Tender Fury

by Connie Mason

  “We had been in St. Pierre nearly a year when I received an urgent message from my overseer informing me that a fire had burnt the entire west section of cane including the distillery. I was needed immediately to bring some semblance of order to the chaos. When I told Cecily we were going to Bellefontaine for an indefinite stay she cried, fought, and railed against it, but in the end was powerless to do anything except follow my wishes. That’s when the real trouble started.” He was looking directly at Gabby now, as if begging for her understanding of what transpired next.

  “From the first day we arrived at Bellefontaine Cecily refused me her bed. And I, like a besotted fool, made excuses for her behavior, telling myself that she would adjust and soon be in my bed again. One thing I can say about Cecily she was an exceptionally passionate woman and I knew the dictates of her body would soon overrule her childish behavior.”

  “And did they?” asked Gabby. She could almost picture the willful, beautiful Cecily whom Philippe adored.

  “Just the opposite,” he admitted, his face bleak with remembrance. “She barely spoke to me. And then I did something that may inadvertently precipitated her death. I turned to Amalie for solace. I found in her arms that which my wife withheld.”

  “Your mistress!”

  “ Oui, but she became my mistress only after Cecily refused to be a wife to me. I am a man, Gabby,” he stated flatly, as if that explained everything. “When Amalie generously offered what Cecily denied, I accepted and found that when I was in her arms I could forget, if only for a time, what Cecily’s constant refusals did to me.”

  “Just who is Amalie?” Gabby asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

  “She is the daughter of Tante Louise, my housekeeper, and Gerard, my right hand man on the plantation. Both belong to me as well as Amalie and all three have always lived at Bellefontaine. Amalie is incredibly beautiful, as well as desirable,” he added, sensing Gabby’s next question.

  “Is she black?” asked Gabby, her eyes wide with disbelief. Surely Philippe would not bed a black slave!

  “She is an octoroon and no darker than either of us.”

  Gabby digested that statement, thinking of Marie, Jean’s lovely mistress, before asking, “How did Cecily react to your taking a mistress?”

  “One day she took the carriage and disappeared. I searched the plantation and when she did not return by nightfall I immediately set out for St. Pierre, thinking to find her at my townhouse. But she was not there, nor was she anywhere else in St. Pierre. After one week I returned to Bellefontaine, distraught, determined to give up Amalie when Cecily returned. After all, Cecily was my wife and would one day become the mother to my heirs. She was more important to me than anyone else. I still loved her desperately and was positive that the rift between us could be healed, even if I had to promise to return to St. Pierre to live as soon as the plantation was in order.”

  “And did she return?” Gabby was completely engrossed in the tale.

  “No,” said Philippe sadly. “I heard nothing from her or about her until two weeks later when Marcel Duvall’s sisters came to Bellefontaine and informed me that Cecily had been staying at Le Chateau with Marcel. He had forbidden them to come to me but it seemed my willful wife had made a nuisance of herself. According to the Duvall girls, she began ordering the servants around and disrupting the entire household with her demands. So, risking their brother’s anger, they decided to ask me to come and get my wayward wife. Needless to say, I went immediately.

  “When I reached Le Chateau and confronted Cecily, she refused to return with me. It was obvious to me that she and Marcel had become lovers, but both vehemently denied it. Even the Duvall girls could neither prove nor disprove my claim. Marcel, who had been my friend, insisted he had only offered Cecily his hospitality. In the end I forced Cecily to return to Bellefontaine.” Philippe ceased his incessant pacing and sat once more on the bed beside Gabby.

  “I swore to Cecily that Amalie meant nothing to me, but she only laughed, saying I could take a dozen mistresses if I wished. She still refused to have anything to do with me and said she would leave me again if given the opportunity. I knew then that I must take drastic measures or risk losing her. I had her watched constantly during the day, and during the nights I stayed with her myself, forcing her to share my bed. A plan began to take shape somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind; I believed that once she became pregnant her whole attitude toward me and Bellefontaine would change; that she would once again become the loving, passionate woman I had married. By sheer brute force I overcame her weak protests in my efforts to impregnate her, forcing her submission until she conceived. I could sense her growing animosity, but she was a passionate woman and soon accepted my attentions once I broke through her feeble resistance.”

