Creole Hearts (18 page)

"Pistols it will be.
Second?"

"Marc de la Harpe.
Yours?"

"Andre Lafreniere."

"I'll have Marc contact him to set the time," Philippe said. He turned and strode from the room. Guy waited a few moments, wanting him out of the house before he left the salon. He heard the murmur of voices, a woman's scream.

Guy rushed into the corridor, saw Madelaine by the staircase supported in Philippe's arms. Her head dangled backwards and he realized she'd fainted. Odalie came running down the stairs.

"The maid will see to her," Guy said. "Louis, show this man out."

Philippe, not looking at Guy, handed Madelaine over to Odalie and, back stiff, walked down the corridor not waiting for old Louis to precede him. He let himself out, closing the door behind him.

“Is she all right?" Guy asked Odalie.

"You know how it be with her?" Odalie said.

He nodded curtly,

"She be fainting a bit, likely she do it again."

"I'll carry her upstairs."

In Madelaine's room, he stood at the bedside looking down at his sister's colorless face. How could she? he asked himself. Was it possible Philippe had somehow taken advantage of her?

Her eyelids quivered, opened. She stared up at Guy.

"You're going to kill him," she whispered. "If he dies, I hope I die, too."

"Dr. Goodreau says he's getting too old for these affairs," Andre Lafreniere told Guy. "He's asked another doctor to attend us. Is that satisfactory?"

Guy shrugged. "Any doctor he recommends is fine."

"Marc says Philippe offered no objection, so we may proceed," Andre said. "Everything's ready for dawn tomorrow."

That evening Guy checked his dueling pistols, then asked Louis to bring Odalie to the library.

"I want you to dose Mademoiselle with laudanum tonight," he told Odalie. "Put it in a drink so she doesn't know."

"I do what you say."

"Be certain you do. Otherwise she may be hurt trying to stop the duel. Once a bullet's fired it can't be called back to the gun. Make certain she sleeps through the duel."

“
Oui
.”

When Odalie was gone, Guy lowered his head into his hands. He should be elated, full of eager excitement at the thought of facing a Roulleaux on the dueling field, but all he felt was a dark foreboding.

Whatever happened, the love and trust between him and Madelaine was lost, perhaps forever.

Chapter
18

Even at sunrise, the June morning was sultry. Guy rode along the Metarie Road with Andre toward the Les Trois Capelines, the three moss draped oaks just the other side of Metarie Ridge, a common dueling spot, and the one Philippe had chosen.

Guy, with time to think about it, had lost his first flush of rage. I don't want to kill the bedamned fool, he told himself, even if he is a Roulleaux. Philippe once saved my life, it would be wrong to end his, no matter what his ancestry. On the other hand, neither do I want to die. Ah, well, he has first shot and I must take my chances.

"I love him!" Madelaine had cried the night before, standing in the entrance to the library, Odalie's black face at her shoulder. "Don't do this to me," she begged. "Don't kill the man I love—the father of the child I carry."

Already the pupils of her eyes were tiny from the dose of laudanum Odalie had given her, and her tongue thick from its effects. "Guy, I pray you won't harm Philippe." Madelaine staggered, clutching at the door frame. Odalie caught her.

"Come to bed, pauvre 'tite" she murmmured. Guy helped Odalie support Madelaine as she climbed the stairs. Once in bed, she fell asleep immediately, drugged by the opium mixture. He'd promised her nothing.

Back down from a duel? Such a thing wasn't done. He'd be scorned forever among his friends, labeled a coward. Still, he wished this duel didn't have to be fought. "To the death," he'd said, and so he'd have to at least wound Philippe.

The right arm would be best. Philippe might not attempt a shot at him with the second pistol and he could declare himself satisfied. He'd try to miss the bone to save the loss of the arm.

"I don't believe I asked you the name of the doctor," Guy said to Andre.

"Dr. Goodreau told me you knew him. An
Americain
who was with Jackson's army. John Kellogg is his name."

Guy stiffened, then relaxed. The red haired American was competent, and Philippe would need a good doctor's services. Kellogg could be trusted to keep his mouth shut about the duel or Dr. Goodreau wouldn't have recommended him.

When the seconds finished pacing off the distance between the duelists, Guy took his position, facing Philippe. Andre handed him one of his pistols, primed and ready to fire. At the same time, Marc gave Philippe his pistol.

Although his heart hammered against his ribs, Guy stood calmly, waiting for Philippe to shoot first.

May
le bon Dieu
have mercy on my soul, he prayed soundlessly.

