The Emerald Queen (A Vieux Carré Romance)

by Karen Jones Delk

  “Who’d have thought we’d fill up so much space so quickly?” Simone was saying ruefully.

  “Good thing the lot next door is available. We can build another building, maybe two,” Tom mused.

  “And what will we use for money, Thomas Jefferson Franklin? Three steamboats in three years has eaten up most of our cash. You’re not planning on taking a loan from a bank?”

  He winced at the very thought. “The banks wouldn’t touch us when we were starting out, and now we’re going to return the favor. Why pay them interest on a loan?”

  “Turnabout is fair play.” Mischievously, Simone finished the speech she had heard a dozen times before.

  As they ambled toward the freight-yard gate, they waved to Obadiah, who labored on a nearby loading dock.

  “I’m glad we found a home for the seasick sailor,” Tom said. “And he’s doing a fine job.”

  “Oui,” Simone answered distractedly. Though the mourning costume she wore was hot, a pleasant breeze blew in off the river. “Don’t order a cab, Tom,” she said. “Let’s walk to the boat.”

  “I guess we’ve got time.” The man made a great show of checking the sapphire-studded watch Simone had given him for his birthday the week before. “All right, darlin’,” he said, offering his arm, “let’s promenade like the fashionable folks.”

  It was less than half a mile to the Canal Street wharf, and, along the way, steamboats of all sizes lined the levee. While they walked, the couple heard a familiar whistle and gazed upriver.

  “Oh, look, here comes the Queen of Hearts.”

  “Ahead of schedule, too,” Tom said proudly. “What a fine fleet we have, Miss Devereaux.”

  “They are impressive,” she acknowledged, “but I think our next boat should be another cargo vessel.”

  “Our next boat,” Tom crowed. “I like the way you think, partner.”

  “Haven’t you always told me to think big?” she asked with a grin.

  “Yep, we’ll make a fortune.”

  “Come on.” She tugged him toward the Emerald Queen’s gangplank. “If we are to afford this big thinking, we should start our next run.”

  Tom balked, his good humor vanishing when he saw Devlin Hennessey climbing the curving staircase to the boiler deck. “What do you suppose he’s doing here?”

  “Probably going upriver. That’s where the boat is going,” Simone answered lightly, knowing he disapproved of her friendship with Dev.

  “Why do you waste time on that riverboat Romeo?”

  “Dev has been a good friend to me,” Simone responded briskly. “He’s one of the few people I’ve trusted in the past few years, and he’s never given away my identity.”

  “I know,” Tom admitted grudgingly, “but he might spend some time in New Orleans. They do have gambling here, you know.”

  Gisèle met Simone at the door of her suite. “Bonjour, mam’selle,” she greeted her. “Who do you suppose I saw as I came aboard?”

  “Dev Hennessey.” Untying her bonnet, Simone raked veil and hat off in one, impatient move.

  The maid’s face fell. “How did you know?”

  “Tom and I saw him too.”

  “I wish Ethan Franklin would pursue me half as much as M’sieur Hennessey chases you,” Gisèle said romantically. Then, taking Simone’s hat, she sighed, “Poor mam’selle . . .”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is easy for me,” she said. “I know the man for me. I have only to convince him of it. But you must choose between the capitaine and Monsieur Hennessey.”

  “Why should I have to choose?” Simone frowned at her.

  “Because they are both in love with you,” Gisèle explained patiently. “Surely you can see that.”

  “I cannot. I’m very fond of Tom, but Dev is just a friend.”

  “Someone should explain that to him,” Gisèle replied primly. “Someday, I think, you will have to choose between them.”

  “Perhaps someday, not now,” Simone firmly closed the subject.

  The Emerald Queen did not leave New Orleans until after sundown. As she steamed upriver, the moon hid behind the clouds, and the night was as dark as Tom’s mood. He kept to the pilothouse all evening, avoiding not only Simone and Dev in the casino, but also the passengers in the Grand Salon.

  “What the hell?” the captain growled crankily when his black study was interrupted by the faint banging of pans and shouts in the distance. Throwing a window open, he leaned out to hear, “You aig-suckin’, two-laigged child uva swamp rat, gol-danged brass-button fancy man!”

