by Bobbi Smith
The last they saw of Mirabelle was her stony profile as her driver fled the premises as if he were a fox and the hounds were at his heels.
"You are truly a gentleman, Rafe Marchand," Libby observed, feeling quite satisfied with the way things had turned out. "I trust she won't be back?"
"I thank you for the compliment, and as to the answer to your question..." He paused to stare after the departing carriage for a moment. "You can never be sure about anything with Mirabelle. Come, let's go inside. I want you to meet the servants and get a look at the house."
He escorted them indoors and called the servants together to introduce them. George, Tilda and several of the other maids gathered round to hear who these women were. They'd been watching as Miss Mirabelle left in a huff, and they were wondering what was going on.
"This is Mrs. Libby O'Neill, Miss Claire Patterson and this, everyone, is Brandy, my wife."
"Your wife, sir?" George looked at him in astonishment.
"Yes, George, my wife."
The butler broke into a wide smile. "Congratulations, Master Rafe. That is positively the best news we've had here in years. Yes, sir, it is. How do you do, ma'am?"
"It's nice to meet you," Brandy returned, smiling happily at this warm welcome.
The astonishment on the servants' faces reinforced everything he'd told her about himself. It had been common knowledge that he had not wanted to marry, and her arrival was a complete surprise, but not, from the looks of things, an unwelcome one.
"I hope no one is too disappointed that Miss Mirabelle isn't the one arriving here in my position?" she asked daringly, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.
George rolled his eyes at her words and was grinning as he answered, "Oh, no, ma'am. We are more than pleased with everything. Welcome to Bellerive."
"Thank you, George," Brandy said, immediately warming to this man as she saw the kindness in his eyes.
They were given the guided tour, starting there on the main floor. All were impressed by the wellappointed rooms with their plush furnishings.
"What's in there?" Brandy asked, as they passed a closed room on their way down the main hall toward the steps to the second floor.
"That room is not used. It's kept locked," Rafe said tersely, offering no further explanation.
Brandy was puzzled, since every other part of the house had been open to them, but she said nothing. They went up to the second floor and were equally impressed with all the bedrooms. As they were about to enter another room where the door was shut, Rafe spoke up again.
"That room is kept locked, too. There's nothing in there worth seeing. Why don't we go out on the balcony?" he invited them, diverting their attention.
"Bellerive is beautiful," Brandy declared as they stood on the second-floor balcony overlooking the wide expanse of perfectly manicured lawn.
"It was my father's dream," Rafe said simply, yet he was profoundly touched by the awe and respect with which Brandy, her mother and Claire had admired his home.
"And you've kept it up and improved it. Your father would be proud of you," Libby said firmly.
Rafe looked over at the little woman. He saw the sincerity in her expression and felt a jolt of an emotion he'd not allowed himself to feel in years. "Thank you," he said.
Claire and Libby were given spacious rooms on the second floor at the far end of the hall from Rafe's room. They agreed to meet downstairs in an hour for dinner.
Rafe and Brandy entered his room, and he closed the door behind them, giving them privacy for the first time since they'd left the ship that morning. Brandy smiled at him.
"I appreciate your kindness to my mother for being gentle with her and for bringing her into your home."
"Now that I've met her, I understand your concern about her. You were right in suggesting we bring her here."
"And you truly don't mind?"
"Not at all. In fact, now I know where you get it from."
"Get what?"
"She took on Mirabelle without batting an eye. Your mother's one brave lady."
"That she is. She's always had to be. There was never anyone to defend us or take care of us."
Her words were not spoken to evoke sympathy, but simply to state the facts. Still, Rafe found himself wanting to be the one to make sure these two women were never again left without protection. When he realized the direction of his thoughts, he gave himself a mental shake.
Going to Brandy, Rafe took her gently in his arms and kissed her. "Welcome home."
She almost believed he meant it. After all, they were alone in his room with no audience to judge their performances, but her logical self cautioned her not to read anything into his words or actions. "I love Bellerive. You're very blessed to have it."
He smiled at her. "I think I'll go on downstairs and see how things have been while I've been away. I'll be in my study when you come down."
She nodded, and he left her alone to finish unpacking.
Downstairs he went into his study to go through his papers. He had just settled in when he looked up to find George in the doorway.
"Did you want something, George?"
"Mrs. O'Neill is on her way downstairs, and I wondered if you'd like her in here with you or shall I take her into the parlor?"
"Bring her in, George, and thanks. By the way, her vision is impaired so she will need extra help with a few things," he told the butler, enlisting his help in keeping an eye on Libby.
The servant nodded and went to meet her at the foot of the staircase.
"Will I be bothering you if I join you?" Libby asked as George directed her inside.
"Absolutely not," Rafe told her, standing as she entered the room. "Please, come in and sit down. Are you all settled in?"
"Yes, thanks. With all your servants to help me, it didn't take any time at all to put my things away. The room is lovely, too. I appreciate your thoughtfulness."
"It's my pleasure." He waited until she'd taken the seat before his desk before sitting back down in his own chair.
