by Meg Hennessy
She watched as maskers dressed as clowns, monks, demons, bullfighters, and nuns, moved about the dance floor in time to the music. She loved dansez, especially on this occasion, the celebration before Lent.
Tonight, having felt weighted by unanswered needs, she had refused most invitations to dance. Strolling over to the buffet, she filled a plate with sugar roses and petite cakes and turned to watch the dancers again.
As she scanned the merrymakers, her eyes snagged on something and floated back toward the door of the hall. Leaning against the wall stood a tall, broad-shouldered man, costumed in all black, including a black mask…like a pirate.
Her breath suddenly hung in the back of her throat. She put the plate down, unable to swallow, her hands shaky. He nodded toward her as if he was as aware of her as she was of him. She refused to acknowledge and without a fan in her hand offered no silent communication and her mask secreted her face.
Who did he think she was? More concerning, who was he?
He pushed away from the wall and started toward her. Her heart raced, pounding in her ears, cluttering her thoughts. Panic made her reach out to the nearest gentleman and accept an invitation to dance when none had been offered.
Puzzled but polite, the gentleman took Aurèlie’s hand in his and paraded her to the floor to join the other quadrille dancers. As she came full circle, she noted the man in black, the pirate, had escorted a lady to the floor as well and had joined their quadrille by standing to Aurèlie’s corner.
The music began.
Waiting out the first eight beats, she couldn’t help but catch a glimpse at her corner where he stood. He caught her eye again and nodded. Aurèlie missed the beat in which she should have bowed to her partner, instead bowing to her corner on both counts.
“Mademoiselle.” He flashed a quick, yet amused smile to her faux pas. Soft little sensations fired along her spine at the sound of his voice, deep and alluring, and very French.
Jordan Kincaid.
When they both leaned forward into their curtsy, she caught a glimpse of his lustrous dark eyes, perfectly balanced in his angular face. The eyes of the good man she loved.
Aurèlie’s partner swung her to his right, promenading to the eighth step. In the next strain of music, her hand belonged to her corner—Jordan.
Her mind whirled within the music, fighting the mist that threatened her eyes. Her heart hammered with both anticipation and fear to once again feel his touch, knowing the power he had over her.
She swallowed hard, barely keeping herself steady as he took her outstretched hand, sliding his warm fingers over hers. Flashes of the first day in his study when he had run his thumb over her hand and the heat that one small gesture had generated brought on a slight gasp.
She glanced up at him, but he made no acknowledgment of her. Instead, they rounded the other dancers before he released her, returning her to her partner. As she had imagined it would, the warmth still lingered. Suddenly his gaze locked with hers, he watched her as their partners rounded the two of them.
In perfect unison, they assembléd. She swallowed hard, glancing up at him beneath the soft glow of the heated candles.
When the partners separated to cast up, he changed the order, much to the chagrin of her partner who was too polite to protest. When it was time for Aurèlie to lead, Jordan was at her side. With her hand in his, they promenaded the line. His timing perfect, she followed his lead. As they again parted at the end of the line, like the last time she saw him, her hand slowly slid free of his.
Over the heads of the dancers, he watched her and when again in his arms, she looked up at her husband as he gently turned her within the music. His eyes, darkly framed within the secrecy of the black silk mask, still hinted of danger, but also with so many unanswered questions, mystery and intrigue.
They turned again within the soft glow of the wall sconces and overhead chandelier. Upon the air rode a familiar fragrance, lavender. She inhaled most deeply, enjoying the feel of him, the scent of him until she could pretend no more.
She stopped, separating herself from him. The dancers continued around them and the music still filled the air. She looked up, meeting the dark intrigue of his eyes.
“You think I am someone else, non?”
“I do not.”
“Jourdain,” she whispered, unable to muster more, for her throat had closed. She reached out and lightly touched his arm, wanting to feel his strength beneath her fingers, to again explore the solid, hard musculature of his body.
