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

Three years ago John Lancaster, thinking to retire, had sold Hugh a forty-five percent interest in the partnership, retaining only a ten percent interest for himself. Hugh had acted as his stepfather's agent for a number of years prior to the sale and already had a keen understanding of the business—at least the Natchez end of things. But since then, with increasing frequency, he had been asking many pointed questions about the affairs of the New Orleans portion of the business. Considering that Hugh was now the largest single shareholder, his deepening interest was justified, but both Micaela's grandfather and uncle had been highly affronted by his actions. And while she had listened to them rail against what they claimed to be Hugh's unwarranted intervention in affairs none of his business, she had privately thought his visits and queries not unreasonable—annoying and irritating, perhaps, but not totally without justification.

Her grandfather's death, however, seemed to have engendered in Hugh Lancaster an acute concern about the future of the partnership. Micaela suspected that it was because of the ill-disguised hostility which existed between Hugh and Jean. Christophe Galland had acted as a buffer between the two younger men, but his death had forced the pair of them to deal directly with each other.

As his only child, Lisette had inherited Christophe's remaining shares. Not inclined toward business herself, she had asked her brother-in-law to handle her shares, just as he did his brother's for François and Micaela. John Lancaster preferred to let Hugh run things these days.

Since the shares owned by De Marco and Husson were nominal, and their dabbling in the business was perfunctory, Hugh and Jean, as the two active principals, were continually at odds. The situation between Hugh and Jean was a most uncomfortable state of affairs—especially when coupled with the general animosity shared by most Creoles for Americans. An animosity that was now further exacerbated by the sale of the Louisiana Territory to those same despised Americans.

Growing weary of François's tirade against the American, she glanced at him and commented, "François, you are beginning to repeat yourself. I think that you have made your feelings about
Monsieur
Lancaster quite clear to both
Maman
and me. Obviously, you are not happy at the prospect of
Monsieur
Lancaster living in the area, but there is nothing that
Maman
and I can do about it—I suggest that you take your views to
Monsieur
Lancaster."

"Bah! What good would that do? He will look down that long nose of his and ignore me! I tell you,
Maman,
there will be trouble once he starts his snooping and prying."

The two women exchanged glances, a faint frown marring Lisette's forehead.

François looked from one woman to the other. He drew himself up. "You think that I would challenge Hugh Lancaster to a duel,
oui?"
Fierce pride glittering in his dark eyes, he spat, "You have nothing to fear—I would not sully my hands fighting with an
Américain!"

"That is very high-minded of you," Lisette said gently, "but if you do not wish to provoke a quarrel with him, I would suggest that you, if not graciously, at least politely, accept the fact that he
is
moving to New Orleans."

François grimaced. Sending a sheepish grin to both women, he muttered, "I have been acting rather a fool, have I not?"

Micaela smiled back at him. François's mercurial moods were one of his charms. A teasing gleam in her eyes, she said, "Since I do not intend to risk another display such as we have just seen, I shall not answer that question."

François laughed, and, bowing to first one and then the other, he said, "Forgive me! I let my vile temper rule me."

"There is nothing to forgive,
mon fils,"
Lisette said. "It is understandable that you would be upset by the news, but we must accept the fact that Hugh Lancaster will be living in the city and that he will, no doubt, be taking an even more active interest in the business."

François sat down once more by his mother. Shaking his head, he said wryly, "Well, if you think that I took the news badly,
mon Dieu!
I do not even want to consider how
mon oncle
will take it. We should be grateful that he is out of the city until tomorrow. At least we will not have to face his rage today."

* * *

It happened that the family had more of a respite than twenty-four hours before having to face Jean's expected displeasure at their news. He had been due back from Riverbend the next day, but that very afternoon a servant appeared with a note from him, informing François that it would be three days hence, on Thursday, before he returned. By tacit agreement no one sent a return message to him revealing Hugh Lancaster's intentions.

On Friday morning, they were still at breakfast, seated around a small table, considering how to break the news of Hugh's plans to Jean, when the door to the pleasant room was flung open. His dark eyes blazing, his normally even features twisted with outrage, Jean Dupree burst into the room. "Do you know," he demanded in savage accents, "who just walked up to me on Chartres Street?
Hugh Lancaster"'

Chapter 2

Stripping off his gloves, Jean tossed them onto a mahogany sideboard and continued in angry tones, "He apparently just stepped off a barge from Natchez this morning, and he informed me with that arrogant smile of his, damn his eyes! that this is to be no mere visit—he intends to take up residence here."

Slinging his high-crowned hat onto a nearby chair, he ran agitated fingers through his abundant black hair.
"Mon Dieu!
We will never be rid of him—he will hover unceasingly over our shoulders like a harbinger of doom, asking endless questions, insisting on answers I do not have. I am only glad that Renault and Christophe did not live to see this day!"

Micaela caught her breath. "He is here
already
? But his letter telling
Maman
of this news only arrived a few days ago. He wrote that it would be months before he came to New Orleans. How can he be here today?"

"Letter? What letter?" Jean inquired sharply, his black eyes flashing as he glanced at Lisette. "And why was I not told of it?"

"You were out of the city," Francis said, "and we did not wish to spoil your trip with this unfortunate business."

"Spoil my trip?" Jean gave an ugly laugh. "Our
lives
are spoiled!"

