Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (8 page)

Catching Hugh's eyes on him, François smiled sunnily and walked over to where Hugh and Alice were standing. After bowing over Alice's hand and exclaiming his enjoyment of the evening, François looked at Hugh and said, "My uncle has returned to the city. He arrived not a half hour before I had to leave to attend this evening's so-delightful entertainment." This last was said with another bow to Alice.

"What a pity," Alice said. "If only we had known that he was going to be in the city, we would have been happy to invite him to accompany you tonight."

François made a polite noise. "Do not distress yourself,
mademoiselle.
There will, no doubt, be other times. Besides, it was planned for our friend, Alain Husson, to come by this evening and visit with him. They have—ah—business to discuss."

Hugh flicked a brow upward. "Business? Galland, Lancaster and Dupree business, perhaps?"

"Non!
Why, we would not dare to do such a thing without first asking your permission,
monsieur,"
François said mockingly, a challenging gleam sparkling in his dark eyes.

Amused by François's thinly disguised hostility, Hugh merely smiled.

When Hugh did not rise to his baiting, François went on smoothly, "Actually, I think that my uncle does wish to discuss some business with you—he will no doubt see you tomorrow at the company offices."

Deciding that she had been ignored long enough, Alice asked, "Does your uncle plan to stay in the city long?"

"Ah,
non.
Not more than a day or two—this is a very busy time for him. There is much for him to oversee at the plantation this time of year."

Alice and François began to talk about the plantation, and, only half-listening to their conversation, Hugh stared meditatively at François. Now why does Jean want to meet with me? he wondered. The open resentment and displeasure of the Duprees at his arrival and active presence in the firm seemed to have faded, and Hugh had been growing hopeful that the worst was behind him. Was he wrong?

That question was answered at eleven o'clock the next morning, when Jean, with François at his heels, breezed into Hugh's office. Hugh was seated behind his desk, going over some of the invoices from the previous year when the Duprees arrived, and he glanced up when they entered without knocking.

A quizzical expression on his face, he looked up at them and said, "Good morning, gentlemen. What may I do for you?"

Nattily attired in a gray-striped jacket and an elegant waistcoat above his long, dark gray pantaloons, Jean seated himself in one of the chairs before Hugh's desk. Crossing one booted foot over the other, he said, "I trust that you will forgive the intrusion, but I, we, have a proposal to place before you."

Laying aside the invoice, Hugh leaned back in his chair. His features bland, he regarded the two men in front of him, his brain racing. What the devil were they planning?

Calmly he asked, "Yes? What is this proposal?"

"We have had a family meeting," Jean said, "and we would like to buy half of your shares in the business."

"Thereby gaining a controlling interest," Hugh replied slowly, his sleepy gray eyes unrevealing.

"Oui!"
François said. "This current situation is intolerable, and we have decided that this is the only way to resolve it."

"And if I do not want to sell? Suppose I would prefer to buy
your
shares?" Hugh asked levelly.

Jean's face tightened. "We do not wish to sell,
monsieur."

"Even if I do not want to sell either?"

"Mon Dieu!"
François burst out angrily. "Why are you being so difficult? We are willing to pay you a good sum for your interest." His lips lifted in a sneer. "A good sum to get rid of your interference in a business begun by my father and grandfather."

"And my stepfather," Hugh said softly, his eyes on François's turbulent features.

François made a disgusted sound and sprang to his feet. "You talk to him," he muttered to Jean. "I cannot." Spinning on his heels, François stalked from the office, slamming the door behind him.

"He is very young," Jean said, his gaze meeting Hugh's. "He loses his temper easily."

"I have noticed it is a trait you seem to share."

Jean smiled ruefully. "You are correct—you must put it down to the excitability of the Creole temperament. We do not have the measured, placid nature of you
Américains.
And this is why we would like to buy a controlling interest in the business. We think that it will be much better for all of us, if you sell to us and..." Jean grimaced. "There is no polite way to say it—and remove yourself from New Orleans." Jean leaned forward, his expression intent. "Let us tend to our own affairs. We have done so for over twenty years, with little interference from your step-papa—we would like to continue to do so."

Hugh rubbed his chin. He had never considered selling part of his interest, and, in fact, his own sense of honor would not have let him. His stepfather had been generous to him, and he would not make any bargain with the Duprees without first writing to John Lancaster. When John had sold him a controlling interest, he had known that the business would be safe in Hugh's hands. He sighed. Something that could not be said about the Duprees, although he would admit that Jean was not entirely without a business head. But there was another reason which made him hesitate—he knew himself too well, and he was aware that he would never be able to step aside and give the Duprees full rein—not as long as he owned even one percent of the business.

This offer of the Duprees made one thing clear—they were far more unhappy with him at the helm than he had thought, and it was obvious that the past few weeks had been a temporary truce. If the Duprees were desperate enough to make this offer, perhaps he should accept it... with one slight change....

His mind suddenly made up, Hugh said, "I will not sell part of my interest—you may buy all of it—provided my stepfather approves. It is possible that John will even sell you his shares." A cynical smile crossed his face. "Then you will be completely rid of us."

There was a stunned silence. "All of it?" Jean asked at last.

Hugh nodded. "Pending John Lancaster's approval."

Jean made a face. "It is generous of you, but we cannot. I will be honest with you—to buy only half of your shares will nearly bring us to the brink of bankruptcy. There is simply no way that we would be able to buy it all."

"Then I am afraid that we are at an impasse."

"You will not consider selling us half?"

