Читать книгу: «Reclaiming His Legacy»

One

“What happened to the nanny, Father?”

For a moment, Blake Boudreaux thought his father wouldn’t answer. Instead Armand Boudreaux adopted the inscrutable, haughty look that matched his perfectly fitted suit, manicured hair and highly polished shoes. All of which said he wasn’t obligated to give excuses to anyone. Then one perfectly trimmed brow slowly lifted and he replied with dead calm, “My traitor of a wife cleaned out her bank account. A sizable amount, I might add. I had to recoup my investment somehow.”

“By firing the nanny of a sick child? Are you crazy?”

“You never had a nanny and you were just fine.”

Blake could say more than a few words on that subject, but this wasn’t the time or place… Not that his father would care anyway. Besides, being back inside the Boudreaux plantation house was making his skin crawl already. This place left him chilled to his core, even after all these years away. “I didn’t have epilepsy. This is a serious illness. Abigail needs to be supervised. Taken care of.”

“That mess is all in her head. Obviously so, or her mother wouldn’t have flaked off to Europe and left her behind.”

Wasn’t that sympathetic of him?

“So the doctors are lying?”

“They’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Really, they should do what they do best. Give her a pill that will make it all go away. It doesn’t need to be more involved than that, I’m sure. As long as she takes the medicine, she’ll be fine. And more importantly, she will believe its fine. That’s about all its good for.”

Blake knew a lot of things about his father. He was cold and autocratic, and spent his life tearing holes in the people around him. Sometimes he was subtle about it…sometimes not. But this was the first time he’d known Armand to truly jeopardize someone’s life. Blake truly believed this was not something to play around with.

Abigail, Blake’s half sister, was seven years old and her symptoms had been severe enough for her “flaky mother” to take her to a specialist. Of course, the minute the diagnosis had been made, she’d packed her bags and headed out to less stressful pastures.

“The doctors aren’t crazy. This could be dangerous,” he insisted.

“It’s not as bad as they make it seem. Besides, you sound like someone who honestly cares,” his father pointed out with a smirk. “Considering this is the first time I’ve seen your face since you told me to shove my money and my parental rights seventeen years ago, I guess I should take you seriously.”

The dig wasn’t unjustified. This was the first time Blake had set foot in his father’s house since he was eighteen years old. If he had never again walked through the doors of the infamous Boudreaux plantation house, he would never have missed it. He could have continued to live in the most luxurious settings in Europe, rather than return to this arctic tundra of a house despite the sultry heat of the Louisiana summer outside.

He would never have met his father’s much younger second wife, Marisa, and his then five-year-old half sister if said wife hadn’t been on a trip in Germany at the same time Blake had been involved with the princess of a small, nearby principality.

That’s when he’d discovered that Marisa loved to travel to exotic places and be seen by the most important people. Abigail’s care was relegated to a nanny while her mother spent her days exploring her next big adventure. She’d only taken Abigail along because Armand had refused to let her leave the child at home. Marisa matched his father in narcissism, though she lacked his vindictive streak.

Blake had never thought he would ever care about children in any capacity that had an impact on his life. His playboy reputation was widely known and accepted by all but those women who tried—and failed—to change him. Children were something that existed and were cute…as long as they belonged to someone else.

But one charming afternoon with the little girl with soft ringlets, wide brown eyes and a keen curiosity about everything around her had this playboy hooked. Luckily, Marisa had facilitated his attempts to stay in touch with his half sister until a few months ago. Blake would have had no idea about the present situation if his half sister’s former nanny hadn’t called out of the blue two days ago with the distressing news. Blake had rented a private jet and gone to New Orleans immediately.

Thank goodness he had an inheritance outside of his father’s reach. His mother’s exclusive gift had given him the chance to live a carefree life without a thought to money…or his father’s opinion. The fact that he successfully supplemented that income with an avid interest in producing and distributing art was a bonus known only to him.

“I do care about Abigail,” Blake finally said. Better to keep it simple than give his father any ammunition to use against him. “Someone should.”

“She’s weak. Life will toughen her up.”

