When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(65)

He sighed tautly. “It’s too much to explain right now. I’m tired, my sweet. Tomorrow—”

“Tell me just a little bit,” Lysette coaxed.

He scowled but complied reluctantly. “Very well. After all the comments I’ve made to Bernard about assuming some responsibility around here, Bernard finally did. Much to my regret.”

“He did something wrong?”

“Worse than wrong. Something abhorrent, not to mention cruel and senseless. You’ve met the overseer, Newland? The other day Bernard ordered him to whip a slave for not working hard enough. The slave had been ill with fever last week and was in no condition to be out in the field in the first place. So Newland disregarded the orders, and Bernard had him whipped instead. To my eternal regret, I was in town at the time— I wish to God I had been here to stop it.”

“Oh, Max,” she murmured, feeling ill.

They had reached the bedroom; Max set her on the bed. “When I found out, it was all I could do to keep from skinning Bernard alive. He sees nothing wrong in what he did. It’s clear that I can never allow him to be in charge of the plantation— and he has no real interest in it. Neither does Alex. As long as I supply my brothers with their monthly allowances, they are content to spend most of their time in town. For that matter, I’ve made no secret of my own dislike of farming.”

“I know,” Lysette said, reaching out to untie his cravat. “It’s a duty to you.”

Max sighed heavily. “My father took enormous pleasure in the sight of crops growing. He was a man of the earth— he loved plantation life in a way that I never will. Perhaps it is fortunate that he didn’t live to see that none of his sons inherited his passion for this place. I’ve entertained thoughts long before this incident with Newland and Bernard… thoughts of selling the plantation, or at least reducing its size. But those ideas seem like a betrayal of my father and all that he worked so hard to achieve.”

“And the plantation is a way of life for all the Vallerands,” Lysette commented, drawing the cravat from his neck. “If you reject it, there will be consequences. Your friends and acquaintances may feel betrayed.”

“Oh, they will,” Max assured her grimly. “Fortunately, I’ve been used to public disapproval for so long that their opinions don’t matter.” He was very still, his eyes dark and troubled as his gaze searched hers. “But you haven’t.”

“I am strong enough to deal with any controversy,” Lysette murmured with a faint smile. “I have already become accustomed to being known as la mariée du diable.“

His gaze caressed her as he reached out to twine a gleaming red curl around his finger.

“You are not trapped, you know,” Lysette told him. “You don’t have to maintain this place. Do whatever you like with it. Whatever the consequences may be, I will face them with you.”

“My little rebel,” Max murmured with a swift grin, his hand playing in her hair. “I should have known that you would encourage me to make the unconventional choice. Very well, I’ll tell you the truth— I hate this damned place, for all the work it requires, the memories that it holds, and for the moral compromises it demands.”

“Are you going to sell it, then?”

“Not entirely. I’ve considered selling half of it to our neighbors, the Archambaults. They would pay any price I would name.”

“What about the slaves?”

“I don’t want to own slaves. I’m tired of clouding the issue with questions of economics and traditions and politics.” A frown scored across his forehead as he continued. “I’ve been on the wrong side of the argument for too long— I can’t defend it with any conviction. I don’t want this way of life for myself, and I don’t want it for my children, either. God knows why I can’t share my father’s beliefs, or those of my family and friends, but…” His mouth twisted impatiently. “What I am trying to say is that I want to free the Vallerand slaves.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, all. And hire the ones who decide to stay on as freemen.” Seeing Lysette’s stunned expression, he smiled wryly. “It’s been done before, actually. There is a New Orleans sugar planter of mixed race, Maurice Manville, who has freed his slaves and now pays them wages— and he makes a profit, admittedly a modest one. If I follow suit, and reduce the plantation by half, I would have far more time to give to our cypress mill and the shipping business.”

Lysette tried to absorb everything he had proposed. “It’s very difficult to predict what will happen, n’est-ce pas?” She reached out to stroke the indentations between his brows. “Will there be financial repercussions, Max?”

“Are you asking if we’ll lose money? Yes, at first. But the shipping business is growing. You’ll have to trust me to make it a success.”

Lysette smiled and applied herself to loosening his cravat. “That will be no problem, ma cher.“

“But about your children’s inheritance, and Justin and Philippe’s—”

“There are far more important things you can leave them than a parcel of land. And they will still be Vallerands, with or without a great plantation.” Removing the starched linen from his neck, Lysette pressed her face into his warm throat. “Mmmn… how good you smell.” She kissed the pulse that beat in the triangular hollow. “Do what you feel is right, Max.”