  Gabby thought of her own surrender to Philippe and knew full well how relentless he could be once he set his mind on something.

  “In a surprisingly short time Cecily told me she was pregnant. I believed her only when a doctor confirmed her condition. I was ecstatic to think that my plan had worked so well. Just as I had surmised, Cecily seemed to welcome motherhood and became surprisingly sweet and loving. It was like a miracle. I told Gerard to cease watching her movements and she was free once more to go wherever she desired. I even promised her we would divide our time between St. Pierre and Bellefontaine once the child was born.”

  “If you were so happy why is she dead?” asked Gabby with a puzzled frown.

  “It turned out I was the only one happy. One night, after we had just made love, she told me she would never again be a wife to me. She accused me of being selfish and thoughtless of her feelings. She said I was stifling her and that she intended to leave me and live in St. Pierre. I made the mistake of not taking her seriously, knowing pregnant women often have outbursts of that sort. I laughed and told her she was foolish, that the next day things would look brighter.

  “Cecily jumped out of bed in a rage. I had never seen her angrier or more distraught.” Philippe paused dramatically, his voice quivering. Gabby reached out and touched his arm. Her touch seemed to give him courage as he cleared his throat and continued. “She told me… that… that the last laugh was on me; that the child she carried was not mine. She said that Marcel had fathered her child.”

  “Oh, no,” cried Gabby, feeling his pain in her own heart.

  “I was stunned. I could not even move to stop her when she dashed from the bedroom. After all, where could she go at that time of night? I had misjudged her desperation to leave me and Bellefontaine. She fled the house and took a horse from the stable before I realized her intent. Only when I heard the pounding hoof beats did I rouse from my stupor and follow. I knew from the path she had taken through the banana groves that she was going to Le Chateau and Marcel. I was beside myself with fear. Just being in the groves was risky business and at night the danger was multiplied a thousand fold. And she had at least a five minute head start while I had been immobilized by the bombshell she had just dropped.

  “While in pursuit, I convinced myself that she had lied to me; that she said what she did to hurt me. True, she had been at Le Chateau two weeks but she and Marcel had both denied being lovers. As the minutes passed I became more and more certain that the child she carried was mine and I was determined to think of that innocent life in no other terms.

  “Suddenly I heard a strange sound in the darkness ahead and spurred my own mount through the dense groves, ducking thick, ropy vines blocking my path. And then, mon dieu,” Philippe gasped, reliving the horror of that night. “I saw her. She was hanging by the neck from a thick coil of vines; her horse stood nearby. I cut her loose, but it was too late. She was already dead. Evidently she hadn’t seen those vines in the darkness and rode straight into them. She was literally lifted from the horse’s back and strangled, struggling, her feet just inches from the ground.”

  Gabby put her face in her hands and quietly wept for the gay, misguided creature who could not stand the i
solation of Bellefontaine and in the end had masterminded her own release. “I’m sorry, Philippe, truly sorry,” she whispered. “But why did you tell me you had killed Cecily when in truth it was an accident?”

  “Although the authorities were satisfied that it was an accident I judged myself as guilty of murder as if I had strangled her with my own hands.”

  “How can you say that?” protested Cecily.

  “I tried every way I knew to keep her at Bellefontaine, even forcing a child on her she didn’t want. I did my best to make her love me, but in the end succeeded only in destroying her and my child.”

  “You were certain then that the child was yours?”

  “I suppose that is something I shall never know for sure. Even if Cecily and Marcel had been lovers, she herself could never have known for certain to whom the child belonged. She was my wife, so no matter what I was the father. But from that day forward I could not think about Marcel without wanting to kill him. I will always blame him for feeding Cecily’s discontent and encouraging her to leave me.”

