Day Dreamer (8 page)

“Why can’t the three of you share a cabin? Certainly a cot could be arranged …”

“That’s impossible.” The corners of his lips twitched.

“Why?”

Cordero threw his hands up and shook his head. “Why? Why? Because I say so. I haven’t been married a day and already you are nagging me to death. Is this shrewishness something that girls learn at an early age or some mystical metamorphosis that takes place an hour after vows are exchanged?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call what passed between us last night an
exchange
of vows. You were barely lucid.”

“Lucky for you.”

“Nothing about this situation is lucky, if you ask me.”

“We haven’t weighed anchor. There’s still time to back out of this.”

She realized what he was up to. It was her last chance. She could leave him now if she chose, walk down the gangway and out of this dark comedy of errors.

But she knew she might just as well fashion a hangman’s noose for herself.

Celine took a deep breath. She looked at the bunk that was just wide enough for two. At least she had a few hours left before she had to face that dilemma, she consoled herself.

She forced herself to smile. “As much as you’d like me to leave, I’m staying. We’re merely having our first disagreement.”

“The first of many.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb.

“I’m sure,” she said.

“It’s going to be a long voyage, Jemma.”

“It will be if you insist on calling me that. I’ve told you time and again, that’s not my name.”

“But you’ve given me no alternative. What should I call you?”

There was no doubt that he was only humoring her. She glanced out the porthole at the city and took a deep breath. “Celine. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

He nodded. She didn’t like the way he was watching her from beneath half-lowered lids. She didn’t like it at all.

“Celine, then. If you insist. An interesting choice.”

“It’s my name. I prefer you use it.”

“Whatever you say. Just don’t nag.” His stare had grown quite intense and lingered on her lips so long that it made her nervous.

Somewhere the crew was weighing anchor with much shouting and an earsplitting rattling of chains. Celine walked to the window and watched the muddy water of the Mississippi rush past. The ship began to swing out away from the dock and take up the motion of the current.

“How should I address you?” she asked.

“Cord will do,” he said after a pause.

She nodded, wishing he would leave her alone. The thin walls of the cabin had already begun to grow confining. The room was barely large enough for one, let alone two. Privacy would be impossible. Celine grasped the window frame. The air in the cabin suddenly seemed humid and stagnant.

“Would you like to go up on deck?” Cord asked.

She could not hide her relief. “It is stuffy in here.”

He walked over to the door and stood aside. “After you, Jemma.”

Celine turned on him, ready to launch into protest, but then noticed the teasing glint in his eyes and figured it was better than having him glower at her.

Cordero raised his hands in surrender. “Cecilia. Ceylon. Celine. I’ll call you anything you like if it will stop your nagging.”

Celine refused to rise to the bait again.

With a tall glass of whiskey in hand, Cord comfortably lounged in a chair beneath an awning raised on the poop deck. He stretched out, crossed his legs and studied his new bride as she stood at the rail, observing their passage downriver. She had finally abandoned the hooded cape she had insisted upon wearing earlier despite the fall heat. Her slender hands lay upon the varnished rail, her tapered fingers curved over the rich wood surface. With her dark hair lifted on the breeze and her face turned to the sun, he grudgingly admitted to himself that she was more than lovely. He couldn’t help but wonder how Alex would have felt about her.

By nineteen, Alex had met Juliette, fallen in love and fathered his first child. Because the two could never marry, Alex had been content to remain a bachelor, but he was prepared to eventually align himself with someone acceptable, preferably another Creole whose bloodlines were well-known so that the family name would remain untainted. It was a rare Creole bride who went into marriage unaware that nearly every husband had two families, one secret and one recognized.

But this woman he had married was Irish American. Her father had recently moved to New Orleans from Boston. At the Latrobe house, Celine had expressed sympathy for the children, but how long, Cord wondered, would she have approved of Alex’s continued allegiance to Juliette, Liliane and Alan, had she married him?

When Cord thought of little Alan and the broken, hopeless look in Liliane’s eyes, he was reminded all too well of his own childhood. He knew what it was to have one’s life turned upside down because of the death of both parents.

