Creole Hearts (21 page)

As the election neared, Nicolas Roulleaux began campaigning actively for his friend, Marc. Andre supported Guy just as fervently. Wagers were laid daily in the coffee houses with the odds favoring one, then the other.

Guy, Joubert, and Captain Shreve received an official notice that they were violating the law with their steamboats, but no action followed, though Shreve reported, mysterious fires at the boatyard near Baton Rouge where their new side wheeler was being built.

"Think," he said, "two years ago there were only six steamboats on the entire river, counting the Fulton Livingston boats and French's. Soon we'll have six boats of our own."

"If someone doesn't burn them before they're built," Joubert pointed out.

"I've set guards," Shreve said. "We won't have any more trouble. The guards I've hired are keelboaters, and not easy to get around."

The Americans had prohibited public masked balls in New Orleans in 1805, worrying about Spanish intrigues, but the public dances were still held and Guy fell into the habit of going regularly, bringing Julienne when she'd agree to go with him. Madelaine refused to attend, despite his urging.

Just before the election, Guy went alone to a dance, arriving rather late from a session with the dice in Tremoulet's. One of the first people he saw in the ballroom was Madame Le Moyne and he immediately looked about for Julienne. He couldn't find her, but Yolande was sitting beside her mother. Guy climbed the stairs and asked her to dance.

As they took their positions for the quadrille, Guy asked after Julienne.

"I don't know where she is," Yolande said. She was attractive enough, he supposed, if one hadn't seen Julienne.

"But is she here? At the dance?"

"I haven't seen her," Yolande said evasively.

The music began and he swung her through the figures of the quadrille automatically, his mind on her sister. Could Yolande be afraid to admit Julienne was with another man? He thought her a timid rabbit of a girl, despite her intelligence.

Julienne had made him no promises, but still his muscles tensed in anger as he thought of her with someone else. Who could the man be? One of the young sons of the upriver planters, boys that Julienne had grown up with?

He'd stay calm if this were the case. He wouldn't offer a challenge, for the young blades would have no chance against him. After a round of dances, he escorted Yolande to her mother, who sat talking to another matron.

". . . will be the death of me,"
Madame
  Le Moyne was saying as they came up. She didn't see them immediately.

"How two girls can be so different
,adame
Le Moyne went on, "only
le bon Dieu
knows. I warned Julienne. I said, 'isn't it enough you have a tres eligible man courting you?' But, no, she must smile at Nicolas Roulleaux, too, and you know what trouble . . ."

"
Maman,
I'm back," Yolande said loudly.

Guy now clearly understood why she wouldn't tell him what her sister was doing. He bowed and left the Le Moynes, Scanning the dance floor, he found Julienne was nowhere to be seen. The private rooms near the rear of the hall? He strode to the back. All four doors were closed. He took up a position where he could watch.

He waited there, his anger building. Wasn't it enough that Nicolas had taken Roxanne from under his very nose? Aimee. Senalda. Roxanne. Julienne. With each woman, Nicolas crossed his path like an evil shadow. Was he truly interested in Julienne, or did he mean to provoke Guy into a challenge?

"I didn't see you come in." Joubert Le Moyne was at his shoulder, smiling. An uneasy smile. "Won't you join me for a drink?"

Guy glanced at the doors, then back at Joubert. He noticed the glances cast his way and realized many knew why he stood waiting. They'd leave him no choice but to challenge Nicolas. But wasn't that why he stood here?

What would happen to Madelaine if he dueled with Philippe's brother? She'd begun to trust him again, letting him take her to the opera, playing backgammon with him in the evenings. Yet he couldn't compromise his manhood because of Madelaine.

He'd stand here until a door opened and Julienne came out with Nicolas. What was she doing in there with him? How dare he take her into a private room? What was her mother thinking of to let her go with him?

With an effort, Guy got hold of himself. Nothing much ever went on in those rooms, as he knew very well. A few kisses, an indiscreet caress—no girl of good family would allow more. If he left now he could pretend he didn't know the truth.

"We could walk over to Maspero's, perhaps," Joubert said, "you and I."

Guy wrenched his gaze away from the doors to look at Joubert, who was perspiring heavily. All at once Guy nodded at him, forcing himself to smile.

"Yes, I'd like a drink," he said. "Why don't we go?" He turned and walked deliberately away, conscious of the eyes following him.

Not yet, Nicolas, he said to himself. But I won't forget.

