“It was your mother’s money—and by all rights should be yours now,” he pointed out gently.
Mercy did not reply.
Anton sighed. “Madame, I’ll be in New Orleans for several more days. Will you at least give the matter some thought? Truth to tell, your grandparents are old and rather infirm. It would mean the world to them if you would come to Natchez—if only for a brief visit.”
Mercy stared proudly at him. “Very well, I’ll think the matter over. But that’s all I can promise at this point.”
“And that’s all I can ask.” He bowed gallantly. “I’ll be staying at the St. Louis Hotel. I’ll eagerly await your reply.”
She extended her hand. “I’ll be in touch.”
After Anton Gerard left, Mercy paced, feeling more confused than ever. She was still in a state of shock regarding her cousin’s astounding visit.
Why had Madelaine Devereux contacted her mother’s people in Natchez in the first place? It was most odd . . .
Should she consider a visit? In her mind, there was little the Dubois could do to atone to her, after heartlessly disowning her mother.
Yet she was practical enough to recognize a possible solution to her life’s problems when she saw it. Perhaps her grandparents did feel deep regret for their treatment of her mother. Perhaps she at least owed them a hearing. Afterward, if their explanations failed to satisfy her, she could still reject a future relationship with them.
And to think that she might have a life apart from Julian. The possibility brought a brief flash of hope, followed by an unwelcome, wrenching sadness at the thought of leaving him. Still, he did not want her here, as evidenced by his cruel words this morning. Indeed, nothing had been right between them since they’d returned to New Orleans.
Then, as she recalled Anton’s invitation to both of them, she couldn’t help but remember the beauty and joy of her honeymoon with Julian. Much as he had hurt her, the softer side of her still yearned to recapture those blissful days. If she and Julian went away together, could the magic be restored in their marriage? Were they indeed doomed as long as they remained here in New Orleans?
Could she get up the courage to ask him to take her to Natchez?
Then she laughed bitterly at her own foolish thoughts. She’d already tried to effect a reconciliation with him, and he’d flung her feelings back in her face. He’d made it clear that he would always use her to sate his lusts, and never love her. If she asked him to go with her to Natchez, he’d likely laugh himself silly . . .
Still, she hungered for him so much.
Mercy clenched her fists and blinked back tears. Despite her misgivings, she very much feared she would soon swallow her pride and ask Julian to take her to Natchez.
***
At Justine’s house, matters were not improving. All day, Arnaud coughed and thrashed about deliriously. Julian, Justine, and Henrí took turns ministering to the child, sponging him off and trying to spoon medicine and broth down him. His fever did not diminish, his breathing remained raspy, and when he occasionally opened his eyes, his gaze was glazed and unfocused. Sometimes he recognized his parents; more often he didn’t. At times he ripped at the covers and talked out of his head. Watching the child’s helpless suffering wrenched his parents’ hearts.
That evening the doctor returned. After examining Arnaud, he pronounced that the boy did not appear in any immediate danger. Still, the physician’s expression was grave as he left.
Midnight found Julian and Justine sitting together on narrow chairs next to the bed, watching their child with stark apprehension. Arnaud had at last fallen into a fretful slumber, although the sound of his shallow, labored breathing was worrisome to hear.
Justine turned to Julian. “The doctor told us we won’t know anything tonight. You must go home now.”
“Non,” Julian replied hoarsely, turning to her with vehement passion in his eyes.
“But what about Mercy? She must be terribly worried.”
Julian laced his fingers together beneath his chin. His tormented gaze fixed on his ill child. “She’ll just have to understand.”
“Oh, Julian.” Justine’s expression was deeply troubled. “That’s not fair to her, my dear. Go home to her, pray, if only for a few hours.”
He hesitated. “I might, if I thought you would get some rest.”
“I will. But only if you’ll go home.”
While Julian continued to waver, Henrí stepped up to the portal. “Go home, maître—I’ll see that Justine rests.”
