Emerald Ecstasy (6 page)

Lianne noticed Dera ground her teeth. Even the most unobservant person would realize that Dera and Amelie didn't get on well. She wondered at the strangeness of the situation concerning Daniel Flanders. Why would his wife have to ask her mother-in-law if she knew when he would return from abroad?

“I received a letter just this morning. I meant to tell you about it. Daniel said he'd be home after the new year.”

“What wonderful news, Dera! The prodigal husband returns.”

“Amelie, I believe you're doing your best to be trying.”

“Am I? Then perhaps the petulant cripple should retire to the four walls of her room. Claude.” She motioned to the man who waited in the corner like a shadow. “Please take me upstairs.” He sprang forward like an obedient puppy and scooped her up into his arms. Her fair skin looked fairer against the dusky darkness of his. “Thank you both for an entertaining chat,” she said before he carried her from the parlor.

Dera shook her head in dismay. “I shouldn't have reprimanded her, but Amelie is such a trial. I know it's hard for her, not being able to walk, but sometimes I believe she could if she wanted to badly enough. The doctor said after the fall from the horse that there wasn't any permanent damage, but Amelie insists she can't or won't walk. Sometimes I don't think she wants to live either.” She heaved a sigh. “As you can guess, everything isn't right with my son's marriage. He shouldn't have married her, but…” She threw up her hands in despair.

Lianne hugged Dera around the shoulders. “I feel sorry for her, and I have the feeling that she wants children very much.”

Dera wished to say more, to confide in Lianne about the real state of affairs between Amelie and Daniel. They didn't share a bedroom when Daniel was home, so there wouldn't be any children at Green Meadows to love and spoil as she had been unable to do with the grandchildren who lived in far off Ireland. “Don't take offense at Amelie,” she said instead.

“I won't.” Lianne smiled. “I really am very glad I'm here. I hope you won't grow tired of me, but I needed to feel family around me. Soon I shall perform in the opera in town, but until then I should like to belong to your family.”

Kissing Lianne's cheek, Dera leaned back and studied her beautiful oval face, the green eyes which tilted at an angle and her coral lips. What an enchanting creature she was! Too bad she had never met Daniel. She felt Lianne would be perfect for him. But a match between her son and goddaughter was impossible now.

“You are already part of my family,” Dera assured her. “For as long as you wish.”

Boring! Boring! Amelie tossed aside her book, not caring that it careened off the white eyelet bedcovers to land in a corner.

She folded her arms in an exasperated huff across her small bosom and wondered if it was too late to ring for Claude. Perhaps she could interest him in a game of cards … But then she thought better of it. Even though he slept in the small room next to hers and no one thought the worst of it, she didn't wish to intrude upon his privacy. And Claude was a private person. She never had an inkling concerning his thoughts.

Amelie only knew that Claude made her comfortable and was more of a husband to her than Daniel had ever been. Each morning Claude carried her downstairs after his mother, Lallie, helped her dress, so she could sit on the veranda and watch the horses graze in the meadow. Claude never spoke unless directly addressed but waited like a sentinel until she motioned to go inside.

She knew Dera trusted Claude, as did Daniel who had been his childhood friend. Amelie remembered Daniel telling her he had been a sickly child, and Claude had entertained him with stories about his life in Santo Domingo.

Amelie sniffed. Well, Daniel certainly wasn't sickly now. During his absence while he cavorted across Europe and painted portraits, some of nude women no doubt, Claude had taken care of her. Daniel had placed his own wife in a slave's care. But as Amelie propped the pillows and settled back, she knew she didn't mind.

She didn't see Claude as an ordinary slave. Perhaps it was his looks. She admitted he was terribly attractive with his dusky skin which was much lighter than his mother's, but darker than her uncle who was a Spaniard. His hair was dark brown but riddled in places with streaks of a lighter shade, and his eyes were a deep chestnut in color.

Amelie had heard rumors that Lallie had been the mistress of a white planter in Santo Domingo and Claude was the result of that union. This information made Claude even more fascinating to her.

A lonely, neglected wife with long hours in which to while away the time, Amelie shocked herself by having incredible visions of being held in Claude's strong arms and growing weak with desire from his kisses. At times she wondered if she might be perverted. Decent white, women didn't have such fantasies about their male slaves, or that was what she told herself. She knew white men did dally with the female ones and no one thought the worse of them. Her own father had had a negro mistress on Belle Riviere, and she knew her brother had a quadroon mistress in New Orleans. But since Amelie was brought up to believe that decent women didn't have such thoughts or do such things, she wondered if she might indeed be depraved. Yet, the thought of being kissed by Claude still excited her.

“Mon Dieu!”
she exclaimed and punched the pillow. What good did it do to dwell on such thoughts anyway? Even if Daniel returned home and wanted to be a husband in the physical sense, she couldn't walk.

Staring at the tester above the bed, she tried to remember how long ago some feeling had returned to her limbs. She wasn't certain, because it happened over a period of time. She hadn't told anyone and she didn't want to. Her paralysis was the only way to make Daniel feel guilty for what he had done to her.

A sad smile formed and hovered on her face. She knew now she shouldn't have married Daniel when he returned from Ireland. His pursuit, the courtship, had happened so swiftly. He completely turned her head with his ardor. She wondered why he hadn't seemed interested in her before the trip to visit his brother in Ireland. They had known each other for years, and not once had he given an indication that he thought of her as a potential wife. However, when he saw her again while riding across Belle Riviere one day, everything changed. He wanted her badly.

And she wanted him. The fever in her body whenever he kissed her led her to believe she was truly in love with him, and she would have thrown her scruples to the wind and let him make love to her before the wedding. Daniel protested, so they waited until the priest pronounced them man and wife. She thought the nights they laid together in each other's arms after making love to be lacking in passion. She was basically innocent; however, she realized that Daniel wasn't as eager for her as she was for him. Granted he was a considerate lover, she never felt truly desired in his arms.

