“If it comes at all, war’s a long way off.”
“I’ll not take risks with the future of this land.” Monsieur Collier leaned forward, planting a gnarled fist on the linen tablecloth. “Already hotheads in Austin are calling for Texas to join a confederacy of southern states. Texas must not leave the U—”
Monsieur Collier’s face contorted around a sharp hiss. Clasping a palm to his chest, he collapsed against the back of his chair.
Amon was at his father’s elbow before Jo had time to blink. A rustle of silk passed her back, and Jenny appeared at the stricken patriarch’s other side. “Mademoiselle, a glass of water, s'il vous pla?t. Hurry.” The urgency beneath the Creole’s cultured tone sent Jo scurrying for the sideboard.
Slender hands shook as Jenny removed the stopper from a small, brown vial and measured its contents into the water Jo delivered. Between them, Amon and the household manager coaxed, cajoled, and threatened until Monsieur Collier drank every drop.
Gasping for breath, the old man sprawled limp in the chair. “I guess…I’m not as…hale…as I could hope.” Surely, the reed-thin voice belonged to another man.
Amon raised his father’s frail form in his arms. “Let’s get you to bed.”
****
He will recover. He will recover. Jo lost track of the number of times the silent words circled her head as she paced the empty dining salon. Napoleon played peekaboo with the hem of her sweeping crinoline. The estate would be in mourning for months, the wedding would be delayed…
What a selfish creature you are. Papa’s memory was no more than a shadow, yet an ache lingered all these years after his death. How much rawer would her betrothed’s pain be if he returned to find his father had died while he was away? Security gained at the cost of Bennett Collier’s happiness would doom any hope she had of claiming her bridegroom’s heart.
And claiming his heart was essential to ensure she’d never be set aside like Maman nor mistreated like Céline.
Jo drew a calming breath and held the air until her whirling thoughts slowed. Minutes stretched into an hour, and still neither Jenny nor Amon returned with word of Monsieur Collier’s condition.
The aristocratic serenity enveloping the woman in a portrait above the fireplace drew Jo across the room. The blush of youth infused the subject’s flawless skin, but her beatific smile nevertheless hinted at wisdom—and a certain sadness—beyond her years.
“That’s Suzette. She was from New Orleans, too.” The deep, quiet voice swung Jo to face the doorway. Amon filled the opening, broad shoulders nearly spanning the frame. Napoleon bounded across the carpet, his tail beating the air like an over-wound metronome. “She sat for that while she was carrying Bennett.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Yes, she was, and very special.” Amon ripped the button-on collar from his shirt. Releasing a gust of relief through pursed lips, he tossed the stiff linen band on the dining table. “She never recovered after Ben’s birth. Died eighteen years ago January.”
“I’m sorry.”
He dismissed her concern with a twist of his lips and a shake of his head. “Suzette’s death hit us all pretty hard, but it was almost a relief. Fifteen years is a long time to linger.” Napoleon’s energetic bouncing against Amon’s shin drew a wan smile across the Collier scion’s lips. He picked up the tiny dog. “Jenny asked me to make her apologies. She’s going to stay with Pa in case he needs anything. Will you—and the emperor here—join me for dessert?”
“No, thank you.” Jo collected her companion from Amon’s gentle hold. “The meal was excellent. I’m afraid I have nowhere to put dessert.”
“A glass of sherry, then. I could use a good stiff belt right about now.” A lost boy lurked behind his halfhearted smile. “And I hate to drink alone.”
How could she refuse such a request? “Very well.” Napoleon wiggled. She shifted him to the crook of her other arm. “How is your father?”
Points of light danced across the crystal decanter’s facets when Amon pulled the stopper. “Dying. Doc says his heart’s giving out.” In mid-pour, he stopped long enough to release a sardonic huff. “Stubborn old cuss. Never has been one to give up until he gets what he wants. Not even for the Grim Reaper.”
“What is it he wants?”
“A grandchild—an heir.” A sly grin peeked around the corner of his expression as he set a tulip glass containing amber liquid in her free hand. “He’s looking to you and Ben for that.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment sent Jo’s gaze scrambling for the floor…just in time to save her sherry from Napoleon’s tongue. The little dog grumbled.