He took another drink. The alluring woman beside the rail, his wife, had begun to stroll along the upper deck. The entire poop deck had been set aside for their pleasure, for there were no other first-class travelers. Cord watched Celine walk slowly along the rail and then pause in the stern and look back before turning her attention to the two sailors manning the wheel. The helmsman rang the bell marking ship’s time and another bell in the bow above the sailors’ quarters immediately echoed it.

The sailors smiled at her and before she proceeded on her way, Celine smiled back. The breeze off the river molded her gown against her, outlining firm breasts and shapely legs. Cord could see that the sailors were admiring her form just as he was and felt an unexpected surge of anger and a tug of possessiveness.

Finishing off the last of his drink, he realized that even though she might have been meant for Alex, this Jemma-Celine O’Hurley was now his. And in that stunning instant, Cord decided there was no reason why he should not take full advantage of his marital rights.

He stood up, empty glass in hand, and headed toward Celine, adjusting his stride to the motion of the ship. They were nearing the open sea. He felt a curious anticipation and was surprised, for any emotion other than anger had been foreign to him for so long. He did not know if he was more excited at the thought of returning to St. Stephen or of bedding his new bride.

Celine was leaning against the rail, intently watching a sailor climb the rigging with the agility of a monkey. Cord took a place beside her.

She glanced over at him, at the empty glass in his hand, and then looked away again. “I see you have taken up your favorite pastime.”

“I see you are still a nag.”

He could also see that she was fighting a smile. “Have you sailed before?” he asked.

“When I was a child.”

“Did it agree with you?”

She nodded. “For the most part it did. There were some bad days, though. I remember spending them in bed.”

“Then I’ll pray for rough weather.”

Her gaze flashed in his direction and locked with his.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked.

“Just that I’d be content to spend the entire voyage getting to know you—as my wife.”

She stiffened and looked away. Her fingers tightened on the rail. “How do you mean?”

“I think you know exactly what I mean, Jemma.”

“Celine.”

Cord edged closer until they were shoulder to shoulder. If she was frightened by him, she didn’t show it by trying to scoot away. Instead, she pretended to ignore him, but the stiffness in her back and shoulders told him she was all too aware of his nearness.

“We are husband and wife. Our wedding night might have been a disappointment, but you can rest assured I intend to make up for that tonight.”

“Don’t go to any lengths on my account,” she said softly, content to stare ahead and avoid his gaze.

Cord reached out and, half expecting her to pull away, looped a wayward strand of dark hair behind her ear. He traced his thumb along her cheek, down her throat, over her collarbone. She shivered.

“Why did you agree to this marriage?”

She turned toward him. She bit her lip and frowned, searched his eyes and then said, “I wanted to get out of New Orleans. I did not marry you because I wanted a husband.”

He felt an odd sort of relief. “At least neither of us suffers from delusions of love.”

In the center of the main deck below them, three sailors put their backs into rotating the capstan to raise more sail. Yards and yards of canvas snapped full and billowed as the ship cleared the final shoals. Freed by the wind, the
Adelaide
split the water as they headed into the open sea.

Cord watched Celine push back from the rail, extend her arms before her and stretch. She turned to him with a slight smile.

“Since both of us had reasons other than love for entering into this arrangement, then you must agree that it would be absurd to assume we should sleep together.”

“I wasn’t talking about sleeping,” he assured her.

“You know very well what I meant. I do not know you at all.”

“That is probably to your advantage. Besides, what does that have to do with marriage? Don’t tell me you believe in all that hogwash about romantic love?”

She blushed.

“You do,” he said, appalled.

She was watching him closely, looking up into his eyes, searching them as if she were trying to see into his soul. Cord felt a twinge of discomfort.

“In Louisiana arranged marriages are an everyday occurrence. Few Creoles marry for love.”

“But I’m sure the participants have at least met before the wedding,” she argued.

“Probably,” he admitted grudgingly.

“We never laid eyes on each other before last night.”

“Correct.”

“I had hoped you would grant me some time before expecting me to perform my … my wifely duties.”

Cord turned around and found her staring at him in wide-eyed horror. He leaned back with his elbows on the rail and smiled. He tried to imagine trade winds carrying the scent of the tropical waters as he closed his eyes and tipped his face toward the afternoon sun.

