Moontide Embrace (Historical Romance) (7 page)

Indeed, the mansion seemed to dwarf everything
around it —even the tall stately magnolia trees that lined
the drive leading to the front door. Iron latticework ran the length of the veranda as well as the second-story balcony.

As the keelboat pulled in at the wooden pier that jutted
out into the water, the captain tossed a rope to a young
boy, who jumped ashore to secure it to a post. There were
several slaves standing on the dock. One, a tall man with
stooped shoulders, white hair, and wide-set black eyes,
seemed to be in charge, and ordered the others to unload the supplies. He watched closely when Judah and his mother disembarked, noting from their mode of dress that they were obviously of great import.

He looked at Judah for direction. "I was not told to
expect visitors,
M'sieu,
or I would not have brought the
mule-drawn wagon. Would you be so kind as to wait until
I can send back to the house for the buggy?"

Judah noticed that the man spoke a broken kind of French that lent a certain charm and elegance to his
speech. Before he could reply, however, Gabrielle stepped
forward and startled the old man when she placed her hand on his arm. "Do you not know me, Biff?"

The man stepped back a pace, his dark eyes moving
over her face. Suddenly there was recognition in his eyes,
and a smile lit his face.
"Mon dieu!"
he cried, shaking his
head, his eyes bright with genuine joy. "Can it be Ma’dame Gabrielle? I thought these tired old eyes would never behold your pretty face again."

"I am home, Biff. At least for a while. Were you not told that I was coming?"

"No, but I am glad to see you all the same." The old man raised his voice and yelled down the dock. "Make quick and bring the buggy down, Ma'dame Gabrielle's come home!"

When the buggy pulled up at the front of the house,
Biff jumped down to assist Gabrielle to the ground. His
wrinkled face was creased in a smile as he piled the baggage on the front steps, knowing he could go no farther. There were strict codes to be observed. He was the foreman of the plantation, and outside the white overseer, Biffs word was law when it came to the field
hands and the fishermen. But here at the big house, the
house servants jealously guarded their domain; he was not allowed to intrude.

A tall slender black man with a regal bearing, dressed
in red and white livery, opened the door and haughtily
glanced down his nose at Biff. Seeing Gabrielle and Judah, he looked taken aback for a moment, but he
quickly recovered. The snap of his fingers brought three
other liveried servants. He ordered them to carry the baggage inside. Then he turned to Gabrielle and Judah.

"Whom shall I say is calling,
Ma'dame?"
the man asked
with a crisp French accent.

Biff, still grinning, spoke up. "You may want to tell Cora to get her fancy cook pot going, cause there going to be a good time—"

The liveried servant cut Biff off. "Be so kind as to tend
to your own affairs and leave others to tend to theirs. Move along." He shooed him away with the wave of a white glove.

"Just a moment," Gabrielle said, stopping Biffs hasty
departure by the touch of her hand. "Who is this man, Biff? I do not recall ever seeing him."

Biff turned back, with a look of superiority, at the still unbending butler. "His name is Noal,
Ma'dame.
He is someone Ma'dame Alicia brought in from
New Orleans. She say we need more— She say we needed
him to make more nice the manners of the house servants."

"I told you to be gone," the butler said loftily. Turning to Judah, who had watched the whole proceeding with
bored indifference, he asked. "Who shall I say is calling?"

Gabrielle pushed past the man and ascended the steps.
"You may inform M'sieu Montesquieu that his daughter is home, and in the future you will never talk down to Biff in my presence, is that understood?"

Noal's face fell, and he stepped quickly to the door.
"Oui, Ma'dame,
it will be as you say. Come with me, and
I will show you to your rooms so you can freshen up. When the master asks for you, I will come for you at
once.

Judah followed the stiff-backed servant into the house.
In the massive entrance hall, the white marble floor was
immaculate, leading Judah to believe that not a single
speck of dust marred its perfection. Golden Louis XIV
armchairs faced each other, while urns and benches carved of Carrara marble stood on either side of the six steps that led to the landing. Off the landing were two sets of steps that went off in different directions, and Judah noted that several cherubs adorned the painted canvas ceiling. He had never imagined such wealth, but
was cynically unimpressed. He did, however, now realize
what his mother had sacrificed for loving of his father.

As he climbed the wide polished staircase, he paused to
look at the floor-to-ceiling stained-glass window depicting
the coronation of some distant French King. He drew in a
deep breath, knowing he would soon meet the man behind this vast kingdom. Judah was well aware that when he stood before this tyrant who had made his
mother's homecoming such a humbling experience, noth
ing would keep him from voicing his displeasure.

Judah buttoned his jade green jacket and adjusted the
snowy-white cravat to his satisfaction. Gray pantaloons
disappeared inside black knee boots. Impatiently, he
paced the floor of the spacious bedroom, waiting for a
summons from the great man himself. The long delay had not helped his temper. He did not care that he was being
insulted, but he resented the treatment for his mother's sake. He was on the verge of demanding to be taken to his grandfather, when a knock came on his door.

Jerking the door open, he discovered his mother smil
ing up at him. "My father will see us now, Judah." She ran a nervous hand over the skirt of her pale green empire-waist gown. "How do I look? Do you think my hair is right?"

