Moontide Embrace (Historical Romance) (15 page)

He smiled and tucked her hand into the crook of his
arm, leading her in the direction of the river. "My daugh
ter finds him charming."

She returned his smile. "Which daughter? I hear you have two."

"My wife, Ursula, had a daughter by her first marriage,
whom I adopted; but I was speaking of my own little Liberty."

"You named her after your sister. I am so glad. Tell me
about her?"

So easily did they fall into conversation, it was as if the
years fell away and they had never been parted. After
Louis described his daughter to Gabrielle, he allowed his
eyes to roam at will over her face. "I wish Liberty had someone with your patience and kindness to guide her. I
fear she is left much to her own devices, and knows nothing about a gentle upbringing."

"Your wife?"

"She has been a good wife, but I fear she neglects Liberty in favor of Bandera."

"When can I meet your Liberty?"

"She came with me this morning, and is waiting in the
salon. Will you see her now? I was hoping she could
spend the day with you. I wanted more than anything for
her to get to know you."

Gabrielle nodded, knowing they were both thinking
Liberty could have been their daughter. Overcome with
tender feelings, she pulled away. Louis caught her hand and raised it to his lips. Naked love was reflected in his
soft blue eyes, but Gabrielle knew he would not speak of
his feelings; for he was an honorable man. It was enough
for her to know he still held her in high regard.

Liberty loosened the lace collar at her throat and kicked her shoes off, since they were new and pinching
her toes. She was very familiar with this room. Before
Monsieur Montesquieu became ill, she had often visited
him in the afternoon. She was one of the few people Gustave had tolerated. He had confided in her many times that Alicia and Sebastian were both fools. She had agreed with him on that and many other subjects. There
had been a time when she had read to Monsieur Montes
quieu twice a week. But when his illness kept him con
fined to his bedroom, her visits had become less frequent.
Liberty had missed the grizzly old man, who was not nearly as gruff as he would have everyone believe.

Liberty heard footsteps on the garden steps, and turned
to see her father and a woman she knew would be Judah's
mother enter the room.

"Gabrielle," Louis said with pride. "This is my Liberty.
Liberty, this is an old and very dear friend."

Liberty realized, when the woman looked down at her feet, that her shoes were across the room, under the chair
where she had kicked them. There was nothing to do but
admit her mistake and hope that Judah's mother would not think her a complete fool.

The lovely vision smiled and took her hand. "I am Louis's friend, but not as old as he claims. I am so
delighted to meet you, my dear. You are so lovely. You
remind me of another Liberty, who was my dearest childhood friend."

"I . . . my shoes . . . they are new,
Madame,
and . . ."

Gabrielle laughed softly. "I, too, detest new shoes. We
shall ask your father to leave us alone so we can visit, then I may also take off my shoes." Liberty knew this
lovely lady would never be caught without her shoes, and
was merely trying to put her at ease.

Louis chuckled as he bowed to Gabrielle and winked at
his daughter. "I leave you in good hands. I will call for you this afternoon at four."

Liberty could not remember a day when she had been more entertained. She and Gabrielle Slaughter walked in
the garden, while the older woman told her many things
about her father when he was younger. She spoke of her
life in Boston, and her pride in her son, Judah.

"Are you coming to the ball here at Bend of the River on Saturday, Liberty?" Gabrielle wanted to know.

"No, I ... am too young."

"Nonsense. I will speak to your father and promise to look after you. I am sure he can be persuaded to let you attend."

Liberty beamed with happiness, and the day passed so quickly that she was sorry when her father came to take her home.

In the coach, Liberty chatted endlessly about Gabrielle, declaring that she would one day be a great lady, just like Judah's mother. She did not notice the soft faraway look that came into her father's eyes, or the grateful sigh that escaped his lips. Louis was relieved that Gabrielle had instilled in Liberty a sense of pride —a desire to become a lady. Yes, he thought, Gabrielle had given Liberty what her own mother had neglected to give.

Judah had just ridden into the stable, when he received the summons from his grandfather. Tired and irritated, he was not in the best of moods when he climbed the stairs to Gustave Montesquieu's room. It was time he told his grandfather that he was leaving. This life of leisure was not for him. Soon the
Winged Victory
would be returning, and he planned to sail for Boston.

When Judah neared his grandfather's chamber, the door swung open, and a smiling Moses greeted him. "It is good that your grandfather is feeling strong today so you can see him. He has been very ill. Have a care, it would not be good to upset him."

Judah caught the warning in the big man's voice. Looking around the chamber, he saw it was empty. Moses nodded toward the wide terrace. "You will find your grandfather out there taking the air."

There was a cloudless blue sky as Judah stepped onto the terrace. His grandfather was reclining on a chair, and
even though the day was hot, there was a wool coverlet
tucked about his legs.

"I understand you have been seeing some of the coun
tryside, Judah. I also understand you have been seeing something of the Boudreaux daughters. I'm sure that does
not please Sebastian overmuch."