Guy drank more than usual, Joubert keeping pace with him so that when they left the coffee house, Joubert staggered, nearly falling. He shook off Guy's helping hand.

"Don't need assistance," he said, his voice slurred. "You go your way, I'll go mine."

Guy watched him walk along the
banquette
until he was satisfied that Joubert would find his way back to the dance without mishap. He headed for his townhouse, feeling the brandy he'd drunk make his own legs wobbly and maze his thoughts until they were as shapeless as cotton.

Get home. Go to bed. Keep thinking that. Home. Bed. No use to bring Julienne to mind, she's with Nicolas. He hesitated, stopping. Bastard Nicolas. Challenge him. Duel.

No. Go home.

Guy began walking again. Strangers passed. Acquaintances greeted him. He nodded. Carriages clopped past. Drays. Carts.

On the river a steamboat whistled. He smiled. Build hundreds of boats. Joubert was his friend. Henry Shreve was his friend. Partners. Two Creoles, one American. The right proportion. Keep control.

As he left the commercial district fewer people passed, then none. An occasional man on horseback trotted by. The fresh breeze hinted of frost.

Hooves clattered from behind him, a horse being ridden fast. Someone in a hurry. The horseman drew even with Guy, slowed. He turned his head too quickly and lost his precarious balance. Staggered. Heard a sharp crack. Something hit his left arm. He grabbed at the arm with his right hand and fell to one knee. The horseman spurred his mount and galloped away.

"Wore a mask," Guy said aloud.

He got to his feet and walked on. He let himself through the gate into the courtyard. Crossed it. Climbed the steps. Reached for the door. The lantern, gleaming yellow from its hook above the door, showed dried blood on his hand. Guy stared at it, uncomprehendingly. He let himself inside.

His left arm hurt like the devil when he tried to shrug off his coat. He touched his arm, saw fresh blood on his hand. The horseman. The mask. The crack.

A pistol?

Guy sank down in the nearest chair.
Dieu
, he’d been shot at.

Someone had tried to kill him!

Chapter 21

Guy’s wound healed slowly even though it wasn't a serious injury.

"I can't think why you persist in believing Nicolas Roulleaux shot at you," Madelaine said just before Christmas as they sat over coffee.

Guy shrugged. "He could have been the one."

"Over Julienne Le Moyne? He'd have challenged you, not shot from ambush. And thank le bon Dieu he didn't challenge you. For if you face Nicolas on the field, I'll leave your roof, Guy. Don't mistake my words, for I'm serious.

“I no longer worry over you dueling. Everyone knows you're the most skillful swordsman in the city. But you've killed one Roulleaux and I won't stand by and see you kill the other."

Guy spread his hands. "In one breath you say I can best any swordsman in the city, in the next you say Nicolas couldn't have been my cowardly assailant. What if he fears to face me?"

She shook her head. "I don't believe it."

"I won the election. He may have realized Marc would lose and decided to--"

"Ridiculous! What of those fires Captain Shreve mentioned?”

"I admit it's possible the Fulton monopoly might have hired a man to rid them of me. But why not shoot Captain Shreve and Joubert Le Moyne as well?"

"You haven't mentioned your placee at all. Estelle is much admired among the free blacks. What if. . . ?"

"Enough!" Guy exclaimed. "I won't discuss Estelle with you." Underneath his annoyance, a persistent tendril of doubt thrust. Could the masked assailant have actually been Estelle, dressed as a man? Sometimes he felt her hatred for him was greater than anyone else's.

"Very well, have it your way—though it's foolish to pretend I don't know she exists. Whoever the man was, I've said many novenas in gratitude that your life was spared." Madelaine held out her hand to Guy and he reached across the table to touch her fingers.

"Promise me you won't challenge Nicolas over the Le Moyne girl," she went on. "Julienne isn't worth anyone's life."

Guy scowled. "How can I make such a promise?"

"Will you at least try to keep your temper? Let Julienne choose." Madelaine shook her head. "That is, if she intends to. It strikes me that she enjoys playing one man against the other far more than she enjoys the idea of marriage."

"I'll keep my temper. Though you're wrong about Julienne. She's young, she'll change."

Madelaine's raised eyebrows told him she had her doubts, but he knew his sister would do all she could to help Julienne become a proper wife once he married the little minx.

"We'll be able to move into Lac Belle by February," he said to take Madelaine's mind off Julienne and Nicolas.