She didn't know what to think until Dera arrived from Ireland, a widow. Much concerned about her mother-in-law, she had sought to comfort her, but overheard a conversation between Dera and Daniel in the parlor. Amelie waited outside the door, her temples pounding as Dera's words crushed her heart. “You married Amelie because she resembles Allison. You must get over Allison. She is your brother's wife.”

Amelie couldn't see his response, but she heard the passion in his voice, something he had shown very little to her.

“I shall always be in love with Allison. Amelie is a poor substitute, but I'm afraid I'm stuck with her.”

She felt a part of her die at that moment. “Amelie is a poor substitute.” The words rolled around her head for days, and she wished to return home, but she knew Philippe would never allow her to. “Think of the scandal,” she could almost hear his voice in her mind.

Her personality underwent a drastic change. All of her life she'd been rather docile, deferring to her parents, then to her brother after their deaths, and then to Daniel whom she loved. However, once she knew her husband loved another woman, that he wedded and bedded her to ease an ache for his sister-in-law, she decided to get some attention for herself. She demanded his time, ordered expensive fabrics from Paris. She knew quite well she grated on Dera's nerves and had Daniel climbing the walls, but she didn't care. She wanted revenge.

And she got it in a way she hadn't bargained for. The memory of the argument washed over her, and she hid her face in her pillow. She threw a huge tantrum about a stupid hat she wished to order. She didn't want it, but it pleased her immensely to see how riled he became. She enjoyed seeing his sad gray eyes light with anger when she taunted him, and to know that she had caused him to feel something for her. Any emotion from him, she felt, was better than apathy. However, things took a nasty turn when she insisted that she'd ask Philippe for the funds if he was too stingy to dress her in grand style.

She'd always remember the fierce grip he coiled around her arm, the look of pure hatred in his eyes for her and himself after she hurled the vase at his head. Never would she forget his declaration of love for Allison. At that moment she wished to flee, never to return to Green Meadows or to see his cruel, handsome face again.

She barely remembered running toward the stables and mounting the stallion. She'd never ridden Bayrum before, always fearing his wildness, but now she didn't think, didn't care.

Claude tugged at her skirt in an attempt to pull her from the horse, but she kicked at him and rode into the night like a cyclone.

Instinctively she turned the horse in the direction of Belle Riviere, hoping against hope that Philippe would allow her to come home, and would somehow extricate her from this horrendous marriage she had made. The tears streamed down her cheeks until she couldn't see. The night was dark. There was no moon, no lighting of the road which led home. Then Bayrum spooked. She didn't know what happened. The stallion reared up and she fell, unable to stop herself.

Her next memory was of intense pain everywhere in her body, everywhere but in her legs. She lost the ability to walk. And all because her husband didn't love her. Oh, he was penitent enough. “I'll make it up to you, I promise, Amelie,” he had said. But she grew tired of Daniel's false concern. Granted she realized he was sorry, but that wouldn't bring back the love she once felt for him. So, when he expressed an interest in sailing to France, she didn't stop him. After all, there was nothing for him at home anyway.

Now she heaved a huge trembling sigh and reached for the water pitcher on the nightstand beside the bed. The slippery handle slithered from her grasp and crashed to the floor. Small slivers of crystal gleamed on the floor. She felt helpless because she couldn't clean up the mess.

A sob tore from her throat. At that moment a shaft of light spilled from the adjoining room into hers. “Are you all right, Madam Amelie?” came Claude's voice.

“I carelessly broke the water pitcher,” she said, sounding almost like a little girl who is about to be chastised.

He moved from the shadowy light, approaching her bed. “I shall clean it up.”

A sound of surprise escaped her to see the gleam of his bare chest in the candlelight. Her eyes feasted on the rippling muscles of his back as he bent down and picked up the broken glass. The urge to touch him was so great she felt almost ill, wondering how the texture of his dusky skin would feel on her fingertips, how his muscled arms would hold her. Why, he's so strong he could break me in half, she thought to herself. When he stood up, their eyes met, and she suddenly came to her senses, hoping he couldn't see the naked passion on her face.

He looked like a god standing before her, naked except for his pants. “Claude.” Her voice was strangled.

“Madam?” he asked in a toneless voice.

She shook her head, her long hair cascaded across her shoulders and covered the bodice of her lace nightdress. Having no idea what she wished to say, she just smiled and said, “Thank you, Claude.”

He nodded and walked from the room without a backward glance. She took a deep breath, hoping to quell the tremors coursing through her body, and thanked God she had the good sense not to touch him when clearly she seemed to be the only one affected. Claude was such a loyal person that she felt he'd never harbor lewd thoughts about his friend's wife. After all, he was a slave, and she was his mistress, and a cripple. She must never forget that.

Lying back down, she closed her eyes and made her mind a blank. She must stop having such ludicrous thoughts and pray that the desire would eventually cease. Claude didn't even know she existed except as a burden. He was just helping to care for his friend's wife. She convinced herself of this and fell asleep.

But in the next room, Claude sat on his bed and gazed at the closed doorway, almost seeing Amelie's beautiful face wreathed in slumber. He knew another sleepless night was at hand.

In the morning after Lianne fed the baby, Maria ordered her to enjoy herself. “Find something to do. Take a walk, speak with Señora Flanders, but relax. Soon the baby shall nap. I do take good care of her,
sí
?”

Lianne agreed readily. “Then make peace with yourself,” Maria continued. “Soon the opera company will start and you shall sing again, but you must put the horrible thoughts from your mind about that black devil de Lovis. You're safe here, so forget the past.”