  “What it is, hein?” Ulysses asked from his position at the wheel.

  “Keelboat, running without lights,” Tom answered through gritted teeth.

  “Why dontcha watch where yer a-steerin’ that floatin’ teapot?” the belligerent holler drifted up to the wheelhouse.

  “You slack-jawed, lop-eared, pug-ugly, pernicious son of Beelzebub!” Tom roared, finding the perfect opportunity to vent his spleen. He leaned far out the window to bellow back the tapestry of colorful language.

  Behind him, Ulysses barked orders to the engine room. When his captain stopped for breath, the pilot picked up the thread, swearing passionately, partly in French, partly in picturesque English.

  The Emerald Queen passed the keelboat with no worse consequences than the starboard wheel chewing up their oar. When the excitement was over, Tom looked out over the hurricane deck, much cheered. Suddenly the moon peeped out from behind the clouds, and he saw Simone and Dev at the top of the companionway, staring in open amazement toward the pilothouse. He felt a perverse satisfaction when they parted without a quiet moment together.

  He was still smiling when Dev climbed up to the wheelhouse.

  The gambler sat on a bench, propping one foot on the seat nonchalantly. “I never knew anyone to curse such a blue streak since me pa,” he remarked to nobody in particular.

  “Merci,” Ulysses answered at once with pride, “but Capitaine Tom, he has a fine turn of phrase as well, oui?”

  “Oui.” Dev laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounded upset about something.”

  “Having our paddlewheel break a broadhorn’s tiller into lucifer matchsticks was a might unsettling,” Tom drawled mildly.

  “Unsettling, eh? I wouldn’t want to be around if ye were truly riled,” Dev said with a lazy grin.

  “Wouldn’t particularly advise it,” Tom replied curtly.

  “What makes ye especially mad, Cap’n?”

  “Irishmen who ask damn-fool questions.”

  “Then I’ll ask ye one more and be on my way,” the gambler replied, rising. “Since yer not easily nettled, ye don’t mind that I’m courting Simone, d’ye?”

  “She’s a big girl,” Tom said stiffly.

  “Not very,” Dev countered with a smile, “but ‘twas all I wanted to know.” He departed, and Tom’s black mood returned.

  “Well, what do you think?” Tom’s voice echoed in the vast, empty hall.

  “I think it’s beautiful,” Simone pronounced with a sincere smile.

  “Yep.” He looked around the marble-floored foyer with pride. “It’s one of the oldest places in the American Section, but it’s been well kept.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were buying a house?” She slid her hand into his, and they wandered through the cavernous rooms.

  “I just decided to do it,” he answered with a shrug. “The old lady who owned it wanted to move to Mobile to be with her daughter’s family. The time was right. The price was right. I even inherited a butler in the deal.”

  “Why on earth do you need a butler?” she asked, laughing.

  “Next best thing to a wife.” Tom drew her into his arms and grinned down at her. “I still haven’t filled that position. Would you care to apply?”

  “Excuse me, sir.” A very proper English accent cut through their banter. The couple turned to see an old man peering down his rather long and pointed nose at them from the doorway. “S
ome gentlemen are here to deliver a bed.”

  “Thank you, Wakefield,” Tom replied solemnly and released Simone. His expression matched exactly the one worn by the aged butler. “Would you show them to the master suite?”

  “Very well, sir,” Wakefield said politely. “Will you be staying the night?”

  “I’ll be staying on the boat. We leave tomorrow for St. Louis, and I won’t be back for nearly a month. You will look after things while I am gone, won’t you?”

  “You may depend on it, sir.” Wakefield bowed as deeply as age allowed, then departed. If he wondered about the curious behavior of his new employer and the radiant young woman clad in mourning, his impeccable decorum did not give him away.

  As their carriage rolled toward the gate, Tom glanced back at the elegant house and murmured contentedly, “A home of my own. I haven’t had one for a very long time.”

  “It is lovely,” Simone complimented his choice. “I hope you’ll be very happy here.”

  “I’d be happier if you were here with me.” Shifting so he looked her in the eye, he reminded her, “You never answered my question.”

  “What question?” she asked, even though she knew.

