Rogue's Mistress(62)
“There is your mother’s trust,” Gaspard offered magnanimously. “We’ll see that it is put at your disposal now.” He flashed a sagacious smile at his granddaughter. “Only your grandmother and I would prefer that you remain here in Natchez.”
Mercy’s chin came up a notch. “Meaning that if I don’t stay in Natchez, the money will be withheld?”
Gaspard colored, shaking his head. “Non, my dear. We’re attaching no conditions to our gift. The trust will be yours to do with as you please, regardless.” He inclined his head toward Anton. “I’ll have Anton see to the legalities at once.”
As Anton beamed at Mercy, she was still frowning. “But you did attach conditions regarding the trust with my mother?” she challenged Gaspard.
Gaspard and Hélène exchanged another uneasy glance, then Gaspard sighed, offering his granddaughter a gesture of supplication. “My dear, Hélène and I have already admitted that we behaved foolishly with regard to your mother.”
“I want to know everything that happened,” Mercy insisted. “How the estrangement between you and my mother came about.”
Gaspard scratched his jaw. “We had great hopes for Corrine. She was most devout, and, at an early age, she committed herself to the Church. We were so proud to have her studying at Ursuline Academy in New Orleans.” His eyes grew moist and he drew a heavy breath. “Then, as a novice, Corrine became a volunteer at Mercy Hospital. That’s where she met your father and helped nurse him back to health. Subsequently, as you know, the two fell in love, and Corrine forsook her final vows to marry the man.”
“Did you ever meet my father?” Mercy asked.
“Yes, dear, we did,” Hélène replied. “When Corrine wrote us that she intended to marry O’Shea, Gaspard and I departed at once for New Orleans.”
“And you did not approve of my father?”
Hélène shook her head sadly. “Frankly, dear, we did not. Brendan O’Shea was a young, rough, boisterous Irishman.”
“And he was poor,” Mercy added defensively.
“It wasn’t just his poverty,” Gaspard argued. “Pardon my indelicacy, dear, but the man was untamed and uncouth, and le bon Dieu only knows what appeal he must have held for a gentle creature like our Corrine. Hélène and I were sick with fear from the moment we met him. There were signs even then of problems with drink and gambling, as well as a propensity toward violence.” He clenched his fist on the tabletop. “Hélène and I even suspected on one occasion that the man may have struck our daughter.”
Mercy raised a hand to her mouth but didn’t comment.
“Still, Corrine was hopelessly in love with O’Shea,” Hélène went on morosely. “Given her sheltered upbringing, I suppose she made an easy target. There was no making her see reason, no getting across to her that she was making a fatal mistake.”
“So what did you do?”
Gaspard’s troubled gaze met hers. “We threatened to disown your mother if she didn’t break off her engagement to O’Shea.” Watching Mercy’s eyes glitter with anger, he quickly added, “We were convinced that the ultimatum would bring Corrine to her senses, or that O’Shea would abandon her once he learned that she was no longer an heiress. Unfortunately, we were wrong on both counts. It was a foolish gamble we took, and we lost.”
“That’s because my father really loved Mama—as she loved him,” Mercy put in proudly. “Even though they did have their problems.”
“So it appears,” Gaspard conceded. “Still, all I can tell you is that your grandmother and I had your mother’s best interests at heart at the time.”
“Afterward, we would have tried to effect a reconciliation with Corrine, but our pride got in the way,” Hélène added through tears. “Now it is our most fervent hope to make amends to you, Mercy. Please allow us to do so.”
Mercy nodded slowly. Her grandparents’ heartfelt words had given her much food for thought.
***
After luncheon, Anton invited Mercy to walk with him about the grounds. Once they were safely outside, strolling beneath a lofty oak, she confronted him.
“Why did you tell my grandparents about my troubles with Julian?”
He sighed, leaning over to pluck a wildflower from the verdant lawn; he handed the small bloom to her with a contrite smile. “It’s time for you to start over, Mercy, and forget about that villain. Your grandparents are willing to help you in every way they can.”
