“As are you,” he said. “Turn around and let me see how they look on you.”
“Mama will not be pleased if she sees me wearing pearls during the daylight hours.” Her grin rose, making her look so much like her mother. “But I am already in trouble, so what can it hurt?”
Jean-Luc held the pearls away from her and frowned. “Oh, I don’t know then. I have seen your mother when she’s displeased with one of her children. I do not want to be in the line of fire.” He pretended to slide the pearls back into his pocket. “I’ll just give these to her so that I will be the favored child and you can stay in trouble.”
“No,” she said as she snatched them out of his hand. “You will do no such thing. Put these on me now so I can see how they look.”
He did as she told, but then most everyone gave in to the brown-eyed charmer’s demands. It had been that way since her birth, the only daughter in a house full of brothers, and likely would always continue.
“So this friend you went to visit?” he said as he held both ends of the strand and began the process of closing the clasp. “What was his name?”
She whirled around, eyes blazing. He nearly dropped the pearls. Thankfully, the clasp held, or else she would have been throwing the tantrum he knew was coming amid several dozen exactly matched pearls from the Orient rolling around on the marble floor.
“If I didn’t adore you so much,” she said evenly, “I would be insulted that you would assume such a thing of me.”
“I will rephrase the question then,” he said.
“Thank you.” Her smile returned, just as he knew it would. Brat.
“What was his name?”
“Jean-Luc,” she exclaimed as she shook her head. “Oh all right. He’s a very nice fellow, but Mama and Papa are being ridiculous about the whole thing. It’s Mama, I know it, because Papa trusts me.”
“Papa trusts Mama to keep you in line,” he said with a laugh. “Because if it is left to Papa, he will tell you yes no matter what you ask.”
“This time he actually agrees with her.” She leaned against his shoulder in mock horror. When she looked up at him, her expression was pitiful. “It is a fate worse than death. I am to be a tutor.”
“A tutor?” Jean-Luc laughed. “That is your fate worse than death? Oh, my darling Gaby, you really should tell Papa you’re running away to join the theater. I’m sure he would let you, because as we have established, he does tend to do that, and of course, I will vouch for your flair for the dramatic.”
“Flair for the dramatic? I will have you know that—”
“Gaby, is that you I hear out in the foyer?” Abigail called from somewhere upstairs. “Where have you gotten off to?”
Gabrielle’s eyes widened, and then her gaze darted about the room as if searching for the best place to escape her mother. Jean-Luc nodded toward the closed parlor door.
“I generally hide in there.” He shrugged. “The curtains are quite handy if you stand behind them. Or at least they were when I was seven.”
“Stop teasing me,” she said. “I am not a child playing hide-and-seek. This is serious. And besides, the person I am to tutor is in the parlor with her mother, so that will not work at all.”
He nodded toward the room on their left. “Then I would try Father’s library. If you climb under the desk and gather up your skirts, she may not find you. Although beware, when she does find you, you’ll have to answer to her.”
“I’m just trying to buy some time until she changes her mind. I absolutely cannot be stuck teaching some girl from the outer banks of nowhere how to fit in here in the city.”
Jean-Luc shook his head. “The outer banks of nowhere? You and Michel were born in this city, true, but I was born in Paris, as was Quinton. Compared to us, you are from the outer banks of nowhere, so be careful when casting stones.”
“I heard you talking, Gabrielle Valmont, and I will not be ignored,” Abigail called. “Where are you?”
Gaby made for the open door to the library, but Jean-Luc grasped her wrist. “What is his name?”
She struggled against his hold on her even as her mother’s footsteps echoed above their heads. “Let me go,” she demanded. “You truly do not want her to find me right now, and if she does because of you, then I will exact my revenge.”
“How?” he said with a laugh. “By forcing me to tutor someone?”
“Perhaps,” she said as her expression went penitent. “Please, just let me go.”
“Not until I have a name.”
Stubborn to the end, Gaby continued her attempt to break free. Finally, as Abigail’s tread hit the stairs behind them, she leaned up on her tiptoes and whispered, “Louis Gayarre.”
Jean-Luc let her go just in time for Gaby’s skirts to disappear inside the office. As Abigail reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw his sister scurry under the desk.
“Jean-Luc, you’re home!” Abigail enveloped him in a hug, temporarily distracted from her search by his arrival. She smelled like lavender and hugged him like he’d been gone for months and not weeks.
She released him to hold him at arm’s length. “I will never get used to the trips you take, my son. I always worry, and then you come home and all is well again.”
“And I am always glad to be home.” He cut his eyes toward the library where Gaby had done a poor job of gathering her skirts out of sight. “I understand all is not well, however. What is this about my sister and a young man?”
Abigail let out a long breath and shook her head. “I am at my wit’s end, Jean-Luc. She has been sneaking out to go and meet this fellow, and your father and I are plenty worried about this. I’ve told her if he wishes to court her, he must first discuss his prospects with her papa. She claims courting is not what they’re doing, but if that’s not it, then I cannot imagine what it is. I am worried sick about her. And now she’s gone and disappeared.”
