Statham, Frances Patton - Jasmine Moon

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Jasmine Moon
by Frances Patton Statham
2
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Copyright ©Copyright 1978 Frances Patton
Statham
NOTICE: This ebook is licensed to the original purchaser
only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email,
floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a
violation of International copyright law and subjects the
violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice
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Jasmine Moon
by Frances Patton Statham
3
Other books by Frances Patton Statham also
available in e-reads editions:
DAUGHTERS OF THE SUMMER STORM
Jasmine Moon
by Frances Patton Statham
4
CHAPTER
1
YOU will either marry Robert Tabor or return to the
convent in New Orleans.”
Eulalie's face turned pale and she moved a step nearer the
man who had spoken, her hands held out in a subconscious
beseeching.
“There must be ... some mistake,” she said in a quivering
voice. “Papa Ravenal would never force me to marry someone
I do not even know.”
For a moment the man's stern face softened. “I am sorry,
but the terms of your stepfather's will are clear.”
Then the man assumed his former harshness as he
continued in an admonishing tone, “You forget that Robert
Tabor was his heir long before he met your mother. Since you
are actually no blood relation of his, you should be pleased
that he wanted to provide for his stepdaughter, as well.”
“And he has not ... provided for me, if I refuse to marry
this man?”
“No, Miss Boisfeulet,” the solicitor answered. “If you dare
to oppose his last wish, then there is no place for you except
the convent. You cannot remain here alone.”
The deep-brown velvet eyes of the girl hinted of tears, but
she brushed her hand across her face, as if to deny this
unwanted display of emotion.
Jasmine Moon
by Frances Patton Statham
5
The solicitor waited impatiently while Eulalie stared out the
window of the salon. In the silence, she struggled with the
sudden decision thrust upon her.
Outside, the September sun was merciless, projecting its
fiery rays upon the recently drenched land. Heat steamed
from the saturated earth in visible hot vapors to permeate the
seldom-used drawing room of the beautiful old Carolina
plantation house.
Unmindful of the vista of stately magnolias before her,
Eulalie fleetingly brushed her finger across the stained strip of
wood separating the leaded panes of glass. She was
conscious only of the heat and the problem that had so
suddenly spoiled her day.
Finally she turned and spoke. “And how does Monsieur
Tabor feel about marrying someone he has never seen?”
“Robert Tabor is prepared to go through with the wedding.
He has already signed the document for the proxy marriage.”
“Proxy marriage?” Eulalie repeated. “Do you mean...”
“He wishes the marriage to take place as soon as possible.
But he plans to stay in Paris for a while longer.”
At the surprised look in her eyes, the solicitor hastened to
assure her. “Even though there will be a stand-in for him, the
marriage ceremony will be legal. All you need do, Miss
Boisfeulet, is to sign the document also, and then the
ceremony will be arranged, making you mistress of Midgard
Plantation.”
She could say nothing. Eulalie felt numb, unable to
protest. He had said she had a choice, but it was not true.
Jasmine Moon
by Frances Patton Statham
6
Who would willingly choose to be shut away from the world
forever?
Her silence was taken for acquiescence, and the short,
stout man led her to the writing table and handed her the
quill with which to sign the official-looking parchment.
She watched as if another hand were forming the letters of
her name—Eulalie Boisfeulet. When the last letter was
written, the solicitor smiled and said, “I believe you have
chosen the wiser course, my dear. And now that you have
agreed, we can set into action the instructions Robert has
given.”
The solicitor, impatient to get back to Charleston before
the mosquitoes began their late-afternoon bombardment,
picked up the parchment and hurried from the room. It was
unhealthy for the young girl to remain on the low-country
plantation during the malaria season, but Robert had given no
instructions for her to be moved into town. He shrugged as he
climbed into his phaeton. The business of the proxy marriage
would be best disposed of as soon as possible.
Long after the man had gone, Eulalie remained in the
salon. She sat, unmoving, in the blue velvet chair and stared
at the low needlepoint-cushioned footstool that stood to the
right of the hearth—the gift she had worked on so
industriously the year before for Papa Ravenal.
How proud she had been when she had finally embroidered
her initials and the date on the red-and-blue circular design—
E.B. 1808. It had taken many hours, but she had finished it in
time for Christmas. And Papa Ravenal had been so pleased
with it. But now he would never use it again to ease his gout.
Jasmine Moon
by Frances Patton Statham
7
Back and forth she traced the neat stitches with her eyes,
until darkness crept into the room and the design became
blurred in the shadows— shadows that leaped onto the walls
and magnified the massive furniture of the salon.
“Maman, what shall I do?” her frightened voice finally
whispered through the room, but the dark silence mocked her
words. There was no one to hear, no one to give answer. And
it was already too late. She had placed her name on the
marriage document beside that of Robert Tabor.
At the head of the stairs she stood, while Feena adjusted
the train of her ivory satin Empire wedding gown. Luckily, the
heirloom veil of Alençon lace hid the stubborn jut of her chin
and the angry flash emanating from her dark brown eyes.
Eulalie's mind whirled in remembered agitation at the
words spoken to her on that fatal September afternoon. And
she was no more reconciled now to marrying Robert Tabor
than she had been on that first day.