“Aurèlie,” he said softly, turning the two of them very slowly within the music.
“I worry much, Jourdain, for I know not what you do. Where you are?” The mist she thought to have kept at bay, now filled her eyes, blurring her vision of him.
“No tears.” He gently wiped the droplets that rolled free beneath her mask. “I am safe and here with you.”
The music had stopped and the floor had cleared, but her and Jordan remained. So much unsaid, so much unknown. Why was he here?
“I worry about your family. Where do they go?” Her hold on his sleeve tightened. Though scared of her own need to fall into his arms, she could not let go, afraid he’d disappear in a puff of smoke.
“Boston. I had to get Colette to safety. Donato de la Roche knew where I lived and my identity. After three years of searching, I could not lose her again. They all chose to go. Loul wanted to see his grandparents, and Hattie wished to go and help with the children.”
“Your grandparents care about Loul, oui?”
“Yes, they are good people and love him, like my father. They will be back in a couple of months. Hopefully, long enough to discourage Donato.”
Tears escaped and slid down her face, knowing that like his father, Jordan was a good man and deserved to have found happiness. Something she so wished for him. He pulled a kerchief out and dabbed her tears away. “I hope those are tears of joy, for I am happy, my family is finally together.”
“Oui, most certainly, family is most important, n’est pas?” She nodded, feeling happy for his family while her heart ached for him. “And you, where do you stay?”
“At the Navy Hotel… Hôtel de la Marine.” A brief but forced smile chased across his face. “I have to find a way to make a living and right now, I’m broke.”
“I heard Le Vengeur sank, non?”
“I sank it. I knew it would head toward the backwaters. Back to where my family was and where you were. Got it in the crosshairs with the guns on Grand Terre.”
“That is good, oui?”
“My days on the sea are over. Well, at least in that capacity.”
“Oh, monsieur, every good pirate has a stash for just such an occasion, non?”
He laughed, an easy chuckle that sounded unhindered and relaxed. “Oh, how I have missed you.”
The statement was so stunning, yet said so casually, she sucked in her air and tried for calm, unsure of where he was taking this discussion, or for that matter, why he was here? Had he come to find her, or was it happenstance?
“Did you seek me out tonight?”
He ran his hands up her arms, dousing her body with heat. “There is a game often played at these balls, where husbands must identify their wives while masked and costumed. A game some men find a challenge. Not me, though I’ve been to several ballrooms tonight, not knowing where you’d be. I found no challenge in recognizing you. For it was not your long dark hair, your shapely body, or smooth, caramel-tinted skin that alerted me. It was my heart. My heart reached out to you.”
A sob worked upward and unable to stifle it, she took his kerchief and wiped her own eyes beneath the mask. Feeling her knees start to fold, she steadied herself with hands to his shoulders. “The plaçage, it is dissolved, non?”
“As it should be.” He took off his mask, revealing the handsome face she loved. “A love should not be coerced or contracted but free and with choice, don’t you think?”
All she could do was nod in response, wanting so mu
ch to have him, but still afraid to ask, to declare her heart was his. He reached over and took off her mask, unveiling her face to him. “But to do that, a love must be freely expressed.”
Eyes filled with moisture, she sniffed, wrestling through all the emotions of the past. She loved him but realized in all her attempts to make him understand how she felt, she had never told him what he needed to hear the most. Fear of loving a white man had kept the words hidden deep within in her heart. Freely express love? Could she do it? Dare she take that risk?
The music had started again, but Jordan motioned for the musicians to cease.
The room fell deathly quiet as all the maskers of the dance now lined the floor and watched them. Unmasked, their identity known, they stood as a white man and his mistress of color.
“In front of those who watch tonight—”
“Jourdian, you do not need to do this.”