His father turned his laser-focused gaze on Blake, studying him in a way that made Blake want to squirm. He resisted the urge, of course. He was long past the point where he would allow his father to direct his actions in any way. Showing any sign of weakness would be seen as a victory by the old man, and Blake wasn’t giving an inch.

“But since you’re here, I might consider giving you the job.”

That wasn’t what Blake expected at all. “Excuse me?”

“The job of looking after her. Though you’re hardly qualified for childcare, now, are you?”

At least I’m willing to try. Blake simply locked his jaw and waited. If his father was willing to about-face, there would be a price to pay. Might as well wait for the bill.

“I don’t know,” the older man said, fiddling with his diamond cuff links as he pretended to consider the situation. “I haven’t decided if I’ll let you see her at all.”

A sudden tiny gasp sounded from behind a chair tucked into the far corner of the room. Unfortunately it echoed off the vaulted ceiling, and was magnified for the listeners nearby. His father’s gaze swung immediately to the shadows.

“I told you to stay in your room,” he yelled, his booming voice forcing Blake to suppress a wince.

A little girl slid out from behind the piece of furniture. Despite a little extra height on her, Blake would have said she was unchanged in the last two years. She had the same brown ringlet curls, though they were currently a tangled mess. The same vulnerable gaze. She hesitated before obeying, her brown eyes, flecked with green, seeming to memorize every inch of Blake as if afraid she would never see him again. Blake could certainly relate. His father was just enough of a jerk to forbid him to ever see her if he realized how much it meant to Blake.

So he hid his own emotions, gave Abigail the barest of smiles and motioned for her to go upstairs…before she heard more from her father about what a problem she was. Blake had grown up with a lifetime of those abusive rants stuck in his brain. He didn’t want that for Abigail.

While her mother was here, Blake had thought she would be protected from the harsh reality of Armand Boudreaux’s judgments. Now there would be no one in a position to protect her. The housekeeper, Sherry, might be able to check in, but she still had a job to do. Would that be enough?

Blake hadn’t even had that much. He remembered long, endless days when he barely saw anyone except the cook, who would fix him a plate. He’d been healthy, but lonely. Except having his father take an interest in him had usually meant an hour of yelling about how horrible Blake was.

Blake couldn’t allow that to happen to Abigail. Two years ago, he never gave his terrible childhood a second thought, but Abigail’s situation was bringing a lot of bad memories to the forefront of his brain.

Turning his gaze back to his father, he continued as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “You were saying I could help with Abigail’s care?” Caution was the name of the game here.

“Sure. You care so much about her—” Armand narrowed his gaze on Blake, a thin smile stretching his lips. “It might be worth something for you to see her.”

Oh boy. “Don’t you have enough money?”

The seconds-long hesitation sent a spear of worry through Blake. Money had never been an issue for his father. Not growing up. And, Blake assumed, not now. But that hesitation made him wonder.

Then his father said, “Not money, son. Freedom.”

A pretty significant bargaining chip for Blake. It always had been. This would not end well. “I’m not following.”

His father paced back and forth across the marble floor, the click of his dress shoes echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Blake’s stomach sank. This was his father’s move whenever he was plotting…planning. Definitely not good.

His father paused, tapping his index finger against his bottom lip. “I think there might be a solution to this situation that will benefit us both.”

Hell, no. “I know how this works. Your solutions only benefit you.”

“It depends on how you look at it.” His father’s smile was cold. “This could definitely benefit Abigail. Isn’t that what you say you want?”

“I never said any such thing.”

“Your actions speak loud enough for you.”

And he’d thought he’d shown remarkable restraint… Remaining silent would keep Blake from incriminating himself further. So he kept his trap shut and his gaze glued to the man before him. Armand fitted in so well with the sterile beauty of the Boudreaux plantation. It was his perfect backdrop.

“Yes, I believe this will definitely work. I’ve waited a long time for this.” Armand nodded as if confirming the thought to himself. His full head of silver hair glinted in the sun from the arched window behind him. “And you’re gonna give me exactly what I want.”

