Stand-in Bride Read online

  "Thank you," he murmured against her hair. "That was lovely." She opened her eyes abruptly, her face flaming with the sudden realization that the song was over and she was still standing in the close circle of his arms, oblivious to reality.

  "Oh!" she murmured, breaking away from him with every intention of bolting to hide her embarrassment. As if reading her impulse, he grasped her arm and escorted her off the dancing area to the perimeter of the large room crowded with talking, laughing people. She struggled to regain her poise as he guided her through tall French doors opening out upon a broad veranda along the side of the house. "Shall we brave the mosquitoes and escape this bedlam for a few seconds?" he asked, not waiting for an answer.

  Nicole was grateful for the cool darkness and leaned forward, bracing her hands on the railing, which was damp with evening dew. She was still adrift in an alien sea of unsettling emotions aroused in her body by that brief dance with her friend's future husband.

  After courteously obtaining her permission, he lighted his pipe, releasing a heavenly cloud of that aromatic tobacco smoke Nicole had detected earlier when her face was pressed close against his shoulder. During the brief moment when his lighter flamed, illuminating the lean, hard contours of his features, his eyes locked with hers in an electric contact that set Nicole's body atremble. He snapped the lighter closed with a click and dragged deeply on the pipe, causing the tobacco to glow scarlet and gold.

  Nicole ventured to break the silence. "Angela's probably looking for you."

  "I doubt it," he answered shortly.

  The night chorus of raucous insect sounds closed around them, the familiar cacophony a deafening roar to Nicole's heightened senses. Dimly she could hear the laughter and music in the room behind them. She felt again that disorientation of a traveler who awakens in an alien land stripped of all familiar landmarks. It was a ridiculous sensation now, and she cleared her throat with determination, breaking the spell.

  "Will you and Angela live in Iberville after you're married?"

  She could feel his shrug of indifference. "Perhaps." Then he took her completely unawares. "I'm sorry to hear about your father. It's good of you to carry on with this wedding business under the circumstances." He questioned her gently about the recent tragedy, his sympathy so genuine in the dim intimacy of the veranda that Nicole found herself telling him about the terrible accident and her brother's bitterness, which made her fear he might do something really foolish.

  "I would do anything to help Andrew," she was saying, when suddenly the French doors behind them burst open spilling golden light and sounds of revelry.

  "So here you two are!" came gay voices, ending the brief interlude.

  Nicole felt mingled relief and regret. Her common sense told her that after tomorrow Louis Chauvin would move forever outside the narrow boundaries of her life. He and Angela would go away to the British Virgin Islands on their honeymoon, and she would have to see about getting a full-time job to support herself now that her father was gone.

  After high school she had chosen to stay at home and keep house and cook for her father and younger brother, at the same time working part time at the local library to earn money for her personal needs. She had tried her best to make the small cottage into a home for the three of them. Her reward had been the gleam of appreciation in her father's eyes and the warmth in his voice on those rare occasions when he would express his emotion with words.

  "Your mamma would be so proud if she could see her little Nicole now." His face would soften with that faraway expression, and Nicole would know he was remembering the woman who could never be replaced in his affection after all these years. She'd died in an influenza epidemic when Nicole was a small child…

  As Nicole allowed herself to be swept back into the ballroom, she looked around for Angela, half expecting to see her flirting with her latest conquest, the urbane Gregory Benton, but there was no sign of either of them. Oh, dear, had Angela grown angry at her fiancé's disappearance? Not that Angela could ever have reason to be jealous of her.

  Suddenly she felt drained and leaden. The last week had been too much of a strain for her to keep up the outward pretense of enjoying herself. Besides, deep down she wanted to be alone and relive those magic moments tonight when she floated in Louis Chauvin's strong arms and later when they were alone on the veranda. Not that there was any future in such recollections, Nicole knew, but she would treasure them in the lonely days ahead. Not even Angela could take away Nicole's memories.

  She skirted the crowd and located Angela's mother and father. They stood together, so engrossed in a serious conversation that they seemed oblivious to her approach.

