Betrayed, page 3
part #2 of The Cuvier Widows Series
Nicole nodded her head, but did not respond.
“So where are we going?” he asked.
“Rosewood Plantation,” she said as he turned the wagon onto the road that ran beside the Mississippi River.
The wide river meandered through the trees, occasionally making splashing and gurgling noises. A steamer chugged up the river, its big paddle slicing through the water.
“I've heard of that place. The home was built by a family of pirates, they say.”
She laughed. “That's the story, but it wasn't my family who built it. My hus ...” She paused. “I've only lived there in the last four years.”
“It's rumored there are secret passageways,” he said, knowing that it wasn't true, but wanting to test her knowledge of the place.
“I doubt it. I suppose there could be and I just don't know about them. A few of my neighbors have told me several things about the house. And then a few of the old slaves are still around, but they don't talk much about the previous owners.”
“You say you've only lived there four years?”
“Yes,” she said. “As a little girl I dreamed of owning one of the big homes along the river. So before I married, my husband bought the home for me and gave it to me as a wedding gift.”
“I would think that's a gift you both could enjoy.” She shook her head. “No, his office was in New Orleans and he was gone a great deal of the time.”
“You say ‘was' as if your husband is in the past tense,” he said, knowing the truth, but wanting to hear her response.
She sighed. “Yes, he's dead now.”
“I'm sorry,” Max said, and turned his attention back to the road. They drove along in silence, the cicadas singing their lonesome song as they called to one another in the hot breeze.
She turned and gave him a long assessing look. “I don't know why I've been telling you all this, except for the fact that you've been kind to me. In fact, I think you're the first person to tell me you're sorry for my loss.” She gave a queer little laugh. “And you're a stranger.”
For a moment he felt uneasy as he saw her eyes tear up, but he didn't say anything. She took a deep breath and gained control. “See these green fields? That's our second sugarcane crop. We were so excited about this crop. It would determine whether the plantation would be profitable or not and now he's not here to see it through with me.”
Max gazed at the sugarcane and couldn't help but have mixed feelings about the green stalks. The success of Rosewood would be talked about for years, but her financial success would make her less likely to sell. And he wanted her to sell him the land.
“You know, I have this belief that those we love who have gone before us, watch over us. I bet he knows how that field is doing.”
Nicole started to laugh. “Mr. Viel, I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at your belief. I'm laughing because if my husband can see from hell, he wouldn't be worried about how well the crop is doing. There are other matters he left unfinished that certainly should take more of his attention.”
Max didn't know how to respond, so he said nothing. He couldn't blame her for being bitter. His lawyers had informed him on all the ugly details of how Jean Cuvier had married Nicole Rosseau and the way he had lied to and cheated on each one of the Cuvier Widows.
“Sad as it may sound, since his death the success of this plantation is the most important thing in my life. If I lose Rosewood, then I've lost everything I ever dreamed of.” She paused and gazed at him quizzically. “I've told you more than I have anyone in the last few months. You're a stranger and here I sit telling you personal details.”
Max felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. How could he convince her to sell to him if the plantation was her life, her dream? She could take his money and find herself another dream. Another plantation. But he doubted she would see it that way.
He gave her a reassuring glance. “I'm a good listener. And sometimes you can tell strangers things that you'd never tell someone you care about.”
She nodded her head. “True, but you don't want to hear my problems.”
They rode along in silence for a few moments before he turned to her. “Do you have children?”
“Not yet,” she said. “I hope to someday.”
“But you're a widow. You'll have to remarry,” he said. She looked at him, her brows raised, her blue eyes gazing at him curiously. “Yes, I will.”
The thought crossed his mind that maybe he should consider courting the lovely Miss Rosseau.
“See those big oak trees? The house sits back among them. The original owner planted those trees and they shade the house nicely during the summer. The lane that leads to the house is coming up.”
“It must be nice to look out your window and see the river in the distance,” he said, already knowing everything that she'd told him, since he'd passed the house several times in his youth and had even followed her into town this morning, keeping a discreet distance back.
“I enjoy it very much,” she said.
He turned the buggy down the lane.
“You know, Mr. Viel, I've talked about myself, but you've hardly told me anything about yourself. Do you have a wife and children?”
“No, ma'am. I'm not married. I guess I just haven't found the right woman or the right place to settle down,” he lied. The home he wanted to settle in loomed in front him, massive oak trees shading the porch that surrounded the Creole mansion. The soil he wanted to cling to his hands stretched out before him. She owned what he wanted most, and he was determined to somehow wrest it from her.
He'd worked toward this goal since he was a boy and now it appeared before him, just out of his grasp. “Your home is unusual,” he said.
“Rosewood was built by a Creole family. The house is divided by a main parlor. The downriver side is considered to be the male side of the house and the upriver side is the female side, with the main parlor in between. Each side has its own entryway that leads through the respective bedrooms.”
