Moontide Embrace (Historical Romance) (6 page)

A frown creased Louis's brow, and he caught the
sadness in Liberty's eyes.
"Oui
… the gowns were ready,
but-"

"Oh, Papa," Bandera cried excitedly, forgetting to act
distingue
for Sebastian's benefit. "When can I see them?
Do I have to wait until after we have dined?"

Louis turned his soft blue eyes on Liberty. "All in good
time, Bandera. First, however, I have a gift for Liberty."

Bandera's lips drooped into a pout when Louis removed
a black velvet-covered box from his pocket and held it out
to his young daughter. "Happy fifteenth birthday,
ma petite"

Silence followed his announcement. Ursula shook her
head and reached out to Liberty, distressed that in all the
excitement she had forgotten her daughter's birthday. "I
. . . happy birthday, Liberty. It seems only yesterday you turned fourteen. Time passes so swiftly," she managed to
choke out.

As Liberty felt her mother's cool lips brush her cheek,
she noted the momentary sadness reflected in Ursula's dark eyes. Even Bandera had the good grace to look ashamed, but she said nothing.

Sebastian saved the awkward situation by stepping for
ward and extending his best wishes to Liberty. Your
father is right, you are a bud almost ready to bloom."
Sebastian's eyes saw past the ill-fitting gown to the girl's
delicate bone structure. He did not mistake the future promise of beauty.

"Thank you," Liberty said, thinking this was the third
time today she had been compared to a bud about to bloom. She could not stop the blush that tinted her
cheeks. She was not accustomed to receiving compliments
from gentlemen, even if this one was only from Sebastian.

Bandera, not liking the attention Liberty was receiving,
laced her arm through Sebastian's, her lips curling viciously.

Liberty took the velvet box and opened it slowly,
savoring the moment. Joy lit her face as she picked up a
golden bracelet with a tiny dangling heart. "Oh, Papa, this is lovely. This is the best birthday ever," she said through a mist of tears. Liberty's father hugged her to
him, so she did not see the look that passed between her
parents. Louis was not at all pleased that no one had
remembered his daughter's birthday.

"Is it the best birthday you have ever had, my darling
daughter?" he asked, watching his wife. "It seems to take
so little to bring you joy." Ursula caught the sarcasm in
her husband's voice, and she knew he was displeased with
her.

But Bandera was watching Liberty slide the bracelet onto her arm. "A pretty bauble," she said under her
breath, while thumping the dangling heart with her finger.

"It will do you no good to covet this, Bandera," Liberty
told her. "Papa had it engraved with my name."

Bandera's eyes gleamed with jealousy. "What does it
say?" she demanded to know.

"Here," Liberty said, removing the bracelet and hand
ing it to her sister. "Read it for yourself."

Bandera's face reddened and her eyes gleamed spitefully. "To my daughter, Liberty, on her fifteenth birthday," she read aloud, then tossed the bracelet back to Liberty. "Who would want that old thing anyway."

"I do," Liberty said, once more slipping the gift onto
her arm. Her eyes moved to her sister's finger where the ring Zippora had given her gleamed in the candlelight.
Liberty wanted the ring back, but she decided it would be
unwise to make an issue out of it. Better to let the whole
matter drop, she decided.

No one saw the old woman's face pressed against the
window as she watched the proceedings. No one could hear Zippora's softly muttered words. "What goes
around, comes around. A hurt inflicted will come back
tenfold."

As the small party gathered in the dining room, candle
light glistened on the surface of the mahogany table, hiding the shabbiness of the room. Since it was her
birthday, Liberty was accorded the honor of sitting to her
father's right. She saw her mother watching her, and she
knew Ursula was feeling guilty because she had forgotten
her birthday. Liberty wished she could assure her mother
that it was unimportant. She did not want regret to drive
another wedge between the two of them.

Bandera was caught up in trying to impress Sebastian,
and for the moment she was ignoring her family. As the
desert was served, Louis leaned back in his chair to survey
his family. For too long he had ignored the treatment
Liberty had been receiving from her mother and stepsis
ter. He intended to see that the child was never neglected
again. His eyes were cold as they rested on his wife.