  “When did you decide to take another wife?”

  “Not for a long, long time. I turned more and more to Amalie for solace, and to the sea,” he replied. “More often than not I accompanied Captain Giscard aboard the Windward as supercargo, traveling up and down the American seaboard dodging English ships to reach port. By that time America and England were engaged in war and the Windward had become adept at running the blockade. We were in Boston when I was approached by a government agent who had heard of our prowess on the high seas. He asked if I would undertake a mission for the American government. I was to take the Windward to France and on a certain day contact an undercover agent in Paris. He was English but leaned toward the American side. He was supposed to have in his possession secret documents confirming that a major American port city would be attacked by the English, the probable dates, and the number of ships and men involved.”

  “New Orleans!” exclaimed Gabby.

  “Exactly,” replied Philippe. “I readily agreed to the mission. I had no reason to return to Martinique, and the mystery and danger of the mission appealed to me. The rest you know.”

  “No, Philippe, not all,” insisted Gabby. “When did you decide to marry again, and why did you select me?”

  “I had many lonely nights aboard the Windward and so many long hours to think. I had no heir and no one on Martinique I wanted to marry, although I could have had my pick of dozens of willing women. The more I thought about it the more I realized that I would never marry for love. My only reason for marrying was to produce heirs for Bellefontaine. As long as I was going to France I felt it was as good a time as any to choose another wife.”

  “But that’s so cold and unfeeling,” Gabby protested.

  “That’s how I wanted it,” insisted Philippe. “I was determined to look to a convent for my next wife. I would choose someone far different from Cecily. My only prerequisite was good lineage for the future mother of my children. Beauty was not even an important consideration in the woman I would choose; innocence and submission were far more desirable to my thinking.”

  “But I possessed none of those qualities,” Gabby remarked dryly. “Even the sisters said I was willful and too proud for my own good. Why, then, did you marry me?

  Surely there were other women more tractable? Women you wouldn’t have had to pay for as you did me. Or were you taken in by my father’s gift of persuasion?”

  “When first I met your father over the game table I thought him a braggart and wastrel. He lost heavily and handed out his IOUs until his creditors began demanding payment. I knew he was in trouble. Somehow he learned that I was in France looking for a wife and he approached me. He told me he had a daughter who would fill my needs perfectly. If you pleased me, a marriage could be arranged in return for the payment of his debts plus enough money to permit him and his wife to travel to Italy to take part in some half-witted scheme to put Napoleon back on the throne. But to answer your question, no, ma chere,” he said, riveting her with his smoky gaze, “I needed no persuasion to marry you. You were definitely not the kind of wife I hoped for, or even wanted, especially after Cecily, but once I looked into the depths of those violet eyes I was helplessly lost.”

  “You treated me with contempt from the very first,” Gabby reminded him, the hint of accusation heavy in her voice.

  “Don’t you understand, ma chere?” Philippe said gently. “I had no choice. In order to maintain my authority over you I had to subdue the spirit you exhibited from the moment I met you. I vowed to tame you until you were meek and submissive before we reached Martinique. I could not allow myself to show my love again for fear I would destroy you just as I did Cecily. Finding Marcel aboard the Windward was a stroke of incredible bad luck and I had to be constantly vigilant when I detected your interest in each other. From the moment I saw you standing before me demurely attired with that awful headdress concealing your glorious hair I knew I had to have you. I… I think I loved you even then with your defiant little chin tilted in the air as you argued with your parents against marriage.”

  Gabby’s heart lurched in her breast. If only he had told her of his love before now. If she had known she would never have turned to Rob.

  “Don’t look so astounded,” Philippe said when he saw her dismay. “When I believed you dead I was devastated. That you should die thinking me cruel and heartless was unbearable. I vowed that if a miracle happened and you were restored to me I would make it up to you. Something held me in New Orleans. I refused to accept your death and even offered a reward, hoping, praying, to find you alive somewhere. It succeeded, because I have found you.”

