Étienne leaned against the wall watching Cherie laugh and dance without a care in the world. Her father's hadn't told her yet, he was sure of it. If they had, she wouldn't be working so hard to make him jealous. How could he be when he finally had both Monsieur Luc and Monsieur Claude's permission for her hand? He was elated. Let the young bucks preen and vie for her attention. She was all his. The contracts had been finalized just this afternoon. All was left was for him to ask.
He was content to watch Cherie have her fun for now. As much as he wanted to crow his good fortune, he wouldn't do that without her consent. Besides, it was amusing to see the young men thinking they had a chance. Rich young men of color swarmed Bellemere in an attempt to woo and win the heiress. Although the plantation would go to one of her older brothers, Cherie's dowry was beyond generous. She was well past the age where most women were married with children. Most of these men thought she would be desperate for an honorable offer.
Fools. There had never been any chance of Cherie becoming a place; her name was not once mentioned in the same sentence as one of the infamous quadroon or octoroon balls. There was much speculation as to why she was unattached. Her beauty was unquestioned; anyone who ever met her knew she had a sweet disposition, if a bit mischievous. Rumors around the countryside were rampant as to why she was still unmarried; everything from challenged chastity to bouts of insanity. Étienne knew the truth.
Before he'd left for his tour of Europe he had formerly stated his intentions to both of Cherie's fathers, after they had spoken with his father of course. Cherie had always been his. Even if she didn't know it yet.
"Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into, mon ami? My sister is more than a handful I assure you."
Étienne smiled at Antoine's frown. Of course he couldn't see his sister's attraction. Antoine still saw her as a coltish little girl. Antoine didn't see how full and lush her breasts had become, not the swell of her hips that promised a man a delightful ride and many children, the full lips that begged to be kissed. Looking at her made Étienne harder than stone. He had waited a long time to claim her. She had been constantly on his mind throughout his trip to Europe. He had been back for four years, but he had stayed away as much as possible. Cherie needed to grow up, to enjoy her youth. Every second he had been back was spent building his own import/export business and readying a place for his wife both here in the country and in New Orleans. He'd built a home on the plantation that would one day be his, far enough away from the main house for privacy but big enough for lots of children. He'd purchased a sizable townhouse in New Orleans. All that was left to do was to get the woman to the altar.
"I have never been so sure of anything in my life." His body throbbed and hummed as the little imp threw a devious smile in his direction as she sailed off to dance with yet another suitor. All this would end soon enough he had to keep reminding himself.
"You are a brave man, 'Tienne." Antoine slapped him on the back, his attention already straying to the young women present tonight. Beautiful femmes du color, grasping middle class social climbers all mixed and mingled freely, anxious to catch the eye of one of the Bonnet brothers. "I am off in search of far tamer game."
Cherie may have been all smiles on the outside, but inside she was fuming. Étienne hadn't asked her to dance or talk to her at all! She hated it when he ignored her. It might be spoiled and selfish, but she expected Étienne to always ask her to dance or flirt outrageously with her. It may be beyond silly or even foolish, but she had come to think of him as hers. Had he dared to ask someone else before asking her, she might have ripped the girl's hair out.
The young man she was currently dancing with only left her in a worse mood. Oh, she smiled and said all the right things, but the man was simply boorish. She had to maneuver his hands away from her bottom more than once. She casts side looks for one of her brothers. She needed to get away.
"May I cut in?"
Cherie wanted to cry in relief. One fierce look at the boor she had been dancing with and the younger man scurried away, leaving her in the arms of the only one she wanted to dance with in the first place. She was careful not to appear too happy he had finally left his post from holding up the wall. He had made her wait after all.
"Well I suppose I have no choice but to dance with you, since you ran off my current partner." She threw the pout she had practiced in the mirror at him to show her displeasure. Not that she was fooling him at all. His lips were quirked in that devilish grin of his, making her heart speed as she struggled to look put out.
"We don't have to dance," Étienne whispered in her ear. "We can take a walk in the garden. Will you walk with me, Cher?"
Cherie shivered as Étienne's hand made a slow trek down her spine to rest at the small of her back. He had never asked her to walk with him before. In fact, he'd never done more than dance once with her at any gathering. He had always been careful to be respectful and circumspect. What was so different now?
"And why would I so that?" Because she had dreamed of such a thing most of her life. Because Étienne was strong and handsome and made her feel as if she had a colony of butterflies in her stomach.