Guy roused from a doze. Beside him Estelle slept, arms and legs outflung. He eased one of her arms from his chest and rose to his feet.

Despite the nap he felt exhausted, drained, as he always did after bedding Estelle. After he wed Julienne he'd have no need for these savage encounters. He began to dress.

"People say you're going to marry," Estelle said.

He turned to look at her. She lay in the same position, her dark eyes fixed on him.

"I plan to."

“The younger of Monsieur Le Moyne's daughters."

"Yes."

"She's not going to marry you." There was no threat in Estelle's voice, she spoke as if stating a fact. Nevertheless, a frisson crept along Guy's spine.

"That's nonsense," he said.

"I danced. I asked Zombi. He told me, spoke in my head."

"I thought I told you to stay away from voodoo."

"You told me. I do what I must."

"Don't go near Julienne."

Estelle smiled slightly, "Why would I do that? You think I need you?"

"I know you do."

"Not forever. But you listen to what I say. You won't marry that girl."

The steamboats brought in money so rapidly that even with the expense of building additional boats, Guy's share was more than he needed to finish the manor house. It had been a favorable day when he spoke to Captain Shreve.

What if he built a place especially for Julienne? Not Lac Belle. Though she'd be mistress there when they married, Lac Belle was for Madelaine as well, for La Branche children to come, not just for Julienne.

Wouldn't she like a picnic house of her very own? Not a simple wooden structure such as the old summer house on the lake had been. He'd had that torn down. He thought of the glittering splendor of Versailles. He could plan a palace in miniature for Julienne, a dreamland along the lake, complete with canals and tiny boats, sparkling fountains and flower gardens. A castle with furnishings fit for a princess. What could Nicolas offer to compete with that?

He began to prepare for Julienne's dreamland the next day, setting the slaves to dig the canals.

By the time he and Madelaine moved into the manor house, the little palace was beginning to take form. To his surprise, Madelaine approved.

"It's a lovely toy," she said. "Julienne will surely enjoy it and later your children will have a charming playhouse." She fell silent, staring pensively at the plantings between the canals.

Guy knew she was thinking of Cecile. A pang gripped his heart. How cruel it was to deprive a mother of her child. But what else could he have done?

When his fantasy was almost completed, he brought Julienne to Lac Belle.

"How beautiful," she said over and over as she walked throughout the manor house, admiring the crystal teardrops of the chandeliers, the carved plaster embellishing the ceilings, the white marble fireplaces, the graceful floating staircase, the brocade wallpaper from Paris.

When he handed her into the miniature carriage drawn by a pony, she clapped her hands in delight. He led the pony along a winding path of crushed oyster shells to her own domain, Belle Fantaisie, hidden from the manor house by tallow trees.

"This I had made for you alone," he told Julienne as he helped her from the carriage.

She looked around, her eyes wide.

There was an acre of intersecting canals with a scaled down steamboat complete with a slave boy, who’s feet on pedals furnished the power to turn the paddle wheels. Plantings of shrubs and flowers grew between the canals and delicate drawbridges spanned the water. Songbirds in an aviary fluttered from branch to branch near the entrance to the nearly completed palace.

"Mine?" Julienne breathed, incredulous.

"All yours. When they're through inside, you'll have three rooms downstairs and two upstairs, one with mirrors for walls."

"Oh, I can hardly wait to live in it! When will it be finished?"

"By July."

"That's a long time." Julienne pouted.

He put an arm about her. "By the time we finish all the preparations for the wedding, July will be here."

She drew back. "The wedding?"

"You know I want to marry you."

She shot him a sidelong glance. "Do I?"

He caught her to him, kissing her lips, and she allowed him a brief embrace before turning her face from his and pushing at his chest.

"Stop, that's enough.'*

He let her go.

She straightened her bonnet. "I haven't agreed to marry you."

"You can hardly live in your palace if you don't."

"You said it was mine!"

"But Julienne—it isn't proper for a young lady to accept a house from a man. I couldn't possibly ..."

Julienne stamped her foot, "I hate you!" she cried. "You tell me this is all mine, and then you say that I must marry you or I can't have it."

He tried to take her hand, but she turned her back petulantly.

"Your papa would surely challenge me if I offered you Belle Fantaisie without offering marriage," he told her.

“Well, haven’t you offered marriage? Why can’t I have my place without saying yes?"

"Julienne, it's not proper. Your papa..."

“Papa, always you say 'papa.' Don't you know I may do as I wish?" She tossed her head. "You may take me home. I don't wish to stay here any longer."

