Walking slowly, his legs feeling as if they were made of iron, he made his way back to the coach. He leaned against it, watching until the wagons cleared the stream and rolled up behind the coach. With a signal to the coachman to drive on, Nicholas climbed into the coach.
Mara started to say something to him as he stumbled onto the seat beside her, relief evident on her face, but his next actions froze her into silence. She watched him take a knife from his pocket and quickly and efficiently cut away the material of his breeches.
Etienne came out of his self-absorption, his eyes meeting Nicholas’s over the flare of the match Nicholas was holding to the knife.
“Cottonmouth,” Nicholas told him grimly as he stared down at the puffy, pinkish purple skin that surrounded two small punctures in his thigh, just above his knee. He glanced around the coach impatiently. “I need something to tie around my thigh.”
Mara stared in horror at the ugly marks on his thigh. Then, with shaking fingers, she untied the thin ribbon around her ankle. Quickly slipping off her satin slipper, she pulled up her skirt and petticoat, all sense of propriety forgotten as she reached up beneath her drawers and rolled down her silk stocking, her slender white leg bare as she held out the needed tourniquet.
Nicholas smiled as he took the stocking and tied it around his upper thigh, above the wound. “I appreciate your sacrifice, ma petite,” he murmured as he took the knife and pressed the red-hot blade against his flesh, making an X-shaped cut across each puncture.
Mara held her hand over her mouth, her teeth biting into it as she watched him unflinchingly bend down and suck the wound clean of the poison, spitting out the venom after what must have been an excruciatingly painful procedure.
Nicholas fell back against the seat looking pale and weak as he tried to slow down his breathing. “Someone’s got to tighten this tourniquet. I don’t have the strength,” he said quietly, his eyelids growing heavy over his darkening eyes.
“I might be small, but I’m strong as an ox,” Jamie pronounced determinedly as she untied the stocking and pulled it tighter, the muscles in her wiry body straining with the effort.
The carriage bumped along, slowing down every so often when the road became almost impassable. The big wheels turned slower and slower under their buildup of thick mud. Mara was cradling Nicholas’s head against her breast, oblivious to her own wound. She kept watching his pulse, which fluctuated rapidly in his neck.
Mara had never thought Sandrose could seem such a welcoming sight. They were a sorry-looking troupe of people who rolled up before the elegant doors, their carriage and wagons covered in red mud. The rain began to fall in earnest, blowing in cold sheets as the little party struggled from the carriage.
Amaryllis had been standing at the head of the steps staring down at the procession in silent amazement. As she saw Nicholas unconscious in Mara’s blood-stained arms, she quickly issued orders. The servants who’d been standing curiously around the foot of the steps were sent in running groups to take charge of the wagons. Another group helped carry Nicholas to safety.
***
Nicholas was bedridden with fever for several days, while the storm continued its deluge. Even Sandrose felt its full fury as the water crept slowly and steadily higher, but the tall pilings kept Sandrose above its damaging effects. What had happened to Beaumarais and Alain no one knew, and only Etienne, perhaps, cared about the fate of his son.
Mara stared into the flames of a cheery fire burning in the parlor fireplace. The house was unusually quiet, for Sandrose was still full of guests, but it was too early in the morning for most of them to be stirring. She found the house silent and peaceful.
Mara walked over closer to the brightly burning logs and held out her hands, rubbing them together. The brown velvet of her jacket soaked up the heat as she stood before the crackling fire. The flames threw a flickering light across her pale features as she stared morosely into them and thought of Nicholas lying helplessly upstairs. She had been able to see him only once, and that was only because she’d gone in during the late-night hours when the house slept and Amaryllis’s vigilance had been slack. For Amaryllis had left strict orders that Nicholas not be disturbed, and had allowed no one but herself access to his room.
Mara had selected her moment carefully and slipped inside the room silently, so as not to disturb the sleeping maid sitting in a chair near the bed. She had gazed down lovingly on his face, longing to reach out and touch the familiar features, but she had contented herself to stand beside his bed and watch over him for a few precious, stolen moments. Nicholas was going to be all right. He was a strong man and had fought off the deadly poison. Now he just needed to rest.
