Sweet Piracy (2 page)

“You have seen Byron?” Estelle asked, sitting up straighter as her interest was caught.

“A number of times, when I used to go into London society before my father died. That was before Byron became quite so famous a man of letters, of course.”

“You knew him, spoke to him?”

“I can hardly say I knew him, though we did speak on several occasions. I was not just in his style, much too tall, and I’m afraid I must admit, rather gauche. I was only eighteen, no more than a month or two older than you.”

“It must have been a long time ago,” Estelle sighed.

Turning her head away to hide a smile Caroline agreed. At times it did seem like a very long time ago since she had danced the night away, attended routs and levees and masquerades, and been concerned with nothing more important than the shade of ribbons to go with her next gown or the best way of answering a too-daring compliment. The death of her father in a riding accident, which had brought all that to an end, was no more than a blur in her mind. She thought she could remember her father’s sister, a querulous widow with a large household, suggesting that Caroline join her uncle at Natchez in the Mississippi territory in the new world. She could not recall agreeing. Her welcome there, or rather the lack of it, was vivid in her mind, however. She had known from the first that her uncle’s Creole wife had not wanted her. What had hurt the most was his blustering attempts to excuse his wife’s behavior. Naturally she could not stay after that.

“But,” Estelle said, rising to her feet with lithe grace and moving to sit upon the balustrade that enclosed the gallery, “that does not tell me what the privateer looked like.”

“It doesn’t, does it?” Caroline agreed, paying strict attention to her mending.

A mutinous look appeared in the set of the young girl’s mouth. “I think you are mean, you and Amélie. You get to travel back and forth across the sea and to have wonderful adventures while I must sit here at home. Then you refuse to tell anyone about it! I think it is too bad of you, and also decidedly odd, almost as if something happened out there of which you are ashamed.”

Startled, Caroline looked up. She had not considered the case in that light. There had been nothing of a shaming nature to remember and she did not like the implication that there might be. It would not do at all to have Estelle incorrectly repeating her suspicion. Still, how to reply without going into details was a vexing problem.

It was Amélie who answered her sister. “We did not mean to make a mystery of it,” she said in her quiet, musical voice. “I assure you we didn’t. It is my fault that Mam’zelle Caroline has not spoken of it more. I expect it is silly of me to be so affected, but I can’t seem to help it. If you really wish to know, I will withdraw my objections, that is — if Mam’zelle does not mind.”

“There,” Estelle said, turning triumphantly to Caroline.

With the barrier of Amélie removed, Caroline suddenly discovered within her own self a reluctance to speak of the incident. It was not that it distressed her, though it had not been pleasant to shoot a man. There was something more, something she had never been able to tell anyone. Estelle, with her talk of mysteries, was not so far off the mark after all.

She was saved from the necessity of answering by the click of heels on the heart-cypress floor. A tall, thin form appeared in the open door behind them.

“Ah, the beautiful young ladies — I include you, naturally, Mam’zelle Caroline. One hoped to find you here.”

“Mincing fop,” Estelle said in English under her breath, savage at the interruption.

“
Voyons
,” the tutor said. “It is most wise of your honored father to have Mam’zelle Caroline teach you her language, as I’ve said many times before, but it is discourteous to use it before those who cannot understand the barbarously difficult syllables. In French, if you please,
ma petite!
”

As Estelle’s face set in mulish lines, Amélie filled the silence which began to stretch. “It was nothing, M’sieur Philippe. Were you searching for us for a particular reason? If so, won’t you take a chair and recount it to us?”

Mentally blessing the nuns who had taught Amélie her manners, Caroline moved her chair back to allow the tutor to make one of their circle. She could cheerfully have wrung Estelle’s neck for putting her to the blush. She would have a word or two with that young lady later. She was getting a trifle out of hand.