Blake turned away, panic running through him at the thought of going back to being that eighteen-year-old boy who had no defenses against his father. But just when he thought he would stride right over to the door and disappear through it, he caught a glimpse of tangled brown hair and pink leggings at the top of the stairs.

What choice do I have?

He could report Armand for neglect, but Blake doubted that would do more than dent his father’s reputation. Armand knew too many people in high places for any charges to go far. Abigail probably wouldn’t even be removed from the home.

He could take her with him now, but that would probably lead to him being accused of kidnapping…and she’d end up right back home.

He needed more time, more resources…but he could not let Abigail down, even if it meant turning his own life inside out to help her. Who would have guessed this playboy would grow a conscience?

He turned back to his father. “What do you want me to do?”

With a grin that said he knew he’d gotten his way, Armand slipped through the double doors at the far end of the room leading to his office, then returned with a file folder in his hand. Blake didn’t dare look up the stairs and give away Abigail’s continued presence. But he was conscious of her sitting just out of his father’s line of sight.

“There is a woman here in town, Madison Landry. She has something that belongs to me. Something you will retrieve.”

“Can’t you get a lawyer to take care of that?”

“That route has proved…fruitless. Now it’s time for a different approach.”

The rare admission of failure was unheard of from his father, which piqued Blake’s interest. “So you want me to convince a former…what, lover?…to return something to you?” Obviously legal channels hadn’t worked, so his father didn’t have a legitimate leg to stand on.

His father smirked. “Hardly.” He pulled a photograph out of the file. “Have you ever heard of the Belarus diamond?”

“No.” Jewels had never been a major focus for Blake.

“It’s a rare, two-carat, fancy vivid blue diamond that was gifted to our family by a Russian prince before we settled in Louisiana after leaving France. When I was young and foolish, I had the diamond placed into a setting for an engagement ring. For a woman who did not deserve anything nearly so special.”

Well, this was news to Blake. He studied a photograph of a brilliant blue oval-shaped jewel. “You were engaged before my mother?”

“To the daughter of a now nearly extinct family from Louisiana society, Jacqueline Landry. The engagement lasted less than a year.”

“So she dumped you?”

If not, Armand would have taken steps to get back what was his before walking away.

Armand’s back went ramrod straight, as if he were affronted by the assumption. His sigh indicated he had no high horse to sit on. “She made the foolish choice to leave, and took the ring with her. That diamond belongs to our family. It is mine to do with as I wish.”

But not the ring? This wasn’t about a piece of jewelry Armand could hand down to his children. It was about something else… Money? Pride? Surely not after all of these years.

“Then you shouldn’t have given it away,” Blake reasoned.

“I sent several letters through the years demanding the ring back, all of which were returned unopened.”

“From my limited experience with broken engagements, that’s her prerogative.”

His father’s snap to attention told Blake he’d touched a nerve.

“Dammit, this is not the time for your flippant sarcasm. I want that ring and I will have it.” Armand smoothed down his hair and jacket in a move utterly familiar to Blake. Growing up, he’d seen it often after his father’s rages. Blake steeled himself as a wave of unpleasant emotions washed over him.

“You will get it for me, Blake.”

“How? You don’t even know if Jacqueline’s daughter still has it.”

“There’s never been any record of it being found or sold. Which means it’s still in the family’s possession somehow. You will find this woman and get it back from her. With her knowledge or without it.”

“You expect me to convince her to just hand over a priceless diamond that belonged to her mother?”

“You’ll find a way. I’m sure a man like you, one who has seduced and discarded numerous women through the years, will have no problem with this mission. It should be a perfect use for the very few skills you’ve actually cultivated in your lifetime.”

Blake had to admit, that stung a little. Even if it came from his father, who wouldn’t have a nice thing to say about him if he’d used his wealth to become a big-shot CEO, either. Of course, the other skills Blake had developed he kept well disguised behind the facade of his carefree lifestyle. “Those women knew the score going in.”

“This one won’t. And I forbid you to enlighten her.” He narrowed his gaze on his son. “Until afterward, of course. If you want to tell her you stole from her to save your sister, that’s your business.”

Armand handed over a file with all the confidence of a man who would get his way. “Read it. Let me know.”