Both of them watched Henrí stride into the room carrying a tray with a steaming teapot and cups. “I’ll care for the lad tonight,” Henrí promised, staring poignantly at Arnaud. His voice cracked with emotion. “I assure you that he’ll be in the best of hands. For, you see, I love the boy, too.”
Julian smiled gratefully. “We could never doubt that, Henrí. Still—”
“I’ll come get you, maître, the minute there’s any change,” Henrí added gravely.
“But when will you rest?” Julian asked him.
“When you come back in the morning.”
“Please, Julian, go home,” Justine beseeched.
At last he nodded and stood. Justine also rose, and the two parents stared for a last, anguished moment at their sick child. Julian groaned and squeezed Justine’s hand. “We won’t lose him, love,” he whispered. “Neither of us could bear it.”
“But what if we must?” she asked in a small voice.
Julian could only hug her quickly, desperately, and turn away so that she couldn’t see the terrible anxiety in his eyes.
***
When Julian slipped into bed an hour later, Mercy was fast asleep. Should he awaken her and tell her what was happening? He knew that she was furious with him already. Was she angrier still because he’d stayed away so long?
He touched her arm in the darkness, and she rolled away from him, drawing the covers up over her back. What had he expected?
Julian lay awake long thereafter. He remained deeply troubled over his marriage, but for now, Arnaud’s illness must take precedence. Indeed, he felt extremely torn that he’d left his son’s side at all, even if for Mercy’s sake. At first light, he would return to Arnaud.
Chapter Twenty-six
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When Mercy awakened the next morning, Julian was gone. She stared at his rumpled pillow next to her; his musky scent still clung to the bedclothes.
She vaguely remembered him joining her in bed in the middle of the night and reaching for her in the darkness. She remembered turning away. What else could he have expected after he came home so disgracefully late? She was certain he’d spent the stolen hours with Justine, as he surely had so many times before. He would never change. Julian would never stop hurting her. Perhaps she should go on to Natchez and try to start a new life there.
***
Julian arrived at Justine’s cottage to find his son much worse than yesterday, and even less aware of his surroundings.
That morning, a heavy rain began to fall; it seemed an ill portent. Frantically worried, Julian and Justine sat with their child, searching his features for any sign of recovery. There was none.
The doctor came just before noon. He was particularly concerned by Arnaud’s hacking cough, his strained breathing, and his general listlessness.
Throughout the day, the child’s condition deteriorated. His eyes began to appear sunken, with deep purple lines beneath; his cheeks were fever-bright. The teas that Justine brewed from feverfew and horehound failed to calm his cough or lower his soaring temperature. Indeed, attempts to spoon broth or even laudanum down the boy were largely unsuccessful, as he choked up much of what was fed him.
Henrí flitted in and out of the room, assisting them where he could. The rain stopped, but Arnaud only worsened; his breathing continued to grow more shallow, and his skin grew waxy, except for the worrisome bright red fever spots on his cheeks.
When the doctor returned toward sundown, he examined Arnaud’s throat and heavily coated tongue; he listened to the boy’s chest, then pronounced gravely that the child had contracted double pneumonia. “You may wish to call a priest before too long, m’sieur,” was all the weary man could say.
As soon as he left, Justine collapsed hysterically into Julian’s arms. “Oh, Julian, I just cannot bear it! It has been so sudden. There, has been no time to prepare, to say goodbye—”
“I know, love. I know.”
Julian held Justine and blinked back tears as both of them helplessly watched their child slip farther away from them. Justine did not even ask if Julian would go home tonight, for it was obvious now that Arnaud would not likely survive to see another dawn.
During the endless night that followed, Justine and Julian sat by Arnaud’s bed. Haltingly, they spoke of the night he was born. When Julian had heard Justine’s screams, he’d burst into the room, defying the doctor and holding her hand at the moment of birth. When their lusty, howling infant had been placed in their arms, they’d both cried with him.
Through tears, they recalled Arnaud’s first babbled words, his first tentative steps. They remembered his gurgled laughter, his wet kisses, his rosy cheeks on a cold winter day . . . the love he’d brought them both . . .