Feeling the tension in the air, Liberty tried to lighten the atmosphere. "What news from Paris, Papa?" she
asked, since news from France was always welcome dinner
conversation.

Louis smiled at his young daughter. "It is not easy to
gain information from Paris these days, with the hostili
ties between the United States and France." He was
thoughtful for a moment. "Let me see now
...
I did hear
one interesting bit of news. It is said that Napoleon
despairs at the flimsy gowns women are wearing, and he
has had the fireplaces at Tuileries bricked up so that women will be forced to dress more warmly."

Liberty giggled behind her hand. "I doubt that even
that will work. Women seem to be beyond good judgment
when it comes to fashion, Papa."

"Little you would know about fashion," Bandera snarled. "You are certainly not an authority on how a woman should dress."

Louis leaned toward his wife and whispered in her ear.
"Put an end to your daughter's insults,
Madame.
I will
not tolerate her cruelty any longer." Ursula merely low
ered her head, saying nothing, for fear Sebastian would
realize something was amiss.

Bandera saw that she had displeased Louis, so she
smiled prettily at him. "Of course, I could teach Liberty
style if she were to show an interest in learning."

"Tell us more news from France, Papa," Liberty urged,
trying to steer the conversation away from herself.

"I was told a funny story that came out of England," he said thoughtfully. "Again this has to do with women's
fashions. It seems that a Russian army officer was visiting London. On a cold day he strolled down Bond Street and
spied a fashionably dressed lady walking by. He was
accustomed to judging a woman's circumstances by the
warmth of her clothing, rather than the stylishness of
mode. Seeing the woman's flimsy gown, he presumed she
was a pauper, and out of sympathy, offered her money to
buy a proper coat. The woman was a duke's daughter, and incensed to say the least."

Delighted laughter bubbled from Liberty's lips, and
Sebastian joined in. By the time dinner was over they all
moved to the salon, where a lighter mood ensued.

"I have a bit of unexpected news," Sebastian stated, as
he took the glass of wine Louis offered him. Taking a sip,
he then balanced the glass on his knee. "My uncle has just learned that my cousin is to return home."

Ursula's brow furrowed as she stared at her husband. She had heard talk that at one time Louis had been in love with Gabrielle Montesquieu. "Can you be speaking of Monsieur Montesquieu's daughter?" she inquired.

"Oui"
Sebastian answered, studying the amber-colored
liquid in his glass. "I have not seen her in years. Of course, she is some ten years older than I."

Louis seemed to tense. "I know very little about Ga
brielle’s life since she left Bend of the River. Is she still
married, Sebastian?"

"No, her husband died several years ago. She has a son
...
I suppose he would be my second cousin. My uncle
assumes she will bring his grandson with her."

Bandera's eyes narrowed in speculation. The Montes
quieu fortune was so near her grasp. Could this grandson be a threat to Sebastian's future? She did not want to see
her dreams shattered by some long-forgotten family mem
ber. "I never knew your uncle had a daughter or a
grandson," she stated guardedly. "I always assumed you and your mother were Monsieur Montesquieu's only liv
ing relative."

"There is no reason you should have heard about Gabrielle and her son. When my cousin married the
American, my uncle disowned her and never acknowl
edged the birth of her son. My mother and I are surprised
he has done so now."

"Can this mean that your uncle has forgiven his daugh
ter?" Bandera wanted to know.

Sebastian shrugged his padded shoulders. "Who can say? I can assure you, I am not looking forward to meeting my American cousin."

"We are all Americans in this room," Liberty reminded
Sebastian.

He gave her a half-smile. "Some of us are more Ameri
can than others."

"My father believes it is a good thing to be a part of
America. He hopes Orleans Territory will one day become
a state," Liberty declared.

Sebastian seemed not to hear. He stared into Bandera's
eyes and said softly. "It seems I now have a rival for my
uncle's affection."

"Gabrielle," Louis said softly. "So she is coming home
after all these years. I wonder if she is much changed?"

