Celeste pressed her aching temples, shaking her head as if still unable to believe what had happened. “One day he returned from his daily ride filled with such rage and hurt. I could not reach him. He would not speak with me and he locked himself away in his study the whole night. He was a changed man the next day and even little Jean-Louis could not bring a smile to his lips. He went to New Orleans the next day, and then…” Celeste whispered tearfully, “he had not even been back for two days before he died.”
“And you have no idea what he had found out to cause him such anguish?” Nicholas probed gently.
But Celeste could only shake her auburn head sadly. “Non, I knew nothing, not even that he had forgiven you, Nicholas, but I am glad for his sake that he did before he died. It had grieved him for so many years,” Celeste said generously even as certain doubts began to darken her eyes to a cloudy gray color. “Nicholas,” she said looking him directly in the eye, forcing her voice not to quiver, but failing as she said quickly, “it changes nothing. He may have forgiven you, but there was no will that named you heir as he said he would do. I am owner of Beaumarais, this you cannot change,” Celeste warned him as if ready to pit her feeble strength against his.
“There are many things we need to discuss, Celeste,” Nicholas began, only to be interrupted as Celeste sunk back against the pillows and raised a weak hand in protest.
“Not now, Nicholas,” she pleaded. “I must rest. I grow fatigued so easily since my illness. This news has upset me greatly. We will talk more, Nicholas, this I promise you. But later, please. Not now,” Celeste said as she closed her eyes wearily, the gesture dismissing him as effectively as words.
Nicholas stood up, but before he left he asked one last question. “The diary? Do you know where it is?”
Celeste opened her eyes as she stared up at her stepson in confusion. “The diary? Non, now that I think about it, I haven’t seen it. He used to write so many things down in that book. It was always in his desk. You will have to ask Etienne, or Alain, for they handle the business affairs of Beaumarais now, and they have access to the desk. They might have seen it.”
Nicholas nodded thoughtfully, then turned and quietly left the room as her head lolled sideways on the pillow. He was standing at the head of the stairs when he was startled by a well-remembered voice calling out his name.
“Nicholas! They told me, but I could not believe such a miraculous thing.”
“Uncle Etienne,” Nicholas said softly as he stared down at the silver-haired man who stood waiting at the foot of the stairs, his beaming expression one of open welcome. “You haven’t changed,” he laughed as he quickly made his way down the grand staircase.
And, indeed, with the exception of his silvering hair, Etienne Ferrare looked exactly as Nicholas remembered him from their brief encounter in Venice almost ten years ago. He was a slender man of slightly less than medium height who had an air of elegance about him that was as natural to him as breathing.
“You flatter me by kindly overlooking this silver mane of mine,” he said as he stretched out and hugged the broad-shouldered form now towering over him, “something I can no longer pretend to do when I look into the mirror. To see you walking down the stairs in the hall of Beaumarais once again, that brings back the happiness of my youth.”
“It is good to see you, Etienne,” Nicholas said as he gazed down warmly at his mother’s brother.
Staring up at Nicholas with the blue eyes that reminded Nicholas of his mother, Etienne said, “It is no less a pleasure for me to see you standing beneath the portraits of your ancestors. I never thought I would see this day.”
Nicholas glanced around. “I thought never to step foot inside Beaumarais either, but I have.” The words sounded almost like a vow never to leave again.
“Has Celeste seen you yet?” Etienne asked with a worried frown. “This will upset her greatly I fear.”
“It already has,” Nicholas told him regretfully, “for at first sight of me she fainted into my arms. I’m afraid I remind her much of my father.”
Etienne nodded in understanding. “Yes, I suppose your sudden arrival would come as a shock. In fact,” he added with an apologetic smile, “I must admit to being extremely curious myself about your return. Incredible timing,” he murmured beneath his breath.
“It would seem as though my father confided in no one about his letter asking me to return home.”
Etienne could not hide his surprise. “Philippe sent for you? B-but that seems most extraordinary. Forgive me, Nicholas, but in all of these years he has never once spoken your name to me. Why should he send for you?” he asked.
