by Meg Hennessy
A quick smile flashed over her face before she landed those dark eyes on him, soul-searching eyes that made him squirm. “You tell me a joke, non?”
“If I do, a bad joke at that.” Jordan watched as she secured the dressings. When she was finished, she looked up at him.
“Oui, monsieur, you need to eat. I bring you food.”
She hadn’t waited for his answer but left the room. She was right; he was hungry. He dropped his head back to the pillow, fishing for some idea of what had happened.
Like his father, he had been ambushed.
He shifted his position in bed, refusing to be eliminated that easily. If anything, it meant he and Loul had been on the right track. He had suspected an ambush and with no time to think, he had fired in self-defense. The man who shot him had fallen dead into the water. If that was the man who had sold the medallion, had Jordan killed the only link to finding Colette? The idea painfully wormed through his injured body, twisting his insides into knots of regret.
The ambush had cost him much more than he could afford. All Étienne Fentonot’s barrels were gone.
When Aurèlie entered the room, the hot, tasty smells reached his nostrils long before she did. He recognized the spicy fragrance of Creole food. She put the tray down on the tea table and pulled up a chair. “I’ll help you.”
Jordan watched her fuss with getting the utensils in order. He didn’t need her to feed him, but he did like her hovering over him. She placed a cloth over his chest and sat on the side of the bed. Her nicely formed derriere huddled against his thigh.
She pulled up the broth with a large spoon. Guarding it with her hand, she reached over to his mouth. He sipped it down, appreciating the brush of her breasts against his chest as she leaned over him, enjoying her warm, tender touch and the sweet redolent scent of her hair. He reached out and stroked the side of her face with his fingers, leaning forward to inhale the scent of innocence.
“You haven’t asked more questions? Are you no longer curious, or is it possible that you believe me?”
“I think it not help to ask, as you lie to me, non?”
Though true, that hurt like hell. He swallowed the broth with difficulty, the truth bitter. “I do, to keep you safe.”
She dipped the spoon into the broth and brought it to his mouth. “From what is it to be safe?”
He swallowed. “Pirates have moved into the salt swamps.”
“When pirates rob you, I will learn to shoot your pistol, eh?”
For some irritating reason, he felt vulnerable with a woman who seemed to know his every move, but he scrambled to keep his disguise together. “Time you learn.”
“What did they steal?”
“Your father’s shipment of wine.” He winced, realizing his error. So intent on defending himself, he had stepped right into it. “Who knows what is their intended use.”
She studied him a moment. “To drink, n’est pas? It is only wine.”
Damn right. That would be the assumption. He only hoped some of the privateers in the area, preferably Lafitte’s men, rather than U.S. Customs, swept up those barrels. If the Americans had found the floating wine barrels, they’d be out to see Aurèlie’s father. The ramifications were too serious to consider. In Étienne’s world, the barrels never existed and Jordan wasn’t sure if the man was strong enough to withstand an American interrogation. At which point, he would become his enemy and not an asset.
Though he had sunk most of them, Jordan had had to let some float away. Either way, someone, somehow had betrayed him. He glanced up at his wife.
What powers did she have?
…
For the next few days, Jordan tried to pull himself out of the cycle of awareness and darkness. Around him, he heard voices, Aurèlie, Maisie, Hattie, and often Loul. Their voices sounded muffled and mixed within his dream world until finally the darkness lifted and his eyes flickered open. There was much excitement in the house. He could hear Maisie chattering with Aurèlie, both very animated.
“Aurèlie?” Jordan called out.
The chattering stopped.
“Ah…your papa is awake.” Aurèlie swirled into the room with his daughter close behind her. “You need help, oui?”
“No…no, I, ah…just wondered what the excitement was about?”
Aurèlie smiled and glanced at Maisie. “The new dresses have arrived.”
Maisie raced to the other side of the bed to see him. Standing eye to eye with him, she smiled. “I will show you my new dress, Papa, if you promise to get well.”
