proud man, and
she knew she had gone too far this time. "I'm not accusing you of
anything," she assured him hastily. "But sometimes you can be so
maddeningly pedantic!"
"And you, my ill-mannered child, can be so maddeningly
impertinent!" he retorted angrily. "You should learn to curb that
rattle you have for a tongue. If you had been a man, I'd have taken my
sword to you for questioning my honor as you just did. You should weigh
your words more carefully before you speak."
"You and your arrogant Spanish ways!" she fumed, all the
more vehemently because she felt the need to cover up the fact that she
knew she had overstepped herself. "You take offense too easily."
"Perhaps, but being courteous and controlling that
spiteful temper of yours would certainly do you no harm. I'm afraid
that impulsive nature of yours will get you into trouble someday, and,
as your guardian, I feel it's my duty to insist that you mend your
manners. You might keep in mind that, although I may not be able to use
my sword on you, I most certainly wouldn't be above using the palm of
my hand if you continue to be so incorrigible."
She paled. "You… you wouldn't dare!" she
exclaimed in tremulous defiance. "You… the epitome of
Spanish manhood… you'd hit a woman?"
"No, I wouldn't dream of hitting a woman," he assured her
dryly, "but I most certainly would feel no qualms about spanking a
spoiled brat!"
Monique drew herself up indignantly. "You're being
impertinent!" she sputtered.
"I'm afraid the impertinence is yours," he contested.
"I've been trying to be patient with you, for I realize it's not your
fault if your father and grandmother haven't disciplined you better. I
know you look on me as an intruder, but I can assure you I didn't leave
my comfortable life in Madrid to come to this sweltering pesthole just
to wrestle with a failing plantation and two wayward brats!"
"Then perhaps the best solution would be for me to marry
as soon as possible," she retorted angrily, "and put an end to a
situation that's intolerable for both of us."
"Don't count on it," he snapped. "I doubt I'll give my
consent for you to marry anyone for quite a while. Matrimony is for a
woman, not a child."
"I'll be eighteen in January of next year," she reminded
him. "That ought to be old enough for me to do as I please."
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until you're at least
twenty-one. Of course, if you're not satisfied with the way I'm
managing your affairs, you're free to go to the courts and ask them to
appoint someone else as your curator."
"I don't see why I couldn't run things myself. With the
help of an experienced overseer like Roselle, things should go smoothly
enough."
"The management of a plantation is much more complicated
than you think, young lady, especially now that we're converting to
sugarcane. The truth is, it's even a struggle for Roselle and me to
learn all there is to know. I'll have to teach you a lot before you're
ready to take over for yourself. Meantime, it seems we're stuck with
each other, my little ward, so we may as well make the best of things
while we're at it!"
Chapter Thirteen
Life
soon settled down to a leisurely pace at Le Rêve as the
weeks wore on. Lifted high on eight-foot brick piers, which were walled
in now for storage space, the large whitewashed plantation with its
overhanging gallery looked out toward the river through a lane of
whispering trees. It offered a serene haven for Vidal and his adopted
family. He continued to make frequent trips into New Orleans, where he
often stayed for the weekend or overnight at the town house. Monique
and Celeste remained undisturbed in their routine of daily classes with
Mlle. Baudier and sewing and cooking sessions with Grandmother Chausson.
Monique found some degree of consolation in the lovely new
hand-painted harpsichord, and she often gave informal recitals for her
little family by candlelight to while away the lonely evening hours.
Vidal frequently brought back new pieces of
she knew she had gone too far this time. "I'm not accusing you of
anything," she assured him hastily. "But sometimes you can be so
maddeningly pedantic!"
"And you, my ill-mannered child, can be so maddeningly
impertinent!" he retorted angrily. "You should learn to curb that
rattle you have for a tongue. If you had been a man, I'd have taken my
sword to you for questioning my honor as you just did. You should weigh
your words more carefully before you speak."
"You and your arrogant Spanish ways!" she fumed, all the
more vehemently because she felt the need to cover up the fact that she
knew she had overstepped herself. "You take offense too easily."
"Perhaps, but being courteous and controlling that
spiteful temper of yours would certainly do you no harm. I'm afraid
that impulsive nature of yours will get you into trouble someday, and,
as your guardian, I feel it's my duty to insist that you mend your
manners. You might keep in mind that, although I may not be able to use
my sword on you, I most certainly wouldn't be above using the palm of
my hand if you continue to be so incorrigible."
She paled. "You… you wouldn't dare!" she
exclaimed in tremulous defiance. "You… the epitome of
Spanish manhood… you'd hit a woman?"
"No, I wouldn't dream of hitting a woman," he assured her
dryly, "but I most certainly would feel no qualms about spanking a
spoiled brat!"
Monique drew herself up indignantly. "You're being
impertinent!" she sputtered.
"I'm afraid the impertinence is yours," he contested.
"I've been trying to be patient with you, for I realize it's not your
fault if your father and grandmother haven't disciplined you better. I
know you look on me as an intruder, but I can assure you I didn't leave
my comfortable life in Madrid to come to this sweltering pesthole just
to wrestle with a failing plantation and two wayward brats!"
"Then perhaps the best solution would be for me to marry
as soon as possible," she retorted angrily, "and put an end to a
situation that's intolerable for both of us."
"Don't count on it," he snapped. "I doubt I'll give my
consent for you to marry anyone for quite a while. Matrimony is for a
woman, not a child."
"I'll be eighteen in January of next year," she reminded
him. "That ought to be old enough for me to do as I please."
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until you're at least
twenty-one. Of course, if you're not satisfied with the way I'm
managing your affairs, you're free to go to the courts and ask them to
appoint someone else as your curator."
"I don't see why I couldn't run things myself. With the
help of an experienced overseer like Roselle, things should go smoothly
enough."
"The management of a plantation is much more complicated
than you think, young lady, especially now that we're converting to
sugarcane. The truth is, it's even a struggle for Roselle and me to
learn all there is to know. I'll have to teach you a lot before you're
ready to take over for yourself. Meantime, it seems we're stuck with
each other, my little ward, so we may as well make the best of things
while we're at it!"
Chapter Thirteen
Life
soon settled down to a leisurely pace at Le Rêve as the
weeks wore on. Lifted high on eight-foot brick piers, which were walled
in now for storage space, the large whitewashed plantation with its
overhanging gallery looked out toward the river through a lane of
whispering trees. It offered a serene haven for Vidal and his adopted
family. He continued to make frequent trips into New Orleans, where he
often stayed for the weekend or overnight at the town house. Monique
and Celeste remained undisturbed in their routine of daily classes with
Mlle. Baudier and sewing and cooking sessions with Grandmother Chausson.
Monique found some degree of consolation in the lovely new
hand-painted harpsichord, and she often gave informal recitals for her
little family by candlelight to while away the lonely evening hours.
Vidal frequently brought back new pieces of
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