Tears of Gold (57 page)

Mara glanced at the time, the porcelain figure clock on the mantel ticking the minutes away all too quickly, hastening the departure for Sandrose. Mara had seen little of Nicholas most of the day. It had rained steadily and he had holed up in the study with Alain, going over the accounts.

Mara breathed in deeply as Jamie fastened the back of the gown, the red material pulling tight across her breasts and pushing their fullness precariously close to the edge of her bodice.

“Don’t know why ye be wearin’ this gown tonight when ye’ve got so many other pretty ones to choose from,” Jamie complained as she closed the last hook and eye. “Well, guess ye might as well wear it now since ye won’t be able to get into it much longer,” she added with a sniff.

Mara turned around and stared at the little woman. “And just what is that supposed to mean?” she asked softly, hiding her discomfiture behind a haughty look.

But Jamie was not cowed. Folding her thin arms across her chest, she said in a voice of carefully nurtured indignation, “D’ye think I’ve not got eyes in me head? I’m seein’ a might clearer than ye be these days, missie,” she snorted.

Mara sighed and then laughed. “To be sure, ’tis a fool I am to be thinkin’ I could be keepin’ such a secret from you, Mistress Hawkeye,” Mara said, but there was no sting in her words. She smiled pathetically down at the old woman, the friend who had always been there when she needed her. “’Twould seem as though your fine Creole gentleman has dealt me more than threats this time, Jamie. Soon everyone will know I am carrying his child.” Mara muttered beneath her breath as her hands moved shakily over the velvet covering her hips.

Jamie could sense Mara’s uncertainty and fear. She frowned and, patting Mara’s slender hand, said, “Now don’t ye be frettin’ none. Master Nicholas will do right by ye. He’ll not abandon ye, missie. He’s a good man, that he is.”

Mara jerked her hand away and turned angrily on the little woman, her eyes blazing as she saw the pity on Jamie’s wizened face. “Don’t be feelin’ sorry for me. That I will not have,” she whispered brokenly. “My God, if you pity me, what will Nicholas think? I would rather die before I’d have him look at me with pity,” she swore. Mara reached out and grasped Jamie’s shoulders. “Swear on Maud O’Flynn’s grave that you will never breathe a word of this to Nicholas. Promise me, Jamie, Promise!”

Jamie swallowed nervously. “It’ll be as ye wish, Mara. Ye know I’d do nothin’ to hurt ye,” she told her quietly, her gray eyes watching Mara’s trembling lips in astonishment. Mara turned away and walked over to the French windows, staring into the darkness. But before she’d hidden her face, Jamie had seen the bewilderment and hurt there.

As Jamie stared at Mara’s rigid back, she thought suddenly of the vulnerable little girl in Paris who’d stood at that dirty window and stared out on an unfriendly city the morning her mother died. The same golden eyes had been turned on her for understanding then, but she hadn’t been able to give the numbed child the answers or comfort she had so desperately needed, and it seemed to Jamie that after that morning Mara O’Flynn had never been the same. She became so different from the sweet child she had once been, with her laughing eyes and infectious giggle, a bright velvet bow tying back a mass of unruly dark curls. She could charm the life out of you even then, Jamie remembered with a reluctant smile as she saw a six-year-old Mara sitting on her father’s knee, gazing up at him adoringly as he read to her. How many times had she seen that small figure dressed in lace dancing around the salon as she performed for her father before being given a box of her favorite chocolates.

But that had been so long ago, when they had been living happily in Dublin. Years later, when she had left Paris with Brendan and Mara, they had also left that little girl behind. It was the ghost of that child Jamie was seeing now. It was all so long ago, Jamie thought sadly, then cursed the name of Mara’s father as she thought of what he had done to Maud’s little darlings. Brendan was dead now, his life never having been really happy, and now Mara was faced with raising not only her own babe, but Paddy as well. All alone. She glanced down in disgust at her gnarled hands and knew she wouldn’t be here much longer to help Mara. Why couldn’t things be different for Mara? she prayed. They just had to be different, she made up her mind against all reason, they would be.

Mara turned away from the window. “I’ll make sure we’re gone from here before anyone can guess about the child. It’ll be our secret. Then, when I can’t hide it anymore, it won’t matter.”

Jamie frowned suspiciously. “And what d’ye mean we will be gone from here? Just where are we goin’ I’d like to be knowin’?”

