Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (42 page)

Continuing on down the staircase, Jean admitted, "Most of it. I knew that they used part of her letter to Renault to drive the final spike in your heart and the fact that you had left town to convince her that you had never meant to marry her."

John's jaw hardened. "It did not disturb you?"

Jean shrugged. "You forget that I was a youth, younger even than Lisette. In the beginning, I believed them when they said they were doing what was best for Lisette, our two families and the company. Besides, Renault was my brother, and he wanted to marry her—who was I to question his actions? It was my duty to support his endeavors."

His eyes slid to Lisette's face. Apologetically he said, "I know that I was not always fair to you—I blamed you for what happened. I felt for many years that you had betrayed my brother, and I resented you and what you had done. It did not sit well with me to know that Renault had married another man's leavings."

There was a gasp from the two women, color coming and going in Lisette's face and John surged forward, his features dark and dangerous, his intention plain. Hugh intervened, stepping between the two older men. "It all happened a long time ago," he said quietly, urgently, looking from one tense face to the other. "The two culprits who created the situation are dead. They are the ones to blame—not each other. There is no need to make a tragic ending now."

Jean took a deep breath. "I did not mean to be insulting," he said stiffly. "I was, in my clumsy fashion, attempting to explain to Lisette why I have acted as I have toward her." He stepped away from Hugh and bowed deeply in Lisette's direction. "I beg your pardon. I realize now, and have for some time, that what happened was not your fault." He gave a twisted smile. "Unfortunately, my resentment was even a longer time dying, and treating you as I have had become a habit."

His words smote Micaela like a blow between the eyes. She understood now the tenseness she had always sensed between Jean and Lisette, but Jean's mention of his behavior becoming a habit struck her hardest. She flashed a glance at her husband, her heart melting as she stared at his beloved features.
Maman
was right—pride was a cold bedmate.
She must talk to him!

Jean crossed to stand in front of Lisette. Lifting her hand, he pressed a kiss on the back of it. "Will you allow me to make amends? And allow me to offer you my most sincere congratulations?"

Lisette hesitated then her gentle smile appeared.
"Oui!
Thank you. And perhaps, now with no secrets between us, we can become the friends we should have been all the time."

Jean cocked a brow. "If there
are
no more secrets," he said softly and for her ears alone.

Lisette became flustered and said hastily,
"Dieu!
But we have all become very serious, have we not? Come let us partake of that toast my handsome son-in-law mentioned."

Hugh laughed, pleased that the sticky moment was behind them, and ushered the two ladies toward the sitting room. For a moment, Jean and John were left to face each other alone in the hall. Silently they regarded one another then John slowly extended his hand. "My stepson is right. The past is the past. There is no reason for
us
to continue to be at odds. Our families seemed determined to commingle. It will be difficult if you and I continue to hold grudges that were not of our own making."

Jean smiled, albeit ruefully. "I admit that I am torn—one's loyalty to one's family is very strong, but as you said, our families
have
become one. You and I are older now and, I hope, wiser. I find that at my age I prefer friends to enemies."

They shook hands and John clapped Jean on the back. "Come along, my friend," he said. "We shall drink several toasts this afternoon, not the least to the demise of an old deceit and a new and lasting friendship."

* * *

It wasn't to be expected that François would take the news of the coming nuptials between Lisette and John Lancaster as calmly as the others—his mother's and John's shared history was unknown to him, although he was aware that they had met years ago, when the company had first been formed. He had troubles of his own to occupy his unpleasant thoughts. The terrifying knowledge that Alain would be arriving at
Amour
sometime within the next forty-eight hours with the intention of killing Hugh was not conducive to an easy conscience.

He had, with a fervor which surprised him, prayed that the invitation for Alain to join them would be denied. And he had been sunk in black despair when the very thing he had asked for had been granted so easily. It was with little enthusiasm that he had penned the note inviting Alain to come to
Amour
and seen it sent off to New Orleans.

No one seemed to have noticed that François was unusually withdrawn since arriving
at Amour,
that his merry smile was not much in evidence. If anyone had noticed something amiss, it had no doubt been put down to his being bored in the country. François was not bored. In fact, now that his world was coming down around his ears, he was realizing just how very fortunate he had been before he had allowed himself to be sucked into Alain's iron grasp.

With his newfound sense of responsibility and sudden maturity, François no longer blamed everything and everyone else for his trouble. He did not even blame Alain for his present predicament. He knew that he had no one to blame except himself. Nor could he escape the ugly fact that the idea to pilfer small amounts from the company had originated with him. If only, he thought despairingly, he had not wanted to act the part of a sophisticated, wealthy man-about-town, friend and confidant of the dashing Alain Husson, eager and ready to show his nerve and verve by gambling on everything and anything. If only he had not wanted to prove to everyone just how adult he was, how very "knowing" he was, he would not have acted as he had. He squirmed with embarrassment and shame when he considered his actions. There was also the bitter awareness that he had simply parroted Alain's inflaming statements about the
Américains
and that he had blindly taken Alain's attitude toward Hugh as his own. With a sinking feeling he admitted that he had grown to like Hugh—or at least, he did not dislike him.

Alone in his suite of rooms upstairs at
Amour,
François had spent hours pacing and staring out the tall windows, desperately seeking a way out of the trap he had dug for himself. Confessing all to Jean was one way out. But while knowing it was what he should do, François could not bring himself to expose his own duplicity, his own foolishness and arrogance to his uncle. Telling his mother or sister was not to be considered. And then there was Hugh.... His young face bleak, he sighed and turned away from the windows.