Ursula felt jealousy tug at her heart. If this Gabrielle
was a widow, would she try to win Louis away from her? No, Louis would never love anyone but her. Still she felt a prickle of uneasiness. Louis had been displeased with her
quite frequently of late. Did he think she had deliberately
ignored their daughter's birthday? she wondered. Good
lord, Liberty was her daughter, as she was his. Did he not
know that she loved the child?

The night was still, and not a breath of wind stirred the
trees outside the plantation house. Darkness covered the
land as ominous clouds moved across the moon.

Bandera tossed and turned on her bed, moaning in her
sleep. She dreamed that she was running through the
swamp, trying to escape from something horrible. Cold sweat popped out on her brow, and she felt herself falling
. . . falling . . . falling.

Finally, she landed with a plop, only to find to her dismay that she was in quicksand and sinking fast. Whimpering and whining, she tried to save herself, but each time she struggled, she sank deeper and deeper in
the mire. Finally, she saw a shadowy creature standing on
the slope, and she reached out her hand for help.

A scream issued from Bandera's lips when she recog
nized the old voodoo woman, Zippora. Fear encased her mind, and she was unable to move when the old woman
grabbed her hand. But instead of saving her, Zippora
brandished a knife and cut off Bandera's finger!

Sitting up in bed, Bandera made little whimpering
sounds. The nightmare had been so real that it took her
moments to realize she was safe. She felt her finger, and
was relieved to find it still intact.

Bandera leaped from her bed, and raced down the hallway to Liberty's bedroom. She jerked the ring from her finger, trying to still the tremors of fear that shook her body. Liberty raised up and sleepily wondered why Bandera was in her bedroom in the middle of the night.

"Take your old ring!" Bandera cried, pressing it into
Liberty's hand. "I don't want it!"

Liberty slipped the ring on her finger and turned over,
already reclaimed by the comforting arms of the sleep that comes only to the innocent. Bandera was not as
fortunate as her sister, for it took a good hour before she
was brave enough to, again, close her eyes in sleep.

The moon came out from behind the cloud, and a sudden gust of wind rustled the leaves of the magnolia
tree that grew beside the riverbank. A dark figure slipped into a boat and paddled toward the swamps, her crackling
laughter carried away by the heightening wind.

4

Judah glanced over the iron balcony of his second-floor
room at the Royale Inn. Nothing his mother had told him about New Orleans had prepared him for the picturesque
sight that met his eyes. Across the street an unlatched
grillwork doorway led to a courtyard where banana
plants, palm trees, and exotic flowers enhanced a colorful
garden. In the distance he could see the tall steeple of the magnificent old Saint Louis Cathedral, its inspiring pres
ence looming, like a sentinel, over the city.

A tall black woman, her hair wrapped in a white
turban, balanced a basket of oranges on her head, calling
out her chant. "Oranges for
mam'zelle,
oranges for
m'sieu,
oranges to ward off the sickness."

Judah's eyes moved down the banquettes on which
ladies and gentlemen of fashion strolled leisurely, stop
ping occasionally to peer in a shop window. This newly
acquired territory did not seem to fit the view he had of
the American territories. New Orleans would never be
molded to resemble her sister cities of America. She was
alive with old traditions that she would cling to jealously.

Judah had the oddest feeling that he was no stranger to
this land. Perhaps it was because his mother had always
talked of New Orleans with such love that he felt akin to
this place. Yes, the feeling was strong—he felt as if he had come home. This was where he belonged.

Trying to shake other feelings he did not understand or
welcome, he turned his head upward to let the golden
sunlight warm his face. Even the air he breathed was
heady, as were the many aromas that filled his nostrils.
Vivid colors—yellows, pinks, and reds —blended as if they had been painted by a master painter.

Judah felt a hand close over his, and he glanced down
at his mother. "Did you have a nice visit with your friend,
Minette?"

"Yes, it was lovely. You impressed her very much when
you came to tea yesterday. She says my son is very
handsome, and she believes you will turn the heads of all
the young ladies of New Orleans."