The next month Joubert Le Moyne held a party to celebrate Julienne's betrothal to Nicolas Roulleaux.

"She did it to spite you," Madelaine told him. "Watch, you'll see the engagement will be broken. Julienne isn't ready to marry any man."

"It was my own clumsiness," Guy said.

"
Pouf
! Julienne's a willful, spoiled young woman who wants her own way in all things. If you persist in wishing to marry a Le Moyne, Yolande is by far the better choice."

"Yolande bores me."

Joubert's invitation to Guy to attend the betrothal party included Madelaine. Guy understood that courtesy demanded he be asked since he was Joubert's partner, but realized that no one expected him to actually come to the dinner.

"I believe I'll attend this celebration," he told Madelaine.

"Why would you want to be at a dinner honoring Nicolas Roulleaux? I thought you avoided him whenever possible."

He shrugged. "Don't I have to be in the same room with him every day that I attend the legislature?"

"You'll cause trouble."

"No, certainly not. I wouldn't embarrass Joubert. He has no control over Julienne, I realize that."

"Guy, it's not a good idea."

"You don't have to come."

"If you intend to go, I shall certainly attend this party. Who'll keep an eye on you otherwise?"

D'Argent, the Le Moyne plantation, was brilliant with lights as the steamboat
Creole
Folie
brought the guests up river from New Orleans. Lanterns hung from ropes strung between high branches of the oaks that lined either side of the road from the river, and colored illuminations decorated trees about the house.

Inside, chandeliers blazed with hundreds of candles. There were flowers everywhere—reds and yellows and oranges, vivid colors that enhanced the dark beauty of the rosewood paneling. Guy escorted Madelaine into the double parlor. He thought she looked especially young and pretty tonight in a new Paris gown of deep rose, the high waist showing off her shapely breasts.

Odalie had coaxed Madelaine's hair into a new fashion, tiny curls about her face, the rest caught back with a star clasp of rose garnets. The style became her. She was more beautiful than any of the younger women, Guy thought— except, of course, for Julienne.

Guy tried to keep his eyes away from Julienne's glowing loveliness as she fluttered from one group to another, as fragile and dainty as a butterfly in her yellow and white dress. She touched the arm of a scowling young man, dancing away as he tried to catch her hand. Guy, watching, saw the man turn to glower at Nicolas, who glared back at him.

Guy smiled wryly. More than one disgruntled suitor in the party. Perhaps there'd be a challenge tonight, after all.

Servants carried trays of wines, liquors and lemonade. He took a glass of champagne for Madelaine, whom he found talking to Yolande.

". . . terribly upset," Yolande was saying. "I wish he hadn't come.”

Guy handed Madelaine the glass. "Are you speaking of that sullen young man by the archway?" he asked Yolande.

She nodded. "He's Ignace Proulx—you know, the Proulxes have the next plantation to us. I do hope he doesn't make a scene and ruin Julienne's party. The Proulx family are very close friends, but Ignace is so—so uncontrollable."

Guy thought he saw a resemblance between Ignace and Antoine Proulx. Antoine, who had fought with Beale's Rifles, must be the young man’s father, Guy decided.

He leaned closer to Madelaine. “I’ll keep an eye on Ignace. That ought to keep me out of trouble," he whispered to her.

Madelaine raised her eyebrows and he grinned.

As Guy mingled with the guests, he kept an eye on young Proulx. I don't want to challenge Nicolas over Julienne, he told himself. It would mean nothing, for she doesn't want me anyway.

If I can keep Ignace from disrupting the festivities, that can be my wedding present to her.

When the fifty guests had been seated at the three long tables in the dining room, Joubert stood, raising a hand for silence. He pulled a long ribbon attached to a gilt cage suspended from the ceiling. A door opened in the cage and a white pigeon flew out, made a circle of the room and fluttered down to alight on the table directly in front of Julienne.

While the guests exclaimed, Julienne picked up the pigeon and took a rolled paper from a band on its leg. She unfolded the paper, scanned it, and blushed becomingly.

"Read it aloud," a girl called.

"Oh, I couldn't," she protested.

"Is it a love note from the bridegroom?" Ignace Proulx asked harshly.

She shook her head, handing the paper to Nicolas. "You read it aloud for me," she said.

Nicolas stood up. After a quelling glare at Ignace he began.

Oh, fair sister of mine

Beautiful belle of Louisiana