“I am rejoiced to hear you finally accept my help.” He smiled and sipped his coffee. “My own house is right in the middle of the settlement. Yours is on the far side of it, which I hope will not inconvenience you too much. I thought, as I chose the lots, you’d prefer as much distance from me as you could get, although in a colony of this size, distance is a relative term. I took the liberty of inspecting the property, and I believe you’ll be pleased with your accommodations. That is, if you bear in mind that this is the wilderness and not the rue Poissonnière.”
Vivienne tried not to chafe at the mention of the street where Sybille had lived. “The ownership is in your name.”
Henri tucked a bite of bread into his cheek, eyebrows knitting together. “I thought it was ours now. Isn’t the house ours?”
“It was my money that bought it,” Armand told him. To Vivienne, he lowered his voice. “I was under the impression you lacked sufficient funds. Or else you’d have bought a lot yourself.”
Her lips pressed into a line. As much as she hated to be indebted to him, could she really ask for the deed to be transferred to her name? “While I live there, I expect you to respect our privacy. You will not enter the house without knocking, even though it belongs to you.” Indeed, she hoped he would rarely visit at all.
“But of course, Vivienne. I’m not without manners and common courtesy. I’ll take you to see it at once. Consider it a loan, if that suits you better.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she agreed. Even this arrangement was more than generous, and despite her efforts to push him away, Armand had been nothing but kind to her.
And she had no other options. Swallowing back her bitterness, she returned his tentative smile and thanked him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Inside the barn, Liam stood a length of log on a chopping block, then brought his ax down through the middle. After he repeated the process on each half, he tossed the firewood into the wheelbarrow. Red looked on with large, limpid eyes, a welcome companion after months away. Liam was eager to visit Jethro, and he needed to explain to Talon how Beau and Cherie had reappeared in the stable last night, but first he wanted to get some firewood into the house, where it could do some good.
Wind whistled through the trees outside. It wrapped around the barn, slicing in through the door he’d left open to allow sunlight to guide his work. Even so, sweat filmed his skin as he chopped. His thoughts wandered to Vivienne and Henri. He hoped they would adapt to yet another new home in Asylum. He hoped they’d fall in love with the land, as he had, with appreciation for what it gave and respect for what it couldn’t.
But surrounded by French aristocrats as they now were, he wondered if Vivienne would still insist on speaking English. She had been eager to embrace America. Would she remain so here, where the rest of the residents lived for the day they could return to France?
“Ach.” He split another log, admitting to himself his real question: would she still choose the company of a recently disfigured Irishman when she was surrounded by genteel French?
He thought she might.
He hoped she would.
Red nickered. Resting his ax on the ground, Liam rubbed the horse along its jawline and reined in the hope that threatened to carry him where he wasn’t ready to go. The last time he’d given his heart away, it had come back to him in shards.
Vivienne had needed him until this point, to bring her and Henri here. He would wait and see how things went, for Maggie had needed him, too. But she hadn’t wanted him. There was a difference.
When Maggie had pressed Liam through letters to come home from war and marry her sooner than planned, he had longed for the day he could but asked Maggie to wait until his service was over. “I need you,” she’d written. “I need you now, please, please come home to me.” What she needed was a hasty wedding to hide the fact that she was with child. Whose child, Liam never knew, but it most certainly wasn’t his. He couldn’t decide which shocked him more upon learning the truth from Tara, that Maggie had married the British officer billeted in her home, or that the baby arrived five months later. They lived in England, last he’d heard, on a fine estate.
Maggie was a taker. She used people for what she could get from them. “Vienne is nothing like that,” he muttered, rubbing Red between the eyes. Her dedication to Henri and her insistence on working proved it.
After a final pat to his horse, Liam took up his ax again and swung it through the next log with more strength than was required. The blade lodged deep into the block, and he left it there. Gathering up the rest of the wood from the hay-strewn floor, he tossed the pieces into the wheelbarrow and rolled it toward his house.
