Deep as the Rivers (Santa Fe Trilogy) (55 page)

   
Samuel had often visited the city and had lived there briefly with his sister prior to her marriage. He took the sights, sounds and smells of “Queen” New Orleans in stride. Olivia’s memories of the city were different. This was where her uncle had cruelly snubbed his only sister, leaving her family in desperate straits. Julian St. Etienne had won at the gambling tables for a few months, but it had done little to soften the blow of her brother’s heartlessness for Solange.

   
As Samuel and Olivia moored their small raft, Olivia’s mind was filled with bittersweet reminiscences. She watched an oysterman farther up the banks cracking open his wares and selling them to elegantly dressed Creole gentlemen and their families, who devoured the raw delicacies with epicurean relish. The pungent tang of fresh oranges and lemons blended with the oily richness of bananas.

   
Vendors clogged the levee as they made their way up the narrow streets of the city. Greeks hawked hot meat pastries and slave girls described the delights of their freshly baked ginger cakes. A bronzed Indian with the shaven head and roached topknot of a Muskogee moved silently through the motley throng as if born to it, passing two beautiful octoroon girls out strolling under the watchful eye of their
maman
. A gaggle of nuns hurried by, dressed in black robes and veils, impervious to the carnival atmosphere surrounding them.

   
“It’s just as I remembered, only perhaps a bit more frenetic,” she said as they cleared the market at last.

   
Samuel looked down at her. “The first thing we have to do is get you cleaned up and respectably chaperoned before we look up this uncle of yours.”

   
His voice was detached and neutral.
Already he is distancing himself from me,
she thought with a pang. He would see that she was safe and provided for, but then he would leave her. What if his fears about Senator Soames proved valid and he could not secure the divorce? Stiff necked and honorable man that he was, Samuel Sheridan Shelby would nobly insist she find someone who could offer her what he could not...unless she were carrying his child. Olivia knew no force on earth could prevent him from claiming her then. She held fast to that fragile hope as they wended their way down a narrow street and entered a small shop.

   
While she stood shadowed in the musty interior, Samuel carried on a swift conversation in flawless French with the small wizened proprietor. His facility with language was as great as her own, and she had spent a lifetime traveling across the capitals of Europe to acquire hers. A useful tool for a man in Samuel’s profession, she was certain.

   
Soon all was arranged and within the hour Olivia was settled in a small inn at the edge of the city, soaking off weeks of Mississippi River mud in a tub while her new maid laid out the clothing Samuel had purchased for her. She would hardly greet Uncle Charles in high style, but at least some semblance of respectability would accompany her. Perhaps it would have been best if she had refused to allow the charade and stalked up to the Durand mansion bedraggled from her ordeal on the river and confessed to the arrogant old Creole that she had traveled down the Mississippi as the colonel’s paramour.

   
Uncle Charles would have disowned her on the spot, certain that the taint of Julian St. Etienne’s blood had ruined her beyond redemption. How desperate the old man must be to seek her out after all these years. She supposed she should feel sorry for him, but she could not. Emory Wescott had explained that the entire Durand family had been wiped out in a yellow fever epidemic, leaving her uncle with only his estranged sister’s child as the last heir to his fortune.

   
Olivia guessed that fortune was considerable and knew that it would prove an additional impediment to her relationship with Samuel. Tish, too, had been an heiress. She knew how much his wife’s wealth had galled the proud man who insisted on providing for his wife without any outside help. The extravagant gifts from Senator Soames to Tish had been an affront. Silently she closed her eyes and sank back into the hot water, cursing Emory Wescott for the thousandth time for abducting her and bringing them to this wretched impasse in their lives.

   
When she heard Samuel’s voice in the outer room, she rang for Tonette and dressed quickly, eager to hear his news. The moment she walked through the door, she knew it was not good.

   
“Your uncle has been dead for months,” he said without preamble, knowing she would little mourn the loss of the snobbish old aristocrat.

   
“Then we were right about Wescott’s motives,” she said, chilled to realize how easy it would have been to arrange her death once Durand’s fortune had been securely placed in the hands of her legal guardian.

   
“I’ve met with Durand’s attorney, a Monsieur Jean-Claude Brionde, who explained to me about his client’s demise. He’s most eager to meet Charles Durand’s long-lost niece.”

   
“Long lost. Long discarded would be more accurate,” she scoffed bitterly, then walked over and put her arms around his neck, ignoring the prim little maid, who hovered silently in the doorway. “Oh, Samuel, let’s just leave, forget about my uncle’s inheritance. Let’s return to St. Louis. The river traffic is—”

   
“No, Livy,” he said softly, removing her arms and setting her gently aside. “That’s no good and you know it as well as I do. If I’m ever to secure a divorce, I have to go to Washington—and we have to stay apart until it’s accomplished.”

   
There was something guarded in his expression as she looked into those dark blue eyes. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

   
He smiled sadly. “You’re getting as good at reading me as Liza.” Then all trace of the smile vanished as he turned away from her. God, how could he tell her when he stood so close, breathing in the scent of her perfume? All he wanted to do was bury his hands in that fiery hair and pull her into his arms, never letting her go again!

   
“After I saw the Durand attorney, I reported to Governor Claiborne’s office. It’s a clearing house for any special messages that would be sent upriver to me.” He glanced at Tonette, then said, “We need to discuss some sensitive matters.”

   
Olivia’s heart was pounding with dread as she politely dismissed the maid and closed the door, allowing them privacy in the small parlor. “A message from President Madison?” she asked.