“I do, for your sake and mine.” He lowered himself to the floor on one knee. “I declare my love for you and want all the world to know that. I can’t change the laws, but I can live my life as I wish and I wish it to be with you. Not as a plaçee, but as a true husband and wife. I love you, and promise to be true. If you want me—”
“Want you?” she whispered. Slowly, her knees folded and she sank down next to him.
He placed a finger across her lips to silence her. “Want me. I must, Aurèlie, hear those same words from you.”
Aurèlie looked around. All eyes were on them and within hours the entire town would know about it, about them. Unable to marry her, he had made a public declaration to her. Tongues would wag in the morning. Scared as she was to say the words, to commit to a white man, she had to speak the truth because not only did she love him, she trusted him, and all she wanted in life had suddenly knelt down before her.
Cupping his face in her hands, she kissed him, feeling his strength and love through that kiss. “I love you, Jourdain, I choose to give myself to you and love you with all my heart.”
“Then, mon chérie, I am yours.”
…
The packing was almost done. Anxious to leave Liberty Oak as soon as possible, Jordan toured the house for the last time as Aurèlie filled one more trunk to be loaded on the calèche before their departure. They were moving to New Orleans. Having gone from folk hero to war hero, Jordan decided to spend that capital with his racially diverse family and purchased a home in Faubourge Ste. Marie, exclusively American.
The gossip hounds had worked overtime. The story of his declaration of marriage to Aurèlie had hit nearly every newsprint in the city, and some out. Aurèlie was confident living on the American side would no longer be the challenge it once might have been for her. Jordan and Loul had laid the groundwork for starting a shipping firm routing between New Orleans and Boston and hoped to purchase a couple of clippers from Boston in the next few months.
Liberty Oak had been renamed Yellow Sun. Aurèlie’s father would plant a few hundred acres of indigo and rebuild the shipping docks, but for the most part, it would return to the natural beauty of the land. Plans were in development to renovate the home and use it for holidays, dinner parties, celebrations, a place of peace and reflection.
He heard Maisie ask Aurèlie for help with her things, not understanding what all she should take. Jordan smiled, overhearing the discussion. Maisie loved having Aurèlie as her mother and no longer did he hear of midnight conversations with Judith.
His tour took him to the library. He no longer drank but poured himself a glass of water and sat down at the writing desk, remembering the visit from the British, and the consulate’s insistence on there being a treasure.
His father had been clever, if not desperate, in trying to rescue Colette. As fictitious as his concocted story was, it had set off a greater scheme than perhaps even he could have imagined. Loul and Jordan had agreed to keep that story to themselves, sparing Colette the details of their father’s death.
“Is Aurèlie not yet packed?” Loul appeared in the doorway of the library. “I think we’ll never be bound for New Orleans.”
“She helps Maisie.” Jordan laughed, something he did quite often lately, enjoying the pure feeling of it. Through the window, he could see Colette strolling the grounds of what would again be a bountiful garden under Aurèlie’s watchful eye.
In her arms, she carried her son. The child wanted for nothing and in some way, he was grateful she finally had the child she had so desperately wanted. But the father of that child still worried Jordan, another reason for his move to New Orleans, less chance of another abduction.
Colette had said nothing about Donato or her life with him. Nor had she asked to return to him, but there was something kept in the back of her mind and to Jordan’s suspicions, unsettled between the two of them.
Loul had decided to live in the house on Rampart Street, as he had noted the beautiful women who occupied many of the homes there. Aurèlie had happily signed over the title. It was time for Loul to strike out on his own and find his own love, his own future.
Jordan leaned back and had put his feet up on the desk when Colette entered the room.
“Ah, my two favorite brothers, oui? Zut, I mean, well never mind.”
“At your service, Madame,” Loul answered with a short bow.
Jordan smiled, appreciating Colette’s attempt to not only speak English but to sound American. Their father would be proud.
Colette strolled around the library, gently rocking her son in her arms, perusing the books on the shelves. “Jordan…I was thinking about something….”
Jordan was enjoying his complete relaxation and watching his sister amble about the room, here and happy. “Yes, Colette?”
