Josette (23 page)

Guilt flooded Josette again. How she despised that feeling. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I heard, ‘There's one of them.' I don't think they expected me to come around the corner just then. René and I were meeting up to get something to eat.”

The tight knot in Josette's stomach twisted. “You should have dined here and not been wandering the streets seeking food.”

They reached Bastièn's bedroom, but instead of saying good night and leaving him, she halted. “I've decided to ask René to move in here as well.”

Bastièn paused with his hand on the door handle. “Why is that?”

With the flood of emotions running through her, it was all she could do to keep from wringing her hands. “He seems dedicated to his new job. He doesn't need to be making tedious trips back and forth to the bayou every day. Nor should he be running around at all hours looking to fill his belly.”

His piercing gaze penetrated her. “Tell me the truth, Josette. Are we invading your life?”

“Of course not.”

The blue in his sapphire eyes softened. “I'll admit I marched into your home to spite Cameron Andrews, but I cannot remain if I end up hurting you.”

She shook her head. “I don't know why we never thought of this before, but with Alexia leaving, it might be good for me to have you both living here.”
And with Cameron soon gone, there'll be no need to feel deprived of the freedom to have a man spend the night.

He studied her for a good long while through lowered lids. Then he twisted the handle on the door, swung it open, and stepped inside. “It makes good sense to have René live here as well. Good night,
ma chère
.”

“Good night, Bastièn. Sleep well.”

Once back in her room, Josette sat on the balcony for a long while. The conflict with Vennard had escalated into a dangerous situation. She must do something. But what? How could she stop someone so powerful? If she said anything to her brothers about Vennard's threats on their lives, there would surely be bloodshed of the worst kind. And when all was said and done, quite possibly a hanging. Or two. Telling them would never do.

A thought that had threaded through the fringes of her mind while she stitched up her brothers sprang forward. What if she went to Cameron with the problem of Émile Vennard?

Cameron would be gone in three days—or was it merely two now—but at least he might be able to offer some rational advice. Her heart lurched at the idea. Who else could she confide in? She could not tell Vivienne. Her cousin was wary enough of Lucien returning to do damage or steal Alexia away. Josette couldn't add Vennard to the mix. Régine was definitely out of the question.

As that old and familiar loneliness struck, tears stung her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her waist, tucked her feet under her, and stared at the sliver of moon. She could think of no one else but Cameron. Yet, he despised her brothers.

Heaven help her.

 

 

Morning arrived too soon. Josette crawled out of bed, her back aching from having hunched over René for so long. She dressed in her favorite shade of pale blue, caught her hair in a simple chignon at the back of her head, and made her way, barefoot, as usual, to Bastièn's room.

She knocked. When he failed to answer, she opened the door. “Bastièn?”

Ever the tidy one, Bastièn had made his bed without a wrinkle in sight. His personal items—brush, comb, shaving paraphernalia—were lined up just so. He'd be no trouble to have around. As long as he didn't meddle in her affairs.

She left his room and moved to René's. As she expected, with the amount of laudanum he'd ingested and the beating he'd received, he still slept soundly. At the thought of what he'd suffered, guilt twisted her insides once again.

She tiptoed to his bedside. How handsome he was, even with the stitches on his forehead and the deep shadows under his eyes. A pang of compassion touched her heart. Some kind of change had definitely taken place in him of late. Who would've thought he'd one day be associated with Cameron Andrews and his mighty shipping company?

Josette's stomach grumbled. There'd be fresh eggs and ham downstairs. And tomatoes. Juicy, ripe tomatoes sliced and fanned out alongside her eggs. She'd breakfast with Bastièn and then have that talk with Régine.

But downstairs, Bastièn was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Vivienne.

Régine sat by herself in the morning room sipping a cup of café au lait. The two pots, one of steaming coffee, the other warm milk, sat in the center of the table along with two sets of cups and saucers. “They left before the rooster crowed. Vivienne went with him to your
maman
's to help him carry everything since both brothers are moving in with you.”

Josette slid onto a chair across from her cousin and reached for a cup and saucer. “I haven't actually asked René yet, so I wonder if it's wise for Bastièn to bring all René's belongings.”

She paused, trying to gauge Régine's reaction. When she failed to respond, Josette poured herself the rich coffee and milk mixture. “How do you feel about my brothers residing here permanently?”

Régine's cheeks blotched. She took a slow sip of her brew. “It's time I got over some of the things I find disturbing about being around men. René and Bastièn, they ain't never been nuthin' but good to me.” Her gaze dropped to the grounds lacing the inside of her cup. “What one person went and done shouldn't make it so I can't trust any others. I'll be making an effort to converse with your brothers.”

