Just Once Read Free Page B

The same love that had kept her hoping he would one day show his affection bubbled up from the wellspring of love that bound her to him and bid her to obey.
    Don’t give in!
    She could still hear Grandpa urging her to refuse, but the memory of the sound of his voice had begun to fade to a muffled hint of a whisper.
    “I’ll do it,” she said quickly, softly, as if muting the words might lessen the strength of her promise.
    Her father lifted his hand and smiled in relief. She had given him what he wanted, had given in, knowing as she did so that she would never go back on her word. Obviously, he wasn’t as certain of her honor. He pressed for more.
    “
Swear
to me you’ll do it, Jemma.”
    “Do you know how much this hurts me, Father?”
    “I have to have your solemn vow.”
    She met his gaze and swore. “I promise on St. Lucy’s eyes that I’ll marry Alex Moreau.”
    Even with all the windows open, the air on the second floor was stifling. Jemma closed the door to her room and leaned against it, eyes shut, her heart hammering as if it were a creature trying to escape her chest. Her earlier bravado had evaporated the minute she left the study. Never had she known such confusion. She opened her eyes and pressed a hand over her lips, afraid an uncontrollable sob might escape. Slowly, by taking deep, even breaths, she eventually calmed herself—trying not to think of what she had just agreed to, but failing.
    Often, when she had felt frightened and alone as a child, she would sneak down to the kitchen, sit on a stool near the hearth, and spin stories for the help that kept them all enthralled. There had been a closeness, a camaraderie among the servants that was now missing from her life. At times she had even pretended they were her family, until Mrs. Greene came to announce that her nanny was looking for her or that it was almost time for her father to come home and that she had best get back upstairs where she belonged.
    Shortly after her return from school she had wandered into the kitchen looking for company, only to find that the one familiar face there was Mrs. Greene’s. The new staff saw her as an adult, as their mistress. She could tell that her presence made them uncomfortable. She wasn’t accepted among them.
    Where did she fit in? Surely not in some swamp in Louisiana. What if she hated Alex Moreau? What if she hated Louisiana? By the time she discovered whether either one suited her, it would be too late to escape.
    She crossed to the wide bank of windows. Unlatching them one by one, she swung them open, hoping to attract any stray wisp of breeze. Then, she walked over to the
prie-dieu
standing before a small altar on a side table. Votive candles burned in various shapes and sizes of stemware purloined from the pantry, all lined up before a collection of small likenesses of saints portrayed in various poses. The framed miniatures were hung in a gathering on the wall above the table.
    She had collected the portraits at convent school. Some had been awarded to her for scholastic achievement. Others she had obtained as gratuities for her donations to the Save the Heathen Children collection. The familiar images had always been comforting, like a host of friends and family she could call on during times of need. In that way they were always with her, like the brothers and sisters she never had. She gazed up at the pictures of the men and women posed with their emblems, the symbols of each individual taken from stories of martyrdom or sacrifice.
    Bowing her head, Jemma crossed herself and began a prayer devoted to a specific few, the virgin martyrs.
    “Dear Ladies, if you could only find a way to save me from this marriage without breaking my word to my father, I would be truly grateful.”
    She hastily reminded the saints that she had led a life of obedience that even St. Francis could not have faulted. An ordered, predictable, boring life.
    “Now I’m facing marriage to a man I’ve never laid eyes