The tutor, drawing forth a cane-bottom chair, parted his coattails, swept the seat with the handkerchief he took from his sleeve, then carefully sat down. A man just over thirty, the tutor was not without a certain vanity. He often hinted at a connection with the aristocracy of pre-Revolutionary France and clung with smiling obstinacy to the fashions of that era. His powdered hair was worn long, drawn back with a black ribbon tie. His coat was full-skirted and heavy with embroidery, and with knee breeches he wore much darned white stockings and slippers with red heels.

Now from the pocket of the coat he drew out a fan of painted chicken skin and began to ply it. “A warm day, do you not agree?” he said, touching his upper lip with his handkerchief before pushing it back into his coat sleeve.

Amélie agreed politely while Caroline gave him a vague smile. Estelle scowled.

“Ah, I trust I am not come at an inconvenient time?”

“Not at all,” Caroline said quickly before Estelle could open her mouth. “I think you had news, M’sieur?”

M’sieur Philippe did not like to be hurried. He indicated this with a pained grimace of his thin lips, bowing at the same time to show his acquiescence to the wishes of a lady. “You will never guess,” he began, continuing in a rush as Estelle exclaimed under her breath. “We — that is, the family — are to have neighbors.”

“You don’t mean—” Caroline began.

“But I do, Mam’zelle. I mean that Felicity, the plantation which marches beside Beau Repos, has been sold.”

“Bah,” Estelle said. “Rumors! We have been hearing such anytime these past five months, and no one has yet arrived to take down the shutters and sweep out the spiders.”

“This time, Mam’zelle, there is something more substantial than a rumor to excite us. This time there is a name to put to the new owner.”

“A name?” Amélie inquired as the tutor paused expectantly. “Who?”

“The Marquis de Rochefort.”

Their response was all, the tutor could have wished. Amélie dropped her needle. Estelle’s mouth fell open, and Caroline lifted her head to stare at him in amazement.

“I thought you would be pleased,” M’sieur Philippe murmured, toying with his fan with a small, self-satisfied smile.

“How do you know?” Estelle demanded, recovering first.

The tutor shrugged. “It is common knowledge in New Orleans. I had it from a friend who is employed as a clerk in the Governor’s office. The Marquis dined with Governor Claiborne not a week ago, where he made known his intention of settling permanently in this area.”

“A real marquis,” Amélie breathed, a hint of color stealing into her cheeks.

“He will not use his title, of course,” M’sieur Philippe said with a look of regret. “So mundane, this republican form of government. Still—”

“Still, he is a real marquis,” Estelle finished. “I wonder how old he is?”

“I believe him to be in the vicinity of thirty, Mam’zelle.”

Estelle made a moue of disappointment. “So old?”

“Thirty is not old, far from it,” Caroline said in dry remonstrance.

“No!” M’sieur Philippe made his agreement emphatic.

“I wonder if he has a wife and children? The little ones here would like new playmates,” Amélie said.

Caroline glanced at the girl. There was no sign of guile in her soft brown eyes. Her face, with her fine dark hair caught in ringlets on either temple, held nothing but polite interest.

“There was no mention of a family,” the tutor answered, “though I understand his cousin, a young man a few years his junior, bears him company.”

“Tante Zizi will be happy,” Amélie commented. “She can probe into his lineage to her heart’s content. It will be a new interest”

Caroline could find it within herself to be sorry for the Marquis. She had been thoroughly quizzed concerning her own ancestors when she had first come to Beau Repos. She often felt that only the discovery of a belted earl on a lateral branch of her family tree had made her at all acceptable as governess to the Delacroix children.

“Clothes,” Estelle said abruptly. “We must have new clothes.”

“Must we?” Amélie asked.

“But certainly. There are certain to be entertainments given in the honor of the Marquis. He requires to be welcomed, does he not?”

“You go too fast,” Caroline said. “First your father must call on the Marquis and discover if he is the kind of gentlemen who would be acceptable company for his family.”

“Acceptable? He is a marquis!” Estelle objected.

