Read Online Day Dreamer by Jill Marie Landis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jill Marie Landis
Ads: Link
sugar—smelled too luscious to resist. Tears threatened when she was reminded of Sunday mornings on the Vieux Carre when she and Persa would buy the treats hot and steaming from a vendor who sang, “
Bella Cala, Tout Chaud!
”
Her stomach felt edgy, her nervousness spawned by uncertainty, but the tender white fish poached in tomato and lemon, the veal rissolés, the fresh pineapple—all of it tempted her beyond reason.
A short while later, as she stood beside her new husband, closeted in private audience with Henre Moreau, it was too late to regret her overindulgence. She tried to dismiss her discomfort and the fear that she might lose the contents of her stomach over the well-oiled surface of Henre Moreau’s cherry-wood desk. Instead she concentrated on what the old man seated in the chair behind the desk was telling Cordero.
“You realize that the moment you walk out of here you will be cut off from our family and all you might have inherited from me,” Henre warned.
When Cordero made no comment at all, Celine cast a sidelong glance at him. He was cold and aloof, returning his grandfather’s bitter stare just as he had all through breakfast. She could feel the tension radiating from him.
After an uncomfortable silence he finally replied. “What family? You? If you mean Stephen and Anton, they won’t be here long. Not once the novelty of New Orleans wears off and you begin your overbearing brand of rehabilitation on them. There is no need to worry, Grandfather. Once I’m gone I’ll never ask you for anything or darken your door again.”
Celine stared up at Cordero’s profile. When he felt her gaze upon him, he looked down at her and suddenly flashed a smile. Taken in by the radiance of it, she did not realize it was calculated until he whipped his attention back to his grandfather.
“What about her dowry? I married her. I want it now.”
Henre leaned back in his chair. “It is a sizeable amount.” He unlocked a drawer in his desk, removed a false bottom, and withdrew a felt bag, heavy and bulging with coins, and handed it to Cordero.
“How long will it take you to drink and gamble it away, do you think?” Henre asked.
“I have a small stipend from my mother’s estate, as well as whatever the plantation earns.” Cordero dangled the bag at his side.
“For what little good that will do you. There have been no funds from the crop on that place in years. You are just like your father. You will never amount to anything. You are doomed to fail.”
“A prediction you have made with unfailing regularity for the last fourteen years,” Cordero said.
“Why should you suddenly change overnight into a conscientious planter? You have never taken an interest here, never even balanced a column of accounts. You have been foolish enough to declare that slavery disgusts you. Most likely you will free your slaves, only to have them slit your throat some night.”
“It’s none of your concern what I do with my property or the people who toil there, is it?”
“Thankfully, no.”
The hatred between the men was so palpable she could almost see it. Both men were as rigid as swamp cypress. Unnerved by the harsh exchange of words, she smoothed her palms down the front of her borrowed finery, an emerald traveling gown that Edward and Foster insisted looked perfect on her. Once buttoned, the jacket almost fit. Her slight movement drew Henre’s attention. She fought the urge to squirm.
“So, you intend to sail with Cordero?” Henre asked.
“Yes.” She wanted to be on her way as soon as possible, so she kept her response brief. “I do.”
He was watching her with open distrust. “Last night you tried to back out of the wedding and then suddenly changed your mind. Why did you go through with it?”
“That’s what I asked her earlier,” Cordero said. “I think she just wanted to bed me.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth,” she countered.
“That remains to be seen.” Cordero was
Bella Cala, Tout Chaud!
”
Her stomach felt edgy, her nervousness spawned by uncertainty, but the tender white fish poached in tomato and lemon, the veal rissolés, the fresh pineapple—all of it tempted her beyond reason.
A short while later, as she stood beside her new husband, closeted in private audience with Henre Moreau, it was too late to regret her overindulgence. She tried to dismiss her discomfort and the fear that she might lose the contents of her stomach over the well-oiled surface of Henre Moreau’s cherry-wood desk. Instead she concentrated on what the old man seated in the chair behind the desk was telling Cordero.
“You realize that the moment you walk out of here you will be cut off from our family and all you might have inherited from me,” Henre warned.
When Cordero made no comment at all, Celine cast a sidelong glance at him. He was cold and aloof, returning his grandfather’s bitter stare just as he had all through breakfast. She could feel the tension radiating from him.
After an uncomfortable silence he finally replied. “What family? You? If you mean Stephen and Anton, they won’t be here long. Not once the novelty of New Orleans wears off and you begin your overbearing brand of rehabilitation on them. There is no need to worry, Grandfather. Once I’m gone I’ll never ask you for anything or darken your door again.”
Celine stared up at Cordero’s profile. When he felt her gaze upon him, he looked down at her and suddenly flashed a smile. Taken in by the radiance of it, she did not realize it was calculated until he whipped his attention back to his grandfather.
“What about her dowry? I married her. I want it now.”
Henre leaned back in his chair. “It is a sizeable amount.” He unlocked a drawer in his desk, removed a false bottom, and withdrew a felt bag, heavy and bulging with coins, and handed it to Cordero.
“How long will it take you to drink and gamble it away, do you think?” Henre asked.
“I have a small stipend from my mother’s estate, as well as whatever the plantation earns.” Cordero dangled the bag at his side.
“For what little good that will do you. There have been no funds from the crop on that place in years. You are just like your father. You will never amount to anything. You are doomed to fail.”
“A prediction you have made with unfailing regularity for the last fourteen years,” Cordero said.
“Why should you suddenly change overnight into a conscientious planter? You have never taken an interest here, never even balanced a column of accounts. You have been foolish enough to declare that slavery disgusts you. Most likely you will free your slaves, only to have them slit your throat some night.”
“It’s none of your concern what I do with my property or the people who toil there, is it?”
“Thankfully, no.”
The hatred between the men was so palpable she could almost see it. Both men were as rigid as swamp cypress. Unnerved by the harsh exchange of words, she smoothed her palms down the front of her borrowed finery, an emerald traveling gown that Edward and Foster insisted looked perfect on her. Once buttoned, the jacket almost fit. Her slight movement drew Henre’s attention. She fought the urge to squirm.
“So, you intend to sail with Cordero?” Henre asked.
“Yes.” She wanted to be on her way as soon as possible, so she kept her response brief. “I do.”
He was watching her with open distrust. “Last night you tried to back out of the wedding and then suddenly changed your mind. Why did you go through with it?”
“That’s what I asked her earlier,” Cordero said. “I think she just wanted to bed me.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth,” she countered.
“That remains to be seen.” Cordero was
Similar Books