She had expected more banter, at least some gentle teasing. Instead, he lead her steadily toward the French door that led outside. She had never seen Étienne like this. He didn't stop until they were deep in her mother's garden away from the guests.
"What is this about, Étienne? I shouldn't be out here; my parents will be looking for me..."
Her protests were cut off as his lips claimed hers, but not in any way Cherie was familiar with. His lips moved over her own, coaxing her mouth open for the invasion of his tongue. She swallowed a gasp at the unexpected invasion, her body tingling all over. She didn't understand the sensations roaring to life within her, or her need for more. More what? The kiss was unlike her wildest dreams. Étienne held her unlike he ever had before. Her breasts were smashed against his chest, his arms holding her in an embrace she couldn't break it had she wanted to. But then, she didn't want to.
All too soon, he lifted his lips, resting his forehead against her own. "Ah, Cher you try my control. I didn't bring you out here for this."
"Did you not?" She didn't know where the words came from.
The way he looked at her now. She had no idea what it meant, but she felt something in her core burn, there were feelings coursing through her she couldn't place, couldn't begin to understand.
"You are natural born temptress, aren't you, Cher? And here I am trying to propose like a proper gentleman."
Cherie's heart skipped a beat. She was not so ignorant as to not understand what Étienne was offering. He wanted to marry her!
"Mon péres..."
"I have spoken to your fathers, Cher. Both of them." Her eyes widened as Étienne dropped to his knees. "The rest is up to you. Will you do me the great honor of being my wife?"
It seemed like he produced the ring out of nowhere. A beautiful diamond as big as a pecan set in gold. Tears sprang to her eyes as he placed it on her shaking finger. T he one thing she had always dreamed. Étienne was asking to marry her!
"Étienne?"
"Say yes, Cher. Say you will be my wife."
"Yes, yes. A thousand times yes!"
Étienne hadn't meant to kiss her again. It stretched the bounds of his already fragile control. But her lips were too sweet to resist. It started with just a nipple on her lower lip, but one taste was not enough. He needed more. He devoured her, invading her mouth, taking what she freely gave. He knew it couldn't last, that he needed to step back before it was too late.
""We have to stop." He said it, but he didn't stop kissing her. His mouth traveled from her mouth to her cheek, all over her face. "If I don't stop now, I'm afraid I won't."
"Why? If we are to be married, why do we need to stop now?"
"Because you will be my wife first. I just pray we won't have to wait too long."
*****
Agathe sprawled in a most unladylike position in the pink parlor of her family mansion in New Orleans drinking her dear old Papa's finest brandy. Tipping her head back she let the liquid burn a blazing path down her throat as she considered her position. A month, her mother had been deal for a full month before her father moved his bitch into her mother's home. Agathe's own town home was currently being remodeled after a vicious flood which rendered it simply unlivable, so for the foreseeable future she was stuck in this humiliating position. How the dratted man that was her father expected her to show her face in polite society she would never know. Forcing her to live under the same roof as his placée was inexcusable; many a vicious tongue was already wagging at the scandalous behavior behind hands, of course.
Fortunately no one dare say a word openly. Gaspar Durand was now was the Comte de Toulon, no one dared speak ill of anything he did. Not that anyone dared when he was simply the richest man in the colony. However, society's blind eye did not extend to his only legitimate offspring. She had just come from a women's luncheon where a kindly (ha!) matron reminder her of her precarious situation. Agathe seethed as she remembered the gleeful look on the old bat's face.
"You must be careful of your reputation ma cheré. What you papa is doing, il est scandalous! We must look out for you. It would not do at all to have your pristine name ruined. If he will not move cette femme out of your maman's home, well...you simply cannot stay there. It is too bad your marriage did not work out, non? You poor thing, to have a marriage annulled...."
What the vicious little harpy left unsaid was clear. No decent woman could live at a hotel for an indeterminate amount of time, Bellemere, which should have been hers, was lost due to a damned annulment her own father had orchestrated. It was graciously accept room and board from a "friend", or be ostracized. Word had gotten out, as she knew it would, about Claude and his putain and there veritable brood of children. Six bastards at last count, five boys and one girl. The happy little couple had even begun traveling to New Orleans now that little bastard girl was 18. He had actually adopted the chit, making her legitimate. Why adopt a useless girl instead of one of the five strapping boys she would never know. Rumors had it the little Cherie was a great beauty. Agathe wanted to spit out the healthy swig of brandy she just gulped as the thought of the only one of her former husband's children she had ever laid eyes on. She had been cursed to be barren, giving all of them an excuse to cast her aside while Claude's putain was as fertile as newly tilled soil. No doubt the daughter would be as well, while she was damned to life as some unwanted cast off.