She frowned as she twirled the small white flower in her hands. “I realize this,” she murmured as they continued walking. “Still, I should have been the one to tell them about Julian.”
He nodded. “If I spoke too hastily, I apologize. I’m just so glad you’re finally here with your grandparents and away from that scoundrel.” He smiled eagerly. “Gaspard and Hélène love you, Mercy. And they’re consumed with guilt. At this point, they’ll give you anything you want.”
She glanced at him sharply. “I have no desire to take advantage of their feelings.”
He chuckled. “But I’m not talking about taking advantage, merely about accepting what is rightfully yours. Why, your mother’s trust alone contains more than half a million dollars.”
This revelation staggered Mercy, and she stopped in her tracks. “Half a million dollars? Surely you’re jesting!”
“Not at all. The Dubois have accumulated a massive fortune from their various cotton plantations and lumber mills. All you must do now is to reach out and take what they’ve offered you.” He fondly squeezed her hand. “Just think, you’ll be an heiress, financially independent from your husband.”
This news gave Mercy pause; it was an appealing prospect, she had to admit. Still, despite her grandparents’ reassurances to the contrary, she had to wonder what kind of obligations would be attached to this huge purse.
“And the next thing you must do is to proceed with the divorce, as well as with the Church annulment,” Anton continued sternly, leading her past the perfumed rose bushes.
She frowned. “I’m not going to make any hasty, rash decisions regarding my marriage.”
“What a generous attitude, considering how your husband deserted you so hastily. Mercy, you can’t want to remain with that cad!”
She drew herself up with pride. While she realized that there was little hope for her marriage, she resented Anton’s trying to take charge of her life this way. “Let’s say I take my vows seriously enough that I want to give the matter sufficient thought.”
“Very well, dear, take your time. However, have you considered the possibility that the scoundrel may come after you?”
Her gaze hardened with bitterness. “He won’t come.”
“I wish I shared your faith,” he acknowledged with a rueful laugh. “At any rate, may I at least investigate the matter for you? Dissolving a marriage can be a protracted process, you know. May I make some inquiries with the Church, for instance?”
Reluctantly, she nodded. “Yes, you may, but only if you’ll promise to take no official action without my consent.”
“Of course, dear. And Mercy—”
Abruptly, Anton gripped her arm, restraining her. His handsome face gleamed with animation as he stared down at her, and his brown eyes burned zealously into hers.
“Yes? What is it?” she asked tensely, trying to disengage his strong fingers from her arm. “Shouldn’t we head back?”
“Please know that my goal is only to help you, Mercy,” he whispered intensely. “I hope that you and I will have a truly long and rewarding association.”
“Thank you, Anton,” she replied with dignity, successfully escaping his touch. As she turned toward the house, she wondered why her cousin’s eagerness so troubled her.
Chapter Twenty-nine
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Four weeks later, on a mild mid-September night, Mercy stood on the back veranda of Dunleith, the magnificent Natchez home of the Charles Dahlgrens. She made a dazzling picture in her full-skirted ball gown of pink satin, with her red curls dramatically upswept and interlaced with white camellias. Her expression was pensive as she stared out at the moonlight-sprinkled grounds behind the house. A delicate gazebo glittered like a spray of fine lace next to the duck pond. The honeysuckle-scented air throbbed with night sounds—frogs croaking, crickets sawing, owls hooting, and night birds calling.
Behind her in the elegant double parlor, the dinner guests—among them some of Natchez’s most esteemed citizens—were mingling freely, drinking champagne, and sampling oysters on the half shell and snails bourguignon. The elegant strains of a Mozart minuet, played by violin and piano, spilled out.
Mercy supposed she should have remained inside with the other guests, but she’d soon tired of their curious stares as well as the heated political discussion—which tonight centered on the recent union ist victory at the state convention. Anton had told Mercy that, ever since Congress had passed the Compromise of 1850, which failed to designate slavery in several new territories, debate over secession had consumed the conversation of Natchez citizens. The community seemed soundly divided on the issue.