Josephine: Bride of Louisiana (American Mail-Order Bride 18)

by Cindy Caldwell

  His heart felt like a stone in his chest as she stood and turned to him, her smile brilliant and the scent of oranges hanging in the air.

  “The plantation is my priority. Nothing else matters. I hate to say this, but I had no room in my life to court. No time, and no interest. This marriage requirement came as a complete surprise, and I thought that since I didn’t want a real marriage anyway, this would be the next best...”

  With two long strides, Pierre was able to catch Josephine before she hit the floor.

  “Bernadette. Jerome. Come quickly. Josephine’s fainted.”

  Chapter Twenty

  He could kick himself for what he’d said to Josephine. He couldn’t erase from his mind the stricken look on her face before she’d gone limp, no matter how hard he tried.

  He’d stood with her in his arms, hollering for Bernadette, his heart racing and his hands clammy. What had he done? How had this happened?

  “What is it, Pierre?” Bernadette said as she rushed into the room, stopping short as she looked from Pierre to Josephine.

  “I don’t know,” he said, a flood of guilt washing over him. “She just...fell.”

  Bernadette took his arm and guided him slowly toward the settee. “Set her down here and I’ll fetch some smelling salts.”

  As she turned and rushed toward the door, Pierre said, “Shouldn’t we send for the doctor?”

  She crossed back over to Josephine and placed her hand on her forehead, then felt the back of her neck. “I don’t think so. Not yet.” She patted Pierre on the shoulder as she left in search of her medicine.

  Pierre sat beside her on the settee and took her hand in his. It felt cold and moist and he hoped Bernadette would appear soon. Her pale face was beautiful even in rest and he pushed a lock of her hair away, gently stroking her cheek as he did.

  Her skin was as soft as silk, and he pulled away before his rough hands could scratch her. He’d been on the plantation so long he’d not felt anything so soft in--well, he couldn’t remember when.

  “Let’s see if this will help,” Bernadette said as she held a cloth to Josephine’s nose.

  Pierre hung his head in relief as Josephine’s eyes fluttered, his heart full as she squeezed his hand. “Josephine, are you all right?”

  He ran his hand through his hair as her beautiful, long eyelashes fluttered a few times and her eyes finally stayed open.

  She looked from Pierre to Bernadette as she coughed. “What...what happened?” she finally said.

  “Oh, merci,” Bernadette said under her breath. She placed a cool, damp handkerchief over Josephine’s forehead. “Thank goodness you are all right, ma cherie.”

  “Josephine, I...” Pierre began, but his chest was too tight to get any other words out.

  Bernadette shooed him away from the settee and sat down, taking both of Josephine’s hands in hers. “What do you remember, my dear? The last thing?”

  Josephine shook her head slowly as she frowned. “I...I don’t know. I was standing with Pierre, and Jerome had just left. Oh, I took a sip of Grand Marnier and Pierre laughed because it tickled my nose.”

  Bernadette stole a sideways glance at Pierre, her eyebrows raised. “And then?”

  “I don’t remember. Pierre was talking to me and suddenly, everything went dark.”

  Pierre hung his head in his palm. Thank goodness she didn’t remember what he’d said. It was still true, but he could have been much more tactful, much more grateful. She’d deserved better.

  “We were just talking, Bernadette. We’d been dancing for hours--and Josephine did a fine job. She’s a very capable dancer.” He nodded slightly toward Josephine, hoping the compliment--while true--might make her feel a bit better.

  His shoulders relaxed when she smiled, grateful that she’d not remembered what he actually said.

  “Ah, dancing,” said Bernadette as she nodded knowingly.

  “What? What is it?” Josephine tried to sit up but Bernadette placed her hand on her shoulder, keeping her on the settee.

  “Not yet, Josephine. I would imagine that the combination of...well, dancing and your liqueur may have been the issue. It certainly doesn’t seem serious, but I do think that maybe we should get you upstairs and in your nightclothes. That may help, too,” she said as she winked at Josephine and looked down to her waist.