Jean-Luc winked and then nodded toward the library. Abigail followed his gaze. She must have spied the skirts showing beneath the desk, for she shook her head.
He kept his voice just low enough to prevent his sister from overhearing. “Tell me about this tutoring punishment that has been inflicted on her. Is it as awful as she claims?”
Abigail laughed. “Not at all. She’s a completely lovely girl and the daughter of a dear friend. She’s recently arrived in New Orleans and is lacking in some of the social graces needed to establish friends and make a good match. I merely offered Gabrielle as someone who would be willing to assist the young lady in making the transition. If she indicated it was anything more than this, she is being overdramatic.”
“Is that even possible?” he asked as he stifled a smile.
The daughter’s penchant for these types of antics had definitely come from her mother. Not that he would ever tell Abigail that. Or Gaby for that matter.
“Who is this young lady? Perhaps a rival for her male friend’s affections?”
“I am not at liberty to give the young lady’s name, nor would I if I were. I do not wish to cause any embarrassment to her mother. It is not my friend’s fault that her daughter’s education is lacking in certain areas. As to a love rival? No, that’s not possible. She’s only just arrived here, as I said. She knows no one.”
Abigail watched as Gaby gathered up her skirts so they no longer could be seen from the foyer. Shaking her head, she leaned close to Jean-Luc.
“Honestly, I am hoping your sister learns as much from this young woman as the young woman learns from Gaby. Our daughter is a good girl, but there is a level of maturity that I wish was a bit higher than it currently is. She is eighteen years old, for goodness’ sake. When I was her age, she and Michel were already on the way.”
“Given the fact Gaby is currently playing hide-and-seek with you by climbing under Father’s desk, I tend to agree.” He paused. “How can I help?”
Abigail tapped her foot on the marble floor as she considered his question. “I suppose something needs to be done about this y
oung man of hers. We’ve tried for weeks to get the name from her, but she refuses to tell us.”
“Louis Gayarre.” At Abigail’s look of surprise, he shrugged. “I am more convincing than you are, I suppose.”
“I don’t even want to know how you managed it,” she said. “Unless you think I can replicate the process the next time I try and get information out of her.”
“I don’t know, Abigail.” He gave her a sideways look. “How strong is your grip?”
She gave him a playful swat. “Stop teasing me and go tell your sister her father is on his way downstairs and has need of his desk. She will have to find another piece of furniture to hide under.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
Abigail gave him a grateful look. “Thank you. Some days I truly despair of what I would do without you, Jean-Luc, and not just in the management of your siblings.” She nodded toward the closed door of the parlor. “I am being a terrible hostess, so I must go and apologize. Will you be staying with us tonight?”
“For a few days, yes.” He had an obligation that would take him out of the house later tonight, but the family would be long abed by then.
“Good.” She clasped his shoulder and smiled. “I am very glad you are home, Jean-Luc Valmont. Very glad, indeed. You are good for all of us in this family,” she said over her shoulder as her hand touched the knob of the parlor door.
He offered her a broad smile. “And my family is good for me.”
The parlor door opened, revealing the backs of two women who stood in front of the fireplace. Both were dressed in gowns that looked very much like the clothing Abigail and Gaby wore, thus he assumed these two were not another of Abigail’s charity projects.
From time to time, the woman who raised him would cause Father much concern with the projects she took on. Sometimes these projects were as ordinary as a food drive for the hungry or a knitting circle that donated scarves and mittens for the nuns at the Ursuline convent to distribute.
Then there were the other times when Abigail’s good intentions overruled her good judgment. Such as the day she brought home an opera singer from Bavaria who mistakenly thought he had been signed to perform at the New Orleans Opera House. Only after he arrived did the poor man discover there was neither an opera house in the city nor a ship that would accept him as a passenger without payment.
Father had complained for days about the noise emanating from the room at the end of the hallway. Terms like “strangling a wild goose” and “murdering a squealing pig” were tossed about as the men of the family plotted to remove their houseguest from beneath the Valmont roof.
The consensus was that the Valmont family should buy the singer a ticket back to Bavaria, but Father refused. If word got out that the Valmonts would pay for this, there would likely be no end to the itinerant musicians who might darken their doorstep. Not only that, but Abigail would welcome them.
While the men were making their plans, Abigail took action. She organized a week of performances and took donations. After the first show, there was enough to send the man home to Bavaria that evening.
When asked how Abigail managed it, she admitted that before the performance she allowed her friends to compete for places on the list of homes that would host the illustrious singer each night of the performance series. The largest donors to the fund were the ones who had won the right to have him as their houseguest.
Jean-Luc chuckled as the parlor door closed. Since he hadn’t heard any inappropriate yodeling or music coming from the parlor, he had to hope that these two ladies might be a project that would require no intervention from him beyond seeing that Gaby understood she would be required to participate.
He found his sister still hiding beneath the desk and reached down to pull her to her feet. “Is she gone?” Gaby asked as she straightened her skirts.