Josette leaned over, set her hand atop Régine's, and gave it a squeeze. “I am so terribly sorry for what happened to you. I wish I could wipe your memory clean of all that took place. I only hope living here gives you some feeling of security and peace.”

Régine's woeful eyes settled on Josette. “I won't ever speak of this again. All I will say is Lucien is a very bad person. Even when he wasn't a fully grown man, he was pure evil.”

A blaze of fury shot through Josette. She dropped her gaze to her cup while she collected her thoughts. Her being angry wouldn't help Régine any. “I thought as much. Now we need to keep him away from Alexia, don't we?”

Régine drew a breath and exhaled, as if relieved to have finally uttered the words she'd held in for so long. “I aim to be doing just that around here. I think it'll be good to have your brothers with you. Even with Alexia gone, Lucien could bring trouble.”

René wandered in, barefoot, wearing his trousers and one of Bastièn's white shirts. The tails hung loose, the collar open, and his hair looked as though he'd combed it with his fingers. Yet, he was clean shaven.

Catlike, he eased into a chair, as though he'd not a weary bone in his body. “I smell coffee.”

Régine managed a smile and slid a cup his way, then indicated the two pots sitting at the center of the table. “I have ham, eggs, and croissants. For dinner I'll be making étoufée. Bastièn's gone off to collect your things. Said he'd bring back some fresh crawdads. How many eggs you be wanting, René?”

“Three,
s'il vous plaît
.”

René stared at the doorway Régine disappeared through. He glanced at Josette. “That's the most I've heard our cousin speak since she was Alexia's age.”

“Exactly,” Josette said. “She has her reasons.”

René frowned. He winced and touched the stitches on his forehead. “I have long suspected it had something to do with Lucien.”

“She won't talk about it, so don't ask. And leave your head alone. After breakfast, I need to check the bandages under your shirt. You slept well?”

“
Oui
.” He offered her a casual grin. “It was the laudanum,
non
?”

Josette wrapped her hands around her coffee cup and brushed her thumb back and forth over the raised flowers on the delicate china. “Bastièn left early to collect his things from Maman.”

“And some of mine, as well. I remember the conversation.”

“Not
some
of your belongings,
mon frère
. His intention was to bring back
everything
.”

René paused his cup in midair, his expression unreadable.

She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “I can see how intent you are on making something of yourself with the shipping company. It won't do to have you traipsing back and forth to the bayou every day. This is a big house, René. There are six bedrooms upstairs. If you do not care for the one you were placed in last night, choose another.”

He brought the cup to his lips and watched her over the rim. “After Louis died, I offered to move in with you, but you wouldn't have me.”

“I . . .” She shrugged. “People change. I didn't want anyone telling me what to do or how to conduct my life. At least I think that was the reason I objected.”

“This would not be an imposition?”

She shook her head. “Bastièn asked the same thing. I'm looking forward to having you here. Perhaps it will take a bit of the sting out of losing Alexia. Heed my warning, though. I will not tolerate either one of you trying to run my life.”

René sat back in his chair and, with a tilt of his head, studied Josette. Then he laughed, but it was aborted with a small hiss as his hand splayed over his bandaged torso.

Josette refilled her cup. “What do you find so humorous?”

“Think on it. I shall be living not only in the grandest area in all of New Orleans, but in the finest house around. Me, bayou trash.”

Josette's mind searched frantically for something to soften the shock of his last words. But before she could respond, Régine carried in a platter filled with ham, croissants, eggs, and fresh sliced tomatoes. She set it on the table, collected two plates and proper silverware from the sideboard, and after setting them in front of René and Josette, promptly disappeared.

A corner of René's mouth lifted. “I guess she said everything that needed saying when I first came in.”

Josette snapped a serviette across her lap and began to fill her plate. “She's trying, René. We all are.”

 

 

Following breakfast, Josette checked René's bandages. Even though they were stained with blotches of dried blood, they were otherwise clean. She decided to hold off changing them for another day.

At half past noon, Bastièn joined them in the parlor, where they sat chatting and sipping iced lemonade. Vivienne disappeared somewhere in the house.

Bastièn poured himself a glass of the chilled liquid and spread himself out on the sofa. “Have you made the decision to live here, as well?”

“
Oui
,” René said.

“
Bien,
because I brought all your belongings.”

“Humph. Everything?”

