Day Dreamer by Jill Marie Landis Read Free Book Online Page A

registered.
Sailing for the West Indies. Tomorrow
. She snapped her mouth shut, waited a second more and then said, “Cordero, the groom, is leaving Louisiana tomorrow?”
    Edward’s smile faded. He began to wring his hands and cast worried glances in the direction of the door.
    “It’s true. Cordero’s made up ’is mind to leave old ’enre’s house for good. Leavin’ it all behind. Now, I know your father expected you t’ marry an’ settle down ’ere, but I can assure you, I think this’ll be best for all concerned. As I said, given ’alf a chance—”
    Celine had to be sure she had heard him correctly. “The bride and groom are sailing tomorrow?”
    “That’s right, miss. To St. Stephen Island in the West Indies. If I might say so, miss, you’ll never be free to run this place like a real lady of the house as long as ol’ Henre is alive. Leavin’ would be the only way. That’s ’tween you and me, now, y’ ’ear?”
    Marry Cordero Moreau and she would soon be so far away that the Perots would never find her. All she had to do was stand in for Jemma O’Hurley and marry some mad, moronic idiot that no one else would have and then sail over the horizon. Tomorrow. If the situation proved too miserable, she could disappear as soon as they reached the islands.
    “I really am
not
Jemma O’Hurley,” she assured Edward again.
    “Whatever you say, miss.”
    “I didn’t come here to get married.”
    “No indeed, miss.”
    The door opened and Celine half expected to see Henre Moreau standing on the threshold glaring at her. Instead, a spry, carefully groomed servant with light brown, thinning hair stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
    “I came as soon as I could,” he said in an excited, hushed voice. He crossed the room and stood close to Edward, who quickly introduced him.
    “This is Foster Arnold, Miss Jemma, Cordero’s other personal servant. Also from St. Stephen, by way of England.”
    She nodded. “Hello, Foster. I’m not Jemma O’Hurley.”
    Foster glanced over at his fellow servant, who merely pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. “It’s worse than we ’eard,” Edward said.
    Foster looked back at her and asked in a condescending tone one might use with a child, “Then who
are
you, miss?”
    “My name is unimportant. I took Miss O’Hurley’s place in the carriage with the intent of getting hired on here.”
    Foster turned to Edward. “At least we were warned.”
    “I’m not lying,” she said. She was beginning to wonder exactly what it was they had heard about Jemma O’Hurley.
    The two men eyed her pityingly.
    “Cordero’s not so bad, miss,” Foster said.
    “I tried to tell her that,” Edward assured him.
    “I don’t care if he has two heads. I must be losing my mind, but I am thinking of consenting to this marriage. But it’s definitely
not
because I am Jemma O’Hurley. I just wanted you both to know, I’ll not do it under false pretenses.”
    “She’ll do it!” Edward clasped his hands over his heart and beamed at Foster.
    Foster took Celine’s hand. “Thank you, Miss O’Hurley. And you’ll see. He’s not all bad.”
    “I’m
not
Miss O’Hurley,” Celine repeated with a sigh.
    “Whatever you say, miss,” Foster said.
    The men took her in hand. They found a coral silk gown carefully laid out on top of the clothes folded in the trunk. They held the gown up, shook it out and, after admiring every bow and stitch, insisted she
must
wear it, that it would be a crime not to. They hovered over her, giving advice and encouragement as one of the house slaves towel-dried her hair before the fire and then carefully fashioned it into an upswept style they all assured her complemented her eyes.
    Celine changed out of her faded serge garment into the gown the Englishmen had chosen, careful to keep her coins hidden. It was the loveliest gown she had ever seen, made of coral silk with sleeves puffed at the shoulders and fitted to her wrists. Although it