Destiny's Magic (14 page)

 

 

“What you doing, Miz Susan, shaking like a jellyfish?”

Because
I've been to heaven. And hell
. No money, no place to go. Mrs. Bilge Water, perhaps. Father's disgust. That she'd accepted—no, demanded!—Burke as lover, well, she was shallow. Only the shallow-minded would grab for the brass ring.

“It's cool in here.” Susan unwrapped fingers from her upper arms and centered her attention on the housekeeper at 21 rue Royale. “Quite cool.”

“That it is, even in summer.” Zinnia Jefferson took a dust rag from her pocket to wipe that table next to what was obviously Burke's favorite chair. “Those Frenchies, they didn't just fall off the turnip wagon when they planned these Vieux Carré houses. Just right for summers, these funny-looking places. Thick walls, shaded courtyards, shutters. But I could tell 'em a thing or two about kitchens, I could.”

Anything beat thoughts of the near future, so Susan studied the servant. Probably no more than thirty, Zinnia was roughly Susan's size and height. She wore a white tignon on her stately head, silver loops on her ears, and a gray dress that smelled of clothesline and being pressed by a hot iron. Her lovely skin shaded café au lait, her amber eyes bore the mark of intelligent confidence. She would give as good as she got.

Even though Anne Helene had been older, something about Zinnia sparked a reminder of Susan's former mammy. It could have been the dabs of vanilla that both women applied behind their ears. More likely, it was their slant toward plain speaking that bore no hint of antagonism, simply question.

Pippin being in the attic with the houseman, Keep Smile, to take a gander at stargazing paraphernalia, well, Susan found a modicum of relief. The boy did have big ears. And she figured the questions were going to become more personal.

“Girl, you like this sitting room?” Zinnia wanted to know after Susan asked twice if the outside shutters were locked. “It's got a pianoforte for bored fingers, a fireplace that won't choke you with smoke when y'all cuddling in wintertime, and a nice long sofa to . . . stretch out on. Room enough for two.”

“I play the flute. I'm not much for keyboards.”

“You just concentrate on the other niceties, then.” Winking, Zinnia lifted her skirts and swept toward the exit.

“Zinnia,” Susan said as they reached the carriagewide vestibule. It gave street entry into the three-story town house, and separated the sitting area and library from the drawing room on the eastern side of its mildew-flecked flagstones. “I'm not going to be here in winters.”

Where she would go was another issue.

“Mr. Burke said you met on his birthday. You'll be here. And your li'l ole boy.” Zinnia sailed into the courtyard, chattering about neighbors. “Remy Cinglure, he's a calaboose detective. Good-looking thing, boards with the widow next door. He'll make that Harkens girl an offer, sure enough.”

Susan followed her nose to a cornucopia of floral smells.

Zinnia said over a shoulder, “Far side of this courtyard, you got dining and breakfast rooms. Kitchen's behind the wall, but you don't hafta worry your pretty head about that.”

“Actually, I like to cook.”

Extending an arm first left, then right, and bringing her hands together, Zinnia intoned, “Upstairs you got bedchambers, dressing rooms, and water closets. Mr. Burke's suite be to the right and toward the street. He likes lotsa room. Still be plenty for more younguns.”

Susan couldn't help but take a glance at the graceful spiral staircase leading to the sleeping floor. A wide gallery with wrought-iron handrails circled it, and stood in front of tall, shuttered windows and doors. “What about the third floor?”

“The attic? It's for Mr. Burke's junk. And sleeping quarters for me and ole Keep Smile.” Zinnia twirled around, her hoop earrings jangling as she offered the courtyard. “Last but not least, this here is Keep Smile's pride and joy. Gaslights work. And you won't find green stuff growing in the fountain, or any leaves on the seats of these cast-iron chairs and love seats.”

A sturdy hand patted chairs situated to the right of a bubbling fountain; the round table held a pitcher of lemonade and a glass. “He's a scrubbing and sweeping fool, that Keep Smile. He's no Mr. Thomas Jefferson in the noggin, but you'll find that out on your own. It comes in handy, since he don't give no trouble when I tell him what to do. I like that in a man.”

“I should imagine you find your master somewhat of a challenge,” Susan commented dryly.

“I like a dare.” The saleswoman of sorts pointed to oleanders, azaleas, gardenias, roses, and English ivy decking the patio. “You won't find a roach flying outta those bushes.”

Susan couldn't help but laugh, which felt ever so good. “How does any home in New Orleans escape insects?”

“Don't ask me. That's Keep Smile's job.” Zinnia poured lemonade and handed the glass to Susan. “Drink up, girl.”

The beverage did wonders for her parched throat. But she wasn't here to settle in. Gloom settled as she thought of earlier today, and the rest of tomorrows.
You needn't leave.

“My son and I won't stay long.”