"How about a greeting such as, 'Hello, Judah, how are
you feeling?" the young man mocked. "I'm just fine,
Grandfather, and how are you?"

The old man smiled. "I can see how you are; I don't have to ask. Now what about the Boudreaux sisters?"

"I have met them both."

"I am told that you are often in the company of Bandera Boudreaux."

Judah seated himself on the iron grillwork and folded
his arms across his chest, not knowing if it was humor or
disapproval that gleamed in his grandfather's eyes. "If
your spies told you that, they must also have told you that
I cannot wait to leave this place."

"I heard that from you the first day you arrived. I was
hoping I could convince you to stay."

"Not likely."

"What would it take to induce you to remain with us?"

"Nothing you have would entice me to stay here."

The old man stared out over the green hills. "Perhaps
there are certain young ladies who could persuade you
otherwise. I speak of one of the Boudreaux sisters."

Apparently nothing happened in this valley that his
grandfather did not know about. He must have learned
that Judah was infatuated with Bandera. What Judah did
not know was the point his grandfather was trying to
make. He was sure he would be enlightened when it suited
the old man. "You are well informed. Do you have a watchdog following me?"

The old man ignored the biting remark. "I gave you more credit than Sebastian. I see I was mistaken. Like
him, you cannot see past a pretty face. If you were wise,
you would wish a fond farewell to the elder Boudreaux
daughter, and wait for the younger one to grow up."

Judah studied his grandfather for a moment. "Unfortu
nately, that will not be my choice to make. I leave the older daughter to Sebastian, and the younger to Providence. My future does not lie here."

"Where does it lie?"

"You know about the
Winged Victory."

"Hah, that ship is no more than a rust bucket. You do
not have the money to make her into a seaworthy vessel. You have to hug the shore in case she goes under. That is
why you will never make a decent living at sea." Gustave's
turquoise eyes gleamed with an excited light. "What would you say if I told you I had my will changed, leaving Bend of the River to you?"

Judah flicked an imaginary speck from the sleeve of his
powder-blue coat. "I would tell you to go to hell."

Instead of being angry, the old man laughed delight
edly. "By, God, you are the one who could hold this place
together. Like it or not, you are my grandson, and I like the fact that you can spit in my face and turn your back
on my fortune. However, I would caution you not to be
foolhardy. Have you considered your mother."

"I can take care of my mother. She will come away with
me."

"Will she? Have you noticed how content she has
become?" The old man waved a gnarled hand in the air.
"Gabrielle would leave if you asked it of her, but are you
such a selfish bastard that you are willing to take her away from all this? What kind of life did she have in Boston? Most of her friends are here."

"You are the last one who can preach to me about my
mother."

"Would you throw away a fortune?"

Judah's eyes narrowed. "I do not know what game you
are playing, but Sebastian is your heir. I will not allow you to use me as a pawn in your little game."

The old man's eyes darkened. "I do not play games —
not when it comes to Bend of the River Plantation. If you
had grown up here, you would know without being told
that land is the only thing that endures. This is your
heritage, whether you like it or not. You have my blood
running in your veins, and you cannot turn your back on
this land. Sebastian is a fool. He would marry Bandera,
and between the two of them they would squander the
inheritance within a few years. Within five years, he would have lost Bend of the River, and I cannot allow that to happen."

"Why should that matter to you? Should that happen, you will be dead and past caring."

"Have you no pity for an old man, Judah? Is there no
mercy in your heart?"

"Was there any pity in your heart when you turned your
back on my mother?"

"Perhaps not, but I am trying to make amends for it now."

"You are not trying to make amends. You are a selfish
old man, who merely wants his own way. You know the
only way you can keep me here is by using my mother.
You are not sorry for the way you treated her."

"I find I have missed my daughter, and I am glad she is
home."

"But you are not sorry for the way you treated her."

The old man smiled. "We understand each other per
fectly. I will leave Bend of the River to you, with only one
stipulation. You are to forget about Bandera and marry
Liberty Boudreaux."

Judah's jaw clamped tightly together and his turquoise
eyes burned like flames. "Not you, or anyone, can tell me
who I will marry. I told you that I do not want your damned plantation. Perhaps you will believe me when I sail away without a backward glance."

At that point the old man started coughing, and Moses
rushed forward. "You had better go now; your grandfa
ther is tiring. It would not be wise to upset him with more
talk of your leaving."

His look of concern was genuine as Judah glanced at
his grandfather's closed eyes. I shouldn't have come. Will
he be all right?"

"Leave him to me," Moses said. "Go on about your
business. I been taking care of
M'sieu
for many years."

When Judah was out of earshot, the old man opened his eyes a crack. "Did you hear, Moses?"

"I did. Your grandson does not like your offer."

"He will come around in time. Right now he would rather tell me to go to hell, than take what I offer him. I have little doubt that good sense will soon prevail."

"He is a man much like you. I know of several times you told someone to go to hell, and meant it."

"Yes, he is very like me. That is why he must not leave.
Bend of the River needs him."

"He has the ship," Moses reminded Gustave.