Chapter Twelve #3
“That’s horrifying, and excessively old fashioned.
” Yet not as much as she had once believed.
Years of success, because of Grace’s hard work and, yes, her family name had sheltered her from the reality that women were subject to the whims of men.
Perhaps if she’d had a husband to take the credit for what she had built, the false accusations against her would never have been brought.
Or at worst, the public would’ve thought her simply the ignorant wife of a duplicitous man.
She was glad she’d had no husband. Had that been the case, she must always doubt his reasons for the marriage, especially if her contribution to the business had been greater than his.
Had Luc suffered the same kind of pain she had when circumstance forced her to abandon love?
“You told me when last we met,” Grace said. “That you had never gone back to Ireland. Was she the reason? Keeping her safe?”
“Yes, for the most part. I thought myself very noble and self-sacrificing. However, years later, she found me, and I learned how wrong I’d been. I’d given up too easily simply to avoid a fight with my father.”
Knowing he’d reunited with his love spread warm happiness across her chest. At the same time, unexpected grief opened an empty ache near her heart. Grief greater than empathy could explain.
“Did the two of you ‘live happily ever after?’”
“No. Our reunion was brief. Events prevented us from a permanent renewal of the feelings we’d once had for each other.”
Would I have accepted Eustace if he’d sought me out and explained his actions?
Which would be worse, resuming a lost love, or remembering a love lost?
“Did your father find out?”
Luc shook his head. “Shortly before my beloved found me, I learned of my father’s passing.”
“Then what prevented your union with your beloved?” She asked the question, despite the stomach-churning mix of delight and sorrow at the tale of the lovers' reunion. Grace chided herself. What she was feeling was too much for a man she didn’t know. She was being silly. She was never silly.
“That story is much too complicated to tell,” Luc said.
How complicated could it have been?
“So, what happened to your beloved?”
Luc looked down, his frown deep. “Circumstances forced us apart. I wrote a few times to my brother and asked him to look after her.”
“Did he?” Grace wished she could stop caring about what happened to Luc who was still a near stranger, though he felt like more.
“For a few years. Then I received a letter from him saying she’d requested he not visit her any more. That she wanted nothing to do with our family, as we had caused her entirely too much sorrow.”
Silence reigned between them once more, and they stared together up at the moon. Comfort and calm wrapped Grace, like the moonlight and Luc’s clasp of her hand. The dogs returned, settling at her side, waiting politely for her attention.
She scratched, rubbed and stroked “Did you have a good run, boys?”
“Woof,” they both chorused.
Beside her, Luc grinned. “I’d best be on my way. I may work at night, but my hours are long nonetheless. I need my rest.”
“Oh.” She wanted to ask him where he lived.
Even more, she wished she could visit him, perhaps get to know him better—if she could overcome her reluctance to be close to anyone.
Propriety as much as doubt prevented her from asking.
“Then I suppose I’ll retire as well. These boys will have me up early. ”
He helped her stand and walked her all the way to the back door.
“Will, I see you again?” Grace whispered, soft as the bayou breeze at sunset. Luc shrugged. “Be safe, be careful. Goodnight, Grace. Sleep well.” He turned on his heel and disappeared into the night, with that quick stride of his.
In bed with the ship’s log on her lap, it hit her that he’d ignored her question about seeing him again. Luc Flynn was definitely an enigma.
And I have too much going on in my life to try to solve mysteries about a man who doesn’t want them solved.
Now that was a revelation. He appeared to speak openly about nearly everything. Yet, each new detail she learned about him only made Grace more curious. One mystery was the woman he claimed to love. He’d not said her name once. Then, there was his work. He’d told her he worked for the government.
Or had he? She couldn’t recall, after all the events of the past months, whether he had said, ‘I work for the government, or if she had surmised it from his working hours. What he worked at shouldn’t matter.
She, better than anyone, understood personal boundaries and the need to keep some things private.
Other questions revolved around his reasons for never returning to Ireland, even after his father had died and his beloved had found him. Why hadn’t he been able to make a life with that woman?
Grace forced the questions out of her mind, directing her focus to the ship’s log.
The story of ‘L’ had gotten much more interesting since his arrival at Barataria.
The conversation with Jean LaFitte had amounted to posturing between two strong men.
LaFitte had suggested that perhaps the Only Love might prefer to find a berth in a different location.
So that’s the name of the ship this log is about.
L had responded that he intended to do so, but wished to be certain LaFitte had no interest in the same site. The captain had been at pains to hint to LaFitte that the Only Love’s holds were empty and any attack would benefit no one.
LaFitte had laughed and reassured the other man that “I have much bigger fish to fry than one small American privateer. Your letters of marque are current, yes?”
“Why would you care?” L had asked.
“Oh, I do not care at all,” LaFitte had claimed. “However, New Orleans now requires presentation of all papers for vessels heading for that harbor.”
“I appreciate the information,” L responded. “I must be on my way. My crew are eager to sample the delights of New Orleans. We’ve been at sea entirely too long.”
A few more pleasantries had been exchanged.
The next thirty pages or so of the log book had been taken up with information about cargo, the misadventures of the crew, and a number of encounters between L and the hoi polloi of New Orleans.
Grace had been fascinated, and was eager to learn what happened to L and his crew next. Tonight’s entry was dated 20 June 1814.
I saw G… tonight. I could not believe my eyes when she entered the drawing room at the mayor’s soirée.
It’s been nearly five years. She is still beautiful, and I still love her.
I must remember she wed another man. I have no claim.
The mayor brought G… over to me and introduced us.
However, before my host spoke a single word, I could tell G…
recognized me. Oddly, she did not seem surprised to see me.
We sat together for a while during the musical performance of some young lady by the name of St. Cyr-Duval.
The lady’s father is a very influential plantation owner.
He’d never condone a union between a privateer and his daughter, which suits me just fine.
Sadly, her father’s opinions seem to stir rebellion in the daughter.
Perhaps G… can advise me how to discourage the girl.
G… always gave me excellent advice. Too bad I ignored most of it… .”