The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (32 page)

“Vivian?” Sydnee said, walking to her perch over Baloo’s grave. “There is someone I want you to meet.”

Fletcher raised an eyebrow, watching from the kitchen steps.

“Vivian,” Sydnee called and raised her arm for the bird to fly down. The crow sat stubbornly in the tree, looking at them.

“Vivian, now!”

“I told you, Sydnee,” Fletcher called.

“We are leaving on a picnic,” Sydnee coaxed. “We will buy you grasshoppers.”

Still the old crow would not move.

Sydnee sighed. “Very well. Miss all the fun,” she snapped. Turning to Fletcher, she said, “I apologize. She is set in her ways.”

As they left the courtyard, she whispered to Fletcher that Vivian would probably follow them, but the bird did not follow. She stayed in the tree the rest of the afternoon, pouting. She did
not
like Fletcher Locke.

They took Fletcher’s two person gig down the River Road to a little lake on the property of a friend. Atlantis jumped out the moment they stopped and put her nose to the ground, ready to explore. It was a peaceful spot and private. Their only company was water fowl and frogs which delighted the dog.

Fletcher played fetch with Atlantis, throwing a stick repeatedly into the lake while Sydnee spread a blanket on the grass and set out the food. They ate under a weeping willow tree which reminded Sydnee of her hideaway when she was a child. The long green tendrils sheltered them like a rippling green curtain.

Sydnee told Fletcher many things about her childhood that afternoon, and he was eager to listen. He wanted to know everything about her, and she told him a great dealt, but it was apparent that there were many things she was hiding. He guessed that she had been treated cruelly by her father and that she harbored some secret about his death. She shared details about her life on The Trace, but when he asked her if he could see the stand one day, she said that she burned it down, offering no more information.
What had happened out there to her? What had been so hideous that she had been compelled to set fire to her home?

Fletcher knew it would take time for Sydnee to tell him everything, and he was willing to wait, but he was not patient about her relationship with Saint-Yves. He burned with jealousy when he pictured her in that man’s arms, but when he approached her about it, Sydnee refused to discuss the arrangement.

“Tell me about your life in England,” Sydnee said, as she popped a pecan praline into her mouth. “Did you practice medicine there as well?”

“I did,” Fletcher replied. He was stretched out on the grass with his head on his hand. “I worked with miners in Wales, and then I practiced in London at a hospital.”

“Did you leave a woman behind?”

Fletcher’s eyebrows shot up. “And how is that a fair question, when you tell me nothing of
your
love affair?”

Sydnee looked down. “That is true. I apologize.”

Fletcher laughed and rolled over onto his back. “I will tell you. There have been women, but no one like you. You are a beautiful enigma, Mademoiselle Sauveterre, and when you finally decide to tell me the truth about your life and your loves, I will still love you.”

He reached up and pulled her down into a kiss. Fletcher’s desire for Sydnee was like nothing he had ever known. She could ignite him with a smile, a look or by simply brushing past him. He adored her lithe, wispy figure, her large eyes, and her lavender scent. He took her repeatedly throughout the day, each time feeling even closer and more connected to her than the time before.

Sydnee’s feelings were the same. Fletcher stirred a fire in her that was beyond anything she ever imagined. When he was tender, she answered him with caresses. When he was intense with lust for her, she met him with passion. Yet, once their thirst for one another was quenched, it was the quiet moments in each other’s arms that were truly satisfying to her.

“We must get back. It is twilight,” Fletcher said, and he called to Atlantis.

“Yes, I will gather everything up.”

It was a short drive back to town and when they arrived at Sydnee’s home, Marie handed her a note. Sydnee read it quickly, the blood draining from her face. “It’s from Tristan. His daughter is gravely ill. He knows of your skills with children, and he asks you to come quickly.”

Fletcher clenched his jaw. He didn’t like it, but he nodded and said, “Very well. I must return to the house to get my bag.”