“You a gambling woman, Miz Susan?”

“No.”

“Too bad. I'd've took your money. You won't be leaving.” A knowing look in her almond-shaped eyes, Zinnia flipped one arched eyebrow heavenward. “I came to New Orleans with Mr. Burke, from Memphis. Been with the family for years. And before you go saying ‘master' again, I'm issue free. Jon Marc fought for the South, but the O'Briens never cottoned to slavery.”

“Then you know Phoebe.”

“ 'Course I do. How's that feisty redhead doin'?”

“Not too good.” Announcements about the romance between Phoebe and Throck were inappropriate. “She lost her magic lamp.”

“Get outta here. The lamp's gone? Um-um. That Miss Tessa must be out of her pea-pickin' mind.”

“I haven't the foggiest idea.”

Zinnia got back to the pitch. “Anyways, this house is ready for a mistress, and if you can find me a man needs a wife more than Mr. Burke does, you could take bourré money off me.”

Susan wouldn't argue the point. Nor would she make mention of how fearful she was to live in a town that would soon be blackened by the reappearance of a certain tightrope walker who just might be her legal husband.

“Don't you look at me skeptical-like. Mr. Connor got his wife, as expected, and Mr. Burke will get you too.”

A sparrow burst from an oleander.
If only I could fly away with you, birdie . . .
Never be held in Burke's arms again? Mama Loa, why was nothing ever simple?

“Wanna know how I know?” asked Zinnia. “Don't have all to do with that brass lamp, promise. I got help. Mr. Burke's rivermen let you on that riverboat, and it wasn't no mistake.”

Oh, how Burke had been deceived! “You seem to know a lot about goings-on.”

“I do. And I take action. Keep Smile, he carried me over to Congo Square one Sunday afternoon and introduced me to the hoodoo queen. Throck's been putting the love gris-gris under Mr. Burke's bed. It's working right along with that lamp.”

Hoodoo. It might keep Orson at bay too.

Susan wondered if she'd be welcome at St. Ann. It took money, or the promise of a returned favor, for spell-casting.

With no money, what was Susan to do? Pray that Burke's power to bend rules would prevail? She held on to hope as if it were a juju throughout the afternoon and into the dark of night. Each minute loosened her grip. His absence told a story in itself. He wouldn't bring good news about the bigamy issue.

Dear Lord, what would she do if he failed?

What would she do if he succeeded?

He wouldn't succeed. He might make his own rules, but laws were laws. If what Father charged were true, she would be doomed for the
Yankee Princess's
fate. Sunk. Or would she?

Restless, she roamed a bachelor's library. A tall leather chair sat before a desk holding a jar of licorice, a writing pen of gold, and vellum stationery. The word “West” upon a sheet, the penmanship pressed heavier at the end. What did
West
mean? Knowing steady and settled Burke, it wasn't go-West-young-man.

Ceiling-high bookcases held sextants and accoutrements of shipping, plus books on seamanship and erotica. She opened and closed a volume of the latter, then put it out of Pippin's reach.

Why should she look upon reminders of the carnal frailty that first got her in a terrible mess? A wicked grin eased her lips. With Burke the carnal was luscious!

She vacated the house for the gaslit courtyard, plopped down in a pristine love seat. A noise interrupted the gentle rush from the fountain. It sounded like a drum. Her imagination. Or was it the sound of an escape route? The lady of St. Ann just might be willing to help, for old time's sake.

Ridiculous.

That was no place for Pippin.

“Thought I might find you here,” Burke said from behind her. “I bring news.”

Burke didn't ease her mind with good news. He strode in front of her to run a forefinger down her jaw. “This courtyard has never been this inviting. You make a modest home beautiful.”

The residence at 21 rue Royale bespoke eighteenth-century elegance and this century's wealth; Susan enjoyed his praise for a moment. “Don't keep me guessing. What news do you bring?”

“First, your fiance wants a welcome-home kiss.”

The invitation in his expression reminded her of their mating aboard the
Edna Gal.
It wouldn't take much to answer the invitation. “We are not betrothed.”

“Aye, but we are. There's no bigamy. Any common-law relationship between you and Paget is void, since he's legally tied to Angela Paget.”

Susan's hopes took wings to the stars above. Burke didn't make the law, but he knew how to get around it. At least one dilemma had seen its end.

He said, “Tomorrow morning, I want you to shop. Buy everything you and the lad need, and more. Don't be shy. I've alerted the owners of the best stores to look for you. I want a decked-out bride. And son.”

“No.”

“Dammit.” He rocked back on his heels to rest a forearm across a knee. Gaslight played across his features, casting them in annoyed prominence. “You're penniless, your father won't help, you have a son who isn't yours. You can't hare off for England. There are laws. Speaking of which, there's the matter of Bilge Water. He could file charges against you.”

