Chapter Eight
Julianna was seated in the parlor reading theTribune, and as Drake entered with Valinda, she looked up, scanned them silently for a long second before asking, “Are you staying for dinner, son?”
“No. I’m going to see Hugh to firm up plans to complete my kitchen. I’ll be back later tonight.”
“Give him my regards.”
“I will.” After offering his goodbyes and sharing a final look with Valinda, he departed.
As he rode away, he thought about how he’d wanted to stay for dinner and share more of Valinda’s company, but he needed to distance himself from her and not be the man who wanted to find a secluded corner and kiss her until she melted. She belonged to another and he was undoubtedly being an ass for constantly voicing how he felt about her, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. In that moment back at the tree house, the urge to ease her into his arms and finally taste her lips almost blew past his defenses. Her softly worded plea not to made him grab hold of his faltering control. But going forward, should she offer him even the tiniest bit of encouragement, her intended might as well remain in Europe because Drake would not give her up.
Due to Henri’s welcome-home party, he’d have to cancel the outing to the theater he’d planned with his mistress, Josephine. That he had a mistress while wanting Valinda was fueling much inner debate, but he needed to see her before riding to meet with Hugh.
Josephine DuSable lived in the small cottage she’d inherited from her mother on the edge of the Treme. Her family’s founding matriarch, Mala, fled to New Orleans during Toussaint L’Ouverture’s rebellion in Saint-Domingue, and after a few months, caught the eye of a Frenchman. In those days, because of the small number of European women in places like New Orleans, Biloxi, and St. Augustine, the men of France and Spain took up relationships with both enslaved and free women of color like Mala, in what was termedmariagede la main gauche—a left-handed marriage. In exchange for the lady’s favors, the man paid for her home, fathered and educated their children, mainly in Europe, and in some cases, freed her and their offspring if they were enslaved. When the man died, the woman and children were often provided for in his will.
She and Drake had been together for two years. He was not her first protector, and more than likely not her last. For her, the relationship was not a left-handed marriage but a business transaction, nothing more. For Drake, after dodging Creole mamas and their marriage-focused daughters since the age of sixteen, he found her attitude refreshing. There was no talk of weddings or children. She was smart, funny, invested wisely, and could engage in conversation on everything from politics to opera. He enjoyed her both in and out of bed, but neither had any illusions about love. She valued her independence and knew her worth. When her beauty faded, she and her business acumen would probably end up owning half the city.
He rang the bell to her cottage. It was answered by her longtime housekeeper, Selma. The dark-skinned older woman had roots in Haiti as well. “Good afternoon, Mr. LeVeq.”
“Hello, Selma. Is your mistress available?”
“For you? Of course.” She stepped aside, and he entered. “She’s in the parlor.”
To his surprise the parlor was filled with crates of varying sizes. Gowns and hats covered the furniture. Shoes and handbags were lined up by the hearth. The statuesque, golden-skinned Josephine was standing in the middle of the chaos as if thinking.
“Josie?”
She turned, and her smile warmed him as it always did. “Hello, Drake.”
“What is all this?” He stepped farther into the room and saw books stacked on the floor, more shoes, bottles of perfume, bath salts, along with bed linens, china, and cooking pots.
“I’m moving to Mexico City.”
Somehow managing not to be blown over by the unexpected news, he replied, “Really?”
“Yes. I met a Spanish gentleman willing to make it worth my while.”
“You’re going to miss New Orleans.”
“I know, but with his money, I can afford to.”
His smile met hers. “Then by all means, do what’s best.”
“I’m sorry to spring it on you this way. I planned to tell you tomorrow when we had our theater outing.”
“That’s why I stopped by. Mother’s having a family dinner tomorrow that demands my attendance. Henri is coming home.”
“Ah. Then canceling works well for me. I need to pack.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Early next week. I’ve sold the cottage, but I still have to take care of a few items of business.”
“If I can assist in any way, feel free to call on me.”
“I will. Shall we have one last evening together?”
Valinda’s face floated across his mind’s eye and he shook his head. “No. I’ll let you get back to your packing.”