“How interesting,” he said, though his grandfather had told him about the house many times.
Max pulled the buggy to a halt in front of the house he longed to go inside and see, but knew he couldn't. He glanced at the home, the sound of clanking bottles tinkling in the air, though hardly a breeze blew. “What is that noise?”
“That's the spirit bottles hanging in the oak trees. The servants believe that the noise made by the water- filled bottles keeps the evil spirits away,” she said, watching him.
“Oh.” He glanced at the bottles hung by their handles from the tree, all filled with different levels of water. He turned to face the woman sitting beside him. “Well, we're here. Are you feeling any better?”
“I feel much better now. Though I do think I'll go in and rest for a spell,” she said, gazing at him, her sapphire eyes appreciative. “Thank you.”
“You're quite welcome,” he said, climbing down from the buggy and coming around to help her alight “I think I will go find that church that needed a carpenter and then return to town.”
He lifted her from the buggy and set her gently on the ground. A wisp of white material with the letter N embroidered upon the cotton lay on the buggy seat. Quickly he scooped up the frilly material and shoved it in his pants pocket when she wasn't looking. It was her handkerchief and somehow he couldn't help but think it might be useful later.
“Have a safe trip, Mr. Viel,” she said, and he watched her walk toward the curving stairs that led to the living quarters on the second floor.
A more beautiful woman he'd never met, and he couldn't help but wonder if she would sell him Rosewood. She mentioned the plantation being the most important thing in her life, and suddenly he had doubts she would ever sell.
A servant came around to take the horse and buggy and Max untied his own horse from the back. He climbed on his horse and then watched as she walked up the stairs and entered the house that had belonged to his family for generations before the war. He wanted the plantation back, yet the woman who lived there now seemed to belong with the house and its mysteries. Like the house, she seemed unusual, and he liked unique women.
***
Nicole watched the handsome, dark-haired man ride away from inside the safety of her home. His emerald eyes had shone with kindness and he'd been gentle as he helped her. She tried to remember the last time someone seemed concerned or even cared about her since Jean's death and the only other person had been Marian Cuvier, before Nicole left New Orleans.
Nicole had lost her mother to pneumonia when she was ten years old and her father... all she knew about her father was that he'd been a wealthy man who never married her mother and never once offered them any support. Nicole grew up always referred to as Ava's daughter, the silent words of poor little, unwanted child somehow attached to her societal tag of illegitimacy.
Now, her own child would face that same fate, through no fault of her own. Always aware of what could happen when a woman lay with a man outside of marriage, she'd never given in to temptation and waited until her wedding day, only to find out her vows of devotion were a farce.
With Jean's death and his deception, Nicole found herself just like her mother, unwed, pregnant, and alone. And her child would suffer the same fate as “Ava's daughter.” The cruelty of the past repeating itself wasn't fair, but she meant to change the course of history. She would take action to keep her child from being illegitimate.
She needed a husband. She needed someone to give her child a name, though she no longer wanted any part of marriage and wedding vows. If only she could find someone to marry her so her child would be accepted and not carry the tag of illegitimacy all his life.
But who would wed one of “the Cuvier Widows”? Who did she know that would stand up beside her and give her baby his name? She ran down the list of possibilities, realizing that since the move to the small community of Plaquemine, she knew very few people. No one well enough to ask to marry.
She sighed and stepped away from the window. Still, the idea was worth considering, though the problem would be finding the right man.
The image of Max Viel came again to mind, a drifter with no ties, and no connections to keep him in this area. Would he consider marriage with someone for a short time, and then be free to continue with his travels? Nicole worried her bottom lip. He seemed kind and caring. Would he give her child his name?
Six months of being man and wife was all she needed. Just until her child was born and then they were free to go their separate ways.
Maybe sometime in the next few days she would go into town once again and see if she could find the handsome drifter. If he were still in town, then maybe she could summon the courage to ask him to marry her.
***
Three days later, riding his horse down the River Road, Max took Nicole's handkerchief out of his pocket and put it close to his nose. The lingering scent of roses filled his senses and the image of Nicole Rosseau came to mind. Slowly he returned the scrap of material to his pocket. The last few days she had never been far from his mind. After her confession of how much the plantation meant to her, he wondered how he could obtain the River Road home from the beautiful widow.
The thought of somehow taking the land from her left him feeling uncomfortable. Yet his family depended on him, and since the time he was a small boy they had made it clear that this was his duty in life, to restore the family fortune and home. So far he'd accomplished the fortune, but the family home was turning out to be much more complicated.
Today, as he turned his horse down the lane to Rosewood, he was bringing her handkerchief back and checking to see how Miss Rosseau felt.
He also intended to make her an offer on the plantation, though somehow he felt certain she would turn him down. Yet in the last few days, Max had learned from his firm of lawyers that if Miss Rosseau did not have a successful sugarcane crop that fall, she would be forced to sell the home she loved. Since her husband's death less than two months ago, the cash had ceased to flow into the bank and the widow had no obvious means of support.