Hugh shook his head. "You have been honest with me—I shall be so with you... I fear that if Galland, Lancaster and Dupree is left in your hands, in less than two years, there will
be
no business."

"I beg your pardon?" Jean said stiffly, his features congealing into an expression of offended anger.

Hugh sighed. So much for their moment of honesty with each other. "For the past twenty-two months we have taken severe losses, and during that time you have continued to authorize expenditures at the same rate you have in the past. We cannot keep dipping into our capital in this manner."

"I told Micaela that it was useless to try to talk to you," Jean snarled, springing to his feet.

"This was
Micaela's
idea?" Hugh asked, startled.

Jean nodded curtly. "She knew that her brother and I were upset with the situation, and she suggested that we try to buy a controlling interest. She was even willing to risk every cent of her own small fortune which came to her from her
grand-pere."
An unfriendly smile curved his mouth. "She agreed to do anything that would get rid of
you!
My niece is very loyal to her family—she is willing to do whatever is necessary for her family's sake."

"I see," Hugh replied, with an odd sensation of disappointment knifing through him. It was ridiculous of course. Micaela Dupree's opinion meant nothing to him.

Rising to his own feet, Hugh said softly, "It seems that we have nothing else to say to each other."

"You think so," Jean snapped. "You are mistaken,
monsieur,
if you think that we shall give in so easily."

Jean left in the same manner as François, right down to the slamming of the door. Shaking his head, Hugh sat down. Unwilling to dwell on the unpleasant scene which had just taken place, even less willing to examine his emotions concerning Micaela's part in it, he buried himself in work.

It was several hours later that he noticed something odd. Starting shortly after Christophe's death, there were, interspersed throughout, invoices that were different. Close examination convinced him that there was nothing
on
the paper to arouse his curiosity, everything was there that should be, there were no suspicious smudges or indecipherable writing, nothing appeared to be altered, but there was something. It wasn't until he was idly rubbing his thumb across one of pages that it dawned on him—the quality of the paper was just slightly different... crisper, smoother...

His interest piqued, he found the other invoices which had troubled him and discovered the same thing. Buried in the middle of each extensive invoice were, sometimes just one, upon occasion two or three, pages whose quality
felt
different from all the rest.

Leaning back in his chair, Hugh stared at the dozen or so invoices before him. There
could
be a logical explanation for the substitution of paper. But it was interesting, he decided grimly, that these odd pages started showing up about the time the company started losing money and that only very large invoices, consisting of several pages, had the different paper. Another thing—the questionable pages were always in the middle... almost as if someone had buried them there knowing that normally they would never be noticed... it had taken
him
several weeks of searching to discover the differences.

His discovery didn't prove anything, but it gave him food for thought. He picked up one of the suspect invoices and leafed through it. There were a lot of reasonable explanations for the differences in the quality of paper, including manufacturer defects, but he didn't think that was the answer. No. A pattern of outright thievery was revealing itself to him, and it was as simple as it was ingenious.

The possible scenario played itself in his brain. A shipment, he mused slowly, would arrive from Europe and follow the usual routine of unloading and storage in the warehouses... but at some point after that, the thief or thieves, would help themselves to what they wanted from the warehouse. The invoice which accompanied the shipment would be altered, not individual amounts, but an entire counterfeit page would be substituted for the original. Clever. And it smacked of the culprit or culprits being closely aligned with the company.

Galland, Lancaster and Dupree had been paying for goods which they had indeed received, but a portion of which simply disappeared and, with it, their profit. Hugh rubbed his chin. The only way he could prove it was either secretly to institute a system of double record keeping here in New Orleans and wait for the thief to strike, or write and privately request that an original copy of one of the suspicious invoices be sent directly to him. He grimaced. If he wrote that day and the letter sailed with the next ship, it would be three months or more before he received his requested copy from Europe. Three long months before he would be able to compare it with the one in the office. All of which, he admitted glumly, would only confirm the
way
the thievery was happening,
not
who.

He sighed. Well, he had plenty of time—he'd moved to New Orleans, hadn't he? And he couldn't say that he was displeased with what he had discovered. At least now, he had some idea how the profits were disappearing. All he had to do was to find the thief—or thieves.

A rude growl from his stomach reminded him that it was late afternoon and that he had not eaten since early morning. Gathering up the invoices which interested him, he locked them in the bottom drawer of his desk and, after shrugging into his dark blue coat and putting on his curly-brimmed beaver hat, left his office, locking it behind him.

Telling Brisson that he was leaving for the day, Hugh stepped out into the soft sunlight. Heading toward Jasper's house, he hoped that he would find his host at home; no doubt, he thought with a grin, resting between amusements.

Hugh had almost reached Dumaine Street when he spied a trim form that he recognized immediately. Micaela Dupree. But what, he wondered, was she doing in the city?

Deciding to find out, he stopped and waited for her to approach him. Micaela appeared to be alone, except for a young maid and a black male servant.

Micaela had spotted him coming toward her almost at the same instant, and if she hadn't been raised to be a proper young lady, she would have stamped her foot and spun around and walked in the opposite direction. But she had been raised to be gracious, even, she told herself fiercely, to
Américain
gentlemen with mocking eyes and arrogant smiles.

Forcing a polite, albeit cool, expression on her face, she acknowledged Hugh's broad presence on the wooden banquette in front of her. "
Monsieur
Lancaster. How... nice to see you. Are you enjoying this fine weather we have had the past few days?"

Sweeping aside his hat, he took her hand and dropped a kiss on the soft skin. "Indeed I am,
mademoiselle.
It gives one hope that the rainy season will truly end soon, does it not?"