chosen for his grandson. Miss Jemma O’Hurley, Foster felt, just might provide Cord the challenge he needed to put the past behind him, pull himself together and set his life to rights.
He walked to a small table covered with a white linen cloth on which a cold supper was laid out, along with two glasses and a bottle of wine, and waited for Edward to stop fussing over the coats and join him. Two candles were lit in the center of the table. Between them, a sprig of dogwood in a chipped piece of crockery added a touch of color to the simple setting. When they were both seated, Foster filled the glasses and then raised his in a toast.
“To Cord and Jemma. To a long and happy life together.” They each took a sip and then he added, “And to us. ’Ere’s to doing everything in our power to make this marriage work.”
Edward nodded. “Cord certainly don’t need another disappointment in ’is life.” He took another sip of the red claret and held the glass up to let the candlelight shimmer through the wine.
Foster reached for a roll and broke it apart.
“ ’E’ll hardly be disappointed if this marriage don’t work. I think ’is performance tonight were to scare ’er off entirely.”
“She didn’t much object to leavin’ Louisiana.” Edward tucked his napkin beneath his chin and lifted his knife and fork.
“No, she didn’t, did she?” Foster picked at a cold chicken breast with his fork, thinking about what his companion had just said.
“I’m beginnin’ to wonder if she really
ain’t
O’Hurley’s daughter.”
“Who else would she be? Besides, I for one don’t care who she is. I like her, Eddie. There’s something in her eyes … did you notice?”
“No. But I will say she seemed to be thinkin’ of somethin’ b’sides the wedding. Why’d she kept claimin’ not to be Jemma O’Hurley but then agreed to get on with it? Don’t make sense, if you ask me.”
“Her father told old Henre not to believe a word she said about anything,” Foster reminded him. “O’Hurley paid good money to see his daughter married right and tight to a Creole, ’oping it would ’elp his new business ’ere in New Orleans.”
“I thought you wasn’t going to listen outside o’ closed doors anymore. It ain’t dignified.” Edward slathered butter on warm roll.
They continued to eat in silence, the only sounds in the room that of flatware against china and the rain pouring off the hip roof and splashing in puddles around the perimeter of the building.
“What if he don’t take to her?” Edward wanted to know. “You can lead a horse to water…”
“We’ll just have to do what we can in that area.” Foster smiled.
“That might be ’ard to do on a ship,” Edward speculated.
“You know I’ve always wanted to play Cupid,” Foster admitted.
Edward smiled at his friend and filled the glasses again.
“ ’Ere’s to the newly weds.”
Foster joined in the toast. “And ’ere’s to a swift voyage home.”
Celine sat in an uncomfortable, straight-backed chair in Cordero Moreau’s bedroom. She hugged her knees to her breasts, her legs hidden beneath the silk skirt of her borrowed wedding gown. Her toes were curled over die edge of her seat, the dress hem tucked beneath them. Under the chair lay her discarded, water-stained slippers.
Across the room, Cordero Moreau lay dead to the world, stretched out in breeches and shirt. His feet hung over the side of me bed. She studied the way his pant stirrups cut across his arches, black slashes against white stockings beneath. Foster, Edward and the twins had escorted them to the room after the ceremony. After depositing the groom on the bed, the devilish twins had offered smug smiles and speculating looks.
Edward and Foster had efficiently removed Cordero’s boots and divested him of his jacket. Then they’d carefully put his things into a large, open trunk, one of two that stood ready for departure in the corner, and asked Celine if she wanted a
He walked to a small table covered with a white linen cloth on which a cold supper was laid out, along with two glasses and a bottle of wine, and waited for Edward to stop fussing over the coats and join him. Two candles were lit in the center of the table. Between them, a sprig of dogwood in a chipped piece of crockery added a touch of color to the simple setting. When they were both seated, Foster filled the glasses and then raised his in a toast.
“To Cord and Jemma. To a long and happy life together.” They each took a sip and then he added, “And to us. ’Ere’s to doing everything in our power to make this marriage work.”
Edward nodded. “Cord certainly don’t need another disappointment in ’is life.” He took another sip of the red claret and held the glass up to let the candlelight shimmer through the wine.
Foster reached for a roll and broke it apart.
“ ’E’ll hardly be disappointed if this marriage don’t work. I think ’is performance tonight were to scare ’er off entirely.”
“She didn’t much object to leavin’ Louisiana.” Edward tucked his napkin beneath his chin and lifted his knife and fork.
“No, she didn’t, did she?” Foster picked at a cold chicken breast with his fork, thinking about what his companion had just said.
“I’m beginnin’ to wonder if she really
ain’t
O’Hurley’s daughter.”
“Who else would she be? Besides, I for one don’t care who she is. I like her, Eddie. There’s something in her eyes … did you notice?”
“No. But I will say she seemed to be thinkin’ of somethin’ b’sides the wedding. Why’d she kept claimin’ not to be Jemma O’Hurley but then agreed to get on with it? Don’t make sense, if you ask me.”
“Her father told old Henre not to believe a word she said about anything,” Foster reminded him. “O’Hurley paid good money to see his daughter married right and tight to a Creole, ’oping it would ’elp his new business ’ere in New Orleans.”
“I thought you wasn’t going to listen outside o’ closed doors anymore. It ain’t dignified.” Edward slathered butter on warm roll.
They continued to eat in silence, the only sounds in the room that of flatware against china and the rain pouring off the hip roof and splashing in puddles around the perimeter of the building.
“What if he don’t take to her?” Edward wanted to know. “You can lead a horse to water…”
“We’ll just have to do what we can in that area.” Foster smiled.
“That might be ’ard to do on a ship,” Edward speculated.
“You know I’ve always wanted to play Cupid,” Foster admitted.
Edward smiled at his friend and filled the glasses again.
“ ’Ere’s to the newly weds.”
Foster joined in the toast. “And ’ere’s to a swift voyage home.”
Celine sat in an uncomfortable, straight-backed chair in Cordero Moreau’s bedroom. She hugged her knees to her breasts, her legs hidden beneath the silk skirt of her borrowed wedding gown. Her toes were curled over die edge of her seat, the dress hem tucked beneath them. Under the chair lay her discarded, water-stained slippers.
Across the room, Cordero Moreau lay dead to the world, stretched out in breeches and shirt. His feet hung over the side of me bed. She studied the way his pant stirrups cut across his arches, black slashes against white stockings beneath. Foster, Edward and the twins had escorted them to the room after the ceremony. After depositing the groom on the bed, the devilish twins had offered smug smiles and speculating looks.
Edward and Foster had efficiently removed Cordero’s boots and divested him of his jacket. Then they’d carefully put his things into a large, open trunk, one of two that stood ready for departure in the corner, and asked Celine if she wanted a
Similar Books
