Livingston looks at me from the corner of his eye and arches a single brow. I take the opportunity to smoothly elbow him in the side. He grunts, and the corner of his mouth tilts upward.
Thankfully, the car stops in front of Brignac House, ending my torture. Before the driver has a chance to open the door, one of the servants does.
Nat and her mother-in-law walk down the steps of the impressive mansion. Livingston whistles as we take in the stately plantation. The twenty-one columns that wrap around the home have flecks of paint missing. As do the black shutters that flank the front windows. But those small flaws add charm to what would be immaculate property.
“I thought you’ve been here before,” I remark.
“Neither Étienne nor I have visited Brignac House.” The edge to Livingston’s reply causes me to stop gathering my belongings and look at him. Livingston’s always been incredibly close to Nathalie. What would prevent him from visiting her? Was it Oliver, or something else?
Livingston steps out of the car and turns to help me, I take his hand and ensure my skirt stays in place. Once I’m standing, my lungs greedily expand, inhaling the fresh air.
Nat and her mother-in-law are mere steps away, and I’ve yet to think of her name. I think my bafflement is written across my face because Livingston leans toward me.
“Her name’s Matilda,” he whispers in my ear.
I nod and suppress a shiver at the close contact. As Livingston proceeds forward to greet his sister, I stay back and wait for Momma. She’s not too far behind me. When she’s within earshot, she says, “After that insufferable drive, I do believe this travel suit is utterly ruined. I must say it’s lookin’ rather beneficial the amount of servants at Brignac House. They’ll need a small militia to wring out the sweat in my suit.”
My lips fight to stay in a straight line. Leonore Pleasonton can have a rare, unexpected sense of humor when she chooses. Livingston heads toward us with Nat, and Matilda next to him. I take the moment to quickly remind Momma the name of Nat’s mother-in-law.
Momma is the epitome of a Southern lady as she greets Matilda. Her words flow with grace, and her eyes are filled with genuine sympathy. Nat hasn’t spoken much of Matilda, but it’s clear to see the raw pain in her eyes. She readily accepts Momma’s condolences.
Nat continues to remain emotionless. She stands between Livingston and Matilda. She’s not sobbing into a handkerchief, nor is she smiling and embracing me.
Only tragedy brings such a range of emotion out of people. Not one person’s reaction will be the same.
Stepping forward, I hug my best friend. There’s no energetic embrace that’s generally expected with a Nathalie hug. It’s as though the very life has been depleted from her.
“Nat, I am terribly sorry.”
She nods and squeezes my hands. “Thank you for comin’.”
“If there’s anythin’ you need while I’m here, anythin’, you just let me know, and I’ll get it for you.”
Once again, she nods. I get the impression Nat isn’t fully registering most of the interactions occurring around her. My heart sinks even further because I know it will be that way for quite some time.
“Nathalie, will you show our guest their living quarters?” Matilda says.
“Of course.”
While the servants walk to the car for our luggage, we follow Nat inside the spacious Brignac House.
Upon stepping inside, it’s a struggle to keep my face impassive. The fetid smell clashes with the extravagant plantation. It’s the scent of body odor mixed with sweat. It could be solved with airing the house out. As I peek into the sitting room and see the windows nearly boarded up, I realize that’s not an option.
My gaze meets Livingston’s. He looks like he’s holding his breath and treating each inhale as though it’s his last.
If Nat notices the smell, she doesn’t show it. She continues to walk up the stairs while the three of us follow her.
“My … this home has remarkable character,” Momma comments diplomatically.
Character is certainly another word for stench. But all I can wonder is how does Nat manage to live here day in and day out?
“It does,” Nat replies. “I’m certain Matilda will tell you even durin’ her time of mournin’.” Her tone is derisive yet manages to be vacant.
I give a furtive glance at Momma and quickly speak up. “It’s much like Belgrave.”
At the top of the stairs, Nat whirls around. For the first time since we’ve arrived, her eyes become alive. Unfortunately, it’s with anger. “Brignac House is nothin’ like Belgrave.”
The three of us stop and gape at her. Even Livingston, her own brother, looks taken aback. And then she dips her head, her eyes veering toward the ground, and sweeps her hand to the left. When she looks back at us, a tense smile is back. “Mrs. Pleasonton, I have placed you in the west wing of the home. If you follow me, I believe you’ll find your room quite acceptable.”
“Of course, dear.”
Nat begins to walk down the hall without waiting for the three of us. Once again, we all look at one another before Momma hurriedly follows after Nat.
“What happened?” I whisper.
Livingston slowly shakes his head. He’s as bewildered as I am. We both know this display from Nat isn’t solely from the loss of Oliver. The traits she’s always possessed have slowly been chipped away, patiently and methodically.
Nat shows Momma to her room, a lovely space that has plenty of bright light. Momma hums her approval.
Silently, we walk toward the other end of the second floor. Nat opens the first door to the right. “Rainey, you’ll be in here.” The guest room is lovely with a large bed to the right and a gold chenille coverlet spread across the mattress. The room has all the prerequisites for visitors: a single armoire, a desk with a stack of pristine white paper and a pen, an upholstered armchair is angled in one corner of the room and fresh flowers are placed on the end table.
Perhaps what’s notable is the curtains are open along with both windows, allowing fresh air to permeate the space.
“Praise God,” Livingston murmurs into my ear.
I suppress a grin and pretend I didn’t hear him.
Nat gestures to the door opposite of mine. “Livingston, you’re across the hall from Rainey.”
I’m sure for Nat it was a matter of simplicity. Place the guests all in one wing. For me, it’s close to torture. Like placing forbidden fruit in front of me and expecting me not to try to take a bite.
Livingston clears his throat. “Thank you. Sounds nice.”
“I need to go downstairs and see how I can help Matilda elsewhere.” With her shoulders rigidly set, Nat walks out of the room without sparing a good-bye or giving her signature bright smile. I knew she would be in mourning, but I didn’t know she’d be this bereaved.
I take a step forward to go after her. “Should we—”
Livingston shakes his head. “No. Right now, it’s best to leave her. I know my sister.” He says he knows her, but there’s a furrow between his brows that says differently. Livingston’s never seen her quite like this before either.
“Well,” Momma sighs as she looks around my room. “I need to lie down before dinner.” Before she leaves, she gives Livingston and me a pointed look. “Make sure you keep your windows open,” she half-whispers, as though the entire staff and Matilda are listening in the hall.