Libby couldn't see well, but she could make him out, looking powerful and in control behind his massive desk. Her instincts were telling her that he was a good man and obviously a kind man, yet she sensed a hesitation in him, something that he was holding back. She was beginning to understand why as she listened to him talk about himself and his life. Since he'd lived alone for so long, it was no wonder so many people were surprised that he'd married unexpectedly. But then, they'd never seen or met Brandy.
"We certainly surprised your friend Mirabelle this afternoon, didn't we?" she said.
"That we did. I'm sure it will be quite a while before she recovers from the shock of it."
"Really? Had she thought you were going to ask for her?"
"No, that was never a consideration. Mirabelle knew all along that I had no desire to marry," he said, then quickly added, "until Brandy."
"I understand, believe me. When my husband and I met, it was the same way. We knew instantly that we were meant to be together. Sometimes, I think love is heaven-sent, don't you?"
Rafe knew Brandy didn't think there was anything heavenly about their marriage. "Yes."
"I just hope the two of you are as happy as we were. My husband died while Brandy was still very young, but the few years we had together were so special. ...I was blessed to have him, and even more blessed to have Brandy. I'm glad you love her. I was praying for you to come to her, you know."
"You were?" He looked at her, startled.
Libby's expression was loving. "Oh, yes. I've been praying about you ever since I knew my eyesight was failing. I knew that as long as Brandy had me to worry about and care for, she'd never take the time for herself. As willful as she is, I knew she needed a strong man, and I sense you're more than a match for her."
"And that's good?"
"Very good."
He felt uncomfortable with her praise, for since his father's death no one had ever taken the time to tell him his strengths and make him
feel as if he were doing the right thing. He'd been on his own, alone now for so long that he didn't know how to accept this kind of compliment, especially from an older woman. As he thought about it, he realized that he'd never been around a grandmotherly woman before, and he wasn't quite sure what to do or how to act. That very realization bothered him more than anything, for he was a man accustomed to being in control.
Rafe heard Claire and Brandy in the outer hall then, and he was almost glad. Talking to Brandy's mother disturbed him in a way he couldn't understand. He just knew it troubled him, and he wasn't sure if that was good or bad.
Brandy and Claire found them in the study, and George announced dinner shortly thereafter. As they ate the sumptuous fare, the talk turned to the coming party.
"Did you speak with Rafe and Marc about the plans for the party while you were waiting at the steamboat this morning?" Brandy asked.
"Yes, and he said that Marc and I would need to start working on things early next week."
"Good" she said with a nod.
Rafe looked from one woman to the other. "Why do I get the feeling that more is going on here than I know?"
"Nothing's going on," Brandy said innocently. "Although, if you don't mind, I do need to purchase a dress or two for Mother, especially with the party coming up."
"That's fine. The carriage and driver are at your disposal. You can set up an account with the dressmaker and just instruct all the bills to be sent to me."
"Rafe, it's not right that you should be paying for my clothes," Libby protested. "I have a few dollars put away for just such occasions."
"There is no need for you to use your money. While you are under my roof, I will be glad to pay all of your expenses."
"You are as wonderful as Brandy said you were." Libby had never known anyone like Rafe, and she got teary-eyed at his most recent act of kindness. "That is so sweet of you."
Rafe looked at Brandy for a long moment; then, for some reason, he wanted to make Libby smile. "My motives are purely selfish. I love being surrounded by beautiful women."
Libby smiled at him, a smile that told him she thought he was the most magnificent man on the face of the Earth.
Rafe found he liked it, and he fought the scowl that immediately followed.
"So have you and Marc planned what days you'll be needed at his home?"
"No, we haven't gotten that far yet. He said he would stop by some time this week."
"Good. We'll firm everything up then."
When dinner was over, it was late and everyone was tired. Brandy helped her mother to bed, then entered the bedroom that was hers and Rafe's. She found him already in bed, waiting for her.
"It's been a long day," she said wearily, thinking of how very much her life had changed since she'd arisen that morning. Until this moment, she could pretend that she was still Brandy O'Neill, playing at being Rafe's wife.
"And I hope a longer night," he said with a seductive grin as his gaze met hers.
She could see the flame in the depths of his eyes, and she knew what he wanted. Her body's answering response let her know that despite all her denials, she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
"No poker tonight?" she asked archly.
"Are you nervous?"
She paused to consider his words. For some reason, she did not feel uncomfortable even though this was her first night as Rafe's wife in his home. "No ...No, I'm not. You made it easy for me, even with Mirabelle." She thought of the other woman in his arms, her lips on Rafe's, and a surge of unwanted jealousy went through her, moving her toward the bed.. .toward him.. .toward her husband.
His grin widened. "It was a surprise finding her here."
"Is she always that brazen?"
"Yes."
Brandy looked thoughtful as she came to stand at the side of the bed. "I do suppose you bring out that quality in women...."
"I do?"
She kissed him then, hotly, passionately. She wanted him to remember only her kisses and her caresses. She wanted to erase any thought of the other woman from his mind.
They spoke of Mirabelle no more that night.