Claude, who had established himself as a leader in the community, and her very own father le Comte had managed to betroth the little chienne to none other than Étienne Barbin, the only son and heir of Vicomte de Alsace, Rémi Barbin; a prominent of Creole family. Étienne was an only child and the Vicomte was a widower so Agathe had rarely ran across either in her busy social schedule, but what had seen made her green with envy. The bastard child had been gifted with an outrageous dowry and Gaspar had moved heaven and earth to ensure she could move freely in decent white society. Of course the little bastard's mother or grandmère could not accompany her so Claude and Gaspar could be seen escorting the little baggage to various debutante events.
It was far too much to bear. Now all the world knew her shame; her former husband had been living with his placée for years, ignoring the fact he had ever had a lawful wife. She was forced to ignore whispers and snickers everywhere she went.
Pushing herself to her feet, Agathe went over the plans she had worked so long on. She would be moving into Madame DuPont's mansion tomorrow so she had to act quickly. After witnessing her husband "au milieu de la fabrication d'amours" she has felt no need to deny herself the pleasures of the flesh. As a woman of good standing she only had two options - buy a slave to for pleasure or sneak off to the less desirable neighborhoods to find satisfaction. Agathe had done both. During her many trips to an exclusive brothel in Storyville she had met and befriended an up and coming quadroon Madame who had been planning for many years to move to a more lucrative area: Spanish-held Florida. It had taken time and a substantial amount of money to convince the woman to take an extra working girl whose virginity she could auction off in the grand opening of the brothel Agathe had helped finance.
It was worth every penny if she could strike a blow to Gaspar and Claude for her abject humiliation. When Claude and his placée had started coming to New Orleans, Agathe had gone to her father to encourage him to stop. After all, New Orleans and Barton Rouge were her refuges. If anyone were to find out, she would be a laughing stock, someone to be pitied not envied, and she simply could not abide by that. Gaspar had not only brushed aside her concerns, he had taken Claude's side! He had gone on and on about the needs of his young granddaughter, how she would have to learn to take her place in society. Agathe could not believe her ears! To move a breed into polite society and pass her off as one of her betters was simply unpardonable! But they had done it, and Agathe's social stock had dropped steadily ever since.
She would not stay in La Louisiane very long after the dirty deed was done. She could do nothing to stop Gaspar or Claude from legally adopting their bastard sons, she could not stop her father from marrying his long time mistress though it was technically against the law. She could not save the family name she once loved so very much. She could hurt those who had ruined her life, and that is exactly what she planned to do.
*******
Étienne leaned against a pillar in the shadowed corner of the ornate ballroom as he watched his fiancé glide across the dance floor in the arms of an elderly gentleman. Her dance card was full of distinguished names, none of which a day over sixty. Étienne had taken the reigns of management of his father's plantation while managing his own business, allowing the older man to retire with his lover, Michel, and expanded the family fortune by investing in many business ventures with the Bonnet and Durand clan. Bertrand Bonnet handled the business interests in France, while Étienne and Antoine ran things here in New Orleans. Claude Bonnet spent his time between local politics and Luc and Amélie, while Gaspar had all but retired into the position of an elder statesman of sorts. He was marrying into a family of very serious power brokers, but far more important than the money or influence was the main reason for it all. Cherie.
He watched her laughing aqua eyes as she twirled around with smooth poise and grace and could not stop the blood from rushing to his groin. God, she was so beautiful. He ached to make her his in every way. He had left Louisiana when she was just twelve and already developing into a rare little beauty. Though he had planned on being away for just a year, he and Antoine had stayed in France with Betrand for two years instead. He had been unprepared for the young woman he had met upon his return. Her coltishness had given way to soft curves as he suspected they would. He had thought he had a few years left yet before her breasts had filled out to the luscious globes that threatened to spill from the simple cotton dress she had worn. Her hips swayed seductively with her every movement. He had spent less than a fortnight before he left once again to establish trade outposts around the Caribbean down the Portuguese settlements in Brazil. The temptation was too much; he knew had he stayed there was no way he would be able to keep his hands of her. She had still been far too young. Though the marriage contracts had been signed, he would not disgrace her or himself by taking her before she was ready.