  “Whether you’d care to apply for the job of wife—my wife.”

  “I don’t know,” she responded lightly, hoping to tease him from his serious mood. “What does the position pay?”

  “I’m not joking, Simone. I’m asking you to marry me.”

  “Tom,” she chided gently, “we’ve been through this again and again. Our life on the Emerald Queen is happy just as it is.”

  “But I want to be more than business partners. I want to be partners in everything. Simone, I love you.”

  “I can’t marry you.” She regarded him with genuine distress. “I’m sorry.”

  Sighing in discouragement, Tom faced forward and took her hand in his. “I didn’t mean to upset you, darlin’,” he said quietly. “I said I’d wait for you until you were ready, and I will. But I’m going to keep proposing till you admit you love me and say yes.”

  Tears brimmed in Simone’s green eyes as he carried her hand to his lips and kissed the fingertips.

  “You’re the stubbornest woman I’ve ever met, Simone Devereaux,” he said hoarsely, “but I think I can outlast you.”

  Aboard the Emerald Queen, Lisette, a regular visitor when they docked in New Orleans, waited in Simone’s cabin.

  “Lisette, I was afraid I wouldn’t get to see you this trip.” Simone hugged her friend gladly.

  “I would have been here sooner,” the madam said, “but the roof has sprung a leak right over one of the bedrooms.”

  “Ah, the hazards of operating a business in your home, eh, Lise?” Tom teased when she turned her cheek for his kiss.

  “You never change, Tom,” she scolded, rolling her gray eyes. “I don’t know how Simone puts up with you.”

  “I don’t either,” he answered, grinning at Simone as she sat down beside the blonde woman. “I’m just glad she does. I’ll leave you two to visit, but I’ll see you before you leave, Lise. In the meantime, ask Simone where we went this morning.”

  When he had gone, the madam turned to her friend expectantly.

  “Tom took me to see the house he bought,” Simone explained.

  “Tom bought a house?” Lisette’s eyebrow lifted expressively.

  “In the Garden District. It’s beautiful.”

  “Why don’t you marry him, ma chère?” the woman asked abruptly. “I know he has asked you.”

  “Many times,” Simone admitted. “And I have considered it, but something keeps me from it.”

  “Voodoo nonsense?” Lisette said crisply. “Unless there is someone else . . . Gisèle mentioned a gambler?”

  “Since my maid knows so much of my private life, did she tell you Dev proposed and I refused?” Simone retorted.

  “Don’t be upset,” Lisette coaxed. “She cares as much for you as I do. Is there someone else?”

  “Just Alain,” Simone confessed with a sigh. “Days, even weeks, go by and I do not think of him, and then suddenly . . . “

  Lisette looked pained. “‘Lain is dead and gone, chérie. I think ...” She shut her mouth abruptly. “Never mind what I think.”

  “Tell me,” Simone requested. “I want to hear.”

  “I think,” the woman replied slowly, “that Tom loves you very much. And I think you love him. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

  “Now you sound like him,” Simone said with a dry smile.

  “Then he is a wise man and a patient one to wait while you struggle with your feelings. If he waits long enough, I think you’ll marry him.”

  After a long moment of silence, Simone murmured, “Perhaps . . .someday.”

  Sipping a brandy, Tom watched through the open door to the bedroom as Simone arranged her hair. The radiant fire of diamonds flashed in the lamplight, and he was pleased to see she wore the bracelet and earrings he had bought for her from his share of the first year’s profit.

  He rose when she joined him, admiration shining in his blue eyes. “You look lovely as always,” he complimented her huskily.

  “Merci.” She beamed up at him. “And you are very handsome in your new suit”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I have something new for you to wear, too,” he said, drawing a slender box from his pocket. “I should’ve given it to you in January, on the anniversary of our partnership, but we were busy getting ready to launch Fortune’s Queen. Since the Andersons’ dinner tonight is a belated celebration . . .” He handed the box to her.

  “Oh, Tom!” She gasped when she saw the blazing diamond choker.

  “As much as I like those emeralds, I thought you might enjoy a change,” he suggested shyly.

  “Oh, yes! Help me put it on.” She turned so he could unfasten the clasp of her emerald necklace while she removed the earrings.