Jordan’s head still felt fuzzy and all he could muster was a slight nod of his head. Excited, Maisie raced out of the room.
“Here, you drink.” Aurèlie sat down on the side of the bed and held a cup of water to his lips. He drank, the cool liquid waking his sluggish body and bringing some clarity to his mind.
“How am I doing?”
“Living,” she replied with a soft smile. “And lucky, I think, to do so.”
“Aurèlie…” He didn’t know what he was going to say but the moment required some acknowledgement of his lifestyle, or perhaps, the lies that kept them apart. He was about to draw a deep breath of honesty when he was interrupted by Maisie.
She danced into the room in her lemon-colored dress, circled a few times, then stopped right before him and curtsied.
“I like the dress, my daughter, but not sure about such a cap.”
Aurèlie laughed, motioning to Maisie. “You left on your mobcap, does not go with dress, n’est pas?”
Horrified, the child covered her head with her hands. “Don’t look, Papa, I’ll be back.”
She bent down and raced out of the room.
Jordan laughed so hard it nearly ripped open his wound.
“Oh.” He fortified his side with his hand. “That hurts.”
“What hurts, Jourdain? The wound or laughing?”
The reality of that question landed heavily on his chest. He drew a deep breath, suddenly wishing to be free of the past. He couldn’t remember when he had last laughed with any true sense of mirth except while in New Orleans with Aurèlie.
“A little of both, Aurèlie. I haven’t laughed in a long time. I think I have forgotten how.”
“Ta-dah!” Maisie returned to the room in her glorious yellow dress. This time she wore a small Polk bonnet that matched the lace of her dress. Her new white leather half boots, laced up the back, fit her feet perfectly. Aurèlie had done a magnificent job in making her look quite the little princess, a beautiful princess at that. “Papa, do you like?”
He couldn’t have suppressed a smile had he wanted to. “Yes, very much.”
“Now, go take it off, Maisie, before you soil it. I check on you soon, oui?” Aurèlie instructed. “Kiss your papa bonne nuit.”
Maisie leaned over and placed a light kiss to his cheek. He put his arm around her small shoulders and hugged her. It had been a very long time, too long ago to remember the last tender kiss he had received from his little girl. Aurèlie had done that, brought his lifeless home back to the living and a lost father back into his little girl’s heart. “Bonne nuit, Maisie.”
As the child left the room, she turned and performed a curtsy. She looked so elegant, a sense of pride formed a tight lump in his throat and a tug at his heart. He wanted to hold on to this moment, pack it away and carry it with him. This was a moment in time where life was good. Where he and his beautiful wife, a loving mother to his daughter, could live like a family and leave the danger behind.
But that was only a dream…
“Very nice, Maisie, good night.” He closed his eyes, as the happiness drained through his thoughts and the sense of danger returned.
“Thank you, Aurèlie.” He glanced up at her and whispered, “But isn’t she not to be seen at the dinner?”
Aurèlie smiled. “This is Maisie, we speak about, oui?”
Again, Jordan burst out laughing, catching her meaning, but hell, the pain tore through his side. “Damn,
that hurts.”
“But in a good way, non?”
“For the first time in a long time, Aurèlie, I can say yes, in a good way. But you had better check this wound. I think I split my side laughing.”
…
Aurèlie stood in front of the oblong looking glass admiring her new dress for the dinner party. Made of amber crape over white sarsenet, the dress, trimmed in ivory beading and lace, hugged her every curve and stretched firmly across her breasts.
The color, though lacking the kind of excitement Aurèlie usually enjoyed in her own style of dress, was indeed pretty in a subtle way. The sheen of the fabric caught the candlelight and the tiny pieces of glass beads she had sewn to the demi-train, twinkled under the soft glow.
All the arrangements had been made, at least she hoped there were not some details she had forgotten that would ruin Jordan’s dinner party. She had seen to them all, just as her mother had trained her to do. She was sure the dinner would be a success if only she could hold up to the scrutiny of the American women who would be accompanying Jordan’s American guests.
