When Strangers Marry by Lisa Kleypas
Lysette realized guiltily that Delphine had a point. She had indeed been a burden to the Vallerands. Moreover, she had no wish to be the unwitting instrument of Vallerand’s destruction. If a duel did result from this, there was a possibility that Sagesse would manage to wound or even kill him. Somehow that thought was too awful to contemplate.
“Lysette,” Irénée said sympathetically, astonishing them all, “perhaps you should go with them. It might be the wisest course of action.”
“Yes, it would,” Gaspard added, his swarthy face losing its thunderous cast. “Your sensible attitude pleases me, Madame Vallerand.”
“We must consider Lysette’s welfare,” Irénée replied cautiously.
“Clearly Madame Vallerand recognizes the impropriety of your presence under this roof,” Gaspard interrupted, reaching for Lysette. “Allons, Lysette. There is a carriage waiting outside, the finest carriage you have ever seen. The Sagesses have anticipated everything you might require.” He picked her up easily, his beefy arms crushing her struggles. Lysette was unable to move or breathe in his crushing hold. “You’re going to pay for the trouble you’ve caused me,” he said close to her ear, a mist of hot spittle spraying her skin.
Swamped in despair, she shoved at him. “Max,” she cried, wondering frantically why he wasn’t there. Hadn’t anyone told him that her aunt and stepfather had arrived? “Max—”
The world seemed to tilt crazily, and she heard a strange low growl that most certainly had not come from Gaspard. An unseen force wrenched her upward, away from her stepfather’s brutal grasp, and momentum brought her hard against Vallerand’s unyielding chest. She grabbed at him immediately, her arms wrapping around his familiar neck. She buried her face against his throat. “He’s going to take me to Sagesse,” she gasped. “Don’t let him, don’t—”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Vallerand interrupted brusquely. “Calm yourself, Lysette. It’s not good for you to become excited.” His possessiveness made her strangely giddy. As far as he was concerned, she was his, and no one was going to take her away from him.
Gently Vallerand set her on a chair and straightened, his steady gaze fastened on Gaspard. “Don’t touch her again,” he murmured. Although his voice was soft, it contained a note that chilled Lysette’s blood. “If you so much as disarrange a hair on her head, I’ll tear you apart.”
“She is mine!” Gaspard exploded, staring at them both in incredulous fury.
Lysette returned his gaze with cool satisfaction. Max was going to take her part in the dispute, because it served his purpose to keep her here. She would let him handle the situation however he liked. She didn’t give a damn about her ruined reputation, or about the fact that Max was using her. The only thing that mattered was that she wouldn’t have to marry Etienne Sagesse.
Gaspard spoke to her directly, his face apoplectic. “Sagesse has said that if you are not returned by this afternoon, he will not have you. He will consider you defiled! Do you understand, you stupid fool? No one will want you. You’ll be useless to me, because no decent man will ever offer for you. You will not only have blemished your own name, but also Sagesse’s honor, and this is exactly what Monsieur Vallerand intends. You are nothing but an excuse for him to finish a feud that began years ago. Once it is done, you will have no hope of anything close to the life you might have led as the wife of a Sagesse. Save yourself, Lysette. Come with me now and end this madness!”
Lysette was suddenly exhausted. Her lips curved with a bitter smile as she spoke to Max. “Monsieur Vallerand, everything he says is true, nest-ce pas?”
He remained facing away from her. “Yes,” he said bluntly.
She received the admission without surprise. “What had you planned to do with me when your game is over?”
“Repay you for the opportunity you afforded me,” he replied, with no visible trace of shame. “Provide for you in whatever manner you wish. You will find that my gratitude for the chance to duel with Sagesse will prove boundless.”
His arrogance was so vast that she could not prevent a wry smile. “What has he done to earn such enmity, monsieur?”
Vallerand did not reply.
