Rogue's Mistress(70)

He sighed. “God, Justine, even after all this time, I’m still scared to death I’ll lose her.”

She reached out to touch his trembling shoulder. “Should I speak with her, then?”

He shook his head and spoke with deep emotion. “I fear it wouldn’t do any good. It won’t take much for her to turn her back on me again. She has always believed the worst of me.”

“Oh, my poor dear.”

“In Natchez, she told me she has her own money, her own life now. That she doesn’t need me anymore. Then later, when she found out about Arnaud, we reconciled. I was so desperate for her, Justine, that I took her back on any terms. Now I’m bedeviled by doubt, wondering if she really wants this marriage, or if she only came back to me in the sympathy of the moment.”

“Julian.” Justine squeezed his hand, and her compassionate eyes met his. “I’m sure she came to you because she loves you.”

“If only I could believe that.”

“And there’s nothing I can do to help?”

He shook his head and patted her hand. “Just many Henrí. And soon.”

Justine bit her lip. “We do plan to marry in a few more weeks.”

“In a few weeks?” he cried.

“Henrí wants to get a good start with the tobacconist shop you bought him,” she explained. “And we also want to wait until after All Saints’ Day, in deference to Arnaud.” When Julian would have protested again, she held up a hand. “It’s bad enough that we must marry during the mourning period, but I cannot countenance draping my son’s grave as a new bride. We plan to marry the day after, which will still be several months before the baby is due.”

Sobered by her words, Julian nodded, raising her hand to his lips. “Whatever makes you happy, dear.”

“I’m afraid happiness may elude us all for some time,” Justine returned morosely. “But you will tell Mercy of our plans?”

“Of course,” he said, though his eyes remained troubled. “I’ll be sure to tell her before you marry.”

***

Two weeks passed, and things went relatively smoothly between Mercy and Julian. He was at her side every night, and as far as she knew, he had not seen Justine again. In bed, Mercy and Julian could not possibly have been closer, though she still hungered for more communication between them outside the bedroom.

While Julian could be warm, tender, and loving, he could also be closed and taciturn. As the days passed, Mercy noticed that Henrí was now absent from the house most of the time; yet when she remarked on this to Julian, he shrugged off her query, offering no explanation. Of course, this was not a matter of earth-shattering importance; still, this small evidence of Julian’s unwillingness to share with her made her feel left out of his life in some measure.

Mostly, though, their days passed happily. Soon after they returned to New Orleans, Madelaine Devereux invited the couple to dinner at her home; the instant they arrived, she expressed her joy at their reunion  . Then she quickly changed the subject to spare them both any awkwardness. She spoke at length of her plans to sail off to the East and marry Robert Townsend. Julian and Mercy expressed their congratulations, and Julian assured his mother that he would handle her affairs after she departed, including the sale of her home.

“But I want you and Mercy to have this house,” Madelaine protested. “Won’t you need it for the brood of children you’re planning to have?”

Julian and Mercy exchanged an amused, secretive glance.

“Besides,” Madelaine continued, “Robert and I will need a place to stay when we come back on visits. And you can always stay in your town house in the Quarter during Mardi Gras, or if you go into the city for the opera or balls.”

In the end, Mercy and Julian agreed to keep both houses, and Mercy prayed that she and Julian would soon have a “brood of children” to fill Madelaine’s huge home.

The following week, Julian and Mercy saw Madelaine off at the New Orleans docks, where she boarded a three-masted clipper ship bound for New York. Their parting was warm and loving, with Madelaine promising that she and Robert would return to visit within a year.

But as Mercy and Julian drove away from the docks, she felt troubled. She knew that Julian had not married Justine in great part due to respect for his mother. Now that Madelaine had found her life, and her happiness, elsewhere, would Julian regret that he had married her instead of Justine? If such were his thoughts, he revealed no outward sign; still, Mercy’s doubts persisted.