“Mademoiselle O’Flynn.”
Mara turned abruptly. She waited expectantly, her hands clasped nervously together as she watched Amaryllis walk casually into the room.
“You are up early, mademoiselle,” she said as she imperiously gestured for the maid who had followed her into the room to place the tea service near the sofa.
Amaryllis glanced up at Mara invitingly, a warm smile curving her mouth softly and making her look unbelievably beautiful. She was dressed in a morning gown of pale aqua with a wide, low neckline trimmed in elegant lace. The golden curls framing her face were held in place by two jeweled combs.
“Since you are English,” Amaryllis began, and her tone sounded very condescending to Mara’s sensitive ears, “I thought you might enjoy a cup of tea. That is one thing I admire about the English, that over a simple cup of tea they can sip away a rather uncomfortable situation. So civilized, wouldn’t you say, mademoiselle?” Amaryllis inquired as she poured a steaming cup and handed it across to Mara.
Mara took a sip, her eyes glowing strangely as she replied politely, “A trifle weak I’m afraid, but quite palatable.”
The half-smile curving her lips widened slightly at the look of discomfiture that momentarily crossed Amaryllis’s perfect features. Brendan would have been proud, Mara thought with amusement. She took another sip and returned Amaryllis’s look inquiringly.
Amaryllis’s pale blue eyes narrowed with determination as her lips twisted into a tight smile. “I had hoped to save you any embarrassment, Mademoiselle O’Flynn,” she began tentatively, as though extremely uncomfortable about what she must say, but Mara was not fooled. Amaryllis was not a very good actress. “But when a guest overstays his welcome, I’m afraid it is the hostess’s unpleasant duty to have to ask them to leave.”
Mara controlled her start of surprise well as she stared without blinking into Amaryllis’s eyes. “I see. I do apologize for having not realized sooner that I was becoming an inconvenience to you. But I couldn’t leave without knowing that Nicholas would recover.”
“Quite,” Amaryllis agreed, smiling with understanding, “and it is most admirable of you. But as you well know, Nicholas will recover fully. Of course, he will need rest, and what better place than at Sandrose where he will be given all the love and care he could wish for,” Amaryllis told Mara, her meaning clear.
“I see,” Mara said softly.
“I’m sure you do, Mademoiselle O’Flynn,” Amaryllis replied eagerly. “You strike me as a very level-headed and understanding woman who knows something of the ways of the world. I will not pretend ignorance of the relationship that existed in the past between you and Nicholas, for I know that he is not a man to be denied, nor one to be turned down, whatever offer he makes. But you must have realized that it could only be a temporary arrangement, especially now that he has returned to Beaumarais, and to me. You can no longer have a place in his life.”
“Nicholas and I have always known where we stand with each other,” Mara said in such a cool voice and with such unconcern that Amaryllis was momentarily disconcerted, not realizing that it was taking every ounce of the young Irishwoman’s acting ability not to give away her feelings. It was Mara’s greatest performance, and would not be equaled ever again. “He need not have sent an emissary in his stead. It was q
uite unnecessary, for I had already made plans to leave Beaumarais as soon as possible. In fact, Nicholas and I had discussed the matter just a few days ago.”
“My dear,” Amaryllis reassured Mara with a patronizing look, “of course he didn’t need to send me, but you see it was precisely because he was worried about you that he asked me to have a private word with you. He’s been so ill that it hasn’t been wise for him to see anyone. He will have to stay in bed for at least a week. So I’m afraid it has been impossible for him to speak with you personally. He wished to, my dear, but that is quite out of the question.
“He really hates to see you wasting your time around here when he knows how much you wish to return to New Orleans, and then from there to—where was it? Oh, yes, England? You will have noticed that the floodwaters are rapidly receding and already many of my guests are making plans to return to New Orleans. Edward, Mr. Ashford has already sent for the riverboat. In fact,” Amaryllis paused meaningfully, “if you can manage to be ready it should be here tomorrow morning.”
