Capture The Night Read online

  A tiny fist hit her shoulder startling Madeline so that she gasped an inadvertent “Oh!” She turned to see Rose’s double-toothed grin beaming at her from the comfort of Lillibet’s arms. “Rose!” she exclaimed, lifting the child and smothering her face with kisses. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Lillibet folded her arms and smiled. “She’s been a sad little bunny without her mama around. I was beginning to wonder if you’d be the first person of my acquaintance who expired from excessive mal de mer.”

  “The idea crossed my mind,” Madeline replied in a rueful tone. She nuzzled the baby’s neck, grinning at Rose’s giggles, and said, “At times I’d have welcomed anything to put me out of my misery.”

  “I sympathize with you entirely, my dear. I had similar thoughts while I lay ill; but of course, they passed along with the squeamishness. Although I do confess that if I hadn’t had help with the babies, I might very well have succumbed.”

  Madeline caught hold of Rose’s fist and made a mental note to cut the child’s sharp fingernails. “I’m so sorry about leaving you to deal with my baby by yourself. I feel terrible about being so useless. Every time I moved I would retch and then—”

  Lillibet waved away her apology. “Don’t give it another thought. After all, Madeline, it is my job. You are paying me to care for the child. Besides, if anyone should apologize, it is I. Mr. Sinclair minded Rose the entire time.”

  “What did you say?” Madeline questioned, certain she’d misheard. Brazos Sinclair tended Rose? Her arms tightened around the child. “Oh, my. Is she all right? He didn’t hurt her, did he?”

  “Mr. Sinclair?” Lillibet replied, displaying a puzzled frown. “Why, of course not. He took wonderful care of the babies.”

  “Babies!” Madeline wondered if she were still ill and hallucinating. “What do you mean, babies?”

  “Rose and Thomas. Both André and I were indisposed, and Mr. Sinclair volunteered to help.”

  Madeline blinked. Uneasy laughter bubbled up inside her at the image of Brazos Sinclair with a baby in each arm. “Oh, Lil, quit teasing me. I can just imagine that mountain of a Texan changing a soiled diaper. I appreciate your efforts to lessen my guilt, but I’m afraid you’ll need to come up with something a little more believable.”

  “I’m telling the truth, Madeline,” Lillibet protested. “I was so grateful for your husband’s help. He took both babies for the entire day, and he did change diapers.” She frowned slightly as she added, “Of course, I’m afraid he threw the soiled ones overboard. He returned the wet ones, though.”

  Madeline shook her head in amazement. “You really do mean it?” At Lillibet’s nod, Madeline held Rose out in front of her and studied the baby. “She doesn’t appear any the worse for wear.”

  Rose began to wiggle, her arms and legs flailing about. She kicked off one of her knitted booties, and Lil bent to retrieve it, saying, “He’s a good man, Madeline. You were lucky to find him in Antwerp. You know, it’s not every man that would agree to the scheme you concocted to get aboard the Uriel.”

  Madeline bristled at Lil’s praises of Brazos Sinclair. “He wished to join the colonists just as badly as I. Victor Considérant’s decision to bar me from the colony because I had lost my husband was unfair and arbitrarily made. In fact, I’m convinced it is a betrayal of Fourier’s teachings. If women are to be considered equal to men at La Réunion, then how can we allow bachelors to join us and not a widowed woman?”

  “I agree with you, dear, and so do a number of others,” Lillibet said, attempting to pull the bootie over Rose’s wiggling toes. “The majority of the colonists admire how you outsmarted Considérant, what with convincing Mr. Sinclair to marry you and join the Society. Madame Correll informed me that those in steerage have enjoyed a brisk discussion of your situation over the last few days. I’m afraid it bodes ill for the goal of Harmony at La Réunion. Opinion appears to fall along gender lines.”

  A strong gust of wind snapped the sails above them, and Rose startled at the noise. Lillibet clicked her tongue soothingly as Madeline held Rose’s leg still so the Frenchwoman could successfully tie the bootie’s ribbon. “I’ve been studying Fourier’s teachings quite closely,” Madeline said, resting Rose against her shoulder. She patted the baby’s back as she added, “He did admit that as much as two years might be required to complete the abolishment of Civilization and the establishment of total Harmony.”