  It seemed only natural for Philippe to take Gabby in his arms. “Is it too late for us, Gabby?” he asked aware of the tears trickling from beneath her lowered lids.

  “What about Rob?” she asked hesitantly, fearfully.

  “He’s dead! Forget about him! Think only of us!”

  “Can you live with the knowledge that he… that he and I…?”

  Philippe tensed. Only a twitch in a muscle that ran along his jaw revealed his inner turmoil. His continued silence sent Gabby’s hopes plummeting.

  “I don’t think so, Philippe,” Gabby said sadly, answering her own question. “I know your temper and your dark moods. You will never find it in your heart to forget… or forgive me for Rob.”

  “I drove you to it,” Philippe stated emphatically. “It’s not your fault you turned to Captain Stone in your loneliness. I… in a way I am grateful to him for bringing you back to me.”

  No matter how hard she tried Gabby could not make herself believe that Philippe was ready to take her back with open arms without recriminations. She wasn’t even sure of her own feelings. Suddenly she thought of a way to test this newfound virtue of his.

  “Philippe,” she plunged on recklessly, “haven’t you wondered where I’ve been since Rob left?”

  Her query startled him and he regarded her suspiciously for a moment, his eyes wary. It was true, he thought. In his excitement over finding her again he had not thought to ask where she had been during the past weeks, or how she had existed. He was not even sure he wanted to know. His brooding silence did not speak well for his earlier resolve to forget and forgive.

  Lifting her chin and speaking slowly, Gabby said, “I have been with Marcel Duvall!”

  “Marcel Duvall!” Philippe repeated, his face colorless beneath his tan. “Will that man never be out of my life? I thought him gone from New Orleans long ago. Where did he find you, Gabby? Or did you find him?”

  “We sort of found each other. And purely by accident,” Gabby explained, “His carriage ran into me when Lieutenant Gray was pursuing me. He took me to his sister’s house. I hoped to become the governess of his sister Celeste’s children when they returned to the city.”

  “Ah, oui,” muttered Philippe thoughtfully, “Lieutenant Gray said he did not recognize the man who carried you off in his carriage.”
He looked at her sharply. “If Marcel’s sister and her family were out of the city then you and he were alone in the house.” His eyes became hooded but not before Gabby noted their icy glaze.

  Gabby knew that the moment of truth had arrived. Would Philippe believe nothing had happened between her and Marcel? Aloud she said, “Marcel offered me a place to stay until Rob returned. I was grateful to him.”

  White ridges of barely suppressed anger formed around his mouth. “How grateful. Gabby? Did you offer him your body in gratitude as you did your captain?”

  Her hand swung back in a wide are and struck with resounding force. Suddenly all the anger rushed out of him and she felt almost sorry for him as his body appeared to deflate before her eyes.

  “Marcel has never been my lover nor did I ever intend him to be! In fact, he left the day after I arrived at his sister’s house and I have not seen him since.”

  She was startled by the look of pure joy in Philippe’s eyes. Did he really believe her? she wondered. His accusations had pained her but if he believed her now there might still be hope for them. “You do believe me, don’t you, Philippe?” she asked with bated breath.

  His eyes gentled to a blue-gray haze and it took him only a moment to answer. “ Oui, ma chere, I believe you. Those hateful words were out before I could stop them. It’s just that I cannot bear to hear Marcel’s name without becoming enraged. He had insinuated himself into my life too many times with disastrous results.”

  He kissed her then, slowly, longingly, as a spasm of erotic quivers splintered through her and a flood of remembrances drowned her in desire. Her thoughts were of eternal, love-filled nights spent in his arms; of a storm that had swept away her innocence forever and of the tender man she had caught fleeting glimpses of when she had pierced through his armor.