  Planting a kiss on the nape of her neck, he obeyed. Then he clasped the diamond necklace around her neck and bent to whisper in her ear, “Do you really like it?”

  “I love it.” She rubbed her cheek against his and murmured, “But you should not pamper me so.”

  “I’m glad I have you to pamper,” he answered, turning her to meet his kiss. Clutching his lapels, she swayed against him, her body molded to his. Tom thought about carrying her into the bedroom and forgetting the dinner party. “I wish we didn’t have to go anywhere tonight.”

  Her heart pounding, Simone also considered missing the soiree, but it was, after all, being held in their honor. Taking a deep breath, she reminded them both, “Business before pleasure.”

  “There is not another Creole like you in South Louisiana,” Tom groaned as he released her.

  At the dinner party, they learned there was a double reason for celebration when Hiram proudly announced the engagement of his daughter, Barbara, to his junior partner, Jeremy Nash.

  When the guests had exclaimed and many toasts were drunk, Dulcie leaned toward Simone and whispered tipsily, “Wouldn’t it be nice if the next engagement we celebrated was yours and Tom’s?”

  Simone’s hopes that no one had heard that remark were dashed when Hiram boomed, “You two are partners in everything else. Why not in marriage?”

  “I’ve proposed till I’m blue in the face,” Tom retorted good-naturedly. “I figure when Simone is ready, she’ll let me know.”

  “You’d make Simone propose to you?” Barbara gasped in shock.

  Tom turned a poker face toward the horrified young woman and asserted innocently, “It’s her turn.”

  “Behave yourself, Tom,” Simone commanded, smiling.

  “Oh.” Barbara laughed uncertainly. “You’re joking, Captain Franklin. Sometimes I cannot tell.”

  “Neither can Simone . . .sometimes,” he claimed teasingly, but his blue eyes were pensive as they rested on the woman he loved.

  “Vingt et un,” Emeraude said, turning up her cards, “and the house wins.”

  “Yo
u’re damnably lucky, ma’am,” one of the players complained. “If I didn’t know what a square deal player you are, I’d wonder.”

  Turning her masked face toward him, the woman said coolly, “As you say, m’sieur, I am a square deal player and damnably lucky.”

  “Indeed,” he stammered when Emeraude’s hulking black shadow stirred restively behind her. “I couldn’t agree more,” he added as he gathered his chips and hastily departed.

  Simone glanced up at Batiste when he rested a warning hand on her shoulder. Behind his mask, he scowled toward the door.

  Turning warily, she saw through the press of people a familiar figure—Marcel Baudin. The moment she had dreaded had arrived.

  The blond man was still handsome, the scar on his forehead detracting little from his good looks. In fact, it gave his face a certain sinister appeal. He carried himself arrogantly, his pale eyes seeming to burn with a fervid intensity as he surveyed the room and its occupants. Quite unexpectedly, they caught and held the green eyes of a masked woman at the vingt-et-un table, the famous Mademoiselle Emeraude. He began to push his way through the crowd, set on meeting her.

  Her hands shaking, Simone picked up the cards and began to shuffle them. She tried to behave as if nothing were wrong, hoping no one noticed the strained expression she wore.

  At the bar, Tom noticed. He glanced toward the door to see what she watched with such uneasiness and saw a man making directly for her. Downing his bourbon in one gulp, the captain strode toward the table. Batiste relaxed slightly when he approached.

  Bending, Tom whispered to Simone, “Anything wrong?”

  “N-non.” She looked up at him, her green eyes large behind the slits in her mask. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you’re as white as a ghost.” Pulling out a chair, he asked the players, “Mind if I sit in for a few hands?”

  Over the top of her mask, Simone’s eyebrows arched in amazement. In all their time on the river, Tom had never broken the ban she had placed on his gambling.

  Marcel presented himself. “Pardon, mademoiselle, you are the famous Emeraude?”

  “I am called Emeraude,” she forced herself to answer calmly.

  “I am Marcel Baudin of New Orleans.” He bowed, then continued smoothly, “When I heard the most beautiful woman in Louisiana hides behind a mask, I was intrigued. I had to meet you.”