As the weeks passed, Mercy’s conscience began to nag her that she hadn’t expressed her condolences to Justine. She knew that Julian regularly visited Arnaud’s grave; she hoped that one day he would ask her to accompany him. In the meantime, however, she owed Arnaud’s mother, at the very least, an expression of her deep sympathy. Despite her jealousy, her heart did go out to the woman; if she herself were ever blessed with a child, she could not even conceive of trying to endure the agony of losing it.

Mercy had the gardener, Rubin, drive her that mid-October afternoon. They went by the French Market, where she purchased a large spray of red roses to give to Justine. She inhaled the perfume of the flowers as they clattered along. Perhaps, she mused, if she and Justine could become friends, that might be best in the long run.

Soon after they turned onto Rampart Street, Mercy tapped the gardener’s shoulder and pointed ahead toward Justine’s small bungalow. As he began reining in the horse, Mercy spotted Justine outside in a faded dress and a slat-bonnet; she was bent over, tending flowers.

When the buggy had almost pulled to a stop, Mercy watched Justine straighten with a dandelion in hand.

Justine was clearly several months pregnant!

Horrified, Mercy leaned forward to address Rubin. “Don’t stop! Take me home! At once!” she ordered in an urgent, half-hysterical whisper.

The old man could only shake his head and dutifully snap the reins. The conveyance rattled past before Justine even spotted them. The red roses lay discarded in a fragrant heap at Mercy’s feet.





Chapter Thirty-three


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Mercy paced the parlor and wrung her hands. Justine was pregnant, and all signs would seem to indicate that Julian was the father.

Oh, the cad! How could he have come after her in Natchez, all the while knowing—

Mercy bit down the panic and desperation rising within her, and tried to consider her dilemma more objectively. After all, she had no actual proof that Julian was the father of Justine’s child. She knew she should give him the benefit of the doubt and at least ask him if the child was his.

Yet what would she do if he said yes? She’d be destroyed. So far during their marriage, she hadn’t given Julian an heir, and the very idea that Justine might now be carrying her husband’s second child was too much to be borne.

Should she ask him or not? Mercy knew she had to get her thoughts in order about this quickly. Julian was due home shortly.

Mercy was still stewing when Risa stepped into the room. “Madame, you have a gentleman caller, from Natchez.”

With astonishment, Mercy watched Anton Gerard stride into the room, looking dapper as ever in his ivory wool frock coat and dark trousers.

“Anton! What on earth are you doing here?”

He removed his hat and bowed. “Hello, Mercy. You’re looking well. Why, I’ve come to fetch you back to Natchez, of course.”

Mercy could have screamed out her frustration at him for showing up this way. However, she realized that she couldn’t simply toss her relative out on his ear. She also belatedly noted that Risa was still standing in the doorway, eyeing the scene with unabashed curiosity.

Mercy turned to the servant. “Will you bring us tea, please?”

“Oui, madame.” Risa took Anton’s hat and walking stick and swept out of the room.

Mercy turned to Anton with a frown. “Sit down, please.”

Mercy sat on the settee and Anton took the chair flanking her. She threw her cousin an admonishing look. “Anton, didn’t my grandparents give you my message when I left Natchez?”

“Indeed, they did. We were all, of course, alarmed by your sudden, rash departure. We all assumed that your husband had forced you to leave with him.”

As much as her feelings were at war regarding Julian, Mercy heartily resented Anton’s criticism of her husband. “My husband is not a scoundrel. Furthermore, he did not force me to leave Natchez with him. I can’t believe Grand’mère and Grand-père got that impression, since I made it clear to them that I was leaving with my husband of my own free will.”

Anton appeared perplexed. “But how can that be, Mercy? Don’t tell me you’ve come to accept that man’s unprincipled behavior?”

Mercy was poised to reply, then stopped herself as Risa swept back into the room bearing a silver tea service. The servant deposited her tray on the tea table. Mercy thanked the girl, and she left.

“Well, Mercy?” Anton prodded.

Mercy forced herself to gather her patience as she poured Anton tea and handed him his cup and saucer. She watched him take a sip.

“Are my grandparents well?” she asked.

He nodded, setting his cup down. “They’re getting by, although they still haven’t really recovered from your sudden departure.”