Love Is Lovelier Page 3

  Charlotte burst out laughing.

  Anne frowned. “I don’t find the subject amusing.”

  Charlotte grinned wider. “The queen herself couldn’t have given me a more elegant go-to-hell look. You have that down-your-nose, off-with-her-head expression down pat.”

  Anne’s stiff shoulders relaxed a fraction. She placed one hand on her daughter’s arm. “Honey, I appreciate that you care—”

  “But back off, right?”

  Anne smiled. “I wouldn’t have said it that way.”

  “Of course not. You’re the most elegant woman in New Orleans. The Times-Picayune got that right.” The merriment vanished from Charlotte’s face. “Mama, I couldn’t bear to lose you, too. Please.” Her forehead furrowed. “Let William take you somewhere for a few days.”

  Anne blinked. “You don’t approve of William. You must really be worried about me to suggest such a thing.”

  “It’s not that I don’t approve, only that—”

  Anne stroked Charlotte’s arm. “I know. You adored your papa. Sweetheart, William isn’t…” She didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t know what William was to her.

  Charlotte took her hand and squeezed. “It’s not my business if he’s special to you. Unless—” Her voice dropped. “If he hurts you, he’ll answer to me.”

  Anne embraced her daughter. “There’s nothing serious between us, so I won’t be hurt. And you have plenty else on your mind, anyway.”

  Charlotte’s frame was tight with the tension that seldom left her.

  “Has something new happened since the booking mix-up?”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. “How did you find out about that?”

  “I have my ways. Answer me.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I received another call from Richard Corbin.”

  “Did he raise his offer again?”

  “No. Instead, he issued an ultimatum. He says that their offer will only be good for another week.”

  “What? Cochon. He has some nerve—”

  Charlotte smiled at Anne’s muttered oath. “I agree.

  I repeated that we aren’t looking to sell, but—”

  “But what?”

  “Maybe we can’t recover. We might be foolish to keep putting him off. I don’t know how much harder any of us can work, and I’m waiting for the next disaster. It’s beginning to feel like a campaign against us.”

  Precisely Anne’s thoughts, though she hadn’t wanted to voice them. “We’ll do fine.” She knew she was whistling her way past the graveyard, but she refused to give up. She’d fought too hard, and now her daughters were fighting for her. “We’re Marchands. The Hotel Marchand is us, honey. Part of our blood and bone. We won’t let what your father built be taken from us.”

  “Your contribution was just as critical. If only we had that money that Papa…”

  Anne refused to think about the inexplicable disappearance of funds right before Remy died. “But we don’t,” she said firmly. “Remy and I built this place with far fewer resources. Working together, his girls and I will keep his dream alive.”

  Her valiant daughter nodded and straightened into almost military posture. “Damn right we will.”

  “Je t’aime,” she told her daughter.

  “I love you, too, Mama,” Charlotte said. “Now I’d better get going before Julie hunts me down.” Her assistant had a nose a bird dog would envy.

  Anne watched as her daughter walked away, pleased that, for once, Charlotte had voiced a concern to her.

  And wondered how much longer the two of them could keep deceiving one another with pep talks when all around them, darkness was encroaching.

  “G-MAMA!” a small voice cried out an hour later.

  “Thank you, Leo.” Anne patted the arm of the hotel’s longtime bartender, though the gossip he’d passed along was disturbing. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Sure thing, Miss Anne.” He turned with her, his face wreathed in grins. “So there’s my girl.”

  “Hi, Mr. Leo.” Daisy Rose bounced from one foot to the other. “G-mama’s taking me to the zoo!” She looked up at Anne. “Right?”

  “Absolutely.” Anne bent to pick her up, not as easy a proposition with a nearly-four-year-old as with a toddler, but Daisy Rose was petite, thank heavens—and Anne wasn’t ready to give up the pleasure.

  “Mama, she’s too heavy,” Anne’s third daughter Sylvie protested. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “I will not.” Mentally sighing at yet another overprotective child, Anne closed her eyes and indulged in a cuddle.

  “I love you, G-mama.” As free with her emotions as her mother, Daisy Rose snuggled into Anne’s embrace.

  “I love you, too, precious.” In a rhythm as instinctive as it was familiar, Anne stood there, rocking from side to side as she had done so often with her own babies.

  How had her daughters become grown women so quickly?

  Daisy Rose peered up at Leo with enormous blue eyes. “Mr. Leo, I’m pretty thirsty.”

  He laughed, knowing exactly what was coming and having the sense to silently consult Sylvie with raised eyebrows.

  “As if it would do any good to say no,” Sylvie said with a smile. “You’d just indulge her when I left for the gallery.”

