Josette (13 page)

Cameron had known all this before he set foot through her door. Why, that deceitful, game-playing vermin. “And you are on your way to his place of business now? Is that why you stopped by, to show me your new uniform and tell me that you'd found decent employment?”

A moment passed while René studied the toes of his new shoes as if he'd suddenly gone shy. “
Oui
.”

“Then when you get there, please tell Mister Andrews I would like to see him. No, don't tell him I would
like
to. You tell him you have orders to see that he gets here. And take Alexia with you. You can look after her while he meets with me.”

René shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “Impossible. I have a job to do.”

She planted her fists on her hips and went nose to nose with him. “Well, so do I, René. So do I.”

His demeanor shifted, and he took on that fatherly look that, at her age, she despised. “What happened between the two of you when he was here last night?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Nothing happened. And who told you he was here?”

“Bastièn informed me.” Those assessing eyes of René's held steady on hers. “If nothing went on, then why are you so upset? Did he diddle with you like he did Solange?”

She could feel the heat run right up her cheeks. “That crude remark does not deserve an answer. And Bastièn needs to mind his own business.”

“Ah,
chère
, by the looks of who I chased out of here this morning, I might need to watch over you myself.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a calling card. “I found this tucked in your door. What's this man doing here?”

Puzzled, Josette took the card. Vennard! Her stomach did a somersault. Why would he contact her at home? Her day was getting worse by the minute. “I don't know, René. I don't know.”

“He's a married man with a grown daughter getting married today. You been messin' with him?”

“Don't be vulgar. I am not
messing
with anyone. For heaven's sake, his wife is my best customer.”

“Then perhaps I should call on your Monsieur Vennard and learn of his purpose for the visit to your private residence,
oui
?”

“
Non
.” Good Lord, she couldn't let René get within reach of Vennard. She had to think of something. “His daughter has been visiting the shop, as well. Since it's to be her wedding day, he might be seeking me out for something having to do with that. I am a businesswoman, in case you've forgotten. Even though Madame Vennard can be rude, and her daughter quite arrogant, they are my best customers, so don't go mucking things up.”

He continued to study her through narrowed eyes. “As you wish.”

Oh, she couldn't take much more. “Then see yourself out. I need my privacy. And take Alexia with you to the shipping company, and don't forget to inform her father I wish to see him at once.”

Eyes flashing fire, René turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen. “I will do as you ask. But don't you forget who Alexia's papa is and who her
maman
was, and how those two came to be together.”

Josette closed the parlor door and sat on the sofa Lucien had vacated. What the devil had gone wrong with her life?

Cameron reached the shipping office at the same time as the errand boy. “Morning, Henri.”

“A good day to you, monsieur. The
Dianah
sails for England on the next tide.” He waved a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Everything's in fine order.”

Cameron glanced over the boy's shoulder at the clipper floating heavy in the water. Sailors scurried every which way, readying for departure while the captain leaned against the ship's railing overlooking the whirlwind of activity.

Common sense told Cameron it was merely a vessel with a name painted on it, but his heart said otherwise. He and Dianah had given the beauty a second christening after its arrival in San Francisco. They'd taken the clipper to sea for a week—the devil with the cost—and sailed up and down the California and Oregon Territory coastline without a care in the world. At the memory, the band around his chest cinched tighter.

“Anything amiss, monsieur?”

Cameron pulled his mind out of the past and focused on the boy. “I was merely noting all the activity. There's always a bit of excitement at a time like this, isn't there?” He made to step through the door, but paused. “I'll take the papers to Abbott. You go on back to Captain Croxton and tell him I'd like a quick walk-through before he sets sail.”

Shaking off the odd impact the
Dianah's
imminent departure had on him, Cameron strode into the office and, bidding Abbott and Michel a good morning, set the bills of lading on Abbott's desk. “Any rum go missing last night?”

Michel leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “Not a drop.”

Cameron grunted. “Fancy that.”

“What do you have in mind regarding that questionable relative of yours?” Michel asked.

“Questionable relative? If you value your neck, cousin, you will never again refer to René as having any connection to me. As for his employment, how about we send him on a training voyage somewhere out to sea?”

Michel laughed. “A good long journey ought to give him a decent education in the business of shipping. China perhaps?”

“There's a thought.” At the sound of a light rapping on the open door, Cameron turned. A dark-haired beauty stepped over the threshold, her pale yellow gown hugging voluptuous curves.

Michel jumped to his feet. “Felicité! Where the devil did you come from?”

His sister laughed and threw her arms around him. “From upriver. Weren't we born and raised there?”

Cameron squinted. “Felicité, is that you?”

“Cameron!” She pushed away from Michel and gave Cameron a hug, dropping a kiss on each cheek. “Why, I haven't laid eyes on you since Trevor shot you. He said you gave up the San Francisco office and sailed to China. What happened?”