“That does not necessarily make him a gentleman.”

“Mam’zelle!” the tutor protested.

“He was acceptable to Governor Claiborne,” Estelle pointed out.

“Even so, it is for M’sieur Delacroix to decide. When that is done will be time enough for you to worry about the entertainments for our new neighbor. You should not expect to be included in everything. You have not yet made your curtsy to the
ton
.”

“I am aware, but in the country and on such a special occasion it might be overlooked, don’t you think? I am sure
Maman
will agree if
Papa
can be persuaded. Oh, isn’t it exciting?”

“What is exciting?”

The new entrant into the conversation was Théophile Delacroix. He sauntered up the steep steps with their curved bannisters in the style known as “welcoming arms.” Bareheaded, he displayed a mop of brown hair, sun-bleached already to an auburn hue. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and above the tops of his muddy boots his breeches appeared to be stained with river water. In one grimy hand was his white cravat, containing what looked to be a collection of plump purple dewberries.

M’sieur Philippe raised the quizzing glass he wore on a ribbon at his lapel.  Leveling it at Theo’s breeches, he drawled, “I apprehend, sir, that you have been wading in the river — again.”

Theo agreed without a sign of repentance. “Anyone care for a dewberry?”

“The most famous thing has happened, Theo,” Estelle said, absently taking a berry. “We are to have a marquis for a neighbor.”

“I know,” Theo said.

“You know?” his sister repeated.

“Heard it a week ago. A real swell. Has a whole ship full of prime stuff, anchored out in the river waiting for all the legal business to be over with. Has a phaeton with a high perch and yellow wheels, and four of the sweetest goers you ever saw to pull it. Bought them in England, they say. Must be rich as a nabob to do that. Won’t Anatole be green?”

The tutor looked pained. “Your language is shocking, Theo. One can only surmise you have been associating with riffraff again.”

A grave expression descended on Theo’s snub-nosed face. “I do crave pardon, M’sieur. ‘Twas only Jack, the son of the overseer at Felicity. Did you wish to join me in my rambles instead? Shall I awaken you when I leave the house in the morning? I do not plan to be at the river until just before the sun rises.”

“No, no! I would not deprive you of companionship your own age,” the tutor said, barely suppressing a shudder. “It would not be — that is, I would not dream of intruding.”

“Jack is a good man to have about. He may not know the river as I do, but he’s a great hand with horses.”

“Very interesting, I’m sure,” M’sieur Philippe said, taking out his handkerchief and waving it languidly at a fly buzzing about, attracted by the sticky, sweet berries. “I believe we can wait to hear about your friend until after you have made yourself more presentable.”

“As you wish, M’sieur.” Theo inclined his head, completely unperturbed as he turned to do his tutor’s bidding.

“Wait!” Estelle cried. “You haven’t finished telling us about the Marquis.”

“What else is there to tell?” Theo inquired, popping the rest of the dewberries into his mouth and wiping his hands on his shirt. “Anyway, you’ll see soon enough. They expect him at Felicity within the week.”

As Theo disappeared into the house, Estelle let out her pent-up breath. “Odious boy,” she said, then promptly forgot him. “There is so little time.
Maman
must be persuaded to increase our wardrobes, and you must help me see to it, Amélie. She will do it for you. Next to seeing you take the veil as a nun, she would like to see you take a noble husband to wed.”

“You know I have no ambition in that direction,” Amélie protested.

“Yes I do, but it can’t hurt to pretend, can it?”

“You still have no idea of the man’s circumstances,” Caroline said, a warning tone in her voice. “For all you know, he may have a wife waiting on board ship with his furnishings.”

“It doesn’t signify in the least,” Estelle replied with an airy wave of her hand. “Married or no, there are sure to be fêtes of every sort given to make him welcome. It can’t hurt to be prepared.”

“
Maman
may be resting,” Amélie protested as her sister started toward the door.