Lisette motioned him to take a seat near her, and murmured, "Oh come, now, Jean, it is not that bad. You are putting too dramatic a face, as you usually do, on something which will not affect us that much. Here now, have some coffee, and I shall ring Antoine to bring you some freshly fried beignets from the kitchen."

Jean grimaced but did as his sister-in-law requested. They had known each other a long time and they were of an age—Jean had turned thirty-seven this past December. It was natural that they were used to each other's moods.

Unlike the punctilious politeness he showed Lisette, Jean had always been indulgent and generous to both Micaela and François—often more so than Renault. After their father had died, Jean had deftly stepped into Renault's shoes. Since he had not yet married and set up his own home, he had always lived with them at Riverbend, which was half his anyway, although he did have his own comfortable quarters a mile downriver from the big house. In town, on Bienville Street, he also kept his own suite of rooms, but he had run tame through their various households ever since Micaela could remember. The polite restraint between Lisette and Jean vaguely troubled Micaela although she knew that her mother relied upon Jean and trusted him—otherwise, she would not have left her affairs in his hands.

Antoine, their mulatto house servant, answered Lisette's ring almost immediately. "Some more of Marie's beignets for
Monsieur
Jean,
s'il vous plait,
Antoine. Oh, and we shall need some more hot milk and fresh chocolate and coffee."

As soon as the door shut behind Antoine, Jean looked at Lisette, and said sourly, "So,
soeurette,
tell me of this letter."

Lisette made a face. "On Monday, I received a letter from
Monsieur
Hugh, telling me that he planned on moving here."

"Why did he write to you?" Jean demanded moodily. "He should have written to me—not involved the women of my family."

With an edge to her voice, Lisette said, "It was a very polite letter, and since you usually look like you are suffering from a stomach ache whenever you are in his presence, I am not surprised that he wrote to me. I am at least pleasant to him!"

Jean's lip lifted in a sneer. "Pleasant? I think softheaded would be more like it—as usual, in the presence of a wealthy Américain."

Francois sprang to his feet, his hand instinctively going to the place where he would normally be wearing a small sword cane. "
Sacrebleu!
How dare you insult
Maman
so!" he declared hotly, his features flushed with quick anger.

Jean rolled his eyes. Settling back in his chair, he said wearily, "Oh, sit down, you young fool—I have no intention of meeting my own nephew on the field of honor, and I meant no insult to your
maman.
I am merely furious and out of sorts at this unexpected turn of events." Sending Lisette an apologetic smile, he asked, "Having vented most of my spleen, may I now, please, see the letter?"

Lisette nodded. "When Antoine returns with your beignets, I shall send him to my rooms for it."

There was desultory conversation among the four of them until Antoine arrived with a tray heaped high with sugary beignets, steaming milk, and a pot each of fresh chocolate and coffee. Hearing Lisette's request, he bowed and departed, returning shortly with Hugh's letter.

Sipping his coffee, Jean read the letter in silence. Laying it down near his untouched beignets, he muttered,
"Mon Dieu
! It is true. He is here—and means to stay."

"What are we going to do about it?" François demanded, leaning forward, the light of battle in his expressive eyes.

Jean shrugged. "There is nothing that we can do,
mon fils.
The territory is now
Américain,
we cannot prevent him from moving here."

Uncertainly, Micaela asked, "But will it really be so very bad? He
is
one of the partners, and you have dealt with him for years. His living here in the city should not change things very much."

François curled a scornful lip. "It is easy for you to say—you do not have to meet him or even speak to him, but we"—he nodded toward Jean—"do not share that same happy state of affairs. We will have to face his arrogant ways every day."

Rising gracefully to her feet, Lisette said calmly, "I think that all of you are making far too much of this development. As Micaela said, you have been dealing with Hugh Lancaster for years; he is one of the partners, the partner with the largest share in the business, I might add, and his living here should not change a thing. Why do you not try working with him for once, instead of assuming that he is trying to discredit you or destroy the company?"

"Because he
is
trying to do just that," Jean said gloomily. "He is blaming us for the drop in profits, accusing me of not paying close enough attention to what is going on. He does not hesitate to tell me that I am a careless and inept businessman.
Mon Dieu!
The overweening conceit of the man!"

Lisette sent him a glance, and Jean moved restively under her look. Like most wealthy Creoles, the Duprees did not actually soil their hands in the day-today running of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree—they employed others to do that tiresome task. Instead, they mostly just cast an intelligent, if erratic, eye over the firm which bore their names and it was no wonder that Lisette looked at him so.

She said nothing to Jean, however, merely glanced at Micaela and murmured, "Come,
petite,
I thought that since it is a fairly pleasant day we should visit the dressmaker and see if she has some new materials which might interest us."

Silence fell after the two women left the room. Jean finished his cup of coffee before saying, "That damned
Américain!
I do not want him here. I wish to God that we had never formed this cursed partnership with John Lancaster."

"But it is not John Lancaster who is causing us so much trouble," François said fairly. "It is his stepson."

"Do not remind me," Jean muttered. "To think that we shall be tripping over Hugh Lancaster everywhere we go in the city. It is enough to make me bilious. And as for having him constantly underfoot at our place of business, always asking questions and demanding to know why such and such is done a certain way..." Jean shook his head, unable to complete the terrible thought.