“I can’t do this.” Could he?

“And there’s one more condition,” his father went on, as if Blake hadn’t spoken. “Access to Abigail will be limited by me until the job is done. But afterward, you can have her all to yourself. I’ll sign the paperwork to wash my hands of her, and you can give her the upbringing you claim she needs.”

Bile rose in the back of Blake’s throat. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d walked back through the Boudreaux plantation’s doors, but no part of this conversation had gone according to plan. What business did a man who’d spent his life deliberately avoiding any type of responsibility have raising a young girl with epilepsy?

As if he could read Blake’s thoughts, his father smirked. “Are you sure a playboy like you is up to the challenge?”

“Sleepy?”

Madison Landry started awake, embarrassed at being caught sleeping by her boss at Maison de Jardin. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered out, “I’m just not sleeping well right now.”

“It’s not a problem for me,” Trinity Hyatt said with one of her trademark gracious smiles, “especially since you’re here on your day off. Want to tell me why that is?”

Madison tried to shrug off the question with a lame excuse. “There’s always plenty to do around here.” And there was.

The charity, which provided a safe haven and life skills training for abused women and children, was in a constant state of managed chaos. If it wasn’t laundry that needed doing, it was job applications or fund-raising or any number of things. The desk in front of her in the downstairs office was filled to overflowing with paperwork and records.

Not for anything would Madison admit she’d come over to Maison de Jardin, which shared a border with her family estate, because she needed a distraction. Not because work needed to be done.

The last thing she wanted to discuss were the sleepless nights. The memories of her father’s last painful days. Dreams where she could hear him struggle to breathe with the pneumonia clouding his lungs, causing fear to tighten her own chest. Waves of gratitude over the old-fashioned doctor who would still come to the house to treat him after her father’s refusal to be moved to a hospital. The stuff of her nightmares.

Though the understanding expression in Trinity’s soft gaze said she probably knew already. And her boss wasn’t one to shy away from the hard discussions. “Well, I hate to see you suffering from insomnia. I had the same issue after my mom died. Just couldn’t turn my brain off for anything.”

“That’s definitely an issue,” Madison agreed, fiddling with her pen as she thought back over so many sleepless nights lately. It was one of the few things Madison felt comfortable discussing. She tried distracting Trinity from any deeper issues. “Besides, it’s hard to retrain yourself to sleep well after having to stay alert during the night for so long.”

Only her attempt at distraction just gave her boss more fodder for discussion.

“How many years did you take care of your dad?” Trinity asked, leaning against the doorjamb.

Her gaze swept over the room with familiarity, giving Madison a momentary reprieve. After all, the office had last been Trinity’s. She’d only moved up to take care of Hyatt Heights, the company started by her late husband. He and his parents had established Maison de Jardin in New Orleans when he’d been a young man. But taking over his company meant Trinity didn’t have time to run the charity, too, especially after her late husband’s relatives had gone to court to fight over his estate.

Madison just happened to be in the right place at the right time. She’d known Trinity since she was a teenager, coming over to the shelter to help whenever she could. Unfortunately, her dad’s illness had prevented that at times. But when Trinity had to move on, she’d trusted Madison to step into the role despite her age, knowing her life experience went way beyond her years.

Trinity’s perusal of her old office ended with a look straight at Madison, who squashed the urged to squirm in her seat.

Madison cleared her throat. “Ten. But the sleeping and mobility issues were only a problem for the last five or so.”

“Madison,” Trinity said in a voice so gentle it eased Madison’s instinctive panic. “You realize that it’s perfectly normal to not be okay. Right?”

Madison knew her answers were clipped, but the dread she’d felt for weeks was clawing at the back of her throat with each word.

Multiple sclerosis was a tough disease. One Madison didn’t wish on anyone after dealing with it up close and personal. The thought of what her dad had gone through always made her sad. He’d lost his business when Madison was young, then been diagnosed with MS before losing the love of his life. But they’d had good times together, too, leaning on each other for comfort and joy.