The years he had stood back allowing Cherie to grow physically as well as mentally had been worse than torture. She was a natural flirt, coquettish without even trying. Because of her unusual background, Étienne battled not only young swans who would steak her affection if they could, but unscrupulous men who sought her for their own pleasure with no thought of honorable marriage. Thank God she had a powerful family to protect her. There was six long months left to go before their wedding. Though he could hardly claim to have lived as a monk, it seemed as if had waited an eternity to have her.
As the final cords of the song drifted through the air, Étienne strode forward to collect his woman. "You looked at bit flushed, sweet," he whispered in her ear. "Allow me to escort you to the veranda."
Cherie felt her pulse quicken at the words purred in her ear. The teenaged Étienne had always been able to set her heart racing, but this mature manly Étienne made her positively week in the knees. Since the night he had proposed she lived for stolen moments where she could experience the wonderfully wicked kissed and playful caresses he was so stingy with. Still, it would never do to appear too eager.
"Without a chaperone?" she asked with all the innocence she could muster. Peeking at him beneath her lashes, she licked her lips slowly, knowing he was watching. The hungry looks he gave her thrilled her to no end. Why must they wait to be married? She wanted to steal away with him now, the rest of the world be damned. "What must you think of me?"
Étienne had to smile at his little ingénue. "But we are engaged, non? Surely we are allowed some ... allowances."
"But weren't you the one determined to wait until we're married?" She couldn't help but tease. He liked it when she did that. His hands tightened on her flesh, his strong and demanding. What would it feel like to have his hands on her bare skin?
"I had been praying for a quick wedding. This wait is killing me."
Cherie felt as if she would swoon. During his time away, his formerly gangly frame had filled quite nicely to the hard plains and muscles that were all man. His voice had deepened in a most delicious way, making shivers dance up and down her spine at every suggestive word. She had always loved Étienne, but now coupled with the deep affection she had always felt, came a desire she could not name. A yearning to be closer to him in ways she could not begin to explain even if she dared to voice her feeling aloud. She followed obediently as he led her through the French doors to the winding terrace at the back of the ballroom. He did not stop until they were ensconced in a secluded corner behind a rather large potted palm, away from the other couples who had taken refuge from the crowds inside. Without missing a beat, Étienne swung her in his arms to devour her in a kiss that left her panting and breathless. Just as her body melted into his, ready and willing to give him anything he wanted, he tore his deliciously torturous lips away with a groan.
"Ahh, sweet, if you only knew what you do to me," he moaned.
Of course, she could not even begin to guess at the state of perpetual arousal she inspired in him. Even if he wanted to, he could not relieve himself with anything but his own hand. For some time now he hadn't been able to stand to accept a substitute to the woman standing in front of him now. His anatomy seemed to only work in her presence.
Cherie could scream in frustration. Étienne inspired strange feelings that had her aching for something more, something she could not begin to identify. With a kiss, a touch, or just a burning look he made yearn in way she had never longed for anything. If only she knew what this indescribable need he awakened in her was, maybe she would feel comfortable asking him for what she knew on some subconscious level she needed.
"Étienne, please," she murmured against his broad chest. She needed something just out of reach so badly she thought she would die.
"Shhh, bebé. I know," he whispered kissing her forehead, her cheek, but avoiding the lips that throbbed for his to cover them once more. His hands caressing her lower back itched to dip lower to pull her center against his throbbing hardness. Now was not the time or the place. Leaning back he took one look at the banked passion in her eyes, the way her lips were slightly apart in invitation and knew coming out here had been a mistake. With each stolen moment, it was getting harder and harder not to take her, to make her his once and for all.
"Cher, I will escort you to the retiring room and wait for you at the entrance of the ballroom," he offered, knowing she wouldn't question him. He knew the desire she felt racing through her young body, and he knew she had no idea how to describe, much less name all she was feeling. It was better this way; that she desired him but didn't have the faintest idea how to express it or what it took to satisfy her longings. It took every ounce of self control to temper his longings as it was; a sexually aware Cherie would surely kill any notions of chivalry he had managed to hang on to thus far.
Cherie followed her fiancé's lead as he led her through the edges of the crowd, up the wide curving staircase to the ladies' retiring room. Thankfully, he blocked curious eyes from viewing her state of dishevelment successfully. It was not easy for a quadroon in polite society. The only reason she was tolerated was because Papa Claude had legally adopted her, then he, Papa Luc and Grandpére Gaspar had settled a small fortune on her. Being seen in her current state would ruin her.
"Here, child, you look like you could use some refreshment."