  “Two years?” Lillibet repeated, grimacing. “Yes, I can see how some men might be slower in accepting equality for women than others. André must work at that a bit himself. How about your husband, Madeline? What about Mr. Sinclair?”

  Madeline laughed. “I imagine it would take years to convert Brazos. Of course, if he did change those diapers, perhaps there is hope for him after all.”

  “On, there’s definitely hope for him. I quite admire the man, Madeline. He’s knowledgeable and intelligent. He’s been tutoring some of our members about farming methods well suited for Texas.” She lowered her voice. “He’s also handsome enough to swoon over. I have to tell you that a number of wagers have been made on the question of whether this marriage of convenience becomes one of fact.”

  Madeline laughed aloud. “Oh, Lil, I hope you didn’t waste your money. That is one point Brazos and I agree on completely. There will be no consummation of this marriage.”

  “But he has joined the Society and paid a considerable amount of money to do so. Doesn’t he intend to join us at La Réunion?”

  The Uriel took a long pitch forward, and Madeline closed her eyes against a lingering quiver of seasickness. She groaned, whether as a result of the illness or of the idea of making a home with Brazos Sinclair she could not say.

  Uncertain how to reply to Lillibet’s question, Madeline hesitated. With the trip well under way and the next port of call Galveston, Texas, she could afford to make public Brazos’s intentions to leave the colonists as soon as the Uriel made landfall. After all, Considérant wasn’t likely to put her and her temporary husband overboard in a lifeboat once the truth was out. Everyone aboard knew the circumstances of her marriage. Few would be surprised by the announcement of a pending annulment.

  But for some strange reason, she wasn’t prepared to have the colonists learn that the boorish Texan wanted as little to do with her as she wanted to do with him. Well acquainted with rejection, Madeline knew it shouldn’t matter. But it did.

  She phrased her reply carefully. “Mr. Sinclair and I have yet to settle all of our plans. In fact, Lil, that brings up a point I wish to discuss with you.” She tenderly brushed a finger down Rose’s petal-soft cheek and asked, “Could we stroll for a bit and talk? I’ve something important to discuss with you.”

  Lillibet frowned. “I don’t know that this is a good time, dear. Rose is tired. I’ve noticed that she always fidgets like that when she needs her sleep. Why don’t I bring her to you after she wakes, and we can have a nice chat then.”

  Madeline sighed as guilt added another dimension to the sick feeling inside her. Of course the baby was tired. She should have recognized it herself. I’m terrible at this mothering business, she thought. Simply awful. Her chin trembled as she pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead and handed her to Lillibet. “Certainly,” Madeline agreed, attempting a smile. “We can talk later, after Rose’s nap.”

  Her steps heavier than before, Madeline resumed her walk around the ship’s deck. Worry assailed her. Maybe she should ask the Brunets for more than a temporary arrangement. Maybe Rose would be better off without Madeline as a mother altogether. Maybe they all would have been better off if she’d succumbed to mal de mer.

  She shuddered at the thought. What an awful way to die, with one’s head poised over a chamber pot.

  The briny scent of damp wood and wet hemp swirled in the air around her replacing the odor of sickness in her memory. She stopped at the Uriel’s railing and lifted her head to the wind. Tasting salt on the air that buffeted her face, Madeline grabbed at her bonnet
as it threatened to sail away on the strong breeze. She imagined a picture of wind filling the hat and lifting her bodily from the ship’s deck to sail away on the trade winds. It’d be better than dying over a chamber pot, she decided. Closing her eyes, she said dreamily, “I can almost believe I’m flying.”

  Beside her a deep voice rumbled, “It’s the only thing that makes it bearable.”

  Madeline turned. Her husband stood leaning out over the railing, staring at the foam bubbling in the ship’s wake. He wore his denim pants and a white linen shirt, and he carried a copy of Fourier’s disciples’ periodical, La Phalange, tucked beneath his arm. It was the first time she’d seen him since the voyage began, and she hadn’t yet decided whether she was grateful he’d not bothered her during her indisposition or annoyed that he’d abandoned her to her misery with such ease. Maintaining a neutral tone, she asked, “You don’t enjoy sailing?”