  "It's not right—she can't just go off at a time like this—" Mrs. Peltier's voice broke off in midsentence as she finally took notice of her daughter's maid of honor hesitating close by.

  Nicole said goodnight quickly and departed, wondering what had happened to cause that look of concern bordering on panic on the faces of Angela's parents.

  Chapter Two

  Nicole awoke early to a quiet house. A quick survey of Andrew's room showed it exactly the way it had been last night when she had arrived home: the bed still neatly made and unslept in. Where had he been all night? Heavy with worry for her brother, so young and so vulnerable at this difficult time in his life, she brewed a pot of strong black coffee and took her steaming mug out to the small back porch overlooking the vegetable garden.

  Sitting down on the top step in the early morning sunshine, she noticed that the okra would soon be ready to pick. Then, with a little moan of remembrance, she realized that her father would never again walk with tired steps into the homey kitchen and lift the pot lid on the old iron Dutch oven, bending forward to sniff deeply the rich aroma of stewed tomatoes and okra seasoned with ham trimmings the way he loved them. It was little day-to-day things like that she would miss so terribly.

  The unshed tears blurred her vision as she gazed at the neat rows of vegetables. Somehow it was wrong for everything to look so normal on this glorious June morning. The mockingbirds flitted tirelessly in the branches of the oak tree in the far corner of the fenced back yard; the sun's delicate rays caressed the thriving garden plants whose leaves rustled in the refreshing morning breeze. The natural harmony all around Nicole seemed a callous affront in view of her own depression.

  The ringing of the telephone roused her from her lethargy. "Oh, no!" she cried, panic rising from the instant fear that something might have happened to Andrew! She jerked open the screen door, leaving it to slam behind her as she ran to the wall telephone in the kitchen.

  "Yes?" she managed to whisper into the black plastic receiver, her heart pounding with fright.

  "Nicole, did I waken you?" came the smooth voice of Angela's mother.

  "Oh, Mrs. Peltier, it's you!" Nicole breathed, her body sagging weakly against the wall in relief.

  "I apologize for calling you so early, dear, but could you come over right away?"

  "Of course. Has something gone wrong?" Now that her fright had abated, Nicole detected a strange note in Mrs. Peltier's calm voice.

  "I'll explain everything after you arrive. Please come right over."

  Nicole stood holding the receiver in her hand seconds after the small click had released the impersonal buzz of the dial tone. Now what? she wondered dully.

  She slipped on tailored navy slacks and a cotton knit top of bold red and white stripes. She knew her father's opinions about the living mourning the dead, and he would have heartily approved her selection of crisp colors that seemed to have a soothing effect on the turbulence of her emotions.

  Half an hour later she sat in the library of the Peltiers' rambling old Louisiana mansion, staring with shocked disbelief at the other three people in the room.

  "Angela left?" she repeated foolishly. "But she's getting married at one o'clock this afternoon."

  Mary Peltier sat stiffly on the edge of her chair, her face pale beneath its layer of perfectly applied ma
keup. Her clothing and hair arrangement were impeccable, as always. She looked up from the piece of paper she held in one manicured hand.

  "I suppose her father and I are much to blame," she said in her composed voice, as if she were analyzing the failure of one of her many charity organizations to raise the expected amount of funds. "We have always spoiled her. She always looked like a little angel when she was pleased."

  Nicole's thoughts whirled and her heart twisted with pity at the shamed look on Mr. Peltier's normally jocund face. How could Angela bring such embarrassment upon the two people who loved her so devotedly? According to the scrawled note, she had realized last night that she wasn't ready to tie herself down with marriage. It would be a terrible mistake right now, so she'd decided to go away somewhere for a few months to think. She'd be in touch with her parents; they weren't to worry about her, because Greg Benton had kindly agreed to go along and look out for her. She'd signed "Love, Your Angel."