“Because he wanted my forgiveness, Etienne. He finally discovered the truth about François’s death,” Nicholas told him simply.
Etienne remained thoughtful for a moment. His slender fingers caressed the head of his cane as he tapped it lightly against the tiles. “And what was the truth, if you do not mind an old man’s curiosity?” Etienne inquired softly.
“That I am innocent of all guilt, or at least of fatally wounding François. For having taken part in such a fool’s game…of that I am guilty. But not of killing my brother. My father knew this in the end. He knew who had really killed François.”
Etienne’s cane had stopped its tapping. He now stared up at his nephew, a very intent expression hardening the gentle blue eyes.
“But he did not confide this information to me. He left a diary, and in this he said that he had written down the whole story,” Nicholas said, then added with lazy indifference, “but unfortunately it seems to have disappeared. You haven’t by any chance seen it?”
Etienne shook his head. “A diary? Non, this I have never seen,” he said in a disturbed voice before a sadly mocking smile touched his lips just briefly. “You will forgive me, please, Nicholas.”
“Forgive you? For what?”
“For believing ill of you. Oh, I did not believe that you had cold-bloodedly murdered François, but I did believe that it was the bullet from your pistol that had struck him down. I thought it was an accident. And you were so young. It is hard for the young to admit they have done wrong. But if this is indeed true…” he murmured. Nicholas could hear the doubt in his voice.
“I know it is hard to believe, because if I am innocent, then someone else is guilty. And that person let me take the blame. Who would do this, and why?”
Etienne stared into his nephew’s hardened face, seeing a ruthless implacability in the green eyes. He had matured into a hard man, unforgiving of many things. Etienne knew instinctively that Nicholas could be a deadly adversary. “I do not know the answers, Nicholas,” he told him.
“I don’t either, at least,” Nicholas added quietly, “not yet.”
“Come, I hear voices from the parlor and the tempting sound of china,” Etienne suggested as he began to move toward the double doors that stood slightly ajar, “and I am never one to turn down an aperitif. It is so much more pleasant to converse over a leisurely drink, don’t you think?” he asked with an encouraging smile as he held wide the parlor doors and waited expectantly for Nicholas to follow.
“Oh, Uncle Etienne,” Nicole cried out when she saw him enter the room, “the mademoiselle here has been telling me all about the latest styles, and I must have—” her voice halted abruptly as she noticed who was with her uncle. Her dark brown eyes mirrored her uncertainty and resentment at his unexpected arrival. She raised her shoulder haughtily and glanced away from his intimidating and almost overpowering presence.
Nicholas seemed unimpressed by her snub as he continued into the room and accepted a brandy from Etienne, who had with a natural familiarity poured two glasses, then selected a chair and made himself comfortable, completely at ease in the parlor of Beaumarais. He sat down next to Mara on the satin-upholstered sofa, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he said, “You might as well get used to my face, Nicole, as I intend to be around for a while.”
Nicole flounced around and stared at this
half-brother stranger who had returned uninvited and was now trying to ruin her wedding. “Why have you returned here? No one wants you at Beaumarais. You have no right to be here,” she accused him angrily. “You shall ruin everything, just like you did before.”
“Enough, Nicole,” Etienne reprimanded her. “You know nothing about his reasons for returning. And he is your brother,” he reminded her gently.
Nicole jumped to her feet, a pout forming on her lips as she threatened both Nicholas and Etienne. “I shall go to Mama. She will not allow this intruder to stay a moment longer.”
“You will not disturb her with your petty grievances,” Nicholas said in such a coldly authoritative tone of voice that Nicole was stopped effectively in her tracks as she would have left the room.
She turned around with an incredulous look on her face. “Y-you are ordering me in my own house not to speak with my mama?” she stuttered, disbelief darkening her brown eyes to black. “H-how dare you!”
“I dare,” Nicholas retorted quietly. “Your mama is resting, and if you cannot keep your selfish needs to yourself, then you will go to your room. Or you may sit back down and finish your tea.”
