“I was,” she declared. Much to his surprise, she returned his irritation in kind. “Your father said as much himself, believe it or not.”
“Oh, I do.” Ben grimaced, a charge of tension passing between them.
“Come then, you two!” Lamotte trilled. “We are here to honor a great man, husband, and father!”
Ben scoffed and leaned back in his chair, extending his long legs outward until they reached under the table. His boot bumped into Remi’s leg, and she shifted, scowling at him from across the table. He curled his lip, savoring the derision in her expression.
Clearly disgusted by his antics, she pushed her chair out and stood abruptly. Elise, though surprised, followed suit.
“I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite,” Remi announced stiffly. “I think I’ll retire now. Thank you both for being here. I know Edgar would have been pleased.”
“He would,” Lamotte agreed, stumbling as he pushed out of his own chair.
Ben did not move, keeping his eyes trained on Remi.
“Good night, gentlemen.” Remi bowed her head and took her cousin’s arm, leading her from the room as they tucked their heads together in hushed whispers. No doubt, they would be discussing everything about the day and dissecting every single detail. He was sure Remi would have a few unsavory comments about his attitude; it was all he could do to keep himself from smiling.
The three men waited for the ladies’ steps to dissipate into silence. Jacques sat idly in the shadows while Ben ate his meal with the satisfaction of a child who’d successfully stolen candy.
“Well then.” Lamotte sighed. “What an evening we’ve had.”
“All by your design.” Jacques’s low voice grumbled from the corner.
The lawyer did not seem to hear the comment; he turned to his meal and then looked at Ben. The earlier humor was gone, replaced by a seriousness that sobered him.
“Now that the ladies have retired for the evening, I have some personal business with you.” He reached into his breast pocket and produced a sealed envelope. “This is a letter for you from your father.”
“My father wrote me a letter?” It caught Ben off guard, given that he’d received no word from him prior to his death.
Lamotte nodded. “I didn’t want to present it until we had a moment alone.”
Ben took the sealed envelope and turned it over twice. “What is it?”
The lawyer shrugged, forking an unfortunate pile of steamed greens into his mouth. “Instructions? Perhaps a goodbye? He gave it to me a few months ago. Just before his wedding, in fact. I thought that was odd.”
“Very odd,” Ben agreed.
The envelope read: For Ben, My Son.
“He was a good man, your father.” Lamotte cut into his meat before shoveling it down. “I can be a bit tenacious, as you’ve seen tonight, but I am almost always sincere. You must learn to forgive him; he never meant for any of this.”
“Forgive him for what?” Ben set the letter on the table and smacked his hand firmly over it. “Keeping me away for sixteen years? Marrying a child? What does a dead man need with my forgiveness?”
“It’s not for him.” Lamotte sighed, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “It’s for you.”
Ben said nothing. His meal waited on his plate, but his stomach felt too heavy to consume anything else. After some time, Sylvie returned to gather their plates. Lamotte finished his last bite and stood to excuse himself. “Try not to stay up too late now, Ben. Busy day tomorrow!”
“This way, monsieur,” Sylvie beckoned. “I’ll show you to your room.”
Lamotte bid them another goodnight and followed her into the foyer.
Jacques moved with quick feet to shut the doors behind them.
Ben realized how tense he was. “I miss the bordello.”
“I hope you don’t plan to seek one out,” Jacques warned.
“You think I would?” Ben asked innocently as he flexed his fingers over the envelope. The paper was coarse beneath his fingertips. He’d received more letters in the last two months than he had in sixteen years.
“Obviously.”
“You have so little faith in me.” Ben forced a short laugh. “Trust me, my friend. I won’t sully my good family’s name with any debauchery. Now, why don’t you sit down and have a drink with me? We still have plenty of wine left.”
His friend took the chair across from him, a frown on his face. “You know I don’t like to drink.”
“Liar.”
Jacques used to enjoy all spirits, but that was years ago when Ben discovered him in the opium den, fully intoxicated. Since then, he’d sworn it all off, claiming it made his bones ache. But the years of heavy imbibing had taken its toll on his appearance, making him look so much older than he was.
“Suit yourself.” Ben didn’t offer him another drink, finishing the bottle instead. “Speaking of the maid, did she prepare a room for you?”
“She did.”
“Excellent.” Ben tipped his head back and sighed. “Do you miss the streets of Paris yet?”
“No. The air is cleaner here.”
Ben wanted to disagree but found he could not. The island’s fresh air managed to clear away the stain of the city that had caked his lungs for years. His first deep breath of brackish air had done him good. “I’m afraid I can’t argue.”