When they arrived at the Saint-Yves home, they were taken directly to the nursery. Tristan was pale with a look of panic in his eyes, “Thank you for coming Dr. Locke,” he said, shaking Fletcher’s hand. “This is my wife, Isabel.”

Isabel did not get up from her chair and merely nodded.

Sydnee was startled at what she saw. Isabel looked like a phantom. Her face was colorless, her figure was skeletal, and her hair had grown thin falling in wisps around her face. Her skin was as dry as parchment, and her voice was weak. “Thank you, Dr. Locke,” she whispered.

Fletcher walked over to Delphine’s bed. The child was on her back, her eyes were closed, and her face was flushed. While he was examining her, Sydnee sat down and took Isabel’s hand. “Isabel, you are ill too. What is it?”

Isabel shook her head. “It’s nothing, just fatigue.”

“I need cool cloths to bring the child’s fever down,” Locke stated.

Tristan ran out of the room as Dr. Locke took the covers off the little girl. Isabel strained to look at Delphine even though she could not stand up.

As Fletcher was rolling up his sleeves, he said, “Madame Saint-Yves, your daughter’s lungs are clear, and her heart is sound so that is good news, but my concern right now is the fever.”

He looked down at Sydnee holding Isabel’s hand and then went back to Delphine immediately.

Tristan returned with cold water and towels. “Ice is on the way,” he said.

“Good,” said Locke.

They undressed the little girl and bathed her repeatedly in cold cloths.

Suddenly Isabel slumped forward, and Sydnee caught her. “Isabel!”

“I’m a little light-headed,” she murmured.

“I will help you to your room,” Sydnee said, taking her arm. Isabel was unsteady, but Sydnee was able to help her to her bed chamber. Isabel sank down onto the bed and said, “Sydnee, thank you. Thank you, my friend.”

Sydnee covered her with a blanket and asked, “How long have you been sick?”

“I am not sick. I simply have no appetite.” Isabel’s eyes filled with tears. “That child keeps me alive, Sydnee. If something happens to her--”

“I know Isabel. I know,” Sydnee murmured.

Isabel closed her eyes, and Sydnee sat by her side. She prayed fervently for the fever to break and at last Tristan opened the door. “It is down!” he announced. “The fever is down.”

Isabel started to sob, and Sydnee’s eyes filled with tears. “Is she out of danger?”

“Yes, Dr. Locke says she is out of danger.”

Sydnee sighed deeply and sank back in her chair as Tristan hugged Isabel.

Fletcher was just snapping his bag shut when Tristan came back into Delphine’s room. He handed Locke a generous sum and said, “How can I ever thank you? Madame Saint-Yves and I will be forever grateful.”

“Watch her carefully and contact me if anything changes,” Locke replied.

On their way home in the carriage, Fletcher and Sydnee were quiet. Both of them felt drained. Holding the reins loosely with his elbows on his knees, Fletcher said at last, “Sydnee, the health of that little girl does not worry me. It is the mother who is seriously ill. Do you know what ails her?”

Sydnee sighed. “I believe it is a sickness of the heart.”

Locke frowned. “Why?”

Shaking her head, Sydnee shrugged slightly and turned away. Locke went back to brooding, watching his horse wind its way through the streets. The mystery seemed to be growing deeper and deeper for him.
What is the truth here? I saw the women holding hands tonight. Why is the wife friends with the mistress? What manner of illness plagues Madame Saint-Yves, and who is Tristan Saint-Yves really?

Fletcher spent most of that night staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head.

*                    *                   *

By the next day, Delphine had recovered completely. Locke examined her in the evening and found the little girl in excellent health, much to everyone’s relief. When he returned home he said to Sydnee, “It is time we go to Natchez.”

“I will speak with Tristan immediately,” she replied.

“Will he be angry that you are traveling with me?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I will tell him it is a matter of business regarding the orphanage.”

Flletcher nodded uncertainly.