Damaris had returned to the house and had just entered the parlor in time to hear Nicholas’s threat. She recognized the signs of one of Nicole’s magnificent tantrums, but she knew that for once Nicole would not succeed in getting her way.
“I’d take his advice if I were you, Nicole,” Damaris said, curling up on the rug before the hearth and suddenly feeling sorry for Nicole.
Nicole turned her tragic eyes on her little sister, who was now unconcernedly trading pinches with Paddy, who’d squatted down next to her. Nicole’s big brown eyes lingered on Mara, but on receiving no encouragement from her—and, in fact, feeling as though the golden eyes were seeing right through her and into her mind—she stamped her satin-shod foot in frustration.
“Oh, you are all horrible,” she cried and ran from the room.
Nicholas glanced mockingly over at Mara. “You could teach her a few things about acting, my dear.”
Mara smiled slightly, not knowing whether he meant that as a compliment or, more likely, as an insult, but either way she had to agree.
“Mon Dieu,” Etienne suddenly spoke, his voice full of contrition, “but in all of the commotion I seem to have neglected my manners. My pardon, mademoiselle, but I am Etienne Ferrare, Nicholas’s uncle,” he introduced himself, bowing politely over her hand with a suave sophistication that seemed second nature to him. He glanced over at Nicholas almost accusingly. “Now you must introduce me to this ravishing creature.”
“Mara O’Flynn,” Nicholas said with a smile of enjoyment, as if taking personal satisfaction in watching the effect she had on people meeting her for the first time.
“Ah,” Etienne sighed, as if that explained everything. “Irish. They say Ireland has some of the most beautiful women in the world,” he flattered her gallantly.
A slight smile curved Mara’s lips as she responded in kind. “You’ve been to Ireland, then? And here I was thinkin’ that only the Irish were kissin’ the Blarney stone,” Mara said with a friendly laugh.
Nicholas’s laugh drowned out Mara’s as he explained to an appreciative Etienne. “Now that is the true Mara O’Flynn. Don’t let her beauty fool you into believing she hasn’t a sharp tongue in her head, for I carry around enough scars to bear witness to it,” Nicholas complained good-naturedly.
Etienne held up his brandy glass in a toast. “It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle O’Flynn, for now I shall be able to enjoy your conversation as well as your beauty,” Etienne complimented her sincerely.
“Is Ireland very far away, Mademoiselle O’Flynn?” Damaris inquired excitedly as she stared up into Mara’s amused eyes. “I’ve never been out of Louisiana. I’ve been downriver a couple of times when we stayed in New Orleans, but never much farther.” She sighed. “I want to sail all the way around the world, but,” she added with a bright light in her eyes, “only after I’ve raised my horses.”
“I’ve sailed around the world. Well, almost,” Paddy told her, his small shoulders raised and squared proudly.
Damaris’s gray-green eyes widened. She was visibly impressed and eyed this strange boy with a keener interest than before. Here was someone who could satisfy her insatiable desire to hear about the world.
Mara sipped her tea as she divided her attention between the two conversations going on around her. Half listening to Etienne’s amusing accounts of travels, she wondered what had happened between Nicholas and his stepmother.
Mara heard footsteps approaching rapidly across the tile floor of the entrance hall, and glancing toward the wide doorway, she saw a man clad in riding boots and breeches pausing uncertainly, as if unsure of his position among this gathering. As his hazel eyes met Mara’s curious gaze, he shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed by the state of his sweat-stained shirt and muddy boots. He looked only a few years older than Nicholas and was slighter of build, but with a wiry strength well evident in the muscles bunched up beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt.
“Alain,” Etienne called out with pleased surprise as he saw his son standing in the doorway.
Nicholas got to his feet and walked across the room to where Alain stood. The overseer’s tanned face showed a variety of emotions, not the least of which was relief when he recognized who Nicholas was. “Nicholas. I heard you were here, but I could not believe it until I saw for myself,” Alain spoke softly, his hazel eyes crinkling with pleasure as he shook Nicholas’s hand. “It is good to have you back, Nicholas,” he welcomed him simply.