Cherie looked up from her seat in front of the mirror to see Papa Claude's former wife, her aunt Agathe handing her a glass of lemonade. Although she had been warned repeatedly to steer clear of her mother's half sister, the older woman had never been anything but congenial to her since she entered society, often bring her refreshment when she was rushed into retirement rooms by her ardent fiancé, as she had tonight. Often she would wait to reenter the ballroom with her, effectively ceasing gossip before it had a chance to take root and spread.
"Merci, Madame," Cherie took the drink gratefully, frowning at slightly bitter taste. She didn't notice Agathe's chilling smile as she drained the glass. Almost immediately, Cherie felt light headed, suddenly wanting nothing more than to lie down,
"You poor thing," Agathe was saying while practically yanking her out of her seat. "You look like you need to lie down."
Her voice seemed to be coming from far away, fading before she finished her sentence. Cherie was aware that she was standing, moving down a darkened hall, then down the stairs, but she couldn't seem to keep her eyes open enough to see where she was going. Without Agathe's support, she would have surely fallen on her face. The last thing she saw was a huge man hovering over her, than blessed oblivion.
*******
Christine L'Amour stood in the alley behind the lit mansion glancing anxiously around her. If she had not seen the girl with her own eyes, there was no way in hell she would even contemplate what she was about to do.
"The captain has assured me we will be underway as soon as we bring our 'package' onboard," Didier, her best friend and lover assured her for what had to be the hundredth time. "It will be well chere, calm down."
"I know Didi," Christine replied automatically with confidence she did not feel. "I just wish she would hurry up."
Agathe was supposed to have been here with the girl in tow twenty minutes ago. The plan was to slip a tiny amount of laudanum in her refreshment and then in guise of assisting her, to spirit her out to the waiting carriage. It was fast and simple, so where the hell was Agathe?
As soon as the thought entered Christine's head, Agathe appeared half dragging a heavily cloaked bundle. Didier hurried to lift the drugged girl effortlessly in his arms to place her in the carriage. Christine scurried up after them with a quick glance to the other woman.
"I believe this concludes our dealings?" Christine asked.
Agathe's smile sent shivers down Christine's spine. Not for the first time she wondered who was this young woman Agathe wanted gone so very badly?
"Oh, yes," came the gleeful reply. "Just make sure you are away from Louisiane tonight."
"Madame Bonnet, I must ask, who is this girl?" Christine asked. If this was indeed a member of some powerful Creole family, her life was forfeit. What the hell had she gotten herself into?
"A half-breed born of a whore who thought she could move into my world."
With that Agathe was gone.
********
Cherie slowly became aware of the gentle sway beneath her. Refusing to open her eyes, she tried to recall what had happened to her. She felt like she was home in her bed, yet the constant rocking did not stop. Groaning she gingerly opened one eye trying to focus. With a gasp, she bolted upright in the bed. Her head pounded at the sudden movement, her stomach threatened to heave. Where the hell was she? Looking around the bare tiny room, all she could see was a chest at the end of what appeared to be a bunk. There was no window and only one thick oak door. The constant roll of the room answered her question – she was on a ship.
The last thing she remembered was taking a sip of the warm punch as she listened to the inane prattle of some foolish little debutante trying to impress her with her family's genealogy. Agathe, Papa's former wife had been there. Although Maman, Papa, and Père Gaspar had all warned her to stay clear of the woman, Cherie had thought she was kind to bring her the refreshment, and kinder still to offer to guide her to find a quiet place to sit when she began to feel ill. What a simple fool she had been. Apparently the woman had managed to kidnap her somehow. The question was, who had helped her and why? There were not many willing to cross her father or grandfather. Surely as soon as her kidnappers found out who she was, they would immediately take her back. That - or they would kill her.
Ruthlessly pushing away the panic and tears that threatened to rise, Cherie considered her options. Was Agathe somewhere on this ship, or had she returned to the party to appear innocent? From what Cher had heard of Papa's wife, she was ever cautious of appearances, so surely she would have stayed and claimed all innocence as to Cherie's whereabouts. There was a chance she could negotiate with whomever was holding her, but she had to be sure they would not simply cast her overboard in fear of discovery.
She was still trying to work on some kind of plan when the door opened to admit a beautiful Amazon woman with skin of café-au-lait in a prim grey gown that was covered her from her throat to her feet. Her hair appeared to a mixture of black and grey combed back in a severe bun, which was completely at odds with her youthful appearance. Her face was unlined, her carriage upright, the woman didn't look a day over thirty-five... She was carrying a tray with food and hot chocolate that she placed on Cher's lap. Behind her stood the biggest man Cherie had ever seen. He had to be pushing seven feet, with bulging muscles that strained his shirt, deep ebony skin and shiny bald head.