Bastièn nodded. “But Maman, she be powerful angry with us for deserting her.” He cocked his head toward Josette. “But she be most furious with you for stealing us away.”

Josette pulled a ragged breath into her lungs. “I did no such thing. I do hope you told her you marched in here on your own. I did invite René, but he's been injured, and he has a new position in town requiring long hours, so I had good reason.”

She'd not thought of Maman's reaction. How pitiful. She'd only thought that perhaps, at last, this feeling of never belonging would wear itself thin with her brothers in residence. And with Maman a good distance away.

Bastièn took a swallow of lemonade and slung his arm over the back of the sofa. “She knows about Cameron Andrews courting you.”

“He is not courting me, Bastièn.”

“Well, bedding you, then.”

“Stop.” Josette narrowed her eyes. “Why is it you two can sleep with whomever you please, whenever you please, but I choose to invite one man into my bed, one time, and you hold it against me?”

René cocked his head. “One time?” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a hairpin and tossed it to Josette. “This is yours,
oui
? I found it on that
one
man's parlor floor. Not in his bed. Not in your bed. Tsk. Tsk.”

“Oooh, you are impossible. I should send you right back to Maman's. I thought it would please you to live here so close to your work.”

He leaned his head back against the overstuffed velvet chair he sat in. “
Oui
. It be pleasing me.”

“Then apologize.”

A wicked grin creased the corners of his mouth. He placed his hand over his heart. “Ah,
ma chère
. Forgive me?”

Josette gave a shake of her head at René's antics and turned to Bastièn. “So was Maman having a tantrum when you left?”

“
Non
. By then she was focused on boiling frogs' toenails and lizard testicles. She's fixing to level a curse on you that will turn you to stone.”

René laughed.

“That was not one bit funny. Bastièn is probably closer to the truth than we might think.”

Bastièn grew serious. “Lucien was there when I arrived. Beware, Josette. Maman is truly angry with you, and that pleases Lucien. He's always had an ax to grind.”

A knock sounded at the front door. Josette's heart fell to her toes.

Pray don't let that be Vennard
.

Josette opened the front door. Felicité Andrews stood before her looking bandbox fresh in a pale yellow cotton day gown trimmed in crisp white lace. Her hat, parasol, and reticule matched. Obviously, the girl frequented the same fabulous dressmaker as did Josette. “I'm surprised to see you here, but pleasantly so. Do come in.”

“Thank you.” Felicité snapped her parasol shut and returned Josette's smile. “Forgive me for arriving unannounced, but when my brother received your note that René was unwell, I grew concerned and thought to pay my respects.”

Oh, didn't this hold a promise of entertainment? “Bastièn and René are in the parlor. Please, join us.”

Josette escorted Felicité down the corridor, then stepped aside and allowed her to enter first. She stumbled to a halt when she saw the boys and their battered faces.

“Good heavens! What happened to the two of you?”

Bastièn and René stood in greeting—René somewhat more slowly than his brother.

“He hit me,” Bastièn drawled, not bothering to hide his obvious appreciation of Miss Felicité's notable good looks.

René's eyelids lowered to half-mast as if he, too, reveled in her beauty. “He struck the first blow, don'cha know.”

Josette stepped next to Felicité. “Don't listen to my mischievous brothers. They were set upon by thugs last night, and I stitched them up. Please, have a seat. Would you care for some lemonade? It's iced.”

Felicité leaned her parasol beside the door. “Lemonade would be fine, thank you. Were the culprits apprehended?”

“
Non
,” both men said in unison.

To Josette's surprise, when her brothers reseated themselves, Felicité went directly to Bastièn and sat beside him. She perused his bruised face. “Gracious, but that looks terribly painful.”

René shifted in his chair, stretched his legs in front of him, and crossed them at the ankles. He rested his head on the chair's back and, with an elusive smile, regarded Felicité. “And mine does not?”

Felicité's gaze darted from René's bare feet, to Bastièn's, then to Josette's. She blinked fast a few times, as if not believing what she'd seen, but made no comment. Instead, she turned her attention to René's bruised and stitched forehead. “Yes, of course. But Bastièn's face is terribly swollen right along here.”

She made to touch his face, but snatched her white-gloved hand back and clasped her fingers together.

“You can touch me if you like.” Bastièn's words came low and throaty, loaded with innuendo.

Felicité's cheeks turned pink. In an instant, she collected herself and the color dissipated. She picked up the glass of lemonade and lifted it to her lips.

René and Bastièn scrutinized her every movement.