His mouth eased into a smile. "You aren't going to promote a romance between me and your friend, are you?"

Her eyes danced with amusement. "No. Minette is too
old for you. Still, you might learn something from an older, more experienced woman."

Judah raised his brow in mock horror. "You are shame
less, Mother."

Her laughter was light, almost girlish. "No, my son—I
am French. I had almost forgotten that. You are half-French you know."

Judah's eyes followed his mother's as she glanced lovingly down Royal Street. "I can see why you love New
Orleans, Mother. It is unique among cities."

"I am glad you discovered that. I cannot explain how happy I am to be home at last. According to my father's
letter, we are to spend only three nights here. That being
the case, someone will call for us and escort us to Bend
of the River Plantation tomorrow. Just wait until you see
the place. You cannot help but be impressed."

Judah noticed the flush of excitement on his mother's
face. She was happier than he had seen her in a long time. He was glad he had consented to bring her for returning brought her much joy. He only hoped her
happiness did not fade when they reached their destina
tion tomorrow.

Judah stared angrily at the mass of people on the docks. They were waiting to be transported upriver. He
and his mother had been waiting in New Orleans for over a week with no word from his grandfather. Judah might
have considered returning to Boston with his mother had
it not been for the fact that the
Winged Victory
had already sailed.

In light of that, he had decided to take matters into his
own hands. He had acquired space on a keelboat that would take them to Bend of the River. It angered him
further that his mother would be forced to ride on public
transportation, with livestock and farm implements.

Helping his mother on board, he steadied her while the
boat pitched slightly. Gabrielle raised her lace handker
chief to her nose, then turned her face to the wind,
hoping to escape the offensive odor of the goats, swine,
and cattle packed aboard. Lumber was piled on both sides of the flatboat, and the crew of four seemed in no way concerned with the comfort of their passengers.

Judah stood with his legs widespread, a gleam of
unleashed anger in the depths of his turquoise eyes. Soon
he would face the man who had caused his mother so much grief. He ached to tell Montesquieu what he
thought of him, and couldn't wait to warn his grandfather
never to hurt his mother again. He glanced at Gabrielle,
and saw the softness in her eyes as she watched New Orleans fade into the distance.

"Everything is so much larger than it was when I was a
girl, Judah," Gabrielle observed wistfully, lapsing easily
into her native French. "When I left, the languages spoken on the streets were Spanish and French. Now it seems English is more widely used."

"I believe you said Orleans Territory at one time be
longed to Spain."

"Yes. That is why there is such a heavy Spanish
influence in the architecture. The iron latticework you saw
on the balconies can be attributed to the Spanish. Minette
says that the Spanish and French population are not all
pleased with the American takeover."

"I am an American," Judah reminded her.

His mother smiled sweetly and patted his hand. "So
you are, and so am I. I would not have it any other way.
But you will have to realize that the aristocracy, looks on
"the American" with only slightly less horror than they
look on leprosy. See the dwellings on the opposite side of
the river? That is where the English-speaking people
elected to live, since they were snubbed by the French.
Minette says the Creoles feel that the Americans were forced down their throats."

"I can see where they might feel that way. I do not suppose they had a choice in the matter."

"Minette says the Americans found it much more to
their liking to live outside the Vieux Carre'. They just did
not fit in."

His smile took the sting out of his words. "Can it be that my mother is becoming a snob?"

Judah looked into her eyes and read confusion there. "I
do not think I am prejudiced, Judah. At least I hope not."

"Put your mind at rest. How can you be prejudiced
when your only son is one of those 'horrible Americans'?"
His eyes danced merrily. "Of course, you could always pass me off as someone else's son."

Gabrielle became silent, and Judah knew she was thinking about her father. "Why do you suppose he did
not send someone to escort us to Bend of the River as he
promised in his letter?"

Judah frowned. It was his belief that his grandfather
was merely asserting his authority, letting them know he
was still in command. This was just another insult his
mother was forced to endure. He wanted to erase the hurt
he saw in her eyes, so he changed the subject. "Tell me
what it was like when you were a girl," he said, waving his
hand toward the shore.