  “Lady, I’d just as soon tussle with a Comanche counting coup on black-headed Texans as to be aboard this boat. I read somewhere that a ship is like a prison with the contingency of being drowned. That pretty well sums it up, as far as I see it.”

  Madeline didn’t know how to reply to that. In fact, she wasn’t certain whether she wished to speak to him at all. Heavens, the man could scowl! She pulled her black wool cape tighter and lifted her chin in a perfect aristocrat’s snub.

  Amusement kindled in his eyes. He rolled the magazine and held it in one hand as he crossed his arms and turned sideways, resting a hip against the rail. “You still feeling puny, Maddie? I heard you had a right fine case of green gills.”

  Madeline made her decision; she was definitely annoyed. “Oh, really?” she replied, shoving a stray strand of hair back into her bonnet. “So you did inquire after me? And I was under the impression that you’d forgotten I was aboard ship. Well, silly me.”

  He grinned and said, “How could I forget about you? Everyone aboard ship could hear you moaning and groaning all night long. Personally, I was glad to hear that you were sick. I’d hate to think you’d been carrying on for any other reason—especially on our wedding night.”

  Of all the nerve, Madeline thought, flexing her fingers as the need to slap him caused her hand to tingle. Has he no sense of propriety whatsoever? She’d met many rough-cut men in her day, but even among the more criminal element, men tended to temper their language around a lady. But then, Brazos Sinclair didn’t consider her a lady, did he?

  Deflated, she said, “And what has occupied your time this past week, sir?”

  “Oh, I’ve been studying.”

  “Improving your French, I hope?”

  “Nope.” He held up the magazine. “I’ve been reading up on this philosopher fella you people set such store in. I’ve got to tell you, Maddie, I think what he’s preaching is just a bunch of heifer dust.”

  Heifer dust? What was this language Brazos Sinclair spoke? She sniffed with disdain and said, “Charles Fourier was an exceptional man, a great thinker. Someday his name will be mentioned with Plato and Aristotle.”

  Brazos thumped his chin with the magazine, then said thoughtfully, “Plato and Aristotle, aren’t they those two guys who wrestled alligators in the Paris carnival last year?”

  Madeline’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Wrestled alligators! Why …”

  Chuckling, Brazos reached out with a finger and nudged her mouth closed. “I’m just teasing you, Maddie. About the Greeks, anyway.” He lifted his gaze to the men climbing the rigging to furl the sheets. “While you were laid up, I spent some time getting to know some of our shipmates. For the most part they’re real nice people, and I especially like your friends the Brunets. It sounds like André knows is way around a cornfield, and that’ll serve him handy in Texas. Worries me to think what the rest of them will do.”

  Madeline frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Darlin’, I don’t know what you’ve been told about the frontier but there’s simply no demand for an orchestra conductor or a jeweler’s apprentice, or, for that matter a banker. We only have one chartered bank in Texas, and it’s had its business tied up in the courts for years.” He crossed his arms and mused, “Yep, people in Texas don’t care much for bankers.”

  Madeline had her own opinion concerning bankers, aware that Julian Desseau counted at least two banks among his vast enterprises. But Brazos’s criticisms struck a defensive chord in her, and she challenged him. “Just what is it that you are trying to say, Monsieur Sinclair?”

  His expression was serious and sincere as he replied, “La Réunion won’t succeed. The reasoning is faulty.”

  “Oh, really?” Madeline smiled a falsely sweet smile. “And I suppose it is the years you have spent at philosophical study and debate that have guided you toward this conclusion?”

  “Hell, no. It’s plain ol’ common sense. Something that appears to be in short supply with you Fourierists.”

  He is one to talk, the thickheaded lout. Madeline eyed the way his hip rested against the ship’s rail. An unexpected shove would send him overboard. Her fingers itched to hit him, but she soothed them by stealing five bullets from the gunbelt ever present around his hips. Calmed somewhat, she said, “You are quite vociferous with your opinions, sir. However, I’ve yet to hear any specifics. Pray, tell me just why you think La Réunion is doomed to failure.”

