Sweet Piracy Read Online Free Page B

broke her absorption once more.
    “Mam’zelle?” she said, her gentle voice insistent. “Mam’zelle, it is Maman’s personal maid. Maman requires your presence.”
    “I beg your pardon, I must have been woolgathering,” Caroline murmured apologetically with a quick glance to the stately Negro woman waiting in the doorway. Rising, she went quickly into the house.

2
     
    MADAME DELACROIX LAY upon a brocade-upholstered chaise longue. Her ample form was covered by a wrapper of puce satin edged at the collar, sleeves, and hem with blonde lace. On her feet were Turkish slippers with embroidered, upturned toes. Her eyes were closed, and upon her broad forehead rested a cloth soaked in violet-scented cologne water.
    At Caroline’s entrance, the recumbent form of Estelle’s mother was galvanized into action. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up, dislodging lace-covered and velvet-tasseled pillows so that they slid to the floor in every direction. The bolster beneath her head shifted, revealing a quick glimpse of a French novel in a yellow cover before Madame Delacroix pushed it out of sight again.
    “There you are,” the older woman said in aggrieved accents. “Tell me, if you will, what this ridiculous child is talking about with her prattle of noblemen and new wardrobes. One would believe the King of France himself was about to descend upon us. Doubtless she has mistaken the matter completely.”
    Estelle, sitting on the steps which mounted to the four-poster bed jutting into the center of the room, sent her mother an oblique look. “I am not a child,” she said distinctly. Madame Delacroix paid no attention.
    “If rumors are to be believed, we are indeed to be honored by the nobility,” Caroline said easily. “According to the latest report, the Marquis de Rochefort has purchased the plantation that lies to the north of Beau Repos. I understand we may look to see the gentleman in residence within the week.”
    Madame Delacroix took a deep breath and let it out slowly, a smile growing on her face. “Mon Dieu,” she said, “that I should live to see it.” Abruptly she frowned. “You are certain it is as Estelle has sworn, the Marquis is unmarried?”
    “Why, no, that is, M’sieur Philippe thinks not, but—”
    “The tutor? What has he to do with anything?” the older woman demanded.
    “He has been one of our primary sources of information,” Caroline admitted.
    “I might have known,” Madame Delacroix exclaimed, throwing herself back upon the chaise, sending flying once more the pillows her maid had only just replaced. “It is probably all a farce, concocted to plague me. I will not be taken in, I will not.”
    Watching Madame Delacroix fling out her hand to her maid in a mute command for her vinaigrette, Caroline found herself thinking that Estelle came by her penchant for drama in the most natural way possible. Before she could speak, Estelle rose from her seat, moving quickly to her mother’s side.
    “It is not a hoax, Maman , I swear it,” she pleaded, falling to one knee and taking her mother’s hand.
    “If only I could believe it,” her mother said with a shake of her head that sent her mobcap of lace and ribbons falling over her eye. “Such an opportunity for Amélie, to form a connection with a rich, attractive, personable member of the aristocracy—”
    “We do not know his appearance or monetary standing,” Caroline reminded in a dry tone, but she might as well not have spoken for all the impression her words made.
    “When that Corsican monster is returned to his island prison once more and monarchy is restored in order, who knows what might happen? My dearest daughter might take her place among the noblest families of Europe.”
    “Hardly an honor with Europe in an uproar over Napoleon’s escape from Elba,” Caroline observed.
    Madame Delacroix turned a reproachful gaze upon her. “You do not think Amélie would be a suitable wife for the Marquis?”
    “I cannot venture to