“I will grant you some time,” he conceded.

“Thank you.”

She sounded so relieved that he tilted his head toward her and raised his eyelids just enough to see her reaction. “You can rest assured I won’t press you until tonight.”

Six

B
y late afternoon the Louisiana coastline had disappeared. The swells increased with every passing hour, but the
Adelaide
sailed valiantly over each crest and climbed every trough. Celine remained at the rail long after Cord left her, trying to acquaint herself with the pitch and roll of the ship. She stared off at the far horizon, wondering what was in store for her.

One word played itself over and over in her mind.

Tonight
.

Tonight Cord would expect her to perform her conjugal duty. The very idea of it filled her with dread—not because of ignorance of the act itself, for she knew far more about that than most girls her age, but because too many firsthand recollections of her mother plying her trade had been burned into her memory. The groaning, the panting and sweating, the feigned cries and whimpers of false passion were all elements of sordid scenes she never would forget.

Persa had once told her that Jane Winters had shared far too much with a curious five-year-old.

“
Your mother, rest her soul, was a whore
,” Persa had said. “
And by the grace of God, you will never become one
.”

“
Then what will I do?
” Celine had asked.

“
First, you will learn to survive on your own, and then
—
but only if you desire it
—
you will marry. A woman should have the right to choose. Some women, for one reason or another, are not suited for marriage
.”

Persa’s eyes had misted, and Celine recalled how the old woman had absently rubbed her crippled hip.

“
Remember this well, Celine: I will see to it that you never have to whore like your mother
.”

She was only five when Persa had taken over her care, and from that day on Celine’s life had changed forever. There had been no more squalid rooms in back alleys. No more fear of hunger. Nothing remained of the sordid life her real mother had led. Persa had seen to it that Celine’s was a life of pleasant routine. The old gypsy understood her better than anyone. Persa had never made fun of Celine’s gift or recoiled in fear of her touch.

Fate had thrown them together, Persa had always said, because Celine needed to learn when to use her gift and how to close her mind to the visions, how to guard her touch and use her second sight only when needed.

True to her word, Persa had taught her to survive. Before she was old enough to work in their shop selling potions, Celine had hired out as a companion to an old woman down the street. She knew the pride of counting the coins she had earned from long hours of work. Thanks to Persa’s training, she was able to get the most for her money at the market. She learned how to save and knew the difference between things she needed and things she merely wanted.

But nothing she had learned about the men who visited Persa’s shop had prepared her for marriage. She knew with certainty what a good whore did in bed, but not what a good wife did.

Tonight, by law, she would have to give herself to Cord. Without love, would she be any better than her mother? Any better than a whore?

The ship’s bell sounded, forcing her to set aside her dark thoughts. She had but a quarter hour to freshen up before dinner. Two members of the crew were in the saloon as she passed through to get to her cabin. They were bustling in and out of the open pantry, tending the covered pots of food that had been carried from the galley in the bow of the ship. All of the cabin doors were closed save for one that belonged to Josiah Campbell, the ship’s surgeon superintendent. He was a spry, thin-faced gentleman with white hair and deep smile lines that bracketed his mouth and creased the corners of his eyes. Dr. Campbell acted as go-between for the captain and the crew and passengers. Since there was far from a full complement of travelers this voyage, the doctor had time on his hands.

He was seated on a cane chair just inside his cabin door studying the pages of a book in his lap. He paused long enough to look up and smile as Celine made her way across the saloon. She nodded and then gently knocked on the door to her cabin. She didn’t relish walking in on Cordero unannounced, and catch him unawares.

The door to the adjoining cabin opened and Foster, dressed far more like a gentleman than a servant, poked his head out and smiled.

“Can I be of ’elp, ma’am?”

“I was just going to freshen up and I wondered if … if my husband was inside.”

Foster shook his head. “ ’E’s in the captain’s cabin. Said to tell you ’e’ll join you for dinner. I’ve taken the liberty of laying out a gown for you.”

Celine looked down at the traveling outfit she was wearing and wondered why he expected her to change. She was still uncomfortable wearing Jemma O’Hurley’s clothes. It was one thing to take a woman’s unwanted fiancé, but quite another to wear out her clothes.

