“Mama,” he replied, “have you so quickly forgotten that your own grandfather was once a gardien on a French cattle ranch?”
“Why, Julian!” Wearing an expression of outraged pride, Madelaine flipped open her fan and began to wave it rapidly. “How dare you besmirch the memory of dear Grand-père.”
Julian rolled his eyes. “I’m not trying to besmirch his memory. I’m simply pointing out that perhaps you should not be so quick to judge.”
Madelaine shrugged. “Perhaps not. Still, I can hardly see you paired up with a mealy-mouthed convent bride.”
Julian laughed ruefully. “That’s a statement I’ll never hear from you once you meet Mercy.” His gaze hardened. “And it only emphasizes the precipitousness and unfairness of your presumptions about her.”
“Now, Julian, don’t pout,” Madelaine scolded. Studying him more closely, she smiled slyly. “Why, son, I do believe you’re in love with the girl!”
Julian colored to the roots of his hair.
“You are!” Madelaine exclaimed.
Julian surged to his feet. “Enough, Mama.”
Madelaine’s mouth was poised to pursue this delightful subject when Raoul entered with a silver tea service. The graying family servant set the tray down before Madelaine, bowed perfunctorily, and quietly left the room. Madelaine’s lips twitched as she leaned forward to pick up the Sheffield teapot. “Sit down, Julian, and have your tea,” she cajoled.
With angry, economical movements, he plopped back down in his chair, and took the tea and rice cakes she handed him.
Eager to dispel the tension, Madelaine winked at him. “Well, can you tell me how this happened?”
Julian clenched his jaw. “Mama, if you’re hinting that there’s been the least hint of impropriety—”
“Of course not. But can’t you at least indulge your mother’s curiosity regarding how her only son has chosen a bride?”
He shrugged and leaned back, crossing his long legs. “I’ve known Mercy for some time, and have visited with her frequently over the years—with the Sisters of Charity serving as chaperones, of course. I should think the rest would be obvious.”
Madelaine gestured in exasperation. “Julian, you’re impossible!” Devilishness danced in her eyes. “At least you’ll be giving me some grandchildren soon.”
His gaze narrowed dangerously. “You already have a grandson.”
Madelaine’s features blanched. “Oh, yes, and I’m most fond of dear little Arnaud,” she put in quickly and tactfully. “It’s good of you to bring him by to see me every fortnight or so. I’m just saying that it would be nice to have grandchildren I don’t have to visit with—well, in secrecy.”
“That’s a self-imposed restriction on your part,” Julian said.
Madelaine shook her head in consternation. “Julian, for the love of heaven! You’ve never had any respect for the constraints of society. You and that Begué woman—”
“I’ll not have you speak ill of Justine!”
Madelaine sipped her tea, giving her hot-blooded son a moment to calm down. At last, she said evenly, “Julian, if you’re marrying, the only honorable thing for you to do is to give the woman up.”
“I’ll never turn my back on Justine—or Arnaud.”
Undaunted, Madelaine raised a delicate brow at him. “And how does your bride-to-be fit into your grand scheme? You’d be a fool to tell her about your mistress, you know.”
That barb scored, and Julian frowned. Stiffly, he admitted, “Mama, Justine is no longer my mistress, and hasn’t been for many months. The truth of the matter is, we’ve become friends. However, I still have an obligation to her and my son—a responsibility I have every intention of honoring.” His gaze collided with hers. “Furthermore, I do intend to tell Mercy about Arnaud and Justine—when the time is right.”
Madelaine appeared horrified, her eyes widening. “Julian, have you gone mad? No wife in her right mind would put up with such an arrangement. Couldn’t you end your association with the woman and send the boy off to school or something?”
“Mama, you are intruding on areas that are none of your concern,” he warned.
“But isn’t it the child you really care about? There must be some way to get him away from that woman. Surely in time, we can find a way to explain Arnaud to our friends, and to your wife.” She frowned. “We could always say that he’s a distant relation, and was orphaned during an epidemic.”