Judah only half glanced at his mother's appearance.
His anger was still too raw and too near the surface to do
more than nod. "You are lovely as always," he said, taking her arm and steering her toward the staircase.

After they descended the stairs, Judah allowed his mother to lead the way. Their feet sank into rare thick
rugs in the hallway as they passed by rooms where candles
burned in crystal chandeliers, their flames reflected in glided French mirrors.

His mother knew where she was going as they walked
down brightly lit hallways, past a host of servants who
were cleaning and polishing floors and furniture. When at
last Gabrielle stopped before a heavy mahogany door
which was decorated with shining brass work, she wrapped
softly, then pushed the door open.

The room was almost dazzling in its magnificence. It
was the largest room Judah had ever seen. The ceilings,
painted in brilliant blues and whites, depicted the life of
Jeanne d'Arc. An Aubusson carpet of white and gold
graced the white marble floor. The floor-to-ceiling win
dows were draped with gold velvet and white lace, and a
ten-foot-high white marble fireplace dominated the delicate French gilded chairs and sofas. Gilded mirrors lined
one wall, making the room appear twice the size it actually was.

Judah felt his mother's trembling hand on his arm, and
he placed his hand over it to give her courage. His eyes
moved across the room to the man who was seated near
the fireplace, haloed in the beam of light filtering through
the open window. Judah met his grandfather's stare with
out flinching. His jaw clamped shut, stubbornly, as the man motioned for them to approach.

Judah was aware that the old man followed their
progress, and when he drew near, he saw that his grandfa
ther wore a blue satin coat and white knee britches, in the
outmoded style of a grand era. The old man's white hair
7
tied back with a black velvet ribbon, also represented the
style of another era. Judah met faded turquoise eyes not unlike his own. He perceived heightened interest, curios
ity, intelligence, and a mocking light in those shrewd old
eyes.

Extending a trembling blue-veined hand to his daugh
ter, while his eyes never left his grandson's face, Gustave
Montesquieu spoke in French. "So, my daughter has returned home at last?"

"Oh, Papa," Gabrielle cried, clasping his hand in both
hers. "I have missed you so desperately." Judah knew his
mother waited for some sign of affection or welcome from the old man, who only studied her with cold indifference.

"Do not snivel, Gabrielle," Gustave scolded, removing
his hand from her clasp. "You were overemotional even as
a child. I see you have not changed, except to age somewhat."

Judah saw the pain in his mother's eyes, and he stepped
forward, wrapping her in a protective embrace. "You have
no right to insult my mother." Without thinking, he spoke
in English. "I will not allow her to remain in this house
for one moment longer than it takes to pack our belong
ings. You are a bastard, and I am glad to be able to say it
to your face. It makes the journey worthwhile."

Gabrielle gasped, as two pairs of turquoise eyes locked
in combat. She clutched her son's coat-front, waiting for
her father's reaction to his insult. She knew that both her
father and her son were stubborn and proud, and she
wondered if either of them would relent. She was startled
when she saw her father's face ease into what was almost
a smile.

"If I am to be insulted, I prefer it be done in French.
The English language is so vulgar and common. It has
always grated on my ears. I assume your mother taught you her native tongue?"

Judah glanced at the old man through half-closed
lashes. "My mother taught me several languages. If you
would like, I can insult you in each one of them."

This time Gabrielle was dumbstruck by the laughter that issued from her father's throat. "I damned sure do
not intend to stand here and listen to insults from a young
pup who is barely old enough to shave. I happen to know
how old you are, so we will assume it is your youth which
makes you speak so rashly, and not bad manners."

"Were I beyond your age, I would still tell you what I
think of your treatment of my mother. You have broken her heart every time you returned one of her letters
unopened. You have caused her sleepless nights, and days
of yearning for her girlhood home. She has suffered
much because of you. I do not intend that you hurt her
anymore."

The old man's eyes narrowed, and a spark ignited.
"Gabrielle is my daughter. I will treat her as I believe she
deserves."

"No,
Monsieur,
you will not," Judah declared, lapsing
into French. "You have the earlier claim on her, but you
forfeited your right to that claim. I am taking her away
now!"

Gabrielle reached out her hand to her father. "Please,
Papa, do not do this. I can stand it if you do not want me, but do not put Judah through this torment."

Gustave Montesquieu waved his daughter aside. "What makes you think I am the tormentor,
Madame?
Was it not
your son who first started with the insults?"

Gabrielle glanced up at her tall son, her eyes shining
with love and pride. With a determination that surprised
her father, she spoke. "If you do not see that when you hurt me, you hurt Judah, then we have nothing more to say to one another, Papa."

The old man's shoulders sagged, and he seemed to
visibly age before their eyes. "Have done, Gabrielle. The
time for insults is over. I sent for you; how can you doubt
that I wanted you home?"

"If that is so, Papa, why were there no arrangements made for us in New Orleans. Why was the buggy not
ready to receive us when we arrived at the docks of Bend
of the River? If you meant to belittle me and my son, you
have succeeded."