Thoughtfully Lysette considered her options. “I am weary of being exploited,” she said to no one in particular. Her gaze settled on her stepfather. “Beaupère, I’m afraid that you will have to return to Sagesse without me. Now that I have no more value on the marriage market, perhaps you will find some other way to make money. As for you, Monsieur Vallerand… you are welcome to your duel with Monsieur Sagesse. Congratulations— you have what you want.”
“But what will you do, Lysette?” Irénée asked, her face drawn with concern.
“As soon as I am able, I would like to be taken to the Ursuline convent. Although I have no intention of becoming a nun, I am certain that they will offer me shelter until I decide what to do. I suspect I might be able to find work as governess, or perhaps teach somewhere.” She extended a hand to Noeline, who had watched the entire episode from the doorway. “Please help me upstairs,” she asked with quiet dignity.
———
Lysette’s hair was still damp after a thorough washing during her bath. Carefully Noeline separated the tangles and began to comb the matted locks, while Irénée sat nearby and looked out the window. The afternoon sunlight shone on the oak trees lining the drive, filtering to the damp ground beneath. Irénée watched as Max rode away from the house on his black thoroughbred. When she was assured that there was no chance of his return, Irénée turned to Lysette and spoke softly.
“You have a right to know, Lysette, what happened between Max and Etienne Sagesse. It will help you to understand my son better, and perhaps even to forgive him a little. He is not nearly as wicked and selfish as he seems. When Max was younger, he exceeded all the hopes his father and I had for him. He was a wild boy, to be sure, often given to mischief, but also warm and kind, and full of charm. Nearly every woman in New Orleans, young or old, matron or maiden, was in love with him. His downfall, naturellement, was a woman.
“Corinne Quérand was the daughter of a highly respectable family in New Orleans. Max was your age when he married her. So young, in fact, that he was not able to see the real woman beneath the beautiful facade. The first year of their marriage Corinne gave Max the twins, and he was overcome with joy. It seemed that they would be very happy together, but then…” Irénée paused and shook her head regretfully.
“What happened?” Lysette demanded.
“Corinne changed. Or perhaps she now allowed her true nature to be revealed. The beautiful mask dropped away, and she began to discard her morals and self-respect as garments she was simply tired of wearing. Corinne had no interest in her children. She wanted to hurt Max, alors, she took a lover. I think, Lysette, that you can guess who that was.”
Lysette swallowed hard. “Etienne Sagesse.”
“Oui, c’etait lui. Corinne flaunted her indiscretion with Etienne in Maximilien’s face. She knew Max still loved her, and that drove her to such cruelty…Mon Dieu, my son suffered as no mother would ever want to see her child suffer. He desired to call Etienne out, but his pride would not let him admit before the world that his wife had been unfaithful to him.”
Noeline secured Lysette’s hair at the nape of her neck and moved to hand Irénée a handkerchief.
“Merci, Noeline,” Irénée said, swabbing at her moist eyes. “Anyone could understand why it would happen. Corinne had tortured Max with his own feelings for her, until he couldn’t stop himself. It was justified, wasn’t it, Noeline?”
“Oui, madame.“
“What happened?” Lysette asked, although she already knew.
Noeline was the one who replied. “Madame Corinne was found in the empty overseer’s house, set back in the woods. She was strangled.”
“Max claimed that he found her that way,” Irénée said. “He insisted that he didn’t kill her, but he had no alibi. The authorities considered the circumstances and chose to be
“Madame, do you believe in his innocence?” Lysette asked.
Irénée paused an unbearably long time. “I am his mother,” she finally answered.
Lysette frowned, thinking that didn’t quite sound like a yes. “Perhaps there was someone else who had reason to kill her?”
“No one else,” Irénée said with terrible certainty.
Lysette tried to imagine Maximilien Vallerand putting his powerful hands around a woman’s throat and choking the life from her. It was impossible to reconcile that image with her knowledge of the man who had cared for her when she was ill. She could accept that Vallerand was ruthless, not to mention manipulative. But a murderer? Somehow she couldn’t make herself believe it.