   
He nodded, forcing himself not to be affected by her stiff demeanor. “I’ve been summoned back to Washington, Livy. It would seem Secretary Monroe needs an experienced go-between to make some rather ticklish arrangements with a French émigré who purports to have some incriminating documents.”

   
“Incriminating. How?” Her voice sounded hollow. All she could think about was that he was leaving.

   
“This mysterious Frenchman supposedly acquired reports from an Anglo-Irishman who spied for the governor general of Canada. He spent the past couple of years in New England.”

   
“Where the Federalists are keenly pro British,” Olivia ventured, biting her lip. She could see where this was leading. New England shipping merchants were so incensed over the Republican administration’s trade embargo that there had been murmuring about secession from the union.

   
Samuel could see that she understood the gravity of the situation. “Yes. If these papers contain any scraps of hard evidence at all, they must not fall into the wrong hands. Madison can use them to expose British perfidy and at the same time throw his Federalist enemies into disgrace.”

   
“And who but Colonel Shelby could handle such a delicate matter?” she said tremulously. “How soon do you have to leave?”

   
“There’s a ship sailing on the morning tide, Livy. I must be on it.”

   
Black spots floated before her eyes but she blinked them away and smiled. “Well then, that doesn’t leave us very much time, does it?”

   
“No. Before we attend to the matter of your inheritance with Monsieur Brionde, I’m taking you to meet William Claiborne.”

   
“The governor?”

   
“He’s an old acquaintance who was so kind as to offer his protection to my sister some years ago. He can be trusted. Also, he’s the only means through which you can get messages to me and I to you. I fear over the next several months I’ll be moving around a great deal.”

   
Olivia digested that, knowing it might be a very long time until she saw her love again. Swallowing for courage, she looked into his eyes but made no attempt to touch him. “Will you have time to attend to the divorce petition?”

   
This time he could not help himself. He had to hold her. She looked so alone and vulnerable, standing proudly with her slender back so straight, her chin upthrust. He embraced her and at once felt her arms slip around his waist. “Good God, of course! I’ll see that the petition is drafted. Tom Jefferson will shepherd it through the legislature for me.” He stroked her bright hair with one hand while his other arm pressed her tightly against him. She nestled her head on his shoulder as he said, “You feel as if you’d been made to fit here.” Damn, she had been! She was going to be his wife.

   
“I was,” she said, echoing his thoughts.

   
“Livy...there’s one thing you must promise me...” He continued caressing her long soft curls.

   
“Anything,” she murmured, lulled by the warmth and security of his embrace, the steady protective rhythm of his heartbeat.

   
“I must know if you’re carrying my child...” He hesitated, feeling miserably inadequate, unable to protect her reputation.

   
Olivia was over a week late for her courses and he knew it. She had hastened to assure him when he had casually questioned her regarding it that her cycle had always been irregular. He had not mentioned it since...until now...when he was leaving her. “It must gall you to besmirch your honor, being forced to sail away without knowing.”

   
She felt him stiffen in her arms and knew blurting out that snide accusation had been cruel. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice husky with emotion. “I only said that because I’m afraid of losing you.”

   
When she looked up into his face, her eyes were jewel bright with tears. He traced the exotic upward tilt of her high cheekbones with his fingertips, catching a crystalline teardrop on his thumb. “Oh, Livy, there’s nothing on earth I want more than to give you my name, to hold our child in my arms, to spend my life with you. Promise me you’ll write as soon as you know.” He hung his head in misery. “Even though I can’t marry you now, I will do what I can to protect your reputation. I have family in Kentucky—in fact, my cousin Nestor Shelby is Governor Isaac Shelby’s brother. Nestor owns a large plantation outside Lexington. He and his wife, Alva, would be more than happy to offer you hospitality.”

   
“I don’t care about my reputation, Samuel. I only care about your returning to me. Just keep safe and I will write you as soon as I know.”

   
He smiled crookedly. “Even though I know it would be wrong for you to suffer, a part of me wants it to happen, you know? Our baby would be a means of binding you to me.”

   
“Nothing, not even a child, could bind me to you more strongly than my love already does,” she replied simply. Yet in her heart Olivia prayed that his seed had indeed taken root in her womb.

* * * *

   
The visit to Governor Claiborne was brief but reassuring. The harried man was struggling through long-standing political antipathy with the Creole politicians who still mistrusted the “Boston” sent to rule over them. Yet in spite of being hampered by the recent loss of his trusted personal secretary, the pale and punctilious Claiborne was genuinely kind, welcoming Olivia to New Orleans and assuring her and Samuel that he would do everything in his power to expedite communications between the two of them. After they shared a late luncheon with Claiborne, they left his sprawling office in the old Spanish governor’s building on the main square and headed down Royale Street to the elegant law office of Charles Durand’s attorney, Jean-Claude Brionde.

   
The little Creole was squat and corpulent, yet for all that, he possessed the innate grace and charm of a New Orleans native son. Once he examined the documentation proving that Olivia was indeed Solange Durand St. Etienne’s daughter, he was effusively delighted.

   
“It is so wonderful that an honorable old family name such as Durand should not end with the death of your esteemed uncle, mademoiselle,” he said in melodically accented English, believing that the American officer escorting Olivia was not fluent in French. Shelby did not disabuse him of the notion.

   
Olivia had noticed that Samuel often let others make erroneous assumptions, underestimating him, a useful method of operation for a man in his line of work. He would be in constant danger now with war looming so close on the horizon, perhaps even more peril than the soldiers who would face British guns on land and sea. When would he return safely to her? Would he return at all?