Josephine: Bride of Louisiana (American Mail-Order Bride 18) by Cindy Caldwell Read Free Book Online Page A

street, one such girl walked down the sidewalk, her bright eyes--green, maybe, but how they sparkled-- framed in beautiful hair of the richest honey color he’d ever seen. Almost like his mother’s.
    He blinked hard and looked again as the girl threw her head back and laughed, ducking into one of the dress boutiques that peppered this particular New Orleans street.
    He’d seen many pretty girls in his day--especially as one of the most eligible bachelors in southern Louisiana. He certainly could appreciate beauty, but he’d been so committed to the plantation that it just wasn’t a thought that ever crossed his mind. And now that he had to choose, he’d not had the opportunity to even consider finding someone that he truly could love.
    It was better this way, he supposed, as much as it worried him. He’d closed his heart long ago, the pain unbearable when his mother died. She had been--and always would be--the most beautiful woman in the world to him.
    “Monsieur?” The doorman held the brass handle of the entrance to the hotel, his eyebrows raised.
    Pierre tugged at his sleeve and sighed, turning toward the door. “Hello, Jacques.”
    “Bonjour, Monsieur. Is there anything I can help you with?”
    Looking up at the man who had been doorman here for as long as Pierre could remember, he smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “I don’t think so, Jacques. Not unless you can explain all there is to know about women. And fast.”
    “Not a man alive who could help you with that, Monsieur,” Jacques said as Pierre gave him a slight nod and passed into the darkness of the hotel lobby.
    He stopped at the front desk, settling his bill before he headed up to gather his things. Entering his room at the top of the stairs, he quickly threw the few items of clothing he’d brought into his valise and reached onto the nightstand at the side of the bed.
    He ran his thumb over the cool silver, its swirled engraving familiar. He wasn’t sure why he kept this locket with him now, even after so many years. Did it still soothe him--even more now that he struggled to remember his mother’s voice?
    He opened the locked and gazed at the picture inside of the woman he’d loved, her black hair cascading over her shoulders and the pearls she always wore around her neck. He closed his eyes, once more trying to recollect a voice, a scent, but it was just beyond his grasp.
    What would she say about this arrangement? She was the one who’d stipulated a marriage to access his inheritance. Why? And why a French woman? She’d come from France herself, but she also knew how much Pierre loved his country. He’d been born an American and was proud of it, so why had she insisted on this?
    He shook his head and closed the locket, putting it in his vest pocket. He crossed to the window and stood beside it, looking down the bustling street. Several young ladies that he knew--and actually didn’t dislike--walked along the street. Could he have had a chance at love had he taken the time?
    He pushed back from the windowsill and grabbed his valise. He shook his head as he opened the door, ready to head back to the plantation and get straight back to the fields before supper. No, he had no room--no time--for courtship or love. This was the best way.

Chapter Eleven
    T he perfume bottle rattled as Josephine set it down on the vanity after dabbing some of the golden liquid behind her ears. She closed her eyes and willed her nerves to calm. It was almost time to meet Pierre and on top of that it had been a very busy day, she and Bernadette running from shop to shop.
    She had come home with several dresses, new shoes and even new knickers. Bernadette had snuck in a few new nightdresses on their way out, and Josephine blushed before she remembered that no one would ever see them but her.
    When they’d returned, Jerome had helped bring up the packages, smiled and nodded on his way out as he said, “I look forward to seeing you at supper, and I know that