Robert Tabor. She recoiled at his name. A smuggler—a
pirate. That's what Papa Ravenal had called him because he
had flaunted the Embargo Act, taking the rice and cotton to
trade in the forbidden foreign markets. Yet, all the time, Papa
was planning for her to marry him. That's what he had meant
when he had told her that he had changed his will to provide
for her. Eulalie was even grateful at the time for his
generosity, but now...
“They're waiting for you, mam'selle,” Feena whispered.
Eulalie looked down at the foot of the stairs, where the
solicitor stood in his formal afternoon coat and tight-fitting
breeches.
Jasmine Moon
by Frances Patton Statham
8
The servant's words prompted Eulalie reluctantly into
motion. She started down the steps, and when she had
reached the final tread, the man held out his plump hand to
claim her.
“My dear, you are lovely. A pity that your bridegroom
cannot see you as you are now.”
“Merci, monsieur,” she murmured, suddenly ashamed of
her animosity. After all, it was not the solicitor's fault that the
wedding was taking place, nor that Robert Tabor had not felt
the marriage of sufficient importance to return in time for it.
On down the hall they walked, until they reached the doors
of the salon. Two men, standing near the fireplace banked
with magnolia leaves and yellow jasmine, looked up as the
girl approached.
The parish priest in his white ecclesiastical robe remained
where he was, but the tall, dark-haired stranger took his
place beside Eulalie. And the ceremony began.
Not looking at the stranger, Eulalie said her vows in a
whisper. The deep voice of the man answered her, usurping
the words that Robert Tabor should have been saying. Only
when the heavy gold ring was slipped onto her finger did
Eulalie look up to catch the fleeting, wistful expression in the
man's eyes.
“...By the powers invested in me, I now declare that
Robert Lyle Tabor and Eulalie Boisfeulet are husband and
wife. Whom God hath joined together...”
Many miles away from the Carolina plantation, Robert
removed the white, graceful arms encircling his neck, and
climbed out of bed.
Jasmine Moon
by Frances Patton Statham
9
“Why do you have to hurry, mon cher?” the woman
protested. “Eet is still early.”
The man deftly avoided the tapered hands that reached
out toward him to draw him back into bed. Shaking his head
at the red-haired beauty, he said, “You should not be so
greedy, my love. Have I not spent the entire afternoon with
you?”
Robert glanced quickly at the clock as he began to dress.
Six-thirty. Hector would have been waiting for him for some
time. Robert was not happy, remembering his reason for
meeting his cousin—to celebrate his proxy marriage.
Calculating the exact time at Midgard, Robert realized it was
early afternoon and he was already a married man.
“Would you like to be the first to congratulate me,
Babette?” he queried, the dryness in his voice unmistakable.
“I was married a half-hour ago.”
At his announcement, she shuttered the long, dark lashes
of her sloe eyes and in an uncertain voice asked, “Theese
marriage—eet will change things between us, non?”
A wicked grin lit up the man's handsome face, while his
tawny eyes traveled insolently over the white, smooth skin
that was only partially hidden by the blue silk sheets.
“Not until I decide to return home,” he replied.
“And when will that be, Robert?” she purred like a
contented cat, opening her eyes wide and stretching.
“When Paris no longer amuses me,” he answered, leaning
over to kiss her lightly on her lips.
She laughed and put her arms around him, drawing him
close to her, but once again he escaped her embrace.
Jasmine Moon
by Frances Patton Statham
10
Resigned to his departure, she sighed and lay back on the
pillows, to drink in the magnificent view of the man before he
was encased in shirt, breeches and coat. His golden hair
surrounded his well-shaped brow like a crown, and as she
watched the muscular, strong, demanding body, she trembled
in remembered ecstasy.
“Tomorrow?” she asked in a questioning tone, when he
had finished dressing.
He nodded and, closing the door behind him, disappeared.
For a moment she listened to the vanishing steps, and
then she sat up, holding her wrist one way and then the
other. Watching the emerald bracelet, its dark green fires
glittering under the lights, she smiled.
Robert left the house and stepped out upon the pavement,
where a carriage waited. The two black horses pawed
nervously and snorted, while the driver struggled to keep
them under control.
As Robert climbed into the carriage, the white-haired man
seated inside said to him, “You're late.”
The young man jovially countered, “Love is not always
guided by the clock, Hector.” Then his face lost its
pleasantness. “Only marriage,” he added. “And I suppose by
this time I have already been saddled with Uncle Ravenal's
scrawny stepdaughter.”
Hector frowned at his words and made ready to reply, but
the sudden lurch of the carriage stopped the conversation.
The horses’ hooves struck upon the cobblestones as the
carriage swung around the corner of the Rue de la Victoire.
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JasmineMoonbyFrancesPattonStatham2e-readswww.ereads.comCopyright©Copyright1978FrancesPattonStathamNOTICE:Thisebookislicensedtotheoriginalpurchaseronly.Duplicationordistributiontoanypersonviaemail,floppydisk,network,printout,oranyothermeansisaviolationofInternationalcopyrightlawandsubjectstheviolator...

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