Julian surged to his feet, dumping his teacup and saucer onto the coffee table. He spoke with choking anger. “Mother, what you are suggesting is unconscionable. To steal a child away from its mother? As always, I wonder why I’ve even come here. I bid you good day.”
Madelaine rose too, touching his arm and flashing him a look of entreaty. “Son, wait. If I’ve spoken imprudently, I apologize. Please believe that it’s your welfare I have in mind.”
Julian was silent, glowering at her.
“When shall I meet this girl?” Madelaine asked quietly.
He hesitated, thrusting his arms across his chest. “Actually, the purpose of my visit was to arrange a meeting,” he informed her in clipped tones. “But it seems we became diverted.”
“Julian—please.”
“Mama, I must warn you that if you should ever interfere between Mercy and me—suffice it to say, it will not be like the last time.”
At his bitter words, Madelaine practically wilted on the spot. She restrained a shudder at the mention of the argument that had almost torn them asunder four and a half years ago. Realizing that her son was deadly serious and that she herself was treading on thin ice, she raised her hand in a gesture of surrender. “Say no more. Now—when do I meet her?”
He sighed. “Name a date, and I’ll bring her by.”
“Next Tuesday—for tea?”
“Fine.”
“Does your intended have—er—someone to sponsor her for the nuptials, to see to her gown and trousseau?” Madelaine added stiffly.
“The sisters will be taking care of that.”
“Still, she must be introduced to society. Perhaps I can be of some assistance there?”
“Perhaps.”
Staring at her son’s forbidding countenance, Madelaine wisely resisted further comment. “Tuesday, then.”
“Tuesday. Good day, Mama. Stay well.” Julian pecked her cheek and strode from the room.
***
Watching her son leave, Madelaine Devereux sighed. She’d been stunned when Julian had announced that he was planning to marry his ward, a young woman Madelaine had never even met. From her son’s defensive reactions, Madelaine surmised that there must be an interesting story surrounding this young woman—and how Julian had become her betrothed. Indeed, she had always found it odd that Julian had taken the girl on nine years ago. Rearing an orphan was the very last thing she had expected her hot-blooded, virile twenty-year-old son to be interested in.
Stranger still, Julian was now clearly in love with the girl.
Actually, despite Madelaine’s protestations to the contrary, she had no intention of interfering in this obvious love match. For she knew that to do so would mean losing Julian.
Four and a half years ago, when Julian had broached the subject of marrying his octoroon mistress, Madelaine had taken a stand, and she had won. That stand had been critical, and the result had been entirely for Julian’s own benefit as far as his mother was concerned. Yet all her instincts told her that if she took that same intractable position again, Julian would turn his back on her forever.
Surely it had taken quite a woman to wrench Julian’s heart away from Justine Begué, Madelaine mused. Indeed, she couldn’t wait to meet this Mercy O’Shea.
***
A short time later, Julian sat in the parlor of Justine Begué’s cottage. Arnaud was still napping, and Julian was grateful to have this opportunity to speak with Justine alone. So far, though, they had shared their tea in an uncharacteristically strained silence.
At last, Julian set down his cup and turned to Justine, seated next to him on the settee. “It is done,” he said simply.
A look of mild surprise flashed across Justine’s amber eyes. “You’ve made plans to marry your ward?”
“Yes—I settled the details today, as a matter of fact.” He paused, deciding that there was no need to burden Justine with the appalling specifics of how and when he and Mercy had actually become betrothed. “I just informed Mama, as well.”
Both of them sobered at the mention of the woman who had done her best to drive them apart so long ago. “Does Madame Devereux approve?” Justine asked quietly.
“She wants to meet Mercy first.” Julian’s jaw tightened into a hard line. “But you can be sure she’ll approve—this time.”
Biting her lip, Justine glanced away.
Realizing his blunder, Julian caught her hand. “My dear, I apologize. I spoke without thinking.”
Justine shook her head. “You forget that I, too, fought your outrageous marriage proposal. I agreed with your mother in that. You simply could not defeat us both, Julian.”