“How lovely it is to be a woman in these modern days. A man may beat his wife—be my guest, sir!—yet if she strikes back, then it is shackles and bars for her.”

“You weren't his wife.”

“The sheriff of Natchez believed me to be when I prostrated myself before him to beg clemency. Which he laughed at, calling me chattel to Orson.”

“Susan, forget all that.”

“How can I when you warn of a criminal charge?” Susan paused. “Laws are made for you to break. Break laws for me.”

“I won't let the bogeyman get you.”

A laugh vibrated through the courtyard as she threw her head back at the ironies of life. She'd gone from one hotspur to another. Yet they were as different as Sussex and New Orleans. Orson made her miserable; Burke offered the world.

Her eyes settled on Burke's intense gaze, silvered by moonlight. Her heart took an extra beat. Why would she want to escape him?

She touched his knee, all the invitation he needed. His kiss delved into the recesses of her mouth. A palm cupped Susan's breast, massaged, and it had the intended effect, for soon he got between her legs, her petticoats out of the way. His fingers now delved to her weak point. He brought her to the brink of ecstasy, then over it.

Her heart beat wildly as he said, “If you leave, think how much you'll miss me.”

To show just how much she'd miss him, he rocked back on his heels. He even had the audacity to chuckle, the sound superior and confident. “If you think to turn to your friends on St. Ann Street, don't. You need more than hoodoo, Susie Black-Eyes. You need
me
.”

Hoodoo. It hadn't worked for Zinnia, who'd asked for love for Burke. Or was it working?

“Susan, my sweet, I would love to be your husband. I want to see you happy. I can be quite energetic,” he teased, volleying a previous description, “and you know it. I propose making our marriage attractive to you. There's something—”

“You love Toni,” Susan declared.

He blinked. “She's dead. She died a long time ago.”

“What! Why did no one tell me?” But India had hinted. Poor Toni. “What happened?”

“She died. That's all. Grief fades in time. When Throck helped me put the bottle away, I realized life must go on. I'd like to go on with you.”

One of her hesitations in accepting Burke had been Antoinette Lawrence. Both Phoebe and India had advised that it was failure more than love that had almost wrecked his life, but did that make a difference?

Except for that night on the
Yankee Princess
, when he'd blurted out his trying times, he'd always been strong, a champion and a friend. How could she deny him a second chance at love?

Did she? Why? He was everything she'd not allowed herself to dream of. A perfect man. Almost Carmelita's prophecy. Yes, he had a temper, but his good moods outweighed the bad. Kind with Pippin, wonderful to her. Susan trusted Burke to protect them. It wasn't New Orleans that repulsed her, only the thought of Orson finding her there. Burke would keep him away. He was a man of his word. Dependable and trustworthy, passionate—oh, so passionate! That he was a joy to look upon seemed almost incidental.

Susan would win Burke's love.

Should she blurt out her feelings?

You've had a hellish day. Don't be shallow.
“Pippin expects you to point out Cancer,” she said. “I trust you'll allow me to go upstairs. Alone. I need to think.”

He allowed it. She went to the room next to Pippin's, each facing the courtyard on the west. In bed she considered the future and the now. Could she win Burke's love?

She was not what he wanted. He was bound by a magic lamp. Lovemaking might grow boring in time, as it had for Orson. How long would it be before Burke started to hate her?

 

 

The next morning Susan went to the open breakfast-room door. Burke sat at the table, sipping chicory coffee and answering Pippin's questions about the constellations. The riverboat captain, now landlocked, wore a snow-white shirt with a fine suit and cravat.

His green eyes moved from Pippin, found Susan. He smiled. He rose from the table and strode to her, taking her elbows. “We need to talk,” he said for her ears only.

She gazed at his handsome face, her insides afire at the thought of their sharing a marriage bed. “What do you mean?” she asked, fearing that he would back out.

He craned his neck around her. “Pip, finish your beignets. You've got shopping to do.”

“He's gonna send a minnow with us, Momma. You and me, we're gonna buy anything we need. Can you imagine?”

Susan tipped up a brow. “Minnow?”

“He means minion. Zinnia's word choice. Keep Smile will take you on your rounds.” Burke eyed Pippin's cleaned plate. “Cast off, lad. I want a word with your momma.”

Pippin charged from the eating room.

“Sit down, Susan. Let me pour your coffee.” Burke led her to the table and seated her next to his chair. Once she'd had the first worried sip, he parked elbows on chair arms and rubbed his mouth. “You've got your sights set on making a limey coxcomb out of the lad. You'll have that.”

“You're withdrawing your proposal?” she asked, and held her breath. Odd, how things could change in a day! What would she do if he didn't give her a chance to love him?

He answered, “I suggest we marry by Judge Duval. That way there won't be any religious entanglements.”