Stepping into the hall, Aurèlie hesitated, seeing Jordan’s door open. He stood inside, adjusting his cravat before the mirror. Not fully recovered, he had refused her suggestion to cancel the dinner. She had watched him push himself beyond his own endurance to free himself of the bed and get back on his feet. She had to admit, his appearance was quite striking in his black breeches, white blouse, and white cravat.
Some of the men of the times were wearing their hair much shorter and combed forward. Jordan had cut his hair and wore it in the same fashion, dramatically changing his appearance.
She watched as he tied off the cravat, the movement of his hands, the tilt of his head, the shift of his weight to one leg, and the final sigh when he was done. He had yet to come to her, and though she understood his reluctance during this time, he had recovered his vitality quite nicely. He sat down and tried to pull on his white stockings but grimaced with each attempt, guarding his side where the lead ball had torn through.
“I help you.” Aurèlie walked through the door, feeling a strong sense of energy inside his room that she had not felt before. It was good energy, warm, strong, like her American husband.
“Good evening, Aurèlie.” He let go of the stocking and leaned back. “Your help is appreciated. I’m not quite up to the task of dressing, much less entertaining.”
“We should have canceled until you are strong, non?”
“No, I would not want to explain my need to cancel and it’s an important night.”
Once both leggings were in place, she reached over, picked up a half boot, and helped him step into it. “If important, we do it.”
“You didn’t need to dress as an American.”
“I chose to. American women will come to the house. I did not want to cause you alarm.”
“Me? Hell, I wouldn’t care anymore than I care what their pompous-assed husbands think.”
She looked at him, stunned to hear what he thought of his soon-to-be guests. “You invite them, why?”
“I want to know what the hell they’re doing out in that gulf with British ships trolling the waters. I don’t like feeling like bait. And after the disastrous battle of Lake Bourgne, I’d like to think they have a better game plan.” He waved off her obvious concern. “It’s business, that’s all.”
“I had believed you were concerned with the pirates.”
“Ah…well yes. Indirectly.”
“It is the commodore who you will ask, n’est pas?”
He nodded as he slipped on the other boot. “Commodore Patterson should have a grasp of what they are planning.”
“And Monsieur Clement?”
Jordan hesitated, looking at her with a quick glance. “What about him?”
“The commodore, the city attorney, and even the governor’s consulate,” Aurèlie listed the impressive guest list. “Who is Monsieur Clement?”
“A friend and a business partner.”
“Like my father.”
“Your father?” Confusion raised an eyebrow over one of those dark eyes. “Ah…sort of.”
The sound of pounding hooves and bouncing carriages floated in through the upstairs window. Maisie let out a shriek of excitement. Aurèlie stood up and raced toward the door. “I hear horses, someone arrives, oui? I check with Hattie on the—”
“Aurèlie.”
She whirled around to face him. He stood before her, handsome, and dressed as a gentleman, but a quiet strain had wrestled his entire expression into submission. He was worried about something. So much so she wanted to race back to him and throw her arms around his neck, professing to keep him safe. Instead, she walked back to him and tucked in the small length of chain that showed above his cravat. “A gentlemen, you are.”
“You look beautiful tonight, Aurèlie.”
His words spoken so softly and with such warmth, she fought a slight mist that threatened her eyes. She knew he was in trouble, preoccupied, yet took the time to make her feel good.
“Merci, monsieur.” She dipped slightly in honor of his tribute. “Jourdain, you will keep yourself safe, oui?”
He smiled, but it was more of an expression of hopelessness. “Of course, Aurèlie, I’m not in danger.”
“I wish to believe that.” Though her heart ached to soothe him, she knew he would not share what so burdened him. She dipped again. “I see to your guests.”