Merde.
“Obviously, I am not in the Orient, as you can well see.”

Unwinding her hold on him, Cameron set her at arm's length and looked her over. “I never would have recognized you as that same skinny girl of sixteen who used to follow me around and drive me to Bedlam. Too bad your manner of speaking hasn't changed along with the rest of you.”

Dimples creased her cheeks and she did a slow pirouette. “I'll be twenty-one next month. You used to call me skinny ninny. Can you still say the same?”

Cameron grinned as the old urge to tease crept in. “I can leave out the skinny, but as for the ninny part, that remains to be seen.”

Michel intervened. “Hold on, Felice. I knew you were on your way here from England, but how did you land at Father's and not here first?”

“I sailed to Boston, conducted some business for Trevor regarding the completion of a new ship, and then, rather than catch a clipper to New Orleans, I decided to take a train to the Mississippi, then a steamboat downriver to Papa.”

“Why a train?” Cameron asked.

She shrugged. “Other than short jaunts in Europe, I've not traveled on one before. However, I do intend to sail back to England from here. One journey by rail was enough to convince me of the luxury of traveling on the Andrews shipping line.”

Abbott introduced himself, and Michel asked where she was staying in the city and for how long.

She gave her brother a patronizing smile. “Why, I'm staying with you, Michel. Your butler let me in so my things are already in the guest room. Lovely home, by the way. I didn't know you had such good taste.”

She turned to Cameron. “The years have been good to you. You resemble Trevor even more. The two of you appear more like brothers than do he and Michel.”

Cameron laid a hand over his heart. “And hard as it is for me to admit, you've changed from a gangly young filly into a beautiful woman.” A private memory took hold of Cameron. “You look like your mother, only taller.”

“Which means I also look like
your
mother since they were sisters.” Felicité's voice softened. “You miss her still?”

“Of course,” Cameron responded. “How long will you be staying?”

“In New Orleans? Not long. I simply cannot pass up a visit to Madame Charmontès, so I'm here for a few days while I choose some designs, then I need to get back to Papa.”

She turned to Michel. “Trevor sent me to try to talk Papa into selling the plantation since he won't pay you or Trevor any heed. If Papa agrees, I'll remain until everything is in order and take him back to England with me. If not, I'll stay with him about a month. I do miss England, along with its convenience to Paris.”

Addressing Cameron, she said, “Our brother is still convinced there's trouble brewing between the North and South, and he wants Father safely in England. Do go see Papa, Cameron.”

“I intend to.”

“Good, and take Michel with you. Papa will like that. I'm afraid he's quite lonely, although he won't admit it.”

Michel rolled his eyes. “You're not here five minutes and already you're ordering everyone around.”

Alexia rushed through the door. “
Bonjour
, everyone.
Bonjour,
Monsieur Abbott!”

Abbott set his pen down and frowned. “Am I not considered a part of the
everyone
group, you little curmudgeon?”

Eyes wide, Alexia stumbled to a halt in front of Felicité. “You're almost as pretty as
ma tante
.” She shot a wary glance back and forth between Cameron and Felicité. “Who you be?”

Felicité smiled at the girl. “I'm Monsieur Michel Andrew's sister. And who are you?”

Relief flooded Alexia's countenance. She puffed up her chest and struck at it with her thumb. “I be Alexia Thibodeaux. Or mayhap Alexia Thibodeaux Andrews. I don't rightly know.”

She turned to Cameron, her Cajun patois growing thicker with every word. “What I be, Papa?”

Felicité made a slow turn toward Cameron, her eyes glittering, her lips fighting a grin. She raised a brow. “Papa?”

Cameron sidestepped the answer and responded with, “Who brought you?”

“Uncle René. He be looking over the ship about to sail, says it's his job now.” She beamed at Felicité. “My uncle and Papa, they work together now. Right nice, don'cha know.”

At that, she rushed over to Abbott. “
Ma tante
gave me some coin to take you out for a beignet.”

Abbott's bushy brows knitted together. “Why?”

“For causing disruption in your work yesterday. I truly am sorry, Monsieur Abbott. Truly, I am.”

Abbott, still frowning, reached into a drawer and withdrew a fresh bottle of India ink and a pen. “Here. Now leave mine alone.”

Felicité could have been watching a cricket match for the way her head went from Abbott and Alexia to Cameron and back again.
Papa?
she mouthed at Cameron.

He shot her a menacing look.

She laughed. “Oh, please, do let's have a family dinner at Antoine's this evening. I am simply dying for some conversation with a little punch to it.”

Alexia whipped around. “Am I your family, too, mademoiselle? I never been to a fancy place like Antoine's. I only peek in the windows.”