“Does it really matter?” Mara asked tiredly. “London, I suppose. And if I’m still with child then, I’ll buy myself a cheap ring and pretend I’m a poor, Irish widow. Who’s to be knowing any different? I might even call meself Mara Chantale. It has a nice sound to it, to be sure,” she said mockingly.

“And just what are ye meanin’ when ye say, ‘if the child’s still with ye,’ I’ll be wantin’ to know?” Jamie demanded with a glint in her eye.

Mara’s golden brown eyes looked away uncomfortably. “Women have been known to lose their babies early, haven’t they? Maybe I can’t be havin’ children?” Mara was defiant.

Jamie placed her hands on her hips and stated matter-of-factly, “There’s an old sayin’, missie. ‘Hips good and wide, the lass was born to be a bride; full breasts for a man’s joy, she’ll be birthin’ a boy.’ Seems to me ye’ve met both requirements just fine.”

Mara gave her an exasperated look. “And it seems to me you’ve been listening to too many old wives’ tales.”

Jamie smiled smugly. “We’ll see, missie. We’ll see who knows what they be talkin’ about.” She started folding up stray articles of clothing.

Mara was about to deal a stinging retort when Nicholas strolled into the room, just as if he had the right.

“Do come in, m’sieu,” Mara spoke bitingly, taking out her frustration on him. Jamie quickly excused herself.

Nicholas arched an eyebrow. “My, my, we seem to still be in a bit of a temper,” he commented lazily, his green eyes narrowing as he carefully watched her reflection in the mirror.

Keeping her back to him, Mara steadily returned his gaze in the mirror. He was dressed in the black he seemed to favor, the rose embroidery along the border of his black silk vest the only touch of color except for the white shirtfront and cravat.

Mara became aware of a flat case he was holding negligently in his hand. As he caught her questioning look, he came forward to stand just behind her. Mara could feel his warm breath against her temple, then the soft touch of his lips. She jumped as she felt cold metal against her throat and breast.

Mara caught the glitter of jewels in the mirror and stared in amazement at the gold filigree, ruby, and diamond necklace now draped around her neck. Five settings of the exquisite stones glowed against the paleness of her skin. The necklace held the most beautiful ruby pendant Mara had ever seen. Before she could find words, Nicholas had enclosed her wrists in matching bracelets and was putting the drop earrings into her ears.

“The family jewels, ma petite,” he murmured with a wicked look. “They once belonged to my mother, and in answer to your next question, no, Celeste will not mind. She has never worn these. She has her own jewels. These were kept by my father, with the intention that one of his sons would give them to his wife. But since I have no wife, and there happens to be a very beautiful woman here dressed in red velvet, why…what could be more perfect?”

Mara turned around, her fingertips lightly touching the cold stones pressing into her flushed skin. “I don’t understand. Why should you wish to have
me
wear them?” she asked faintly. Then, noticing how well the ruby necklace went with her gown, she glanced up at him in confusion. “And how did you know I would be wearing red? I almost wore my turquoise gown.”

Nicholas smiled indulgently. “I think I know you better than you know yourself, my dear. I suspected you might pull out that red velvet creation which seems to haunt our lives. When you feel threatened, you always lash out at something, or someone. That red dress seems to represent rebellion for you.”

Mara glared up at him, knowing he was right. “So?”

Nicholas laughed. “So, I’m at least thankful it happens to be a beautiful gown and not a pair of breeches you slip into when you feel the need to get rid of some of your frustrations,” he said silkily, his fingers tracing a delicate pattern across the curve of breast above her gown. “It’s extraordinary, but you seem to grow more beautiful each day. Surely I should grow tired of seeing you in this gown, but oddly enough, I don’t.” His eyelids grew heavy and his mouth suddenly lowered. His lips took hers in a kiss that seemed almost punishing. Mara’s mouth clung to his as she wrapped her slender arms around his neck and savored the contact. It seemed so long since they had last kissed so deeply and completely, but suddenly the remembrance of what a kiss like this usually led to, and what the end result of Nicholas’s lovemaking was leading to for her, caused Mara to free herself and jerk out of his arms.

Nicholas’s irritated glance followed her velvet-clad figure across the room, noticing her nervousness as she sorted through her gloves and studiously avoided looking at him.

“I’m not sure I shall accompany you this evening. I’m not feeling well,” she spoke suddenly.