  Josephine followed her gaze and her hands flew to her sides as she pinched at her dress. “Oh, my. You mean...”

  Bernadette cleared her throat and Pierre hid a smile behind his hand as Josephine’s cheeks turned crimson.

  Pierre’s ears burned like Josephine’s cheeks as he remembered his mother explaining to him why some of the women fainted at the ball they’d been to. “Sometimes their corsets are too tight, son, and dancing is difficult. I’ve seen them drop like flies in my day.” He’d asked her what a corset was and she’d smiled and said, “Something that men like women to wear and that women could certainly do without.” She’d pinched herself in just the same place then as Josephine was doing now.

  “Let me take these things back into the kitchen and I’ll help you upstairs,” Bernadette said with a smile as she walked through the doorway.

  Her eyes wide, Josephine looked from Bernadette to Pierre. “Goodness, can’t I do anything right?”

  Pierre’s heart pinched as Josephine hung her head. She’d been trying so very hard and had done a marvelous job at supper and at dancing. He crossed over to her and took her hand.

  “I’m so sorry, Pierre.” Josephine leaned forward and rested her head on his shoulder. He stiffened for a moment, surprised at the feelings of comfort her action caused to ripple through him.

  She pulled back and looked up into his eyes. “I...I shouldn’t have done that. It’s been a very difficult--well, a very trying...”

  “Josephine, you did wonderfully tonight, and at dinner as well. I’m very impressed with your efforts. It’s almost as if...”

  What was wrong with him? She’d just fainted when he’d told her he had no interest in a marriage of any kind and here he was, almost ready to tell her how wonderful it was to have a woman back in the house, someone to dance with, to laugh with.

  He fingered the locket in his pocket. Josephine had him thinking about things he hadn’t in years. Too many years, maybe.

  She stood so close to him still that he could smell the scent of her hair, the lingering scent of orange on her lips. The dancing, aromas, her soft skin...it was all intoxicating and he had no idea how to stop himself as he lifted her chin toward his and leaned forward.

  Josephine took a step back as Jerome entered the room and cleared his throat. “Well, hello, you two.”

  Pierre turned toward him, not entirely sure if he was sorry Jerome had interrupted him in his intention to kiss Josephine or grateful that he’d stopped him from making a huge mistake.

  “I see you’re both having a lovely time,” Jerome said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall.

  Josephine lowered her head, and then looked up at Pierre. He crossed over to Jerome but didn’t smell the alcohol he’d noticed on him earlier. Maybe he’d had some coffee instead of more liqueur. “We had quite a scare a moment ago. Josephine fainted.”

  Jerome’s eyebrows rose as he regarded Josephine. “Oh? I do hope everything is all right.”

  “Everything is fine,” Bernadette said as she bustled past Jerome and crossed to Josephine, guiding her by the elbow toward the door. “It’s time for the young lady to retire, gentlemen.”

  Pierre held Josephine’s gaze until she reached the door and turned toward the stairs. She’d had a pretty rough time of it. He knew her to be kind, dedicated and strong, but the events of the past few days seemed to have taken their toll.

  He watched as the two ladies reached the top of the stairs and shook his head as he returned to the parlor to find Jerome leaning against the piano, tapping his hand with an envelope. Pierre frowned at the expression on Jerome’s face, confused about whether it
was a grin or a smug smile.

  He pressed his fingers to the top of his nose and rubbed his eyes. “What is it, Jerome? It’s been a long day and I’m tired.”

  Jerome pushed himself off the piano and crossed over to Pierre, holding out the envelope. “A courier delivered this, and as it was addressed to the plantation in general, I took the liberty of opening it,” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest, rocking from his toes to his heels.

  Pierre frowned at him as he turned the letter over in his hands. He wasn’t sure he knew what Jerome was thinking and it bothered him. “And?”

