Миранда Джеймс: Dead With The Wind

“Miss An’gel, Miss Dickce, nice to see you. Maybe the two of you can stiffen up a few spines while you’re here. The good Lord knows we need it, but of course the hired help gets ignored when they suggest anything.” The housekeeper acknowledged them with curt nods. She pointed to the tea tray. “It won’t be my fault if the tea gets cold. I don’t have time to stand around pouring tea when you can pour it just as well yourselves. I have way too much on my plate as it is.” With that she turned and hurried from the room without a backward glance.

Estelle had been claiming to be overburdened as long as An’gel had known her. She had often thought that if Estelle had put more effort into her work and less effort into complaining about it, she might actually get things done.

Mireille shook her head as she leaned forward to pour out the tea. “Estelle means well, but nothing I can do will ever get her to rein in that tongue of hers.”

An’gel exchanged a wry glance with her sister. She and Dickce knew that Mireille abhorred confrontation of any kind and would never make an effort to get the upper hand. She always let things go, no matter how much trouble she was making for herself in the long run.

“She’s always been difficult.” Jacqueline leant forward to accept a cup from her mother. “But ever since Maman made her a partner in the bed-and-breakfast, she’s become nearly impossible to deal with. She has opinions on every thing, and they’re all negative.” She sipped her tea.

An’gel decided a change of subject was overdue. “Dickce and I don’t know anything about the groom, though his name sounded somewhat familiar. Has Sondra known him long?”

Mireille stared into her tea as she answered. “Lance? She’s known him practically all her life, since they were in kindergarten.”

“They’ve been sweethearts since their junior year in high school.” Jacqueline helped herself to a lemon square from the tea tray.

“Have we ever met the boy?” An’gel glanced at her sister.

Dickce nodded. “I believe I remember him. A pretty little boy with blond curls that Sondra used to drag around all over the place.”

“Yes, now I remember him,” An’gel said. The boy had been even prettier than Sondra, as she recalled, and excessively biddable.

Jacqueline chuckled. “Yes, that was Lance. They have always adored each other. I’ve never heard them have a cross word between them. At least not since they were little children.”

An’gel’s eyebrows arched over this statement. Perhaps not in your hearing , she thought. Once again she shared a glance with her sister. Dickce evidently didn’t believe this claim of angelic behavior on Sondra’s part any more than An’gel did.

“So obviously you’ve known the family a long time,” Dickce said. “I can’t remember who his people are.”

“The Perigords used to own a large plantation up the river from here. They have been in St. Ignatiusville almost as long as the Champlains.” Mireille had a sip of her tea. “They have not prospered in the past couple of generations, but they’re still important members of the community.”

The Perigords must be thrilled at the coming wedding, An’gel thought, especially if they needed money. Sondra’s father had left the bulk of his considerable fortune in trust for his daughter until she married or turned twenty-five, whichever came first. Young Mr. Perigord could very well be a fortune hunter, even though he and Sondra had known each other since childhood.

“Do you like the young man?” An’gel directed her question to the mother of the bride.

Jacqueline shrugged. “He has nice manners, and he’s astonishingly gorgeous to look at.”

“But?” Dickce said in a leading tone.

Estelle Winfield appeared suddenly beside her, startling Dickce into almost dropping her cup.

“But he has the brainpower the good Lord gave a fence post. Beautiful like no man on this earth has a right to be. He and Sondra’d better have lots of mirrors in their house; otherwise, they’ll knock each other out trying to stand in front of one.” Estelle glared at Mireille. “Is that enough tea, or do you want more?”

Mireille waved a hand. “We have plenty, thank you, Estelle. I will ring when I’m ready for you to clear the tea things away.”

The housekeeper snorted—in irritation, An’gel presumed—and scurried out of the room.

“Is that a fair assessment of the young man?” An’gel couldn’t quite bring herself to say the groom’s name. Why on earth would parents name a child Lance ? It sounded like a name out of a particularly torrid romance novel.

“Estelle may not be tactful, but she is generally honest.” Jacqueline grimaced. “Lance is a dear, sweet boy, but I’ve often wondered how he gets dressed by himself every day. I suspect his mother has to inspect him before he leaves the house to make sure he’s not wearing his underpants on the outside.”

Dickce giggled at that, and An’gel shot her a sharp glance, even though she was amused by her goddaughter’s tart comments.

“Sondra is not the smartest child, I have to admit,” Mireille said, “but she is at least more intelligent than Lance.”

An’gel did her best to keep her tone neutral as she inquired, “You’re happy with Sondra’s choice of husband?” She thought the marriage could be a terrible mistake if the groom were as lacking in intelligence as Jacqueline and Estelle claimed.

“Sondra is set on marrying him.” Jacqueline shrugged. “And Tippy adores him. He is really good with her.”

An’gel and Dickce looked at each other, puzzled. Who was Tippy?

An’gel voiced the question and was rather taken aback to see Mireille’s face flush a deep red.

“Tippy is Sondra’s daughter.” Mireille turned her head away. “Her illegitimate daughter.”

CHAPTER 3

Even seated beside her cousin, An’gel barely heard Mireille’s last three words. Evidently Mireille was deeply embarrassed to admit that her great-grandchild was born out of wedlock. An’gel was rather taken aback by the news herself, but Mireille’s shame over her great-grandchild’s illegitimacy probably explained why there had been no birth announcement.

“How old is Tippy?” Dickce asked brightly.

“Three,” Jacqueline said. “I’m sorry, Tante An’gel, Tante Dickce. I know we should have told you before now, but, well . . .” Her voice trailed off as she gestured toward her mother.

An’gel nodded. She understood Mireille’s outraged sensibilities—if indeed she felt that strongly about it—but what was done was done. An’gel firmly believed that the sins of the father—or in this case, the mother—should not be visited upon the child. She was about to express these thoughts, but Dickce spoke first.

“I know this is indelicate of me to ask,” she said with a brief smile. “But after all, we are family. I suppose Lance is the father, since he and Sondra have been sweethearts for several years?”

Jacqueline shook her head. “No, Lance is not Tippy’s father.” She paused for a deep breath. “In fact, we don’t know who her father is. Sondra refuses to say.”

“The groom isn’t bothered by this?” An’gel asked, trying to mask her astonishment with a bland tone. “Especially since it must have happened during the time he and Sondra were dating.”

“Evidently not,” Mireille said a trifle snappishly. “At the time Sondra told us all she was going to have a child, he uttered not one word of complaint or recrimination. At least not in my hearing.” She glanced at her daughter.

Jacqueline nodded. “It’s just as Maman says. Lance doesn’t seem at all bothered by the situation. Of course, he may not actually understand just how children are conceived.” She giggled.