Inside the parlor, he built a fire in the hearth, then piled wood in the iron rack beside the fireplace. Next, he took the remaining pieces upstairs to his bedroom, where he washed his hands and face before heading back down the stairs.
Voices stayed him on the bottom tread. They were coming from the parlor.
With long strides, he marched into the room to find Vivienne, Henri, and Armand, all of whom appeared as surprised to see him as he was to see them. He scratched the stubble on his chin. “’Tis customary, in America, to knock when going calling. But I do welcome the visit. Right neighborly of you.” He shook Armand’s hand, thankful he’d swept the cobwebs and dust from his house that morning.
“I understand I have you to thank for bringing my—for bringing Vivienne and Henri from Philadelphia,” Armand said. “I can’t imagine the journey. I’m indebted.”
Liam told him he was welcome. “If you’ll stay for coffee, I’ll make it.”
Vienne pushed her hood back and unwound her muffler, folding it over one arm. The winsome flush in her cheeks might have been from the cold, Liam told himself. Or the fire. A curl brushed her neck as she regarded him. “Have you been here all morning, chopping wood and stocking it? For us?”
Armand frowned.
So did Liam. “Well, it was for me, really. Your coming this morning is a surprise.”
“But how did you know?” she pressed.
“I didn’t know.” Liam crossed his arms, then stuffed his hands in his pockets instead, confusion furrowing his brow. Was she not listening? “I just told you, I didn’t know you were coming.”
Henri looked all around the room, then scampered into the hall and back. “This is our house now? Our very own?”
Oh. Oh no. “What’s that? You don’t think—”
“You said you may have built my house, but I didn’t think you’d also chop the firewood for me,” Vivienne said. “Thank you, Liam, but are you not anxious to tend your own home now that—”
Liam held up his hand. “There’s been a mistake.”
“I should say so.” Armand cleared his throat and stared at Liam.
“Vivienne, this is not your home. It’s mine.” He watched the color leach from her face.
She spun toward Armand, then back to Liam. “How can this be?”
She spread a map upon the table, and Armand pointed to a lot circled in gray ink. Liam’s lot. “There. You see?”
“If it’s my word against a circle of ink, I think I win.” Liam fought to gentle his tone. But this was his house, his land. His dream.
“Armand, this is Liam’s property.” Vienne’s voice was stronger than it had been in days. “I will not take it from him. We’ll find another lot instead. Henri, come.”
Wide-eyed, the boy took her hand.
“I will handle this, Vivienne.” Armand puffed out his chest. “Young man, I purchased this lot from the Asylum Company via Senator Robert Morris in Philadelphia. I don’t believe you mean any harm. Clearly, we have a misunderstanding, but one I hope we can resolve straightaway. The fact is, you’re trespassing.”
“Trespassing!” Liam’s mind whirred. “They’ve sold you the wrong property. As you see, this one’s taken. I really was building my own fire here.” The flames popped and snapped. He no longer needed coffee to keep him awake.
> “If anyone’s mistaken, my dear fellow, it’s you.” Armand drew a deed from his cloak pocket and showed it to him.
Quickly, Liam parsed it, a groove forming on his brow. That was his lot identified on the paper. “A clerical error. The sooner we set it to rights, the better.”
White-faced, Vienne agreed. “Liam,” she whispered through colorless lips. “I had no idea. This wasn’t my plan at all.”
Armand glanced at her and Henri. “Monsieur Talon is already expecting an interview with the new colonists.”
And more than likely, he was already furious with Liam.
While Henri played in the dauphin’s room upstairs, Vivienne stood in Monsieur Talon’s office below, nerves buzzing. The adjoining music room was silent at this time of day, and the quiet between Liam and Armand was thick with tension.
Talon sat behind his desk, face drawn, the two deeds laid before him. She had never met Talon before, but she knew he’d been head of the king’s secret police—when there was a king. He’d managed an impressive network of operatives and guards when the stakes were entire kingdoms. As she stood before him with a claim that paled in significance, she wondered if he was bored to delirium. Or if he realized that she belonged neither to France nor to America, and that a home of her own was her kingdom.