An hour later she was seated on a bench at the long dining table, wedged between her new husband and the captain’s mate, both of whom seemed content to do little more than stare down the gaping front of yet another ill-fitting bodice. Celine was so nervous she was not certain she could manage at all. Aside from the fact that her husband had insisted he would claim his rights later this evening, she was the only woman in the presence of Cord, the mate, the surgeon superintendent and Captain Isaac Thompson. She had been disappointed when she’d learned that Foster and Edward would be taking their meals with the steerage passengers, where they would apparently feel more comfortable. When she’d protested, Cord had assured her it was their choice and not his.

A set of fiddle rails ran the length of the table to keep the china from sliding off onto the floor. The sea had become so rough that the plates slid from side to side between the rails. The table and benches were bolted to the floor.

“Are you finding your accommodations to your liking, Mrs. Moreau?”

It wasn’t until Cord nudged her that Celine realized the captain was addressing her. The man seemed to be totally oblivious to the fact that the ship was groaning and straining at every seam. Isaac Thompson was a congenial sort who looked to be in his midforties, with brown hair and eyes and the beginnings of a paunch at his waistline.

Celine watched as a halo of light from the lamp swinging above the center of the table momentarily highlighted his features, then answered, “The cabin is fine, thank you.”

“I understand you are newly wed.” He smiled over at Cord. “My congratulations to you both.”

When the captain lifted his wineglass in a toast, Celine watched the cabernet slosh with the motion of the ship. Its rhythm matched that of the lanterns swaying above them. She tried to concentrate on the man’s smile rather than the constant rolling motion of the ship.

Cord acknowledged the toast with a nod and drained his wine. Celine wondered if it would help to match him glass for glass. She might very well pass out and he would be forced to wait to press her into doing her wifely duty. She took a gulp of wine, came up sputtering and decided she would leave overindulgence to her husband.

Captain Thompson signaled one of the sailors in the nearby pantry to refill his plate with mutton and boiled potatoes. Celine glanced down at her food, which she had barely touched, and felt faintly nauseous. She swallowed and tried to concentrate on what the captain was saying.

“Seeing you two together reminds me of my wife. She comes along whenever she can, but she’s near the end of her confinement and had to stay at home.”

He forked a slice of mutton, piled potatoes on top of it and lifted the concoction to his lips. Celine looked away as he shoveled the food into his mouth. Cord had eaten one helping of everything and seemed now to be content with just wine. He did not comment on the captain’s statement.

“Is this your first child?” she asked.

The captain washed down his food with another hearty swallow of wine and shook his head. “Got five already. You would think that would be enough, but my wife loves babies. About the time we’ve got the last walking, she’s after having another.”

He cut another piece of lamb and paused with his fork halfway to his lips. Winking at Cord, he said, “I can’t say as I mind having to oblige.”

Celine dropped her fork, which clattered against her plate. She set down her knife and folded her hands together in her lap.

“Where do you make your home, Captain? In the West Indies?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“No. Heavens, no. My wife hates the islands. Too hot, too humid, still too uncivilized for her,” he said, laughing. “I understand your husband is returning after a long absence, but have you ever been there, Mrs. Moreau?”

Celine grabbed the stem of her wineglass to prevent it from tipping over. “No. I’ve not had the pleasure.”

Cord deftly took the glass from her. The blood red cabernet sloshed near the lip, threatening to spill. He leaned close and murmured in her ear, “You should drink this. It’ll take the edge off.”

She ignored him, but her heart began to beat double-time. He drank the wine for her.

Dr. Campbell had finished his dinner and appeared to be asleep, but suddenly he spoke up. “The islands aren’t for everyone, that’s for certain. Some people don’t take to the tropical heat, especially Englishwomen. I’ve seen some who cover themselves completely, head to toe, kerchiefs tied about their heads and faces, hiding under parasols to keep every bit of sun off their fair skin. Don’t go out at all during the day; they say it’s—”

Cord cut him off effectively. “My mother was English. She never even wore a hat.”

“I’d say she defied convention,” Captain Thompson said.