Her heart dropped. No religious entanglements? Did he think her totally pagan? Proud of the levelness in her tone, she said, “You've worked out the civil details, no doubt.”

“The license is right here.” He patted his breast pocket. “You can be on your way to England by New Year's Day. We can terminate our marriage by the end of 1868.”

He meant to discard her before the break of the new year? How clever. He would honor his aunt's quest for a bride, then be done with the leavings.

He, who had offered to protect her.

He, who turned a hesitant boy into a fast friend.

He, who had stolen her love!

Did he guess her feelings? Would he be that cruel, to play with her heart? Of course he would. Magic made him.

She sputtered, “Your plan is slightly more attractive than sheer madness.”

“Is it? I'll see after the Natchez business, and we'll adopt the boy. When we part, I'll sign custody over to you. You'll have sufficient money to sail away, to have food and clothing and more than mere necessities. I'll pay for you to establish your own residence in Sussex. Are you willing to accept my offer?”

Cut and dried. Not a breath of romance. No hint of love. But then, why expect love from a man bound by the supernatural? Would it make a difference, should she declare her love?
Mama Loa, please tell me I didn't disappoint in lust
. Now, that was ridiculous.

Susan said woodenly, “Winter crossings are horrid on the Atlantic.”

“I know that. We could extend our arrangement.” His teeth flashed. “Want to make it a year?”

“I wouldn't care to live under a cloud for so long.” She swallowed. “What will you gain from the marriage?”

“A wife.” He poured more coffee. “When you are gone, freedom from the curse.”

“What will Pippin think?”

“We'll explain the divorce away. It'll be amiable. My home and hearth will always be open to . . . Pip.”

He had it all figured out.

She would accept his offer, of course, would grab any chance to win his heart. Yet she made a vow to God and the deities: Love would never pass her lips unless Burke spoke three little words and meant them.

She studied the tension where his almost-dimples should be, saying, “You didn't mention the particulars of marriage. Considering its finite nature, I assume it will be in name only.”

“Wrong.”

Had he considered the dangers?

“Ours will be a marriage in every sense of the word.” He quit his chair and loomed over her. “I mean to have you in my bed, naked, until the end of the year.”

Less than six months to love him. But almost a half year to be in his arms, giving her heart and soul. A lot could happen between now and December. Always, she'd imagined herself with a houseful of children . . .

“What if we start a child?” she asked wisely.
What if we've got one now?

“I'll ward against it.”

Being ignorant of preventive measures, although she had heard there were ways, she asked, “How?”

He cleared his throat. “You know. Raincoats.”

“You wear a raincoat to bed? How cumbersome. And I fail to envision how one would help.”

He brought her fingers to his warm, warm groin. “Sweetheart, a raincoat the size of this.”

“Makes more sense.” She ached to probe the territory beneath her fingers. “What if it slips off, or something?”

His forthcoming answer both thrilled and concerned her, for it implied a velvet cage: “Black-Eyes, we'll be stuck for the rest of our lives.”

 

 

“Ye're stuck with me.” Throck bowed his gut over Burke's desk. “ 'Twill take more than accusing me of piracy and slaughter to get rid of the best pal ye ever had.”

Damn, it was good to see Throck. It capped an excellent morning. Well, not excellent. It tore at Burke, his sacrifice. He'd found a way to give Susan her freedom, but he was taking the biggest gamble of his life. Far chancier than commissioning a flagship when he couldn't afford it. What if he couldn't love her into forever?

Throck leaned closer. “Ye've got nothing to say to me?”

“I accused you of nothing,” Burke replied honestly. “You got touchy is all, when I brought up dynamite. Throck, I apologize if I offended you. Will you pocket the affront?”

“If ye'll agree to see your auntie.”

“Devious bastard,” Burke came back with a grin. “I'll see her. Is she outside the door?”

“Nay. Installed at Barataria, she is. Fishing and ogling the egrets. She's a Bay gal, me Phoebe. Told her I'd be back in a week or so. Didn't want to dash her hopes, in case yer Irish was still up.”

“A shame. I'd like to thank her. She brought me a bride.”

Throck's eyes got big as saucers. “Ye're married?”

“Not yet. This afternoon. I'm in need of a best man. You available?”

“Fish got fins?” Throck reached across the table to grab his hand and pump his arm. “Congratulations! Knew 'twas the right thing, hiding and letting the ladies aboard.”

Burke rolled his eyes and recalled his sassy housekeeper. “Why do I get the feeling you plotted with Zinnia?”

Innocence incarnate, Throck pressed hand to chest. “ 'Tis nothing I know about plotting.”

“Right.” Rounding the desk, Burke slapped the broad back. “Come on, old pal. Folks at 21 rue Royale are going to be pleased to see you.”

And they were. It was akin to a family reunion. Not a bad thing to happen. A great thing happened at half past one that afternoon.