  Nicole's eyes strayed to the tall, implacable back of Louis Chauvin, who stood gazing out the window beyond which the wide lawn sloped gently down to the brown currents of the bayou. She'd caught a glimpse of his face when she first entered the room, and it had resembled a carved wooden mask, his eyes smoldering with suppressed emotion. He had not spoken one word during the Peltiers' mortified explanation that their daughter had bolted the evening before, leaving her parents and fiancé the enormous task of canceling the elaborate wedding proceedings.

  How would they be able to inform all the guests just hours before the wedding? Nicole felt dazed with the unexpectedness of it all, but she was beginning to wonder why she had been the one to be called in like this. Where were the other bridesmaids and attendants? They were all more a part of the Peltiers' social world than Nicole could ever be. What did they expect of her?

  "I'll be glad to help telephone people, if you'll just give me a list of the guests," she offered quietly, stifling the spontaneous impulse to apologize for Angela's deplorable behavior, knowing intuitively they would resent any criticism of their beloved daughter even at this time.

  Mary Peltier glanced nervously at the rigid figure of the man her daughter had deserted practically at the altar. As though sensing her glance, at that moment Louis Chauvin turned, his shoulders squared, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. Nicole noticed quite irrelevantly that the soft gray fabric molded the taut muscles of his thighs. She quaked inwardly at the controlled fury in his eyes as they raked across the three of them facing him in uncertainty.

  "The wedding will not be canceled," he announced coldly, looking straight into Nicole's eyes with an intensity that made her hotly uncomfortable. As puzzling as his words were under the circumstances, they fitted her image of him, a proud and formidable man who would not take public humiliation lightly.

  Following the thunderous silence during which everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath, Mary Peltier stood up, smoothing her crisp skirt with restless hands. She looked questioningly at her husband, who gave a barely perceptible nod before he spoke to the tall man towering before the window. Nicole felt vaguely that some prearranged sign was being exchanged among the other three people present.

  "We will go along with you, Louis, whatever you decide. I don't have to tell you how apologetic I feel at this moment. Your parents and Mary and I always looked forward to the day when their son and our daughter…" His voice drifted off into a deep sigh. Then, with an inscrutable glance at Nicole, he led his wife from the room.

  As the door closed soundlessly behind them, Nicole's pulses throbbed with apprehension. She felt completely out of her depth, unable to comprehend the currents of communication between Angela's father and this stern man facing her. What was her role in this alarming state of affairs? What did any of this have to do with her? The questions crowded her mind in a confused jumble, making rational thought impossible.

  "What do you—how can you…" she murmured incoherently.

  "What you're asking is how can there be a wedding without a bride," he cut in harshly.

  She nodded mutely, trying in vain to tear her eyes away from his compelling gaze, his blue eyes darkened with emotion in a way she found most disquieting.

  "I can see only one solution," he said, eying her speculatively. "You can take Angela's place."

  "What!" Nicole sprang to her feet, dark eyes huge with disbelief. "You're out of your mind! I can't marry you!"

  "Why not?" he said curtly. "Perhaps it's conceited of me to think so, but being my wife certainly offers some advantages over hiding yourself away in a convent. Such a life may be commendable for the right woman, but not for you." He paused slightly. "It is fortunate, too, that you can wear the wedding dress."

  "Of all the gall!" she blazed at him, her hands pressed to crimson cheeks. She burned with humiliation at the cold-bloodedness of his proposal, the insulting implication that she was a nonentity with no plans, no life of importance, just a convenience to enable him to save face rather than cancel his wedding. Why, the very suggestion that she take Angela's place was arrogant—even barbaric.

  "Before you rush off in a blaze of righteous indignation," he said coldly, "I suggest you consider the advantages of my proposal. You suggested last night you would" do anything—I believe those were your exact words—to help your brother. I'm prepared to advance your brother the money he requires to purchase a new, up-to-date fishing boat with all the latest equipment. He can repay me over a long period.