Brandy came awake shortly after dawn to find that Rafe was already up and was getting dressed.
"Where are you going?" she asked in a voice husky with sleep.
"I have to meet with the overseer this morning. I'm sorry I woke you. I was trying to sneak out without bothering you."
"The bed felt lonely without you," she said in an unguarded moment.
At her words, Rafe paused in dressing and turned to look at her. In the softness of the early morning light, she looked more ravishing than ever. Her hair was a riotous tumble of curls about her face and shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed with the memory of their loving, and her eyes held the secrets of the ages. He felt the heat settle in his loins as he stared at her.
"Do you have to go so early?" she asked, lifting a hand to him in invitation and in memory of the ecstasy they'd shared through the dark night hours.
"I promised I'd meet him in..." He glanced at the clock. "In about fifteen minutes."
Brandy's smile widened at having that much time, and she seductively drew the covers away so he could see her. "How long will it take you to dress again?"
"Not long," he growled. The importance of meeting the overseer was suddenly lost on him as he gazed upon the perfection of his wife's slender body.
Claire had known that once they traveled to Rafe's home in Natchez, Brandy's need for her would diminish. Brandy had accomplished everything she'd hoped she would, and after the party at Marc's, no doubt she would be set in society. Still, she knew she had at least another week or two left on the job that Rafe hired her for, so she decided to take everything one day at a time. Regardless of all else, she would have Marc to herself on several occasions as they planned Brandy's and Rafe's reception.
When Marc arrived at Bellerive the following day, Claire was thrilled, though she managed to act calm as she came downstairs. She had missed him dreadfully. She still ached with happiness from their embrace on the steamboat, and she was eagerly hoping they could find some time alone together soon.
"Marc... Good morning," she greeted him when she found him standing in the foyer talking with Rafe.
He looked up, and a slow smile spread across his face. "Good morning, Claire. You look lovely today."
"Thanks. Are you ready to talk about the party?"
"I was just going over things with Rafe. Why don't we sit down together and figure out what we have to do in order to put this together in time."
They settled themselves in the parlor and an hour later knew what had to be done.
"Then you want me to come with you now to see your home and decide exactly what to do?"
"That would be wonderful, and I promise I'll have you back at a reasonable hour."
Claire's heart was singing as she rode from Bellerive at Marc's side. It felt right, so right to be with him this way. The only thought that troubled her was that he was thinking of her as a paid employee and not as a friend who wanted to help. But if nothing else, as a paid employee she would be able to speak to him whenever the need arose, and she planned to need him often over the coming days.
The ballroom in Marc's home was crowded with friends, well-wishers and more than a few brokenhearted young females all waiting for the entrance of the newly married couple. Talk had flown fast and furious about Rafe's unexpected marriage. Tears had been shed among the debutantes, each of whom had fancied herself the one woman who could get Rafe Marchand to propose, and more than a few men had shaken their heads in the defeated knowledge that the one man they'd thought would never succumb to a female's charms had at long last fallen.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Rafe Marchand," Marc announced as he stood at the doorway to the ballroom.
At his announcement, Rafe entered the room with Brandy on his arm. They looked marvelous together. Rafe, devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored suit, w
as a dark power beside Brandy's vibrant beauty. She'd chosen her most dazzling gown for tonight, a full-skirted, low-cut, rose satin creation that set off her coloring and drew men's gazes to her like a magnet. Her hair was styled artfully, with matching rose-colored ribbon wound through the curls.
The men who'd bemoaned his passing from bachelorhood understood Rafe's decision immediately at their first look at his bride.
"Where did he find her?" Charles Kerrin asked his friend, Pierre Martin.
"I don't know, but I wonder if she has a sister?"
Their eyes brightened at the thought, and they knew they'd have to ask Rafe as soon as they could get him alone.
The music began, and Rafe squired Brandy to the center of the dance floor. Taking her in his arms, he swept her around the room in graceful precision. They looked the fairy-tale couple, and many a young woman watching wished she was the one in his arms, being held close to him, earning that look of devotion from him.
Mirabelle stood in silent fury apart from the others. She'd heard all the gossip about the romantic wedding, but instead of being happy about it for Rafe's sake, she had only grown more and more angry. He had graced her bed, and she had been good enough for him there more than good enough judging from his reaction at the time. But when it had come to marriage, he had not given her a thought, but had wed this one instead -a simpering little miss who looked as if she could be easily manipulated.
Mirabelle found it hard to believe that he preferred this Brandy to her. She hardly thought the debutante type would keep Rafe's attention for long, and she wondered just how soon he'd be back, seeking her out. Since the day of Rafe's return with his bride, she had been trying to find out more about this Brandy O'Neill. No one she'd spoken to in their circle of friends had ever heard of her. Still, she wouldn't stop trying. She wanted to know why Rafe had chosen to marry Brandy.
Nearby, standing at her mother's side, young Cynthia Harris was equally disturbed by the sight of Rafe so obviously in love with his new wife.
"Oh, Mama...I thought he was going to marry me...." she said in a choked voice as she struggled not to cry.