“Thank you, Alain,” Nicholas replied, “it has been a long time. Françoise said that you would probably welcome me, which makes it easier for me because there is much I shall wish to know about Beaumarais.”
“I will tell you whatever I can,” Alain responded. Then, glancing around apologetically, he added, “But I would prefer to change before I completely offend the lady.”
“I’m sure Mara doesn’t mind,” Nicholas told him with a smile of remembrance for all of the bedraggled gold miners they had seen in California. He then introduced Mara to him, Alain bowing elegantly and with gentlemanly courtesy despite his field-hand appearance.
“Actually, I would rather discuss these things in the morning after I’ve had a chance to ride over Beaumarais. If you’ll meet me afterward, I’ll have more of an idea of what changes have been made since I last saw the property,” Nicholas suggested easily, his eyes narrowing at the brief look of consternation that had flickered across Alain’s face. “I have a few things I wish to do now before it gets dark.”
“Of course,” Alain said as if he understood completely, “and I’ll be free anytime you wish tomorrow. Just send word down to me,” he said. With a slight bow to Mara and a glance at his father, he added, “I’ll be off then. Good evening.”
“Alain works so hard,” Etienne told Nicholas with a sad shake of his head as he watched his son’s figure disappear. “I wish he would learn to enjoy life’s small amusements as I do. But he assures me that he is enjoying walking knee-deep in mud, or helping a newborn foal into the world. Another brandy, Nicholas? And what is this about ma petite Françoise? You have seen her? When? You must tell me all about it, eh?”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Mara began as Nicholas accepted another brandy from Etienne, “I should like to see my room and rest for a while. I am rather tired, and I think Paddy should come along as well,” she added, despite the annoyed look he shot at her.
“Of course,” Nicholas said as he noticed for the first time the faint shadows beneath Mara’s eyes. “I’ll have a—”
“No, please, allow an old man the pleasure of a beautiful woman’s company for just a brief while. It is not often anymore that I have such an opportunity,” Etienne interrupted as he got quickly to his feet. “Besides it grows late and you did say you wished to do something before dark. I will leave you to it. If, of course, Ma
demoiselle O’Flynn has no objections?”
“I would be honored, Monsieur Ferrare,” she accepted his offer, and gathering up her cloak and bonnet Mara allowed him to escort her from the room. Jamie saw to it that Paddy wasn’t far behind.
“Etienne, please—I will answer to nothing else,” he appealed to her with a charming smile. Mara suspected he used it often when he wanted his way.
Mara smiled slightly. “Only if you will call me Mara, Etienne,” she told him, her smile widening to match his.
Etienne patted her arm in an almost fatherly manner. “My dear, we shall get on admirably, just admirably,” he chuckled. “If I may be so bold as to say so, I can see now why that nephew of mine is so fond of you. You are remarkable, my dear. Now come, child, let me show you to your rooms,” he said as he led her across the hall, not giving Mara the chance to respond to his incredible observation about Nicholas.
“And what do you think of Beaumarais, Mara?” he inquired expectantly as he climbed beside her up the stairs. “Is it not the most beautiful house you have ever seen?” he answered before she could reply.
“It is indeed beautiful,” Mara told him, “but I had expected as much, for Nicholas was very expressive about it.”
“And you were not disappointed, were you.” He smiled wistfully, glancing up proudly at the ancestral paintings guarding the stairs and watching their progress with expressionless eyes. “Even before my sister, Danielle, married into the family, I loved this house. There is something special about it, is there not? Yes, it is as though the house lives.” He spoke softly, a dreamy look in his eyes as they lingered on the high, molded ceiling, then back down into the hall below to almost caress the entrance to what he must consider sacred ground.
“This is your room, Mara,” Etienne stopped before an open door, bowing slightly as he took her hand and lightly touched his lips to it. “I hope you will be comfortable during your stay at Beaumarais.”
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