicion is not unjustified.”

“And of course,” Max said slowly, “His Catholic Majesty would like to take Louisiana back under Spanish protection. Yes, it would be logical for Spain to become a patron of Burr.”

“Wilkinson is close to the Spanish high commissioner in New Orleans, Don Carlos, the Marquis de Casa Yrujo,” Claiborne remarked. “Burr will probably spend some time with Yrujo during this visit. But none of my people have been able to get any information. At the moment, relations between the Spanish and Americans are too hostile. The quarrel over who is entitled to the Floridas might eventually start a war.”

“I am acquainted with Yrujo,” Max replied. “I’ll see what I can learn from him.”

Claiborne mopped his face yet again. “He’ll know something. The Spanish talent for intrigue is unmatched. They’re probably aware of every move Burr makes. I hope you can get Yrujo to reveal a little of what he knows, Vallerand— for all our sakes.”

“I’ll do my best,” Max said dryly.

“Good Lord, what a tangle. What kind of man could manipulate people and even countries to such an extent? Where does Burr get the ambition?” At Max’s silence, Claiborne continued as if to himself. “A close acquaintance of Burr has a theory, that Burr would not be involved in such disreputable schemes had his wife not been taken from him some years ago. She had a cancer of some sort— unfortunately, it was a long death.”

Max’s fingers began an idle tapping on the arm of his chair. “I can hardly believe that would influence his political ambitions, sir.”

“Oh, well, Burr doted on her, and when she was gone…” The governor’s eyes grew distant as he thought of his own wife, who had passed away so recently. “Losing a woman, a wife, can change everything inside a man… although you certainly would know—”

Claiborne stopped abruptly as he met Max’s emotionless stare.

There was silence until Max spoke. “There are wives,” he said flatly, “and wives. My first was no great loss.”

Claiborne nearly shivered at the coldness of the man. What boldness, to admit his dislike of the woman he had purportedly murdered. Every now and then Claiborne was forcibly reminded of what his aides had warned him, that Maximilien Vallerand was acutely intelligent and smoothly charming, but completely ruthless.

“And how do you find your second marriage?” Claiborne could not resist asking.

Max shrugged slightly. “Quite pleasant, thank you.”

“I am looking forward to meeting the new Madame Vallerand.”

Max’s brow arched at the comment. It was rare that their conversation turned to personal matters. Because their goals and political views were similar, they were on friendly terms, but they did not talk of family, children, or personal sentiments, and each was aware that he would not associate with the other were it not for political necessity.

“I expect it will not be long before I have the opportunity to introduce you,” Max replied.

Claiborne seemed to look forward to the prospect. “I must admit, I find Creole women very intriguing. Lovely creatures, and so spirited.”

Max frowned impatiently and changed the subject. “Do you plan to welcome Burr when he arrives?”

Claiborne nodded ruefully. “My speech is already written.”

“Good,” Max said dryly. “You may as well maintain the appearance of having nothing to fear from him.”

“I thought we had just agreed there was no reason to be afraid of Burr!”

“But then,” Max rejoined wickedly, “I’m not always right.”

———

Lysette combed through the tiny kitchen garden at the back of the house, picking herbs to be dried and used for seasoning. She sighed in frustration as she regarded the shadow her sunbonnet cast on the ground.

It was the tradition that a bride could not go calling or be seen in public for five weeks after the wedding. She was forced to stay at home while everyone else was gone. And although she longed to defy tradition, and doubtless Max would encourage her to do as she pleased, she did not care to alienate half of New Orleans so quickly. She had never been so bored. Bernard and Alexandre had been absent last night and all this morning, in pursuit of amusements that would keep them occupied until much later in the day. As usual, Max was not there. And the twins were busy inside the house with their lessons.

Irénée had left early in the morning with the cook to go to market. It was Irénée’s special pleasure to be known as une plaquemine, a green persimmon, or tight with her money. All the merchants had considerable respect for her ability to bargain for the cheapest prices. After talking with everyone of note in the marketplace, Irénée would return home with all the latest gossip and repeat several bits of conversation. In the meantime, there was little for Lysette to do but wait.

Her ears caught the sound of muffled whispers and stealthy footsteps approaching from the side of the house. Setting down her shallow basket, she watched as two dark heads came into view. It was Justin and Philippe, furtively carrying some bulky object in a dripping sack. They each held one end of the huge parcel, rounding the corner and turning toward the grove of cypress trees near the bell tower. As Justin saw Lysette, he stopped abruptly, causing Philippe to bump into him. They nearly dropped the heavy sack.