Madison could barely respond above a whisper. “I know.” With a hard mental shove, she locked all those roiling emotions away. The more she talked about them, the more power they had. It was better just to move forward. “It’s really okay,” she said, mentally reminding herself that her restlessness and fear and pain could be normalized. “Last night, I spent the time cleaning and reading some more of my mother’s journals.” After all, what else was there to do at three in the morning?

There was a gentle caution in Trinity’s question. “Are you sure you’re ready to clean out the house, Madison? Your father has only been gone six months.”

As much as she sometimes wished it didn’t, Madison was well aware that life had to go on. “The house has to go on the market soon. With only me to clean it out…” She shrugged, as if this wasn’t a discussion she’d had with herself a million times over.

Shuffling the papers on the desk before her didn’t distract her from the ache of knowing she would have to sell the only home she’d ever had. It was falling down around her, even after years of doing the best she could with it, but every one of her lifetime of memories involved that house somehow. Knowing she would have to part with it was only making her grief grow exponentially.

But who knew how long it would take to clean out the clutter and sort through her parents’ possessions? She discovered new pockets of stuff all the time. Just a couple of months ago she’d found a collection of journals that had belonged to her mother. Reading them had brought her memory back in vivid detail. They brought her a lot of solace as she sorted through more and more stuff.

And she had no idea how she would afford to do any of the repairs the house would need, much less cosmetic work, before she put it on the market. Her job here paid her substantially better than the odd jobs she’d taken to keep her and her dad afloat after her mother’s accidental death, but years of neglect had led to some significant damage in what had once been the most beautiful, stately home in New Orleans’s Garden District.

Deep down, Madison just wished it was all over and done with. That the house was fixed, sold and being renovated by someone who could afford to return it to its former glory. It might hurt to rip the bandage off, but at least it would be gone.

I can only do so much…was the mantra she lived by. All of her life Madison had focused on one task at a time, because she was only one person, usually working without any help. Coming to Maison de Jardin had allowed her to be part of a team. But for much of her life, it had been her…or nobody.

“I’m so sorry, Madison.”

“Don’t be,” she replied with a shaky smile. But at least she still remembered how to form one. “Coming to work here has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Thank you, Trinity.”

“Girl, I couldn’t do it without you. Especially right now. I know the women here are in good hands. But—” She grinned. “Enough of all this emotion… I have an exciting surprise for you.”

“What?” Madison welcomed the change of subject, relief easing her tense muscles.

“Your dress came in!”

For most women, the news would be exciting. For Madison, it brought on another fit of nervousness. Next week they would be attending a society fund-raising event, a first for Madison. She’d never had cause to leave her father’s sickroom for such things, nor the funds. But in her new capacity as director for Maison de Jardin, it would be her job to mix and mingle with New Orleans’s best and brightest. Though their legacy from Trinity’s deceased husband should fund them for a long time to come, it never hurt to have support from others who could afford to help.

Thus, Madison found herself about to be presented to New Orleans high society.

A generation ago, it would have been Madison’s rightful place. Her parents both came from established families that had helped found this incredible city. The last of their respective lines, the love merger should have cemented them as a power couple.

But Madison only knew this from a few stories she’d heard from her mother growing up. Her mother had been very secretive about their marriage and choice to live a more isolated life despite their prominent home in New Orleans’s Garden District. Something had happened around the time of their marriage, but Madison had never been able to figure out quite what the scandal had been.

Which was why she’d been reading her mother’s journals each night after finding them in one of the closed-off rooms on the upper floor of their house. Maybe there she could find some clue to how her parents had met and married. After all, stories like that might replace the sad memories she currently fought off during her sleepless nights.

Trinity took her hand and led her through the halls of Maison de Jardin to the master suite up on the second floor. It was currently empty, having been Trinity’s room before she moved out when she married Michael Hyatt a mere two months ago. Michael’s tragic death and Trinity’s current battle over his estate left her life a little unsettled. Since Madison lived nearby for the time being, she hadn’t claimed the space as hers, wanting Trinity to still feel like she had a home here if she needed it.

Laid across the pale blue bedspread was a beautiful lavender dress. Madison gasped, letting her fingers train over the soft flow of material.