Just as it was Liam’s. He tapped his hat against his leg, obviously as impatient as she was to hear the verdict.
“Mr. Delaney. I wondered if I’d see you today, since I was surprised to see my horses returned to my stable at last. Do explain to me, please, why you saw fit to keep my property from me all this time.”
With an economy of words, Liam explained the circumstances. His tone was even and calm.
Talon’s face was stone. “The other mail carrier quit because of a wages and property disagreement. And now here you are with another one. These land disputes are so tedious.” Talon drummed his fingers over the deeds. His hair was powdered, his fine coat pressed and brushed, and his office windowless, so that even during the day, candlesticks defended against the dark.
“Monsieur Talon,” Armand began, “Senator Morris assured me everything was in order when I purchased my two lots, including the one Mr. Delaney says is his. I have no quarrel with Mr. Delaney personally and believe him to be an upright man. But obviously we cannot both own the land.”
With the leisure of one accustomed to others hanging on his words, Talon did not respond right away. At length he said, “One of these claims is invalid.”
Vienne’s mouth went dry as starched cloth. She shifted her weight, fingering the lace at her sleeves.
“Mr. Delaney, you purchased the land from whom?”
Liam supplied a name, unfamiliar to her.
“A Connecticut man,” Talon verified.
“Yes. But I don’t see what difference that makes.”
“A great deal,” the manager declared. “It makes a great deal of difference when that Connecticut man had no right to sell you this land to begin with. The Asylum Company owns that land.”
Liam’s smile was thin and tight. “No, monsieur. I do.”
“Under false pretenses. See here, look at these dates.” Talon pointed to the two leaves of paper, and Liam bent over them. “Our claim to that land precedes yours. The land belongs to Armand de Champlain.”
Armand exhaled. Vivienne sucked in a sharp breath.
“I protest. I dispute,” Liam sputtered, his face darkening to a furious shade of red. “I’ve cleared my land, planted crops. I built my home—and half the houses in Asylum, by the way. And now you’re saying it isn’t mine?”
“Correct. It isn’t your land, and none of the improvements you’ve made to it can be claimed by you, either. According to de Champlain’s deed, he owns it all. The house, the outbuildings, the crops, the livestock. You have nothing, Mr. Delaney, unless you purchase it directly from him.”
Vienne could scarcely breathe. “There must be a different lot we could take in exchange,” she said. “Leave Mr. Delaney’s to him, for I refuse to evict him so Henri and I can move in.”
Talon made a short, scuffing noise against his teeth. “Utter nonsense. Mr. Delaney has no lot. He is a squatter. Monsieur de Champlain, if you wish to void the purchase, the property reverts back to the Asylum Company, and we’ll sell it to someone else. If you wish to sell the property yourself, you may do so, but you cannot just let him have it.”
“Ma chère,” Armand inserted, the endearment raking her nerves, “if the Irishman has done all that work to the lot, it sounds like you could not do better for yourself than to simply move in.”
“To be sure.” Liam’s tone was ice cold. “’Tis so convenient. For you. I was just hopin’ and prayin’ that all my labors could benefit someone else so I could be landless again.”
“This isn’t what I wanted,” Vienne whispered.
“But you’ll still take it, won’t you?” A muscle bunched in Liam’s jaw.
“It’s not up to her,” Armand interjected.
“I’ve made my decision.” Talon waved his hand dismissively. It was over.
Vienne swept out of the office and into the sunlit music room. Mercifully, it was empty, save for the pianoforte and some chairs lining the walls. From within a gilt frame, a shepherdess in a flowing white dress looked down upon them. “We need to talk.” She pressed the ache behind her temple, then dropped her hand to her side. “All of us.”
“What is there to discuss?” Armand folded his deed and tucked it into his coat pocket. “It’s done.”