Mara eyed Amaryllis through lazily lowered lids. Had she not already made her decision to leave Nicholas, then nothing Amaryllis could have said or done would have driven her from his side. Amaryllis would have had to fight for Nicholas’s affections, and Mara O’Flynn was an adversary the gentle-bred Amaryllis St. Laurens had not met the likes of before.
But this was the chance Mara had been waiting for. She would be able to leave Nicholas’s life without his knowing of her love for him…or the child she carried. Yes, she would leave tomorrow. Mara wasn’t surprised to hear that Edward Ashford would be leaving as well, for Amaryllis’s treatment of him the past few days had been nothing short of rude, now that she had Nicholas within her reach.
As Amaryllis saw the half-smile on the Irishwoman’s lips, she started to pat Mara’s hand, then thought better of it as she caught the warning glint in her tawny eyes. “My dear, to be perfectly frank, I’d really prefer not to have one of Nicholas’s ex-mistresses attending the wedding. We will be getting married as soon as possible. We are a bit provincial here in Louisiana, especially upriver here on our plantations. I’m sure it would offend most people to have you still here.”
With admirable control Mara placed her teacup and saucer down on the table as she smiled across at her hostess. “I do understand completely, my dear. I’m sure you know as well as I do how fond memories of the past have a way of lingering on,” Mara said with a commiserating look at Amaryllis. She stood up. “And I should really hate to be a constant reminder to Nicholas of,” Mara paused delicately, her cheeks flushed slightly from the fire, “other times.”
Amaryllis stared up at the beautiful Irishwoman in growing fury. “Will you need assistance in your packing, mademoiselle?” she inquired stiffly.
Mara shook her head. “I think not, thank you. I assume you have arranged for my travel accommodations?”
“You may rest assured that there will be space for you on the boat, Mademoiselle O’Flynn,” Amaryllis promised her.
“Thank you,” Mara murmured with a light smile, “you are too kind, madame.”
Amaryllis stared in frustrated rage at the door that had closed behind the regal figure of that infuriating Irishwoman. She had the distinct impression that she had been bested during the exchange. Yet, Mara O’Flynn was leaving Sandrose—and Nicholas. That was the only important thing, Amaryllis reassured herself.
Escape me?
Never—
Beloved!
While I am I, and you are you.
—Browning
Chapter 15
“Well, ’tisn’t the St. Louis Hotel, for sure,” Jamie said disagreeably as she looked around the dingy room. Its paint was peeling off in long strips across the walls. A chipped washbasin and matching pitcher sat squarely in the center of a scarred table. “I’ve seen better places along the docks in Dublin.”
Mara sent Jamie an exasperated look but could really find nothing to say. The hotel room was deplorable, but what could she expect for next to nothing. And that was about what she had in her purse. Her last few dollars had gone for these cheap lodgings and food and would have to meet their demands for the next few days.
Mara sank down on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands. If she could barely afford to pay for this rat-infested hole, how could she hope to find enough money for their fares to England? Mara felt the bed sag beside her and glanced down fondly at Paddy’s dark head.
“I don’t like this place, Mara,” he said unhappily. He looked up at her with big brown eyes full of puzzled reproach. “Why did we leave Uncle Nicholas? I didn’t even get a chance to say good-bye. I would’ve too,” he told her earnestly, his eyes full of bright tears. “I wasn’t still mad at him, really I wasn’t. Do you think he knows I still like him, Mara?” he begged.
Mara hugged him close. “Of course he does. He understands that we had to leave, and since he was ill, he knew he wouldn’t be able to see you to say good-bye.”
Paddy hunched his shoulders dejectedly, his lower lip jutting out as he tried to control its trembling. “I don’t see why we had to go. Didn’t he want us?”
Mara ignored Jamie’s snort and said simply, “We didn’t belong there, Paddy, me love. But soon we’ll be back in London, where we do belong. Then everything will be all right, you just wait and see,” Mara promised.