"You must eat something, chere," the woman said cheerfully. "And then we will talk."
"You know who I am," Cherie muttered deflated. If the woman and the man behind her knew who she was, they would not be easy to persuade to take her back.
"What?" Christine asked bewildered.
"You said my name. Well, nickname," Cherie replied, "so you know who I am."
Christine looked down at the girl in confusion. "Petite, I said no name."
A tiny sliver of hope blossomed in Cher's chest. Had she heard her wrong? "Did you not call me Cher?" she asked hopefully.
"I said it as an endearment, petite," Christine smiled down at her. "I did not know your name was Cher. I am Christine and that," she pointed towards the huge man standing at the door, "is Didier. If you do not mind, we can get acquainted while you eat, non?"
Christine's smile was gentle and sincere as she sat on the bed and began to pour two cups of chocolate and uncovering a dish full of delicate pastries. Cher waited until the older woman had settled next to her before she dropped her bombshell.
"So you do not know that I am Cherie Bonnet, known as Cher to my family. My father is Claude Bonnet, my grandpére is Gaspar Durand. The woman I suspect who paid you to take me away was Agathe Bonnet, papa's former wife, n'est pas?" Cher asked softly while nibbling daintily on a pastry.
A soft "Shit!" was heard from the vicinity of the door. Christine's hand stilled in the act of bringing a pastry to her mouth. Cherie dared a glance through her lashes to witness the woman's face turn ghostly pale.
"Oh God, what have I done?" Christine whispered placing the pastry down on the plate with a shaky hand.
Damn the traitorous bitch! She should have known never to trust Agathe Bonnet. The woman had found her dearest wish and dangled it before her like some succulent fruit. Just like Eve, Christine had bitten. It had been a moment of weakness that she shared her dream of opening a house in the goldmine that was the Spanish Florida territory with the wicked witch. Christine had felt secure because she knew Agathe's dirty little secrets – how she often needed multiple partners to fulfill her sexual needs. The woman had gone through seven of her most well hung slaves in one night! Christine had foolishly felt secure that Agathe would never want whispers of her late night escapades to get out. She was a pillar of society after all. It looks like Agathe had gotten rid of the only person other than her own personal slaves who knew her secret.
"What do we do?" Christine whispered to Didier. It was senseless not to include the girl in the conversation. If Gaspar or Claude found them, Christine and Didier were as good as dead anyway.
"We cannot take her back, love," came the deep reply.
"But why?" Cherie demanded. "I will explain everything to Papa. If you really didn't know..."
"We would be killed outright, no matter our ignorance," Didier's reply was not said with heat. It was mere an acknowledgment of the enviable. "It is what I would do if it were my daughter."
"Cheer," Christine grasped the young woman's hand looking directly in her eyes. Cherie could see her regret, but she could also see her resolve. "I am sorry Agathe did this to you. I am more sorry than you know that it was I that was her instrument. But we cannot take you back, and we cannot let you go."
"I would never tell," Cher insisted, unable to hold the tears that began to roll down her face back any longer. "I swear. You are both being kind to me. When we get to wherever your destination is, you can put me on a ship back to New Orleans. I will tell them it was someone else, anyone else. Please, I am to be married! I must go home!"
Christine's heart broke for the girl. Many free people of color dreamed of marrying into elite Creole society. This girl had achieved simply by her birth what many would kill for. Christine had eschewed the entire plaçage system in which she had grown up in for the love of Didier. Her mother was furious when Christine had informed her she would not attend the balls to find a wealthy protector. Instead, she and Didier had slowly built a nice little house in Storyville, building a certain status for having the most beautiful colored girls of every shade, the most skilled workers with class and style. But in New Orleans, they were merely a drop in the bucket. Christine loved what she did. It was not so different from her mother's life, just more honest. Placées considered themselves respectable women, but to Christine, a whore was a whore.
"I am sorry, petite," Christine whispered taking the now openly weeping girl in her arms. "We will take care of you, I promise, but we cannot let you go. You will not become one of the girls. You will be as my own beloved daughter. But petite, you must know Agathe will be the first suspected and regardless of what she may believe, and your father and grandfather will have no mercy. She will tell them everything. You can never go home."