Josephine: Bride of Louisiana (American Mail-Order Bride 18) (9 page)

P
ierre’s chest
tightened as he folded his napkin and set it on his empty plate. He stood and pulled Josephine’s chair back, offering her his arm as she stood. As she placed her delicate hand through and placed her hand on his wrist, he blinked hard as the warmth of her hand made his tingle.

He hadn’t noticed when they’d sat down to supper--one that included no French delicacies--but as they walked around the mahogany dining room table, the candles flickering as they passed, he inhaled the scent of--what was it? Magnolias? Vanilla? It was oddly familiar but he couldn’t remember smelling it before.

As he reached to open the heavy, walnut door for her he laughed at the memory of her expression when he told her he looked forward to dancing with her.

She’d paled, and looked down at her plate. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Pierre,” she’d said, her cheeks crimson.

“Nonsense,” he’d told her, confident that anyone could dance. It wasn’t that difficult, and he’d enjoyed dancing with his mother--what he could remember of it. He would be pretty rusty himself, so they might make a good pair.

Now, as he led her into the parlor, he actually wondered if he could remember how, himself. It had been years--except for some very occasional situations he’d been forced into by his father--since he’d danced with a woman with any interest.

“Bernadette mentioned that your mother loved to dance. And she taught you?” Josephine sat down on the settee.

He looked up at her, his heart tugging at the memory. They’d spent hours in the parlor, his mother counting--one, two, three, one, two, three--while they’d laughed at his own awkwardness. It had taken many attempts, but he’d never forget her joy the one time they’d been able to dance together at a society ball in town--their first and last.

“I apologize that we have no music to dance to. I do play the piano,” he said as he motioned to the baby grand piano in the corner, “but I can’t do that and teach you to dance at the same time.”

Josephine laughed as she stood, setting her fan down on the table next to the settee. “I do believe, kind sir, that I can count for us as you try to keep your feet safe from mine.” She lifted her skirts and walked toward him, her smile bright.

Before he reached out for her hand, he stopped for a moment. He watched her as she walked toward him, her skirts rustling, the velvet catching the light. Her hair--the most beautiful color he’d ever seen--shone in the glow of the lamps as well.

His heart pinched and he shrugged the feeling away as he reached out for her hand. He ignored the smell of magnolias, or vanilla, or whatever it was he couldn’t place as he reached out for her, her cheeks crimson as she put her hand in his and her other on his shoulder as he wrapped his around her waist.

“If you count, I will show you how to waltz. Just follow what I do, except in reverse.”

He grinned as Josephine looked at both of their feet for the better part of an hour. He couldn’t help but grimace slightly when she stepped on his feet but was careful to smile again by the time she looked up at him, her eyes wide in apology.

By the second hour, she was doing much better and he enjoyed the feeling of her in his arms as they twirled around the room. She began to look up at him from under her lashes, tearing her eyes from their feet as she gained confidence. Each time she did, he smiled down at her, hoping that she was at least enjoying herself.

As they took turns counting, laughing as they had to begin again, Josephine started to hum. He stiffened at the sound, something in his memory tugging at him.

“What is that song?” he asked and she looked up from their feet and smiled.

“Au Claire de la Lune.
It’s a lullaby, actually, but I thought maybe it would be better than one, two, three.”

As she continued to sing and they swirled around, he was flooded with a sense of recognition and he blinked at the memory. It was so utterly familiar that he closed his eyes and could see his mother--hear her voice as she sang that song.

He shook his head and focused on the matter at hand. They practiced for hours, and collapsed onto the settee after a bit, both turning toward the open door as Jerome leaned against the doorjamb, clapping his hands slowly. His wry grin sent a quick chill through him. His cousin had been known to mock people when they were boys and, although he hadn’t seen him for several years, he hoped that this would not be a case where he continued his previous behavior.

“Well, wasn’t that lovely?” Jerome said as he crossed over to the table and poured himself a Grand Marnier. He lifted his eyebrows and held up an empty glass toward Pierre.

“None for me, thank you,” Pierre said as he stood.

“But of course Josephine would, wouldn’t you?” Jerome said, pouring another glass and handing it toward Josephine.

Pierre looked from his cousin to Josephine, who was looking at him, her eyes questioning.

“Something else you’ve never had?” Jerome cut in, lifting the glass up again. “Might as well try it. It’s French and all that.”

Pierre nodded at Josephine. Jerome was right. This was something that Josephine would have knowledge of. Even if ladies didn’t partake often, they definitely knew what it tasted like--and what it smelled like on their husbands after a long night of poker. In fact, as he approached his cousin, it was plain that this had been one of those nights for Jerome.

“Are you well, cousin?” Pierre hadn’t seen Jerome all day, but had assumed he’d be riding the plantation like they were, as he said he’d take over business for him while he helped Josephine. “Is everything as it should be on the plantation?”

Jerome waved his hand in the air as he filled his glass again. “Oh, don’t worry so much, Pierre. Everything is fine. And it will be
very
fine as soon as you get your inheritance.”

Josephine shot a glance at Pierre, and he gave in to his urge to move closer to her, his hand protectively around her waist. She squeezed his hand as Jerome passed by, his eyes not leaving Josephine.

“Now you, fair lady, should get back to your education.” He raised his glass in their direction and turned, closing the parlor door behind him.

“Should I drink this, Pierre?”

He shook his feelings off as he turned from the door. “If you’d like to,” he replied, smiling as Josephine brought the small glass to her nose and inhaled.

She wrinkled her nose and looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Oh, I did it again, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you have an unusual habit of smelling things before you taste them. We’ll have to work on that.”

She shivered as she drank the potent, orange-flavored liqueur, one he’d been accustomed to for a long time.

“Oh,” she cried. “It’s burning my nose.” She coughed as she set the glass down.

He tried not to laugh as he watched her. He’d known her for just a short time, but as he’d gotten to know her, he wondered if there ever could be anyone for him. That he could have any kind of love like his parents had known.

He knew one thing for certain, though. He’d never seen anyone as beautiful, and his eyebrows rose as he realized that for the first time in his life, that included even his mother. Yes, she was even more beautiful, her humor, kindness and generosity radiating from her with every step.

He cleared his throat and vowed to tell her the remainder of the truth he’d started to tell her earlier. That he had no room in his heart. No room for anything but the plantation. He knew that the entrance to his heart had snapped shut when his mother died and he turned all of his affection toward the planation. He couldn’t afford for anything to sidetrack him now--not even this beautiful young woman who was giving her all to help him.

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.”

H
e 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.”