She reluctantly got to her feet, her eyes straying to their trunks piled high in the corner of the small room. “It’s too late today, but tomorrow I shall have to see about raising the money for our passage.”
“And how d’ye reckon on doin’ that, missie?” Jamie demanded gloomily.
Mara chewed her lip thoughtfully, then spoke confidently. “I’ll sell what jewelry I have. It’s good quality. It should bring something.”
Jamie sniffed, leaving Mara in little doubt of her opinion on the success of that venture. With a determined stride, Jamie walked over to her small trunk and, quickly unlocking it, dug down deep inside. Mara watched in puzzlement. Holding herself proudly, she marched over to Mara. Taking her slender hand, she turned it over and placed a small bag in Mara’s palm.
“Never had much need of spendin’ me earnings all these years. And knowin’ Master Brendan the way I did, well, I always thought I might have need of it someday to get him out of trouble. When he struck it rich in California, he was more than generous with me, to be sure. He was practically throwing it away, that he was! So I’m figurin’ now’s as good a time as any to be usin’ it,” Jamie said. Her tone of voice brooked no argument.
Mara stared down at the plump bag that contained the little woman’s lifetime savings.
“Jamie,” Mara whispered as she reached out and wrapped the startled woman in a warm embrace, the first such gesture Mara had made toward her since her mother had died in Paris. “Oh, Jamie, I can’t accept such a sacrifice from you. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Jamie sniffed and drew herself up as much as she could, her thin chest puffed out with indignation. “I’ll be the judge of what’s fair or not, and I can be doin’ whatever I please with me earnings. If ye won’t be acceptin’ them, well,” she thought quickly, “then I’ll be spendin’ the money on a fur stole and muff, and maybe even a diamond tiara. Damned if I can’t see it perched on me gray curls now!”
“Very well then, Mistress Jameson,” Mara declared in mock severity, “since ye be part of the O’Flynn family, ye might as well have your say. Let’s count this out and see how much we have.”
“’Tisn’t a fortune,” Jamie cautioned her. She watched nervously as Mara opened the pouch. “But ’twill get us out of New Orleans.”
Mara stared down at the jumble of money spread out in her lap, surprised at the amount. She hadn’t really believed that Jamie could have this much. It was indeed no fortune, but it would pay for more than half the cost of their fares.
Mara looked up, a wide smile curving her lips, and at her expression Jamie sighed in satisfied relief. For the first time in her
life, Jamie felt a real part of the O’Flynn family.
“Gee, Jamie’s rich, Mara,” Paddy exclaimed in awe as he fingered the pile of money.
“’Tis good money paid for honest work done,” Jamie told him, secretly pleased to be the center of attention. “Ye be rememberin’ that, Master Paddy.”
“Someday I’m going to be rich too, only I’m going to have even more money than this,” he proclaimed with an arrogant tilt of his chin, looking just like Brendan.
Mara pushed back his disorderly curls and silently promised herself and Paddy that he would be different from Brendan, that he would never have to resort to dishonest means, or even have to use his handsome face to achieve his goals. Paddy would have it differently. He must—as would her own child.
With the money from Jamie’s savings and the small amount she’d received from the sale of her jewelry, Mara arranged passage on a ship bound for London, setting sail at the end of the week.
They managed quite well through the following days as they dined only once a day in a small restaurant near their hotel, and made do with fruits and bakery goods from the French Market for their other two meals.
Mara realized as she began to feel the tightness of her clothes that a few additions to her wardrobe would be necessary if she were to have anything to wear in the months to come. She found a dressmaker near the French Market who could make her several inexpensive gowns that would accommodate her thickening figure. But even at that low price she had been frightened by the cost. It was dark when Mara left the dressmaker’s shop. It had been her last fitting, and a few minor adjustments had had to be made before she saw the gowns wrapped securely and exchanged for her money. With the package tucked beneath her arm, she made her way across the dark marketplace, now deserted.
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