“Max must be pitied,” Irénée said. “Now you understand why Max saw you as the means to force Etienne into a duel. He regards it as his opportunity to avenge the past. I have little doubt that he will kill Etienne. Perhaps then Maximilien will be able to put the entire tragedy to rest.”
“Or,” Lysette murmured, “your son will simply have more blood on his hands.”
———
Irénée could not help but be gratified by the number of visitors she received on Thursday. All her female friends and relatives came from far and wide, eagerly seeking information on the most thrilling gossip to be passed around in years. The controversy had spread to every corner of New Orleans. It was obvious a duel was forthcoming. Everyone knew that Maximilien Vallerand had virtually stolen Etienne Sagesse’s fiancée from under his nose and ruined her.
“The rumors are untrue,” Irénée said placidly, reigning over the crowd in the parlor like a queen, handing around plates of cakes and langues de chat, tiny pastries that dissolved on the tongue. “How can anyone believe my son could assault the virtue of a girl living under my roof? Not only was I there to chaperone her, but she was ill with fever! I myself nursed her through it!”
Four gray, lace-capped heads nodded together. Claire and Nicole Laloux, Marie-Therese Robert, and Fleurette Grenet were Irénée’s staunchest friends, supporting her through the most dire circumstances. Even in the dark days of Corinne Quérand’s murder, they had not stopped paying calls and had never thought to withdraw their friendship. Irénée was a gentle and generous woman, and everyone knew her to be a lady of the highest refinement. Her son, on the other hand…
Still, most Creoles tolerated Maximilien. The Vallerands had been a significant New Orleans family for decades. Regardless of his shameful past, he was invited to the important social events of the year… but not to the small, intimate family gatherings, where real attachments were formed and deepened.
“We all know you would never have condoned anything improper, Irénée,” spoke up Catherine Gauthier, a young matron who was friends with some of the younger Vallerand cousins. “But the poor girl has been ruined just the same. The fact is, she has spent more than two weeks under the same roof with Maximilien, who is undeniably the city’s most notorious… gentleman. No one blames Etienne Sagesse for not wanting her now.”
Everyone murmured agreement, held out their cups to be filled with more coffee, finished the last crumbs of pastry, and began on a new plate.
“Of course there will be a duel now,” Marie-Therese said. “It is the only recourse left to Sagesse. Otherwise his honor would be forever besmirched.”
“Yes, everyone knows that,” Fleurette said, daintily dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. She assumed an expression of objective interest. “Irénée, what did Maximilien do to make this girl decide to stay here rather than return to Sagesse?”
“He did nothing at all,” Irénée said primly.
Claire and Fleurette looked at each other knowingly. It was obvious the girl had been seduced. Either that or she had been threatened with violence. Maximilien was such a wicked man!
———
A native of Virginia, William Charles Coles Claiborne was only eight-and-twenty when President Jefferson appointed him the first American governor of the Orleans Territory. Although Creoles had been opposed to him, it was a coalition of money-hungry Americans and French refugees who constituted the greatest threat to Claiborne’s administration.
Among those whom Claiborne wisely considered a danger were Edward Livingston, a New Yorker who had come to New Orleans to make his fortune, and General Wilkinson, the ranking officer of the army and newly appointed governor of the Upper Louisiana Territory. Both men had more or less allied themselves with Aaron Burr, who was encouraging them to stir up strife among the most powerful residents of the territory.
Max had many doubts about Claiborne’s ability to weather the events that were taking shape. Although clever and determined, Claiborne was still grieving over the loss of his wife and only daughter to yellow fever the year before. The press attacked him ruthlessly, alleging he was a gambler, a reprobate, and had treated his wife cruelly before her death. Worse still, Claiborne’s attention was frequently distracted from the Burr problem by the increasing number of pirates infesting Barataria Bay and the bayous to the south of New Orleans.