  "All I ask of you in return—in addition to the general supervision of the staff at Mimosa House—is that you take charge of Elaine. She's twelve now and needs the influence of a woman. I was hoping—"

  Nicole completed the sentence in her mind. He had been hoping Angela would take an interest in his young sister. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her response. She felt a sense of panic at the responsibilities of the life he so calmly outlined. Nothing in her background had prepared her to be the mistress of one of the oldest and most historic homes in the whole of southern Louisiana. She struggled desperately against the current of change sweeping her away from the familiarity of her old circumscribed existence.

  "You're forgetting one person in this neat little plan of yours," she protested with a note of hysteria in her voice. "Andrew would have his boat, you would save face in front of all your friends and get a companion for your sister in the process, but what about me?"

  "What about you?" He shrugged. "What are your alternatives? The tedium of a low-paying job, with the possibility of marrying some local young man. I'm offering you all the advantages of being Mrs. Louis Chauvin, including a beautiful home, a comfortable allowance for your personal needs, and the opportunity to give your brother a future. Frankly, I fail to see how I'm doing you an injustice," he said.

  How clever of him to emphasize her ability to rescue Andrew from the dangers facing a young man filled with bitterness at what he considered the inequities of life. How could she ever forgive herself if she denied Andrew this rare opportunity out of selfish consideration of herself, and then something terrible happened to him. She admitted with a rueful little insight that Louis Chauvin hadn't been wrong in assessing the limitations of her own future. She had no education beyond her excellent high-school studies, and her only work experience outside of her varied domestic duties was that of part-time library assistant.

  He watched her inner struggle with perceptive eyes. Finally, he spoke. "Well, have you decided?"

  She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and replied evenly, "I have decided to accept your proposal."

  He relaxed slightly at her words. "Good. That's settled, then. I'll take care of everything while you go home and pack whatever you wish to move to Mimosa House. Don't worry about the legal complications— money talks," he said cynically.

  She bit her lips, mustering the courage to speak her one condition. How could she tell him she wouldn't— couldn't bear, under the circumstances… She faltered even in her attempt to frame the reservat
ion in her mind. He noted her agitation and a swift expression of comprehension flashed in his eyes.

  "I see," he drawled mockingly. "Your chaste instincts are offended by the sexual obligations of marriage. Most women don't find me physically repulsive, but I can assure you I do not intend to enter your bedroom by force!"

  Chapter Three

  Four months later Nicole's memories of her wedding day formed a kaleidoscope of vivid scenes. The blank incredulity on Andrew's face changing quickly to hope as she explained honestly the turn of events that would alter his future and hers for the better. The image of herself as she stood in front of the full-length gilt-framed mirror in Angela's bedroom staring at the exquisite stranger in sumptuous wedding regalia. The almost funereal atmosphere in the limousine on the ride to the church with Mr. Peltier, who, true to his word, supported Louis Chauvin in his decision to take a substitute bride—right down to walking down the aisle with Nicole. The sea of faces, turned to watch the bride, gradually contorting with shock as the realization undulated through the assembly: "That isn't Angela!"

  She remembered that strange floating sensation as she proceeded down the. long, carpeted aisle to stand beside the tall, remote man whose eyes kindled with a strange flame when she dared to look directly at him as she repeated the sacred vows of marriage. Then there was the shock of his firm mouth pressed against hers before they retreated hurriedly back up the long aisle, with her clinging desperately to the hard rock of his arm.

  He had ignored the limousine with the uniformed chauffeur waiting in readiness, guiding her instead around the corner of the church to his pale blue Mercedes. Inside the car she had collapsed against the smooth leather upholstery with a convulsive little shudder.

  "It's done," he said with grim satisfaction. In a terse, clipped voice he explained that they would bypass the reception, going directly to Mimosa House instead, where she would be safely secluded from wagging tongues and curious eyes until the sensation of their wedding had died down. Meanwhile she could become acquainted with the Holdens, the middle-aged couple who maintained Mimosa House, and have some time to get to know Elaine, who fortunately was at home on summer vacation and would be spared the curiosity of her classmates.