“You might say that,” Cord replied. Then so softly that he was almost speaking to himself, he added, “She liked to dance beneath the stars, too.”

Celine reminded herself to ask him more about his mother.

The doctor looked over at Celine. “You’re not English, I take it, Mrs. Moreau?”

“She’s Irish,” Cord volunteered.

“I’m not,” she said. “Actually, I am English. I was born in London.”

“Quite exotic features for an Englishwoman,” Dr. Campbell noted to no one in particular.

The ship lurched, and Celine nearly fell off the bench. When Cord reached out to steady her, she quickly righted herself.

“My father was a gypsy,” she said, hoping to shock Cord. With his Creole background, she doubted he wanted a wife whose blood was tainted in any way. She hoped the disclosure would keep him from wanting to bed her. But when she glanced up at him, she could see that her admission had not disturbed him in the least.

“You’ll stand the heat better than a fair-skinned woman. Extreme heat doesn’t bother the slaves, they say,” the doctor noted sagely.

“That’s merely an argument made in favor of keeping them toiling in the hot sun during the heat of the day,” Cord told him. “It’s been my experience that they drop from the heat just like anyone else.”

The first mate, a redheaded man, younger than the others by far and even younger than Cord, had been silent up to now. He tore his gaze away from Celine’s breasts long enough to comment.

“Are you against slavery, then, sir, if you see them as men? If so, you are going to meet opposition on St. Stephen.”

Cord let the captain fill his wineglass again and took a sip before he answered. “I have no idea what awaits me on St. Stephen.”

“But you have land there?”

Celine listened with interest.

“Dunstain Place. A plantation of nearly two hundred and fifty acres.”

“I assume that, as an absentee owner, you have an overseer?” the captain asked.

“A manager,” Cord replied.

“Do you intend to grow sugar? That requires quite a labor force. You may have to change your views on slavery.”

“I’m not sure what condition the plantation is in at this point. There were fields and fields of sugar when my father was alive. I’ll have to see what it will take to put the place back into production.
Most
of my plans are still quite indefinite, in fact. I live one day at a time.”

When Cord looked down at Celine and smiled, she knew that he was subtly letting her know that his plans for tonight were quite definite. She shivered despite the closeness of the quarters and the heat from the warming stove in the pantry.

Celine traced the floral design on the rim of her dinner plate as the mate entered into quiet conversation with the doctor. The idea that if she chose to remain with Cord she would have to take her rightful place as mistress of well over two hundred acres of land and an estate filled her with dread. Along with running the household, all responsibility for the health and welfare of any slaves he might own or acquire would fall to her. It was one thing to learn to be self-sufficient in a small shop in New Orleans, but she had no idea how to cope with the role of mistress of a sugar plantation.

The captain had emptied another plate of food. He signaled one of the men waiting in the pantry and the sailor began to clear the table.

The scent of lamb and onions lingered in the saloon, and Celine longed to go back on deck. Captain Thompson wiped his mouth with a napkin and then said, “I hope you don’t mind being the only woman aboard, Mrs. Moreau.”

“Not at all.” It wouldn’t matter if she were one of one
hundred
women aboard, she thought ruefully. She was the one Cord wanted tonight.

“We usually carry quite a few passengers, but the weather can be so unpredictable this time of year that not many want to make the journey. We’re well into hurricane season.”

She had not known. Now that she did, she realized she’d not only have to deal with Cordero Moreau, but with the possibility of a hurricane.

By the time the table was cleared the
Adelaide
was bouncing like a cork in a washtub. Celine excused herself, performed a precarious walk across the saloon and left the men to their port and cigars. A shuttered door was all that separated her from their loud conversation and the pungent, nauseating scent of their cigars. But the odor managed to filter into the small cabin.

She locked the doors to both the saloon and to Foster and Edward’s adjoining cabin and prepared to change out of the pale peach gown. Jemma O’Hurley’s trunk was wedged in the corner near the bunk, its lid raised so that she might have easy access to the wardrobe inside. One of Cord’s servants had carefully spread a white lawn nightgown across the bunk. Steadying herself with one hand, Celine quickly wriggled out of her evening gown and tossed it toward the trunk. The sight of the bed gave her pause. It looked far too small for two.