The next day they boarded a riverboat and cruised up the Mississippi once more. When they arrived at Fletcher’s estate, Sydnee fell in love with the house instantly. It was a white Italianate style structure with thin pillars and three white decorative arches over the first floor portico. There was lacy detail on the eaves, black shutters and a marble fountain near the entry. Fletcher sold the fields a year ago but retained the house, the sprawling lawns and gardens filled with magnolias, pecan trees, and topiaries.

The interior was equally as grand, although somewhat outdated. Fletcher’s aunt and uncle decorated the plantation home twenty years earlier with quality furnishings, that were the height of fashion at the time, but today seemed passé. Sydnee chuckled to herself as she looked around. Fletcher would never notice such a thing or even care.

For several weeks they lived as a couple, waking late every morning, having coffee by the fountain, strolling in the gardens or reading. Sydnee loved watching the birds and realized she had been so caught up in the details of life that she had taken little notice of the things she loved.

The spirits were swirling all around her during this time, echoing the joy and ecstasy she felt at last. Sometimes, when she walked alone in the gardens, she would cup her hands upward to capture the white light flowing down to her from above.

Fletcher’s experience was equally intense. All of his instincts were to shelter and protect his rare find. He was in awe that a woman of such exceptional quality would turn her eyes toward him and love him.

He watched Sydnee closely, memorizing everything about her. He loved the way she moved so gracefully and her peaceful demeanor. He was almost ashamed when passion flooded him violently, and he would pull her roughly into his arms. But she would accept him always, calming and diminishing his waves of desire.

Her second day in Natchez, Sydnee visited the new orphanage. It was a large structure in the middle of town, not far from the plantation home she approached for work when she was young. The house was originally in poor condition, but Fletcher renovated it quickly, having better luck hiring workers than he did in New Orleans.

The children were delighted to see Sydnee after so many months. They crowded around her, bidding for her attention. Several of the orphans were missing, and Fletcher told her that they found new homes. “I recently hired a woman who is a wonder,” he explained. “She is efficient, has connections around Natchez, and a knack for finding safe and loving placements for the orphans.”

“Well, they all look as if they have grown taller too,” Sydnee said with amazement. “And I had no idea they had faces under all that dirt.”

He laughed. “With rosy cheeks too.”

The closer the time came for Fletcher to return to the hospital, the unhappier he felt. The thought of ending his blissful days with Sydnee and returning to everyday life seemed abhorrent. But most of all, he did not want her to return to life as Saint-Yves’ mistress. He wrestled with the prospect, and even though it was impulsive and rash, he decided to ask her to marry him.

A week before they were scheduled to return to New Orleans, he took her for a walk in the gardens and proposed. Sydnee stared at him thunderstruck. She wanted to throw her arms around him and say yes, but she could not. Grappling with the uncertainties and secrets, she stood before him speechless. The very reason she avoided a liaison with him in the beginning was now before her once more.

Sydnee saw the hurt in Fletcher’s eyes turn suddenly to anger. He jumped up and started to pace. “What is it?” he snarled between his teeth. “What
is
it that you are hiding?”

With clenched fists, he walked back and forth while Sydnee sat rigidly on the stone bench. “Your secrets will destroy us,” he ranted. “I must know who you are. Do you think I’m stupid? I saw you comforting Madame Saint-Yves the night her child was ill. Do you think I didn’t notice that we used the back entrance to their home? And what secret is killing her? There is no doubt this little intrigue of yours will end badly, Sydnee.”

Rising to her feet slowly, Sydnee said, “I am willing to tell you everything, Fletcher, but I must speak with—with the others. These are not my secrets to divulge.”

Fletcher studied her face and then nodded. “Very well, will you do it when we return to New Orleans?”

“Yes,” she assured him.

There was little rest for either of them that night. When the sun rose, Sydnee heard Fletcher’s deep regular breathing. She knew he was asleep. Silently she slipped out of bed, dressed, and left the house. She wrote a note explaining that earning his trust was so important that she could not wait until they returned to New Orleans in a week. She must resolve it immediately or go mad. When they met again, she would have answers.