“When I settled our grand mère’s estate, she mentioned something to me of interest regarding…a…well…a map.”
“A map?” Jordan slowly dropped his feet from the desk and watched her. He glanced over to Loul, reading the same question in his expression. “What kind of map?”
She shrugged as she continued to journey around the library. “A map, I do not think I remember much, but….”
“But what?”
“She ah…well she was old and dying.”
“But what?” This time Loul asked.
“She mentioned…gold, hidden gold. I know, does not make sense, non?”
“What did she say about it?” Jordan found it worth exploring.
Her baby, Enio, started to fuss and Colette’s attention shifted to her son. She put him up to her shoulder and patted his back until he again settled.
Jordan’s chest had tightened, his muscles grew stiff, waiting for her to respond. “Colette?”
Aurèlie arrived into the library. “We are ready, Jourdain. Maisie brings an extra trunk of special things, I think. She cannot make such choices, oui?”
“That’s fine.” Jordan answered but his focus remained on his sister. “Colette?”
“Oh, I forget what she told me. The story so unexpected.”
“Were you told anything about our medallions?” Besides his being silver and hers gold, Jordan remembered noting the slight differences between them the day the British arrived, not to mention the consulate’s insane story of hidden gold. His interest piqued, he rose from the chair as Colette continued to speak.
“Oui, I was told, a story like that but so long ago, I had forgotten about it. Grand mère…she was old and sometimes she not make sense.”
“The medallions were not identical, as I had thought, but with both lost, we have no information.”
“Perhaps not so.” Aurèlie strolled across the room. “Jourdain, you really should read the bible more.”
“Voodoo again? Another God to help me?”
“No, another map. And do not jest. God did help you.”
Jordan’s jaw nearly fell off the hinges as Aurèlie picked up the bible and pulled free a folded piece of paper.
“I clean the prie-dieu for the dinner and wish to learn of your family, so I read the his
tory and found this.”
“What is it?” Jordan started toward her.
“A drawing of the medallions. At the time, I know not what they mean and put back inside.”
Jordan opened the folded note held by Aurèlie. It was a diagram obviously made by his father. One medallion had been sketched on one side and the other on the opposing side. Jordan flipped the paper back and forth trying to figure out their meaning. He was just about to ask Aurèlie to hold the note and see what she could learn from it, when it hit him.
“Loul…” Jordan walked to the window and held up the paper against the glass, the sun shining through it. “It’s a combination. That’s why there were two medallions, different from each other. Look. If you see through the note, the two drawings at once, you see a map.”
“I see it.” Loul studied it with interest. “But where do you suppose that is? Why Florida? Would father have hidden British gold?”
Colette gasped and walked over, as did Aurèlie. All were staring at the map Jordan held up to the light.
“Colette, do you recognize this?” Jordan smiled. “It isn’t in Florida. Father told them that because that was a place they could go. The treasure, if there is one, is in France.”
He pointed to the dissecting points on the mantling of the two medallions. “X marks the spot. Laon, a little town near Lille.”
Aurèlie smiled at Jordan. “Like your medallion says to me months ago, oui?”
Loul turned to face Colette. “What is the treasure?”
Colette shrugged but answered. “Mother’s family had been arrested by the Revolutionary Tribunal. They supposedly buried their gold for safekeeping.”
Loul swung his attention back to Jordan, his eyes lit with excitement. “We’d need a ship—a sloop at least.”
Colette shuddered, shaking her head no.
“We’ve other priorities and cannot sail across the ocean.” Jordan nodded toward Colette.
But Loul’s mind was on the map in Jordan’s hand. “We need a ship.”
Jordan chuckled at Loul’s persistence. “At least.”
“I will never step foot on a ship again. Treasure or no treasure. Nothing will get me on a ship again.” Colette had dismissed the subject and strolled to the window overlooking the back gardens, rocking her son back and forth with the sway of her body.