“If you mean your mother, she is no longer in the foyer. If you mean the young lady you will be tutoring, she is in the parlor.” He paused to give her a stern look. “Now stop playing at the game of behaving like a child at home and then demanding we all treat you like an adult.”
Gaby opened her mouth, likely to complain. Jean-Luc shook his head.
“If you cannot do as your mother asked, then you will not see the Gayarre fellow.”
“You cannot stop me,” she said as he walked away.
“No, you’re right,” he said when he stopped to turn around and face her. “But I will stop the Gayarre fellow. In fact, he will be so afraid to be anywhere near you that he will likely find another girl.” Jean-Luc nodded. “Perhaps the new girl in the parlor.”
“You are cruel, Jean-Luc,” she said.
“I am nothing of the sort and you know it,” he told her. “Now go do the right thing before I change my mind about allowing that Gayarre fellow access to my sister and do the wrong thing.”
He watched Gaby skitter inside the parlor. As the door closed, he still wasn’t certain this fellow would be allowed even five minutes’ time with his sister. He would never tell Gaby that, though.
Jean-Luc was still contemplating this when he spied Father coming down the stairs. “You’re home. Excellent. A moment of your time, if you have it, son,” he said.
“I do.” He followed his father into the library and took a seat on the opposite side of the desk.
Father sat and then opened a desk drawer to retrieve a stack of documents. Placing them on the table, he glanced over at the open door. From there, women’s laughter floated toward them.
“Would you like me to close the door?”
He shook his head. “As long as those two are occupied, I have no further need of privacy.” Sliding the topmost document across the desk, he nodded for Jean-Luc to read it.
Jean-Luc scanned the document, a letter from Versailles regarding losses sustained in attacks against vessels flying the French flag. He handed it back to his father.
“A pity this is happening, but I fail to see why this would be addressed to you.”
His father leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “It is addressed to me because I own the trading privileges in the territory. With this privilege comes the responsibility for what happens to the French vessels that come into our port on my behalf. If vessels are being stolen from, then it is my job to investigate and determine who is doing the stealing.”
“The letter says nothing of the kind,” he protested.
“No, it does not. Nor does it say anything of the kind in any of the other letters that came from Versailles.” Father leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk. “But your uncle has recently returned from Paris. He brought the message back personally. It seems as though rumors of pirates have reached the king.”
At the word pirate, Jean-Luc looked away. “Again, why is this your concern? Do the French not have a navy to handle this anymore?”
He flexed the knee that still plagued him on occasion, the same leg that had been laid open by a French fleet’s weaponry. “How can I help with this?”
“I need names, Jean-Luc. The crown wants men who have come up against the French, be it as pirates, privateers, or simply common thieves. I know we swore an oath to never speak of a time when you were more connected to this sort of trade, but forgive me. We must speak of it. The alternative is to provide no answers to the king and risk losing our trading privileges. If that happens, it will ruin us.”
Letting out a long breath, Jean-Luc returned his attention to his father. “What do you want me to do?”
“As I said, give me names. However, I have a plan. I believe I can offer a compromise. If there are enemies of the king doing business in his territories, I believe we are within our rights to go after anything of value that enemy might have. Would you agree?”
“I would,” he said. “It has certainly been done before.”
Father nodded. “To that end, I have made inquiries into a resident of our city who may have profited from a family member’s illegal activities. For reasons I cann
ot go into at this moment, I cannot tell you that name.” He slid a look at the closed parlor door. “Perhaps later once our guests have gone home. However, if the facts are as I suspect, I will have a name to give to the king along with a substantial amount of money for his coffers.”
“That should fix the problem,” he said. “Or at least buy some time to get the issue of theft under control.”
“About that,” Father said. “I would like your thoughts on what can be done.”
“I have told you,” he said with a lift of one shoulder. “Arm the merchantmen well enough and the problem goes away.”
“I want you to handle that.”
Jean-Luc shook his head. “Give that responsibility to Quinton, please.”
Unused to hearing no from anyone, Father frowned. “I assume you will add an explanation to that request.”
“If I add an explanation, then you will be party to information you may be required to surrender to the authorities. Do you still want me to add that explanation to my request?”
Once again feminine laughter drifted across the foyer and into the library. “No,” Father finally said. “I don’t believe I need to have an explanation. I do have a question I would like answered. This thing you are not telling me, does it involve something I would advise you not to do?”
Jean-Luc thought for a moment. “It does involve something that you would likely advise me not to do. However, it is something that you would do without caring what you were told.”
His father smiled. “Exactly the answer I expected.”
At the sound of raised voices, Maribel crept down the hall to find out the cause. Mama and Abuelo were in the library, and their argument seemed to be over money.
“I must present her as a young lady of the proper social set, Don Pablo,” Mama said. “And to do that she must be properly outfitted.”
“You must stop,” Abuelo said. “These inquiries have progressed to the point where I expect we will soon be paid an official visit to answer questions.”
“Do you think so?” Mama asked, her voice suddenly much quieter.
The Pirate Bride Page 17