The Pelican Bride by Beth White Read Free Book Online

Monsieur Loisel. Go in peace, children.”
    As Geneviève rose with the other witnesses, emotion tightened her throat. She had traveled a long way in search of peace. Could it be found in this land of exile?
    “If one more cabbage head refers to me as a ‘ Pélican girl,’” Aimée said loudly as the congregation burst from the chapel and spilled onto the muddy drill ground, “I’m going to sprout feathers and peck his eyes out!” She paused to tweak the ivory lace fichu crisscrossed at her neckline, artfully exposing a more generous hint of cleavage.
    “Shh! A little discretion!” Geneviève pulled her aside, frowning at the fichu.
    Aimée sniffed as she restored herself to reluctant modesty. “Françoise says there are only three or four men of any substantial means in the entire settlement—and two of those aren’t even here. They’ve gone off hunting or exploring or some such nonsense. She thinks we should wait until we’ve had a chance to meet them all before choosing a husband.”
    Geneviève chose to ignore her sister’s budding hauteur, as anything that would prevent her from a hasty marriage must be a good thing. “How does Françoise know which men are of substantial means?” She linked arms with Aimée and moved with the flow of celebrants toward the fort’s main entrance. All had been invited to enjoy refreshments in the L’Anglois home.
    “She knows who to ask questions of, and what questions to ask.” Aimée glanced at the governess, who strolled along, a few feet ahead, in animated conversation with pudgy little Madame L’Anglois. “She says Commander Bienville is the finest catch of them all, and that he has not yet married because he wants a wife of noble blood.”
    Geneviève laughed. “Which lets you and me out of the running!Had you aspired to becoming the mistress of the entire settlement?” she added teasingly.
    “I don’t know why I should not!” Aimée flicked one of her golden ringlets behind her shoulder. “The commander is of a fine Canadian family and already owns what will become a sizable estate here—plus he has the ear of Monsieur Pontchartrain, who has the ear of the King himself. Françoise says his income is twelve hundred livres per year.” She glanced at Geneviève, a defiant tilt to her small dimpled chin. “And he is quite handsome, in spite of those horrible tattoos.”
    “Not so loud!” Geneviève glanced around, then whispered, “How do you know he has tattoos? Did Françoise tell you that too?”
    “I saw it myself,” Aimée said with relish. “I went out early this morning for . . . well, you know why. Anyway, I chanced to see the commander and some of his men coming from the direction of the river. I was back in the bushes, of course, so they didn’t see me. They were quite loud, and I had . . . you know, finished, so I peeked out.”
    “What if they had seen you? You must never go without me again!”
    “I was perfectly safe, so there!” Aimée snapped her fingers and grinned. “Commander Bienville has very broad shoulders. He had removed his tunic because they had been bathing—they were all dripping like fish—and I couldn’t help staring at the pictures all over his back. Crazy jagged lines and a bird in flight under a crescent moon—I think. It might have been a monkey.”
    Geneviève didn’t know whether to laugh or to strangle her hopelessly naïve little sister.
    Before she had time to do either, Madame L’Anglois looked over her shoulder and caroled, “Ladies! Young ladies! I wish you to come this way! I have refreshments for everyone at my home.”
    Curious as to the nature of refreshments in such a distant outpost, Geneviève allowed Aimée to pull her along willy-nilly in thewake of the hostess and found herself just behind the newly married couple. Élisabeth, tall and willowy in her gray kersey gown, a fistful of yellow wildflowers pinned at the waist, kept up a giddy spate of conversation with her red-faced