He saw the flare of Philippe's pistol, heard the report, felt a blow to his head that knocked him off balance so that he staggered, confused for a moment. Andre hurried toward him, but Guy waved him back.

Philippe's bullet, he knew, had grazed his temple. He felt the trickle of blood down his cheek, but disdained to wipe it away as he brought up his pistol, carefully taking aim, fighting off a wave of dizziness.

In the forearm, he decided, for if I do smash the bone, Philippe will lose only part of the arm. He pulled back the hammer to full cock and squeezed the trigger. To his horror, as the gun cracked, Philippe moved.

In a whirling kaleidoscope of motion Philippe stumbled back, fell, Marc ran to him, the red haired American doctor ran to him. The trees to either side of Guy whirled, from behind him he heard a woman scream, the pistol dropped from his hand and everything went dark.

When Guy recovered consciousness, he was lying on his back under an oak with John Kellogg leaning over him. His head ached abominably. He tried to sit up but a violent vertigo forced him flat again.

"Concussion of the brain," Dr. Kellogg said. "You'll be all right in a day or two."

"Philippe?" Guy managed to ask.

"Dead. Shot through the heart."

I meant to hit his arm, Guy wanted to say. If only he hadn't moved. Pride prevented him from speaking.

"Your sister's condition is less favorable than yours," Dr. Kellogg went on, "but I believe she'll recover."

"Madelaine?" Again Guy struggled to sit up. The doctor helped him brace his back against the tree. "What happened? Where is she?"

"In my carriage." As she spoke, Annette Louise stepped into view from behind the oak. Her dark eyes smoldered with anger. "I brought Madelaine here as she asked me to do. How could you do such a terrible thing?" she demanded. "And to your own sister!"

"Annette Louise . . ." Guy began.

"Don't speak to me. I never want to see you again." She whirled and stalked away.

Guy turned to the doctor. "Please tell me what happened."

"Madame Davion's carriage drove up just as you fired," Dr. Kellogg said. "Your sister jumped out and ran toward
Monsieur
Roulleaux as he fell, mortally wounded. She fainted. When I saw I could do nothing for him, I went to her. She's extremely disturbed."

"Madelaine took—I ordered her maid to dose her with laudanum."

The doctor nodded. "Her maid told me. She's with your sister in the carriage. The opium may be contributing to her confusion." Guy saw the muscles bunch as Dr. Kellogg clenched his jaw.

"Would you ask my second to help me onto my horse?" Guy said. "I believe I can ride home."

The doctor stared at him for a moment, nodded curtly and strode away.

Guy closed his eyes. His ordeal wasn't over. He'd have to decide what should be done with Madelaine, what was best for her. She might well never forgive him.

As for Annette Louise, she'd made it clear she'd never marry him. If she didn't change her mind, he'd lost Gabe, too.

John Kellogg sat by Madeline's bed, watching her. She moaned and turned restlessly, but didn't open her eyes. Madame Davion had wanted to take her to De Cheminee, the Davion plantation, but he'd told her she couldn't, insisting that Madelaine would be best cared for at home.

How long had it been since he'd sat beside her bed at La Belle, afraid she was dying? Seven years. His heart still turned over at the sight of her, even though he knew from having examined her that she was pregnant with another man's child. It took no great power of deduction to see that the father was Philippe Roulleaux.

Madeline's physical condition was good, although she was a trifle thin. Her mind—that was another matter. He hoped that when she woke from her drug induced slumber she'd be rational, and the not the wild eyed, incoherent creature who'd fought him as he forced more laudanum down her throat.

He'd tried to see her in December when his army unit was sent to New Orleans to assist General Jackson. The war and the hideous aftermath of amputating limbs and treating suppurating wounds had kept him from her, and then his battalion had been transferred north to Baton Rouge. He'd come to New Orleans on leave, met Dr. Goodreau and offered to take his place at the duel.

He neither knew nor cared if Guy La Branche approved of him being in the house, for he intended to stay here until Madelaine recovered.

With a start he realized Madelaine's eyes were open and she was gazing at him, recognition and bewilderment in her expression.

He leaned over. "How do you feel, Madelaine?"

"Weak." She blinked, obviously trying to orient herself. "I don't still have yellow fever? I remember getting well . . ." Her words broke off and her face went stiff, despair and horror in her eyes.

"No," she breathed. "Oh no, John, tell me it didn't happen."

He took her hand in both of his.

"He's dead," she wailed. "Philippe's dead, isn't he?"

"Yes, Madelaine."

Tears filled her eyes and she began to sob. He sat on the bed, gathering her into his arms, holding her as she wept, doing nothing to try to stem her tears, for grief was best assuaged with tears.