Maybe she would consider his offer, though the thought of her moving away left him oddly sad.
Max's horse trotted up to the front of the house and he swung his leg over the side and dropped to the ground. He tied the animal out front and then ascended the stairs that led to the men's side of the house. The windows were open and the doors stood wide, drawing in the cooling breeze from the river.
The sound of the spirit bottles clanked in the breeze, melodic and somehow soothing.
His great-great-grandfather had built the house in the traditional Creole style, with one half the men's quarters and the other half the women's. Max felt nervous as he knocked on the door of the men's side.
A servant answered the door and gave him an odd look.
“Yes?” the black woman asked.
“I'm here to see Miss Rosseau,” Max answered.
“Follow me,” she said. She led Max through a man's bedroom into a parlor that ran between the two sides of the house, where she left him. The room was a centrally located gathering place that held a sofa, two chairs, and a bookcase along one wall, with ceiling to floor windows along the front. Sheer drapes fell gracefully to the floor and were tied back to allow the breeze to blow through the open windows.
His first trip inside the house and he couldn't see enough of where his ancestors had lived. Awe filled him to think of his family residing here.
Nicole strolled into the room, her blonde hair pulled back and up off her neck. The blue material of her dress flowed from her hips, the color accentuating her eyes and making them sparkle. She came into the room, a look of surprise on her heart-shaped face when she saw him.
“Mr. Viel, what a pleasure to see you,” she said. Two small dimples appeared in her cheeks when she smiled.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Any more dizzy spells?”
“No, I think the heat must have affected me that day. But I haven't gone back into town alone either.”
She motioned for him to sit, and he took a seat on her couch, his hat in his hand as he gazed about the room.
“You've got a real nice place here,” he said.
“Thank you. I love sitting out on the verandah and watching the boats go up and down the river. I often wonder where they're headed. In the evening, that's my favorite pastime.”
Just the thought of being under the stars and listening to the sounds that came from the river sent his mind places with this woman that he needed not to go.
He reached in his pocket. “By the way, after you went in the other day, I found this handkerchief lying on the seat of the buggy and picked it up. I wondered if it belonged to you?”
As soon as she appeared more relaxed in his company, he would spring the idea of buying the plantation on her. But first he needed her to feel comfortable and trust him. At the moment she seemed nervous, and he didn't know why.
She took the piece of material from him and glanced at it. “Yes, this is mine. Thank you for returning it.”
With her hand she absently smoothed the wrinkles in the cloth, her eyes refusing to meet his gaze. He sensed she wanted to say something, but was having trouble with the words.
“Mr. Viel, I'm glad you stopped by today. I need to talk to you about a delicate matter,” she said, finally raising her sapphire eyes to gaze at him. She stood and began to pace the family parlor. “Have you heard of ‘the Cuvier Widows'?”
Why would she want to discuss her dead husband's other wives with him?
“Aren't they the three women that were all married to the same man?”
“Yes, Mr. Viel.” She turned and faced him, the curtains billowing behind her. “I'm one of those widows. My husband was Jean Cuvier.”
While he already knew this information, he tried to appear stunned. He waited a moment before he responded. “Well, that certainly explains why you seemed angry at your deceased husband.”
“Yes. But there's a bigger complication. One that affects more than just me,” she said, her gaze meeting and holding his. “I'm expecting a child. A child that through no fault of its own will be considered illegitimate.”
“I'm sorry,” he said, unable to keep his eyes from going to her waistline.
“I need a husband, Mr. Viel. I need someone who will give their name to my child and be here through the birth. Then you could leave and either seek a divorce, or just never come around again.” She paused, watching him as he sat on her couch, realizing suddenly that she wanted to marry him. “Since you're an unmarried drifter with no ties to this area, I wondered if you would consider marrying me and giving my child your name.”
Max sat there, stunned. She was with child. This was a complication he hadn't anticipated. He sat there staring at her, staggered at her news. She was so desperate that she'd marry a stranger? It took him several minutes to recover and when he glanced at her, her face was ashen.
“Are you all right?” he asked, feeling concern for Nicole. His mind raced with this new knowledge. “You're looking pale again. At least now I understand why you were so dizzy.”
Nicole sighed and sank down into the chair. “I never thought that I would be asking a man to marry me. I never thought I would need to find another husband. I never meant to burden a child with the stigma of being illegitimate.”
He couldn't help but gaze at her and wonder how a man could deceive her so cruelly. And now she was expecting a baby.
“I know this sounds crazy, but I don't want my child to be born without a last name. I don't have a lot of money, but I have a sugarcane crop in the field that is doing very well and should bring me quite a bit of cash. What if I promise you half the money from the crop if you will marry me and share your last name with my child?”
He sat there feeling astounded at what she was proposing, realizing how truly desperate she was to protect her child.
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