Cameron cringed while Michel observed the entire scene in obvious amusement.

Felicité made her way over to where Alexia stood, tapping the point of her parasol on the floor with each deliberate step she took. “Since you are Cameron's daughter, I do believe that would make us first cousins once removed, so certainly you should join us for dinner. How old are you?”

“Thirteen, but I have me a birthday next week.”

Felicité touched a gloved finger to her cheek in a feigned moue. “Oh, I have always been so very good at mathematics, Cameron.” She turned to Abbott. “If you should require any assistance with . . . ahem . . . addition, feel free to call on me.”

“I'm Solange Thibodeaux's daughter if that's what you're getting at,” Alexia said while studying the ink label. “She worked at Madame Olympée's and died when I was born, but that was after Papa got shipped off to England, so he didn't know nuthin' about it until a bit ago.”

Michel chuckled and sat back in his chair.

Felicité pursed her lips in a futile attempt to hide a smile. “Aren't you the clever one? I have a feeling we're about to become the best of friends.”

Alexia shoved the bottle of ink into her pocket and with a tilt of her head, studied Felicité.

Abbott stood and cleared his throat. “Come along, Miss Alexia. Let's see about those beignets.”

The moment they were out of sight, Felicité marched over to Cameron. “Don't tell me Alexia's ‘Uncle René' happens to be none other than one of the two brothers who nearly beat you and Trevor to—”

“I'll have you know, we didn't go down without a bloody good fight of our own,” Cameron interjected. “It seems you haven't changed a bit. Once a ninny, always a ninny.”

She laughed. “And now you've hired him, and . . . oh, this is so rich. What a very interesting life you lead, cousin. You're not only a father, but suddenly related to those bad boys from the bayou. Perhaps I won't be leaving New Orleans so soon after all. And since I took an instant liking to Alexia, and since I have learned we are related, perhaps I'll invite her back to the plantation for a spell.” She gave an affected bow. “With her father's permission, of course.”

At her words, something clicked in Cameron's brain. “Felicité, if you can manage to be serious for a moment, let me give you a few details regarding Alexia, because I think you might be on to something that could solve a rather ticklish problem.”

“Oh, dear,” Felicité said once Cameron finished telling her the entire story, including Odalie's plans to train Alexia as her successor, the dangers with Lucien, and Alexia's desire to remain in the bayou. The one thing Cameron left out was his growing attraction to Josette, and all that had transpired between them.

“Then see to it Alexia and her aunt join us tonight,” she said. “Nothing draws people closer than a warm combination of family and food. I'll see what I can do. Michel, you'll be joining us, of course.”

Michel straightened a stack of papers and set a paperweight atop them. “Is that an invitation or a directive, little sister?”

Felicité opened her mouth to say something, but her gaze traveled over Cameron's shoulder toward the doorway, and her breath was abruptly suspended.

He turned.

René stepped into the room.
“Bonjour.”

Merde!
Had Cameron not known Thibodeaux and passed him in the street, Cameron would have guessed him to be a successful business owner of some kind. Obviously, the man had no intention of becoming a dock worker. It would seem René had a definite idea as to what his duties were to be, the rotter.

In the few seconds it took René to glance around the room, his gaze landed on Felicité, where it remained.

As did hers on him.

Lightning could have struck inside the office and Cameron doubted it would have created as much electricity as what snapped between René and Felicité.

Christ Almighty.

Michel, pen paused in midair, blanched.

Hell, this was Michel's problem, not Cameron's. Still, she was his cousin, so before Michel could rise from his chair, Cameron intervened. “Felicité, I'd like you to meet our newest employee, Monsieur René Thibodeaux. Monsieur Thibodeaux, meet Mademoiselle Felicité Andrews, Michel's sister, in from England.”

René stepped forward, lifted Felicité's gloved hand, and kissed the top, then let it go and took a step back, as if to get a better view. “What a pleasure to meet you.”

He turned to Cameron. “I've just come from my sister's home. She insisted I give you a message that she must see you at once.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “I'm to look after Alexia, while the two of you talk.” A small grin lifted a corner of his mouth. “I should warn you. She's in a temper.”

Before Cameron could respond, Alexia bounded through the door, sugar coating the corners of her mouth. “We had beignets, Uncle René.”

He grinned down at her, and retrieving a snowy white handkerchief from his breast pocket, swiped it across her mouth. “
Oui
, I can see that,
pouchette
.”

Abbott walked past René and, in doing so, gave him a good once-over. “Should I be ordering another desk for the office, Mister Andrews? And isn't the day getting more interesting by the moment?”

Cameron shook his head. “Since I'm only here temporarily, there'll be no need.” Besides, the damn fool probably wouldn't last a week. He'd likely fare better working alongside Bastièn. At least Michel wouldn't be there to skin him alive.