“The problem,” Claiborne said ruefully to Max as they sat in heavy mahogany chairs and discussed the latest events in the city, “is that the bandits know the swamps better than my own police force, and they are far better supplied and organized. President Jefferson has promised a number of gunboats to help combat the pirates, but I fear they will not be in suitable condition. Nor will there be a great number of enlisted men to choose from.”
Max smiled wryly. “I should point out that most Creoles will not be in favor of strong measures to oppose privateering. The local merchants will cause quite an uproar if you remove their access to duty-free merchandise. The fortunes of many respectable families have been founded on smuggling. Here it is not always considered a dishonorable vocation.”
“Oh! And which respectable families are you referring to?”
The question, asked in a tone of suspicion, might have caused many to recoil in unease. Max only laughed. “I would be surprised if my own father had not contributed to the pirates’ cause,” he admitted.
Claiborne looked at him sharply, startled by the bold revelation. “And with whom do your sympathies rest in this matter, Vallerand?”
“If you’re asking whether or not I have a hand in smuggling, the answer is…” Max paused, drew on his thin black cigar, and blew out an even stream of smoke. “Not at the moment.”
Claiborne was torn between annoyance and amusement at the man’s insolence. The latter won out, and he chuckled. “Sometimes I wonder, Vallerand, if I should count you as friend or foe.”
“Were I your enemy, sir, you would have no cause to wonder.”
“Let us talk of your enemies for a moment. What is this my aides tell me of the rivalry between you and Etienne Sagesse over some woman? And some ridiculous talk of a duel? Merely a rumor, I hope?”
“All true.”
Surprise appeared on the governor’s face. “You would not be so impetuous as to duel over a woman? A man of your maturity?”
Max’s brow arched. “I am five-and-thirty, monsieur— hardly in the doddering years of infirmity.”
“Not by any means, but…” Claiborne shook his head in dismay. “Although I haven’t known you long, Vallerand, I consider you to be a sensible man, not a wild-blooded youth who would sacrifice all in the heat of a jealous rage. Dueling over a woman? I would have thought you above such behavior.”
Max’s lips twitched in
“I have no hopes of understanding the Creoles,” Claiborne said with a slight scowl, thinking of his brother-in-law, who had recently been killed in a duel while defending the memory of his sister. “With your women, and dueling, and hot tempers…”
“You will discover, Governor, that dueling is an inevitable aspect of life in New Orleans. You might someday find it necessary to defend your own honor in such a way.”
“Never!”
Like all Americans in New Orleans, Claiborne did not understand the Creoles’ penchant for dueling over what seemed to be trifling matters. Rapiers were the preferred weapon, and the art of fencing was taught by a flourishing group of academies. The garden behind the cathedral had absorbed the lifeblood of many gallants who had sacrificed their lives merely to avenge an imagined slight. Sometimes a single misspoken word or the tiniest breach of etiquette was enough to result in a challenge.
“My God, man,” Claiborne continued, “how can you involve yourself in something like this, when you may still be of use to me? You know it is imperative that I avoid antagonizing the population of this city, and if the Creoles’ hatred of me worsens—”
“The Creoles do not hate you,” Max interrupted matter-of-factly.
“They don’t?” Claiborne began to look mollified.
“They are largely indifferent to you. It is your own countrymen who hate you.”
“Dammit, I know that.” The governor gave him a dark look. “Much help you’ll be to me if Sagesse wins the duel.”
Max half smiled. “That is unlikely. However, if I prove unsuccessful against Sagesse, my absence will not make as much of a difference as you seem to believe.”
“The hell it won’t! Colonel Burr is in Natchez at this moment, plotting to stir Louisiana to revolt and wreak havoc on God knows what other portions of the continent. He’ll be here in a matter of weeks looking for supporters. By that time you’ll most likely be buried at the foot of a tree instead of doing what you can to verify the reports I’m receiving. And if Burr succeeds, your property will be confiscated, your family’s wealth plundered, and your desire to see Louisiana attain statehood will never be realized.”