  “It seems that The Willows will have a guest sooner than expected. Your father arrives tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Josephine held her hands as still as she could. They hadn’t stopped shaking since she’d heard the news about Pierre’s father, Mr. Bernard, arriving today. Bernadette had told her at breakfast, and it had been all she could do not to run down the road and never look back.

  The day had been long and she didn’t know what time he would arrive. She’d taken several walks outside, asked Bernadette if she needed any help in the kitchen--and got shooed away every time--and finally had resigned herself to reading a book in her room while everyone seemed to be very busy making preparations.

  She’d read the same page at least three times when she heard a commotion outside. She threw the book down on the bed and rushed to the window, peering down at the stairs leading up to the porch, the huge, white columns flanking each side.

  Clouds of dust flew from carriage wheels hurrying down the long, willow-lined drive. People from the entire plantation seemed to come from every which way, gathering on each side of the tall porch. The smiles on their faces calmed her nerves a bit--they seemed genuinely happy that Mr. Bernard was returning.

  The carriage halted in front of the shrubs lining the side of the house. The driver hopped down and secured the horses to the hitching post. Pierre strode toward the carriage, his smile broad as he reached for the door and swung it open.

  Josephine stepped back a bit behind the sheer white curtains that fluttered in the breeze coming through the open window. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she didn’t want anyone to see her--well, gawking. She’d meet Mr. Bernard soon enough, but she wanted just a glimpse beforehand. Maybe it would calm her nerves even more.

  She stepped back even further and raised her hand to her chest as a very large man stepped from the carriage and looked up at the mansion with his hands on his hips. He smiled and nodded several times then embraced Pierre, kissing him on each cheek. Pierre stepped back for a moment and the man she assumed was Mr. Bernard greeted Jerome in the same fashion. It was more of an education for her to see men kissing each other on each cheek--she’d seen her father do that with her uncle once, but never again. The men she’d met only shook hands.

  After Mr. Bernard greeted his son and Jerome, he embraced Bernadette warmly. Their eyes met and Bernadette wiped away a tear, Josephine thought. She knew that Bernadette had been a good friend of Mr. Bernard’s wife, and she must have been a good friend to him, as well.

  She turned away from the window as Mr. Bernard greeted each and every one of the plantation workers who had come to greet him. How could a man who clearly cared about people--about how they felt and who they were--insist that his son do something so completely and utterly--well, stupid?

  She looked at the clock on the mantle next to her own private fireplace. It was only an hour until she was expected downstairs. She shivered at the thought and opened her wardrobe, searching for the perfect dress for the evening.

  Pierre had told her that she would be meeting him at supper and to dress appropriately. He’d explained that his father truly was a decent man and was just following instructions in his expectations that Pierre be married, but she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of people would require such a thing.

  She sighed and looked down on the ground as the pearl earring she’d been trying to fasten to her ear slipped out of her hands, skittered across the floor and underneath the nightstand. These were the only earrings she had, and she really wanted to look nice for Mr. Bernard. She got down on her hands and knees and peered underneath the nightstand. Closing one eye, she tried to see around the corners of the mahogany set of drawers and when she couldn’t, she slipped her hand underneath.

  Her fingers curled around--well, not an earring but something that felt like paper. She pulled it out from under the dresser and brushed off the dust that had settled on it, pulling her handkerchief out and sneezing into it.

  She frowned as she looked at the lovely, elegant writing on the front.

  To Bernadette

  She turned it over in her hand. The faded ink had also run at some point, its letters changed into long, black rivers. How long had the letter been under the nightstand, and what did it say?

  Voices grew louder outside her window, laughter flowing in. She smiled, hoping that Mr. Bernard was truly the nice man that Pierre described him to be.

  She reached back under the nightstand, retrieved her earring and stood, tucking the envelope under the stand of the lamp. If the letter had been under the nightstand long enough to gather dust, surely it could wait one more day to be delivered to Bernadette, and she would give it to her first thing in the morning.

  Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she tightened up her corset--her own, this time. She wasn’t taking any chances tonight with one that was too tight. Her earring bit into the flesh of her ear lobe, its metal clasp clicking suddenly as she jumped.

  She wished she wasn’t so nervous. She’d spent days learning all she could and her hands still weren’t under her control, her nerves jangling. Pierre said she’d done well, and Bernadette, too. She just hoped it was enough.

  Her hands held out in front of her, she desperately hoped they would stop trembling before she had to sit down to dinner with Pierre and his father, knowing that her spoon would clatter in her soup if they didn’t.

  She’d spent days learning all she could and now was her time of reckoning. Her fate--and that of Pierre and the plantation--would be decided soon. To think that not long ago she was a simple seamstress with very little to look forward to and now, people’s entire futures depended on her.

  She shuddered and looked at herself one last time in the mirror, nervously adjusting one last stray bit of her hair. Smoothing her skirts, she shrugged her shoulders and sighed. She may as well meet her fate.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Josephine paced a few more minutes before she opened the door to her room and stepped out into the hallway. She hung her head for a moment, gathering her resolve and jumped as she heard Pierre’s voice.

  “You look stunning, Josephine.”

  She smiled and curtsied for him, her ears heating at the compliment. She looked up at Pierre’s piercing, blue eyes and kind smile and felt her nerves settle. Even though they would not be married in the real sense of the word, she felt safe around him. Being around Pierre was warm and comforting, and she marveled that she would have grown to feel that way in the short time they’d known one another.

  She looked around at the grand hallway, up at the beautiful ceiling and down the paneled, mahogany walls. As he held out his arm for her, his smile wide, the now-familiar buzz she felt when their skin met rocketed through her.

  No, no, no. She shook her head, willing away the sensation of his nearness, the masculine scent she’d come to know as his making it even more difficult. She could not allow this--this nonsense. Pierre had not said as much, but she knew that the plantation was his life and there would never be anything as important to him as that. Not even her.

  “Are you all right?” Pierre asked. “Are you cold?” His brows furrowed and he covered her hand on his arm with his own.

  Josephine shivered at his touch but smiled up at him. “No, I’m fine. Truly.”

  Pierre cocked his head to one side as he looked at her. “All right. But I imagine you’re a bit ner
vous, and I hope it’s not too much strain on you. After last night, I--”

  She waved her fan toward him. “Yes, that was quite embarrassing. I never knew that having tied a corset too tightly could...” She cringed at her words. Corsets weren’t discussed between men and women in polite company but it was just one more thing she’d forgotten. “Oh, I’m sorry--”

  Pierre smiled his brilliant smile and laughed. He squeezed her hand and said, “Josephine, you are entertaining, at the very least. I’m learning quite a bit about American ladies--likely as much as you are about French ones.”

  “Honestly, there is so much to learn about being a French lady, I forget sometimes. American women are much--different, I think.”

  Pierre sighed and his eyes softened as he looked at her. “Yes. Much different.”

  She wasn’t at all sure if that was a compliment or if he was still mocking her, but she decided she couldn’t worry about that now. She had a dinner with his father to get through without dropping a spoon or talking about corsets.

  He guided her down the hall toward the top of the stairs, pulling her along as she looked again at all the portraits on the wall. She pulled him to a stop in front of the one she’d admired before, of the younger couple and a child.

  “Who is this, Pierre?” she said, pointing at the portrait.

  His eyes clouded as he gazed at the picture. She looked up at him and waited as he silently squinted at the picture. Finally, he sighed and said, “That is my father and my mother. And the child is me when I was--I have been told that I was five years old at the time.”

  Of course it was him. She looked more closely and recognized his eyes--their brilliant blue--and his dark hair. As she studied it, the resemblance to his mother became quite clear, and as she looked at the man, she recognized him from earlier. He was the man who’d stepped from the carriage.