Liam cast a sidelong look at her, nostrils flaring. A vein throbbed on his forehead, visible anger that complemented his scars too well. But behind his fierceness, Vienne knew he hid fresh wounds. “I needed to sink my roots deep into a place of my own,” he had told her once. “Sounds strange to you, maybe, but my land and I take care of each other.”
Her fingernails bit into her palms. “I tell you, I refuse to take Liam’s home from him. I won’t do it.” Not after everything Liam had done for her and Henri. Not after all he’d become to her.
Armand wiped a hand over his face. “I regret it has come to this. But did you not understand what Monsieur Talon said? If you truly refuse, Mr. Delaney still won’t keep his land. I would have to sell it so I can buy you another lot, and he would lose it to someone else.”
Vivienne’s stomach rebelled at the truth. She put her hand to her middle as her mind whirred, searching for some kind of solution. At least if she lived there, she could work to make sure it was returned to him.
“Please listen.” She drew a steadying breath and smoothed her skirt before clasping her trembling hands. “If it must be this way, then I need Liam.”
Both men raised their eyebrows. Good. At least they were paying attention.
“I’m a single woman with a child, and suddenly I’m tasked with not only managing a home but managing fields, as well. I know lace and bread, not farming. And I know nothing of life in the wilderness.”
Armand frowned. “You have a house now. I thought you’d be happy.”
“I’m grateful for the roof over our heads, though I hate how this has turned out. But I see no reason to let Liam’s cultivation go to waste because of my ignorance. I’ve no intention of any such negligence. Armand, when you sell the grounds again—for you’ve already confessed yourself a sojourner—you want them to be increased in value, don’t you? Then don’t let the wilderness reclaim what Liam has worked so hard to wrest from its grip.”
Liam’s gaze pierced hers, but his face was a mask she could not read.
“Everything that pleases you about the lot you purchased for my use,” she continued, “that’s all the fruit of his labor. He knows that land better than anyone. Hire him to maintain it and improve it further. That land can yield a profit, Armand, but neither you nor I can bring it forth.”
Armand crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. He was at least fifty years old and too soft to drive a plow himself. “I suppose I could rent the la
nd back to you.”
“I paid for that land already,” Liam growled. “I’ll not pay you again to be toiling at it.”
“Not for cash,” Vienne jumped in. “No yearly rental, Armand. Let him work the land and give you a portion of the crops. Crops that otherwise we wouldn’t see at all.”
Liam stalked away, tugging at the tie in his neckcloth, but did not leave the room.
“What does the land yield?” Armand asked.
Muttering beneath his breath, Liam paced back toward them. “Flax and rye. Corn. Maple sugar. Molasses and vinegar, tar and potash for them that know how to make it.”
It did not take long for Armand to see reason. “I’ve no time for such things. Let us draw up the terms.”
“To give you more of what’s mine, you mean.” Liam fumed.
But Vivienne saw past his bluster. He would not let go of the land he loved. And if she had any influence at all over the situation, she would not let Liam lose his dream.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Philadelphia
December 1794
“I’ve already told you all I know: they aren’t here, they’ve sent no word, and as far as I can tell, they’re not coming back!” Done repeating herself by now, Paulette slammed the front door of the Pension Sainte-Marie on a very upset Sebastien Lemoine.
“Who was that, dear?” Madame Barouche bustled into the room, eyes like an owl. “I hope you haven’t turned away good business? We still have one room to let.”
Sunlight poured into the cold parlor. Paulette moved to the fireplace and knelt to stoke it. “Monsieur Lemoine, madame. Looking for Vivienne and Henri.” A log collapsed, and she added another with iron tongs before replacing the grate. Standing, she brushed off her apron.
Madame’s eyebrows rose. “Ah. Yes.” Her silver curls quivered as she shook her head, and her blue-veined hands flitted over her beribboned bodice. “Well, their sudden departure was a shock to all of us. I wonder . . .” Then she clipped her thin lips shut. “Listen.”
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