At last she eased away from him. He handed her a handkerchief and helped her sit up among the pillows. He knelt beside the bed and took her hand."I know you'll have Philippe Roulleaux's baby," he said. "Marry me, Madelaine, and I'll accept the child as my own. The first year you'd be an army wife but then my enlistment time is finished and I'll set up a practice. In New Orleans, if you like, for I feel at home here."

Her eyes widened as she stared at him. Finally she drew her hand from his. He rose from his knees and stood looking down at her.

"My brother—Guy's not badly hurt, is he?"

"No. A mild concussion of the brain.”

"I—I can't marry you, though it is most generous of you to offer."

"It's not from generosity. I--""No, wait until I finish. I can't marry you. How can I marry anyone now? And Guy . . ." Her eyes hardened. "I won't give him the chance to kill anyone else."

"Never mind your brother. This is between us."

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "My answer is no. It wouldn't be right.

Philippe . . ." She closed her eyes and tears seeped from beneath her eyelids.  “It’s no use, John, but thank you. I'll not forget you."

I've never forgotten you, he said silently. I never will.

"No," Estelle said. "I won't let you take my Anton. He's mine." Her dark eyes snapped with fury as she stood facing Guy in the main room of the cottage.

Guy glared down at her. "I have the right to him, he bears my name. Anton comes with Denis, as I've told you. Both the boys will sail with me to France."

"If Anton goes, I go."

Guy, taken aback, opened his mouth to tell her she wasn't giving the orders, then closed it without replying. Having Estelle along might be wise. Madelaine remained so listless he knew she'd be no help with the two boys. He'd planned to take Odalie but she made an uncomfortable companion with her silent hatred, blaming him, he knew, for everything that was wrong with Madelaine.

Estelle could easily manage the boys and look after Madelaine at the same time. In fact, it might do his sister good to get away from Odalie's over protectiveness for awhile.

"You'll come, of course," he said. "But, mind, the boys will be left there and you'll come back with me. You'll not stay in France to interfere with their education."

She eyed him sullenly.

“You’ll also see to my sister’s needs on the journey. Naturally you’ll be paid for this service.”

Estelle blinked, "Very well. I'll care for the boys and your sister." The look in her eyes plainly said what she did not—that she had no intention of caring for him as well.

Madelaine accepted the idea of a voyage to France as she did everything since the duel, without argument, moving through the days as though she wasn't aware of anything around her.

By the time Guy had arranged for their passage, she was four months along, but so thin that no one in New Orleans knew she was with child except Odalie. Madelaine hadn't told Annette Louise.

A week aboard ship made Madelaine's condition obvious to Estelle.

"You're taking her to France to have her baby," she said to Guy as they walked the deck. "I wondered why you were in such a hurry to leave."

"We won't discuss the matter," he warned.

Estelle smiled, but didn't bring it up again.

The ship dropped anchor off Le Havre and Guy hired a coach and headed for St. Ambrose, the boarding school in the wine country north of Paris, where his father had sent Francois. He left Estelle with Madelaine at a country inn on the outskirts of Paris, then went on with Denis and Anton to St. Ambrose.

"I have need of a convent where my sister can stay for her confinement," he told the abbe at the boarding school. "A place where the child might be cared for as an infant."

"The Sisters of the Blessed Miracle," the abbe replied. "The convent is some distance from here, but I can't think of any order better suited to your needs."

"Tell me their location, if you'll be so kind."

Later, Guy said goodbye to the boys, who he was leaving at the school.

"Denis, you're almost a man, ten years old, and you must console your little brother when he feels sad for his
maman
. He's only four, not yet big enough to hold back tears. Learn what the good priests teach you as best you can."

Denis, his lip quivering, swallowed and looked at his father. Wordlessly, he nodded his head.

Anton still clung to Guy's hand and Guy gently disengaged his fingers, kneeling down to join his hand to Denis’.

"You be a good boy, Anton," he said. "You listen to Denis, he'll look after you and so will the priests. When papa comes back to see you you'll be almost grown and think how proud he'll be of you." He kissed the little boy, then embraced Denis.

Tears filled Denis' eyes and rolled down his cheeks but he struggled to be brave. Impulsively, Guy slid the ruby ring that had been his father's off his finger and put it in Denis' free hand. Then, with tears in his own eyes, he left hurriedly lest he break down himself. Little Anton cried, "Papa, papa," after him until the door closed and shut off the wails.

How well he recalled his own father leaving him at his French school the despair, the homesickness. And he'd been eleven.