Despite her brothers' pain and injury, Felicité's high-spirited manner elevated Josette's mood. She doubted either one of her brothers had met such a woman as this Miss Andrews. Furthermore, Josette was confident Felicité had never before encountered the likes of René and Bastièn.

René studied Felicité through smoky eyes. Then that sultry expression Josette had seen so many times settled over his countenance. “Ah, but I have more hurts,
ma chére
, so come, have pity on me.”

Felicité squinted at René. “Bastièn looks the worse for wear. Besides, he's on this large sofa while you sit in a chair made for one.”

A slow, easy grin slid across René's mouth. “I can easily make room.”

Josette couldn't help it; she laughed. “René is right about his wounds, Miss Felicité. Were you to see beneath his shirt, you'd find all manner of cuts that required a good number of stitches.”

Felicité gasped. “What in the name of all saints took place?”

The boys shot speaking glances at Josette. “As I said, my brothers were set upon by thugs. I'll spare you the nasty details.” She moved to the low table near the sofa. “Would you care for another glass of lemonade?”

The front door opened and closed. Josette's heart hit the floor once again. But it was Alexia coming in, a frown on her face that would've frightened off a storm.

Cameron followed behind her, wearing an equally mulish scowl. Felicité leaned forward and peered down the corridor. Spying Cameron, she excused herself and went to him.

Alexia marched into the parlor and to René. “How'd you get that cut on your head, Uncle? Scoot over, so's I can fit in.”

Josette bristled. “Alexia, where are your manners?”

René leaned over and whispered something in Alexia's ear. Her cheeks mottled. Instead of responding, she shot over to where Bastièn sat with his arm over the sofa back. She plopped down close to the inside curve of his shoulder, and scowled at his bruised and cut face. “Plain to see you been in another fight.”

“Please, come in,” Josette said to Cameron as he and Felicité approached. Whatever had been exchanged between the two cousins, some of the anger seemed to have dissipated from Cameron.

“He's already in.” Alexia crossed her arms over her chest and, refusing to look at her father, began to pick at her bottom lip.

Oh, dear
.

Cameron glanced from Bastièn to René. “What the blazes happened to you two?”

“They were set upon by thugs,” Felicité said when Josette hesitated.

Cameron stepped closer to Josette but he eyed René. “That looks like a nasty cut on your forehead, but surely not enough to keep you from work.”

René raised his shirt and exposed his torso wrapped from waist to underarms in strips of cotton stained with blotches of dried blood. “There's more than meets the eye. An old saying,
oui
?”

At the sight of her uncle's condition, Alexia's eyes widened. She let loose with French curses.

Felicité murmured something to Cameron, who nodded. She turned to Alexia. “Dear, how would you like to spend a couple of days with me at my brother's home?”

“
Non
.”

“Have you ever driven a buggy?”

“Now where would I be gettin' one of those?” She shot a grin at Bastièn. “Steal it?”

Not returning her smile, he leaned to her ear. Whatever he said, her cheeks blotched a deeper shade of red. She sprang from the sofa and headed for the door. “I'm off to my room.”

Felicité stepped in front of her. “Please don't leave just yet. How would you like a turn around town in my buggy? I have it parked right outside. We can take our sweet time getting to Michel's. Stop wherever you please. I'll even let you have a hand at taking the reins. In the morning, we can ride over to the lake for a picnic. If you're any good at handling the horse and buggy today, then tomorrow you can do all the driving you care to.”

Alexia's face lit up. She turned to Josette.

“Don't look to me for permission. Ask your father.”

Alexia's mouth tightened into a grim slit.

A sigh, which Josette doubted anyone but she heard, left Cameron's lips. “Go on with you,” he said. “Pack a few things and I'll see you in two days.”

Alexia raced from the room toward the stairs. “I'll be right back.”

Josette's stomach did that awful flip again. Two days and they'd both be gone from her life. She turned to Cameron and swept her hand toward the doorway. “May I have a word with you in private?”

The silence that fell over the room was laughable. He slid his gaze from one brother to the other. With a sardonic grin, he turned and followed her.

She led him across the corridor to the library and closed the double doors. Cameron, hands clasped behind his back, perused the room. His discerning gaze captured everything, from walls lined with books to the leather furniture, a world globe on a stand, and her oak writing desk. “Is this your collection, or was your husband an avid reader?”

A kind of sadness rolled through her at the reminder. “Monsieur LeBlanc was not much for books if they did not concern finances. I've spent a great deal of time alone in here.”

“Impressive.” Cameron turned to face her. “I meant the sheer number of books, not your time spent alone.”