How could he stand by and let Alain murder his brother-in-law? Etienne's death, though he had had nothing to do with it, stabbed at him every time he thought of it—which was almost constantly. He could not say that he was deeply fond of Hugh, but he was discovering that he would be pleased to have the opportunity to know him better and to strengthen the tenuous bonds between them. To have Hugh's death on his conscience, knowing he could have prevented it, was unbearable.

He wouldn't have been François if he had not been just a little bit sorry for himself, but he had come a long way since that last shattering interview with Alain, and, as he looked back at what he had done, he was appalled. How could he have been so blindly arrogant? How could he have so carelessly justified stealing from his own company, no matter what the reason? How could he have stolen from his own family that way?

His face twisted. He had been a weak fool! He could not undo what he had done, but he was aware that the truth was going to have to come out—all of it. He would be, he knew, deservedly punished for his part in what had happened, and he almost looked forward to the day his sins were revealed. But he was not yet ready to face that particular debacle, and at the moment his greatest concern was trying to come up with a plan to stop Hugh's murder. Something that at the moment seemed impossible. He sighed again. Deeply and heavily.

The tap on his door broke into his unhappy thoughts, and when his mother entered the room, he was surprised. Forcing a smile onto his lips, he said,
"Maman!
What is it? What brings you looking for me?"

Even as distracted as he was by his own troubles, François could not help but notice the glow of happiness which seemed to surround her. His smile becoming more natural, he approached her and asked, "What is it? Has Micaela told you that you are to be a
grand-mere!
Am I to be an
oncle!"'

Lisette shook her head, uncertain how to start. She had left the others downstairs, still laughing and discussing wedding plans, and had come in search of her son. Everyone knew where she was and what she was doing. François's reaction had already been discussed, and it had been decided that he would take the news of the coming marriage better from his mother, privately. They had all agreed that it would not be wise to spring it on him without warning at dinner tonight.

It was considered an advantage that François appeared to like John Lancaster, and there was the hope that since he had seemed to have gotten over his resentment of Micaela's marriage to Hugh, the news that his mother was going to marry Hugh's stepfather might not set off the furious explosion they all feared would mar the happy event. But looking at him, seeing the shadows lurking in his dark eyes and the signs of strain on his young face, Lisette was not so sure of her ability to explain things to him as she had been a few minutes ago when she had slipped out of the sitting room and come in search of him. He looked, to her mother's eye, deeply troubled.

A little frown crinkled her forehead and touching him on the arm, she asked, "What is it,
mon amour?
You look very unhappy."

François shrugged and said, "Oh, it is nothing. I have had the headache today."

Her eyes searched his, and, seeing that he was not going to say more—if there was anything more to say—she gave his arm an encouraging squeeze and turned away. Wandering over to the windows, she said softly, "I do have some important news to tell you—I hope that you will be happy for me."

When she told him, at first he did not seem to understand what she was saying. His face the picture of confusion and incredulity, he stared at her. "M-m-married?" He finally got out. "You and John Lancaster?"

Lisette nodded, her hands clasped nervously together. "We were always attracted to each other," she began carefully, laying out the story that had been agreed upon. "But I was in love with your father and nothing came of it."

It had been Jean who suggested that there was no reason for François to know of the deceit practiced by his father and grandfather. Let him believe that a fleeting attraction years ago between John and Lisette had recently blossomed into full bloom.

If François's thoughts had not been taken up with his own worries, it is possible he would not have swallowed Lisette's story. But after his first disbelief and shock, he seemed genuinely pleased by the news.

"I am to have a step
-Papa!
John Lancaster will now have two stepsons,
oui!"
he asked, his dark eyes alight with pleasure.

Lisette nodded. "You do not mind,
mon cher
?" she inquired anxiously. Nothing would stop her from marrying John, but she had feared that François would not be as thrilled and excited for her as Micaela had been.

François smiled and kissed her on the cheek. "
Non!
I have always thought that my sweet
maman
was too young and pretty to stay a widow for the rest of her life. He seems a fine man. And since," he said teasingly, "we already have one
Américain
in the family, what is one more?" Laughing he added, "Perhaps I, too, shall marry an
Américaine
some day!"

With François's approval, Lisette's last bar to complete happiness had been lifted and dinner that evening was merry and lighthearted, with toast after toast being offered to the happy couple. The wedding was set for two weeks hence, and it had been decided that it would be a quiet and private affair. Just the immediate family would be in attendance, and it would take place at
Amour.
Jean, in the spirit of putting the past behind them, offered to make the arrangements with the parish priest to perform the ceremony at the house and François, with a deference foreign to him, added quietly that he would be pleased and honored to give his very lovely
maman
away.

It was a pleasant evening, and, taking advantage of the goodwill which flowed so freely, Hugh decided it was as propitious a time as any to attempt to heal the breach with his wife. He had surreptitiously watched as she wandered over to help herself to another glass of the champagne punch which had been brought into the sitting room after dinner. Everyone else was gathered together on the far side of the room, and, under the guise of needing to refill his own glass, he walked up to her.

Smiling, he asked, "Allow me?" And at her nod he proceeded to ladle them both another glass, leaving his own sitting on the table as he handed her glass back to her.

Micaela did not immediately drift away as had been her wont lately, and, taking heart, Hugh inquired, "Are you happy about this?"

She glanced at him over the rim of her glass, her dark eyes unfathomable. A smile that made his heart catch in his chest curved her mouth. "Oh,
oui!
It is most romantic,
non!
To think that they have always loved each other and that now after all these years the way is clear for them finally to wed."