Chapter Seventeen
The guests arrived one after the other. Aurèlie took her position next to her husband as the guests were escorted into the salle principale. The salon had been prepared with mantel vases filled with roses from her mother’s garden and they had draped garlands of roses over the mirrors. Hattie had arranged for additional servants for the evening, and to Aurèlie’s relief, they knew their jobs. The French doors were opened to accommodate the arriving guests.
She had schooled Maisie on a proper curtsy, where to stand, with a little hint that at affairs such as this, children were to be seen briefly. Maisie was so excited about her new dress, she had been dressed for hours. When advised she was not to be heard, she pretended to lock her lips with a key.
Commodore Patterson and his wife were the first to arrive. He snapped his heels together and bowed stiffly from the waist as his wife forced a polite nod. Consulate Thornburg arrived next, admitting curiosity over the guest list and his wife allowed her gaze to linger on Jordan more than good manners would allow. John Dickenson, city attorney for New Orleans, seemingly more well mannered than the other Americans, made a point to kiss the back of Aurèlie’s hand. Last to arrive, the mysterious guest who intrigued Aurèlie the most, Monsieur Clement, who’s only greeting consisted of a hushed word to Jordan regarding what they hoped to learn tonight, whispered in French.
“Aurèlie?” Jordan pulled her attention back to him. He stood waiting with his elbow extended for her to take. “Shall we lead the way?”
Aurèlie gingerly placed her fingertips within the crook of his arm, drawing on his strength while escorted from the salon into the dining hall. The ladies were seated first, alternating with the men.
Most of the women were dressed in similar designs and muted colors. Though the color lacked the kind of excitement Aurèlie usually enjoyed in her own style of dress, the sheen of the fabric caught the candlelight and the tiny pieces of glass beads in the demi-train twinkled under the soft glow. She smiled to herself with some satisfaction, noting the haughty looks thrown in her direction from time to time by the attending American women.
She had beaten them at their own game and had outclassed them all.
Jordan looked quite striking in his black breeches, white shirt, and black tails. She noted for this dinner, unlike at their wedding, he wore ruffles. The soft curls of his hair around his forehead made him look much younger and enhanced the firm lines of his handsome face.
After spending the last two weeks in bed convalescing, he had not seen the transformation of t
he house. His sacred library had been polished and dusted and Aurèlie had taken great pride in restoring the family bible to its original beauty.
She had had the dining room cleaned and had hung new draperies that added a subtle shine to match that of the newly polished silver. The crystal chandelier and mantel girandoles glimmered in the soft light. Borrowed carpets from her mother gave the room a perfect balance of winter warmth and elegance.
A male servant, previously schooled by Aurèlie, came out and placed a glass before each attendee. The wine’s vintage was announced. Another, who filled each glass with the sparkling red wine of her father, quickly followed the first servant.
“A most fine wine, Mr. Kincaid.” Consulate Thornburg raised his glass in a toast. The other men followed suit.
Jordan nodded his appreciation. “The wine is compliments of Aurèlie’s father, Étienne Fentonot. He imports only the best, directly from France.”
“This is most exquisite, as well as very interesting.” The consulate sipped from his glass.
Jordan suddenly stopped. “And why might that be?”
The consulate shrugged, instead turning his attention to Aurèlie. “Your father imports theses wines, where exactly does he sell them?”
“Monsieur Deville’s establishment.”
“On the French side of the canal, I see. I do not go there often but it is good. Another sample? How many different ones do you have?”
Laughter rolled around the table as if enjoying the position they were imposing on Jordan to share more barrels.
Jordan returned a polite chuckle, but Aurèlie could see the veins in his neck pulsating, the quick, choppy movements of his hands as he spoke. “Perhaps more sampling after dinner. For now, let us enjoy the meal my wife has instructed for our enjoyment.”
Aurèlie watched as Hattie brought in a tray of sparkling plates and another servant started the serving dishes filled with steaming food around the table. Everything was managed with precision. Aurèlie felt a surge of pride. From the look of things, she had managed the perfect dinner party, reflected in Jordan’s public endearment as his wife.