Bride of a Stranger (Classic Gothics Collection) by Jennifer Blake

have done without her.”
    Berthe, who had been very quiet, spoke suddenly. “Rachel is a sister to my girl.”
    “I didn’t know. She never speaks of her family.” “Which is as it should be. I cannot abide a chatterer,” Helene stated.
    Claire, who would have preferred a friendlier personality in her servant, forbore to disagree with her.
    “As pleasant as this room may be, I am sure you are becoming weary of it. As soon as you are able to be up and about we must go for a drive in my carriage and show you a little more of our holdings here.”
    “I would enjoy that. I have grown very curious about the country around the house, and about where Justin goes and what he does when he is away.”
    “You haven’t questioned him about his movements? I see you are beginning to know my son,” Helene said with a dry note in her voice.
    “Helene—” Berthe protested. But her sister-in-law barely glanced at her.
    “And as to where he goes and what he does, machère , perhaps I should tell you before someone else does—”
    “Helene!”
    “Don’t bleat, Berthe!”
    “But you don’t know—”
    “With the Leroux men it is not necessary to know, to see with your own eyes. You of all people should understand that, Berthe.”
    “I beg you—” It was barely a whisper, but in that softly breathed sound there was such anguish that Claire wanted somehow to help that plain woman in the black dress. There was nothing she could do except look away from the pale, trembling lips and the small, lashless eyes that glittered with tears and something else she could not quite define.
    “What I wished to inform you of,” Helene’s emotionless voice went on, “is that my son’s quadroon has been seen in the vicinity. I feel personally that it is better in cases like this to be forewarned—and I am not without experience.”
    Claire stared at her. What could she say? A part of her greeted the news with apathy, but another part felt a shaft of pure jealousy—not, she assured herself, because of any concern for her husband, but for the security of her position as his wife, a position, under their religious beliefs, that she must hold until death.
    “Your concern does you credit, I’m sure—” she began, and then stopped as Helene sprang to her feet, her gaze fixed on the cat that had just walked in at the partially open french window from the gallery.
    “Put that animal out! I cannot bear cats. How Octavia can stand to have him in her room is more than I will ever understand. I loathe him, sneaking, slinking creature. One never knows where he will be next!”
    It was the first time that Claire had seen the great black cat since the night he had frightened her, but now she was grateful for the diversion. She made no move to evict him as he leaped upon her bed and curled himself into a ball.
    “There are a great many people who cannot abide cats,” she said, smiling a little. “For myself, I like them well enough. They are clean animals, and quiet.” She glanced at Berthe and found that lady also staring at the cat, a peculiar expression on her face, half antipathy, half thoughtfulness.
    “Please yourself,” Helene said tautly. “But don’t let him scratch you. I have always heard that cats carry poison in their claws.”
    The two ladies did not linger much longer, and when the door had closed behind them, Claire reached out and slowly began to scratch between the cat’s ears. He stretched, pressing against her hand, and she smiled and smoothed his fur, thinking.
    Why had Helene told her about Belle-Marie? What was her purpose? She doubted it was the one given. What was the thing that lay between Helene and her son that caused her to speak of him with such bitterness? Claire was almost certain that her mother-in-law was disappointed in her reaction to her news. Had she expected that Claire would be shocked and hurt, or possibly, jealous? Was that what she had wanted?
    Justin did not return to the house for the midday