  “All right.” Brazos rubbed his cheek with his palm. “Hmm, where do I start?” He flashed her an arrogant grin and added, “It’s hard to pick from so many stupid ideas.”

  Poison, Madeline thought. Yes, death by poison had a certain allure. Who aboard the Uriel would have poison she could appropriate?

  “I reckon I could pick on Considérant’s agricultural plan, but in all honesty, I can see some benefits in his ideas about cooperative farming. I think he needs some more farmers in this group to make it work, but at least there’s a slight chance for success.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Let’s see…I’ve plenty to say about the Fourierists’ beliefs concerning the destruction of Civilization by the release of man’s thirteen passions, but I’m afraid I find the subject matter to embarrassing to discuss.” He tilted his chin and looked at her, asking, “I wouldn’t mind an invitation to the event, though. Just as an interested observer, a student of philosophy, if you will.”

  She recognized that Brazos was referring to Fourier’s ideas concerning sexual freedom and the Court of Love. While she didn’t for one moment believe he’d be embarrassed to discuss the philosophies of The New Amorous World or The Laws of Passionate Attraction, she was grateful he apparently intended to avoid the subject. Monsieur Bourgin is a veterinarian, she remembered. Perhaps he could provide an appropriate toxin. Something that makes the tongue swell…

  “So, what do you think, Maddie? Will you invite me to this passion release?”

  “Not in this lifetime, Monsieur Sinclair” she said dryly.

  He flashed her a boyish grin. Suddenly, Madeline found herself wanting to grin right back. In a strange sort of way, his outrageousness could be appealing. For the first time, she looked at him in a new, different light. Perhaps Brazos Sinclair wasn’t as bad as she had imagined. He was a handsome rogue; there was no denying that.

  Then he opened his mouth once more. “Back to your question about why I believe La Réunion is doomed to failure. I think a good example is the position they take on a woman’s place in society. Come on, now, Maddie, equality for women?”

  Madeline sucked on her lower lip. Of the myriad points he could have argued, he had to pick the one nearest to her heart. She put the chill of the North Sea into her voice as she said, “Why is it that I am not surprised by your attitude? I suppose you don’t believe that women are as intelligent as men?”

  Brazos shook his head. “I’m not saying some women aren’t clever about some things—I’ve never known a man who could bake a cake worth a damn— and I’m not claiming they don’t have their uses. But as smart as men? Don’t be ridiculous!”

 
A fencing foil, she thought, right through the heart. Or perhaps the liver, he mightn’t have a heart. Monsieur Rejebian was a fencing master surely he could furnish her a weapon. Lifting her chin, she said, “What about Cleopatra and Catherine the Great? Queen Elizabeth? Now, there was an intelligent woman for you. She never married!”

  Brazos blew a slow whistle. “Ooh, Maddie. You could slice beef jerky with that tongue of yours. Look, you can’t count those women—they’re royalty, freaks of nature. They don’t have anything to do with a normal female.”

  Madeline breathed deeply to maintain the tenuous hold on her anger. “Mr. Sinclair, La Réunion will succeed, and much of that success will be due to the respect the men of the society have for the female members.”

  “Yeah, that same respect that caused you to propose marriage to a total stranger, right?” He folded his arms and waited, a victorious grin on his face.

  Lightning slashed the sky in the distance. It could just as easily have been coming from her eyes. Her voice was tight as she said, “A woman at La Réunion will have the freedom to choose her occupation. If she has an idea for a piece of machinery or a suggestion on where to build what, she’ll be listened to, and she’ll be the one doing the creating and building.”

  Ignoring Brazos’s snort, she continued, “At La Réunion, a woman can earn and keep her own money, separate from her husband.” She flashed her own winning grin right back at him. “And at La Réunion, women will have the vote.”

  “No!”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, there’s a scary thought.” Brazos grimaced. “I can see it now, they’d vote to make gingham curtains mandatory on every window in America.”

  “Pink ones, probably.”