She hadn't asked him here to discuss her taste in reading or the quantity of her books. “I take it by the way Alexia stormed in that things did not go well with the authorities.”

“At least not for her. I decided you were right, that I shouldn't try to waltz her out of the situation so I took a more severe course. Suffice it to say, my daughter now despises me.”

Josette motioned for him to sit on the leather sofa. She took a chair opposite him. “What happened?”

Cameron rested an elbow on the sofa back and pressed two fingers to his temple. He discreetly rubbed in small circles. “I escorted her to the police station this morning. It seems the officer who visited your shop sent notice to those pedestrians who'd reported the thefts. They were all waiting for Alexia when we arrived.”

“Oh, dear.”

He nodded. “I sat beside her, but did not involve myself. She did a lot of squirming while she returned everyone's items and offered a round of apologies. The officer and I agreed that while I would see that she personally returned the remaining goods to the individual shopkeepers, I would wait outside each establishment while she went in and made her amends on her own.”

“And she acquiesced?”

“Yes, until we left the station and got to the first place of business. Alexia marched in, slammed the candlesticks on the counter and said, ‘Bugger off.'”

Josette pressed her fingers to her lips in a failed attempt to suppress a maverick bubble of laughter. “Pardon me. Please go on.”

“That's when I decided I had better accompany her inside from then on, which I did. Other than telling me she hated me and wanted to come back here, she hasn't spoken to me since.”

“Oh, Cameron, she's merely angry. And exceedingly embarrassed. She adores you.”

“I do believe the last words she directed at me sounded distinctly like, ‘I hate you.' How else am I to interpret such a vehemently delivered statement?”

“Give her time.”

“Time? I only hope Felicité's brilliant idea to keep Alexia occupied until we sail proves successful. Mark my words, once I haul her aboard ship, she'll find a hundred different ways to express her loathing of me.”

Guilt hammered at Josette. She pushed aside her own emotions to deal with Cameron's obvious hurt. “I'm so sorry you landed in this mess. It's my fault she went after you.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “You actually admit to being the instigator?”

She gave a shrug. “Once I learned that you were living in San Francisco, I wrote a letter telling you about your daughter. Before I had a chance to mail the blasted thing, Alexia found it, which was how she knew where to find you.”

Their gazes locked.

“Do you forgive me?”

His features softened. “I would not have known a child of mine existed had you done otherwise. There is nothing to forgive.”

Tension squeezed her forehead until pain shot through her eyes. She worked at letting go of the tightness in her stomach. “Thank you, but I didn't ask you in here to privately discuss Alexia. That could have been done with my brothers present.”

“What then?”

She clasped her hands in her lap. “I need a bit of advice, and I have no one to ask but you.”

“Not your brothers?”

“Especially not them.” She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “René could've been killed last night if Bastièn hadn't met up with him. I know who ordered the attack.”

His hand dropped from his temple. “Who?”

“Émile Vennard.”

Cameron stilled. “You're certain?”

She nodded and told him the entire story. When finished, she said, “So you see, I dare not whisper a word of this to my brothers lest they hunt the man down. Then what would happen to them? René and Bastièn may be misguided at times, but they are not killers. Even if Vennard met with a so-called accident, my brothers couldn't live with themselves.”

Something changed in Cameron. Whatever concerns he'd displayed regarding Alexia disappeared, replaced by a formidable force Josette had yet to encounter. A kind of shock wended through her at the sheer power he exuded. He stood and made his way to the wide expanse of windows overlooking her flower garden. His back to her, he said nothing for a long while.

Then he turned, his sober, businesslike demeanor in sharp contrast to the worry he'd worn when he'd first entered her home. “Vennard is a big man in a minuscule part of the world, Josette. He's not dealt with anyone used to working on a much larger scale. I've a simple solution.”

She stood as well, clasping her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking. “What kind of solution?”

“Sell both your home and your shop to my shipping company.”

She gasped. “What? How?”

“No money will be exchanged other than the mandatory dollar. It's merely a matter of paperwork.” He pulled his watch from his vest pocket and checked the time. “It's barely two o'clock. I have time to get to the bank and to my solicitors to have the papers drawn up at once.”

It was as though his commanding vitality swallowed up the entire room, taking her along with it. Heart hammering in her chest, she took a step back. “But . . . but these things take time, and you'll be leaving in two days.”

He gave a quick shake of his head. “Once everything is in order, I'll sign whatever I can before my departure. Michel will act on the company's behalf for anything else.”