She was thoughtful for a moment, as if she knew what he was trying to do. "It was a glorious time that knew no
equal. There were frivolous, joyous parties. The masquer
ade ball was the most anticipated of all. Each year it was
held at a different plantation. We would use any excuse to have a party. The French Revolution was at its height, and
many aristocrats found their way to our shores after escaping the flashing blade of 'Madame Guillotine.' It
was a gallant age of chivalry, with a stiff code of honor,
and many duels were fought over a young lady's favor. A
man's honor was sacred, and he stood ready to defend it
with his life. There was a saying, in New Orleans, that
sums up that period perfectly. 'Rapiers for two, coffee for
one.' That was the way of life when I was a girl."

"I remember you saying that the entertainment was
lavish at Bend of the River," Judah declared, noticing the
excited blush on his mother's cheeks.

"Oui.
At my father's plantation, hospitality was offered
to all of gentle breeding. Often as many as fifty guests
would descend on us, and we would entertain them in a
lavish style for a week. That was a time of much laughter and gaiety. Before my mother died, she made sure that no
food was served twice during those visits."

"Were you not sorry to give it all up when you married
my father?"

Gabrielle's eyes saddened once more. "No, I never
regretted marrying your father—not ever. As I tried to
explain to you many times, my father was a proud man —
I knew he would think I married beneath my station —
and he was a hard man, Judah. If he has ever admitted to
making a mistake, I have never heard him. Try to be
patient with him, for he is now old. I suspect he wants to
make amends."

Judah doubted it. There had been no evidence of such an intention since their arrival in New Orleans. His temper had not cooled, and he was still not looking forward to meeting his grandfather. "What of your father's brother? You rarely speak of him."

"Andre was twelve years younger than my father. He
was a disappointment to his family in many ways. He was
always dueling and drinking, never accepting responsibility. However, he married well according to my father's
standards, so he was never in disgrace as I have been. When my uncle was killed in a duel, my father took
Sebastian and his mother, Alicia, into his home. Minette
told me that my father pinned all his hopes and dreams
on Sebastian. She says that father has lately become
disillusioned by him as well. I believe this is another reason why he has sent for you. He wants to see if you will live up to his expectations."

Judah clamped his lips tightly together. There would be
no danger of his being accepted by his grandfather. Not after he stood eye to eye with the old tyrant and let him
know how much he disliked him.

Both Judah and his mother lapsed into silence as they
watched the keelboat move up the winding Mississippi
River. The sounds of the street vendors hawking their wares faded in the distance as New Orleans was left behind and they moved slowly upstream. The earth-
colored water flowed in an indecisive manner, past green
farmlands and narrow forks half-covered with dense undergrowth amid the lazy bayous. Atop softly rolling hills,
grand plantation houses stood as graceful reminders of a
genteel lifestyle.

Against his will, Judah was drawn to the beauty and
graciousness of the hillside mansions that lined the water
way. The Mississippi valley, with its fertile valleys and rich
farmlands, seemed to beckon to him. The beauty of the
green meadows was timeless. The melodious sounds of the mimicking mockingbird trilled through the morning air.

"I am home," Gabrielle murmured. "Like the prodigal
son I have returned."

Before Judah could reply, his mother's eyes sparkled with warmth. "Look, just around that next turn is Bend of the River Plantation!" Her voice rose with excitement as the flatboat maneuvered the curve.

When the boat passed a wide glade of trees choked
with underbrush, it pulled within sight of the huge manor
house. Nothing Judah had been told by his mother
prepared him for the magnificent sight that met his eyes.
The stately mansion was located on a distant cliff over
looking the Mississippi. Built in 1725, it was a testament
to the finest French architecture. Unlike many of the other plantations that had been built along the Missis
sippi, the house was set half a mile from the river. Twenty
acres of manicured lawns, pasture, and woodland surrounded the great house, and the roof of the red brick
structure was graced by twelve chimneys. It was a three-
story dwelling that boasted fifty-nine rooms.