“I see I haven’t completely persuaded you from your fit of temper. We must soon discuss this tiresome tendency of yours. Shall I meet you downstairs in, say, ten minutes?” Nicholas ordered softly. When she nodded, he gave her a puzzled look and left the room.

***

The rains had let up as their carriage made its way from Beaumarais to Sandrose along the seldom used road between the two great plantations. Celeste had declined to attend but had allowed Nicole to accompany them. Wearing her best party dress of white silk tulle embroidered with tiny flowers and tied with a red ribbon belt, her red satin dancing slippers tapping constantly on the floor of the carriage, she kept up a continual chatter, uncaring that no one bothered to answer her. Etienne, acting as chaperone, sat back in his corner of the carriage in patient silence, making a comment only when politeness decreed. Nicholas, on the other hand, didn’t feel so inclined, and maintained his silence until the carriage turned up the drive to Sandrose, the team of horses slowing their pace as they neared the house.

To Mara, seeing it for the first time, Sandrose looked as if it had risen out of the swamps like a giant crab. It appeared to squat grotesquely on its many brick pilings, the flickering torches along the drive casting giant shadows over the narrow, two-storied structure. Light poured forth from the many French windows across the galleried front of the house, while faint strains of music and voices could be heard floating down from the high veranda encircling it.

Liveried servants lined the steep flight of steps to the double-doored entrance. As Nicholas escorted her inside, Mara glanced up at him, curious of his reaction to seeing Amaryllis. But his face was expressionless except for that sardonic smile.

Mara’s cape was spirited away and she found herself standing beside Nicholas beneath the warm glow of the hundreds of candles burning brightly in the wall sconces and crystal chandeliers overhead. A grand staircase, the banister decorated with trailing roses, stretched up to the second floor and was crowded with giggling, gossiping young girls rushing up and down from the privacy of dressing rooms provided for their preening.

“Nicholas!” Amaryllis’s cool voice greeted them as she swept toward them in an elegant gown of turquoise, the bright color of her hair no less a shining gold than the brocaded silk threads in her dress. A spray of diamonds sparkled in her soft curls, while matching necklace and earrings adorned her pale, white throat and ears. Suddenly Mara was thankful for her borrowed rubies.

“I was beginning to wonder if you had lost your way, or perhaps your nerve,” she pouted as she slid her arm into Nicholas’s. “
Bon soir
. Etienne. Nicole, how charmingly sweet you are looking, my child,” she greeted them, her praise effectively stripping Nicole of her confidence. She saw herself now as a mere schoolgirl beside Amaryllis’s sophisticated elegance.

“Everyone is absolutely dying to see who my special guest is, for no one knows you have returned, mon cher. It really will be priceless. Oh, you must meet Edward,” she said suddenly as she caught sight of a man standing hesitantly in the doorway, watching them intently. At her imperious gesture he came forward. “This is Edward Ashford, a very good friend of the family,” she introduced him. As Amaryllis hesitated slightly over the introduction, Mara noticed the surprised look on Edward Ashford’s face.

He was shorter and stockier than Nicholas, and older. The receding hairline was beginning to show traces of gray. In another five years he would be quite bejowled, but there was an irrepressible twinkle in his brown eyes as he greeted them with a broad smile and extended his hand in welcome to Nicholas. But Mara thought the twinkle dimmed slightly as he registered the name.

“Nicholas de Montaigne-Chantale?” he repeated. “Of Beaumarais?” he asked almost dumbly, and Mara felt an instant’s pity for this man, now faced with the realization that he could never compete against Nicholas for Amaryllis. Mara could see it was a very bitter pill.

“Yes,” Nicholas replied with a smile of pure enjoyment, his green eyes showing a devilish gleam. “Didn’t Amaryllis tell you that I returned just in time to ruin her plans to purchase my home? I’m afraid I’ve inconvenienced her greatly.”

“No, Amaryllis neglected to tell me,” Edward Ashford answered slowly. “But then, I’ve just arrived today from New Orleans, and what with all her party plans, I suppose she forgot.” He said this with a shrug, but there was reproof in his face as he glanced at Amaryllis. “Of course, I’ve never quite understood her desire to buy your plantation when she has a fine one of her own. The land, yes. But the house? No, that I can’t understand,” Edward said with an indulgent smile at Amaryllis. “But then, I’m a hardheaded businessman who never lets sentimentality rule my mind.”