  “Got me there.” He turned to Daisy Rose. “I just might have the makings for my special fruit punch somewhere around here. Want to see?”

  “Yes!” Agile as a little monkey, she shinnied down from Anne’s arms. “I’ll be right back, G-mama. Can you wait for me?”

  Anne pressed a kiss to her curly hair, a shade darker red than Sylvie’s. “I’ll wait, but the elephants might not.”

  The little girl’s eyes rounded. “I’ll hurry.”

  “Only a little drink, Leo,” Sylvie called out. She turned to Anne. “I didn’t pack any extra panties today. Sorry, Mama.”

  “Daisy Rose does very well, I think. Better than someone I know,” Anne reminded her daughter with a grin.

  “Sure, rub it in that I was the slowest to potty-train. Not my fault that Charlotte’s an overachiever or that Renee and Melanie caught on faster.”

  “You always took your sweet time getting to any destination,” Anne said as she observed her daughter’s unique style of dress. Today it was a long, slim eggplant skirt and blouse with an eye-popping lime green belt and scarf. “But your journeys were generally more colorful than your sisters’.”

  Her daughters were so distinct from one another. They didn’t always see eye to eye—seldom did, in fact. But the bond among them held strong and true. That was, in the end, all that mattered.

  “Except with Jefferson,” Sylvie said of her fiancé, whom she’d known only a matter of weeks. “My head is still spinning.” Her expression sobered. “You don’t thing we’re moving too quickly, do you, Mama?”

  Anne studied the face of her free-spirited child, uncharacteristically hesitant. “He isn’t what any of us would have predicted for you,” she said. Jefferson Lambert was twelve years older and a widower with a teenage daughter. “But when you know, you just…know. It was like that with your father.”

  “I sure didn’t feel that way at first.” Sylvie laughed. “I was furious with my sisters for hooking me up with an old fogey lawyer.”

  “That didn’t last the whole evening.” Anne teased her.

  Sylvie’s cheeks turned as red as her hair. Anne was sure her daughters believed they’d shielded her from the knowledge that Jefferson and Sylvie had been intimate their first night together, during the blackout. Why did the younger generation always think that their elders knew less than they did about sex?

  She touched Sylvie’s arm. “He’s the right one, that’s all that’s important, sweetheart.”

  Sylvie sighed. “Three days, four hours and—” she consulted the ornate watch pinned to her bodice “—sixteen minutes until he and Emily return from Boston.”

  “I like Emily,” Ann
e said of Sylvie’s prospective stepdaughter. “And Daisy Rose adores her.”

  “Me, too, though—” Sylvie shook her head. “The mother of a teenager—can you imagine?”

  “Serves you right that it’s one who also has a navel piercing.” But she liked it that Sylvie already termed herself Emily’s mother, not stepmother.

  Sylvie winced. “Thank goodness she’s agreed to let the tongue piercing grow back.”

  “Teenagers have to test their parents.” Anne studied the daughter who’d done more than her share, if less than Anne’s youngest, Melanie.

  “I guess it’s simple justice,” Sylvie said. “But I thought I’d have more time before I paid for my sins.”

  “I’d say you don’t deserve it,” Anne responded with a tug on her daughter’s hair. “But I try not to lie to my loved ones.”

  They shared an uninhibited laugh and a quick hug. “I love you, Mama. It’s so wonderful to hear you laugh again. William wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would he?”

  Anne glanced away from her daughter’s too-seeing eyes. She didn’t want another lecture. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “All I’m going to say is—” Sylvie bent near “—you go, girl. He’s a hunk. One of those who gets better with age.”

  Flustered, Anne waved her off. “I don’t think of William that way,” she protested.

  “Mama,” Sylvie’s tone was serious. “Papa wouldn’t want you to be alone. He loved you too much to wish that on you.”

  Anne had to swallow the lump in her throat. She knew Sylvie was right in some ways but wrong in others. Remy had been fiercely possessive of her, his temper as easily aroused as his passion. More than one man had been set straight when he attempted to flirt with her.

  And none of them had been his enemy, the way William had. Remy might not want her to be lonely, but that was a long way from approving of William Armstrong paying attention to her.

  Kissing her. Making it clear that he wanted her.

  “Oh, honey, I don’t know…”

  “He’s a good man, Mama. His eyes watch you all the time.”

  Anne pried herself from her daughter’s embrace. “I can’t talk about it.” She fluttered her hands. “You go on to work now. All that’s on my mind today is a certain young lady I’m taking to the zoo. I’m a grandmother, and that’s enough for me, that and the hotel. I’ve had my life, and now it’s your turn.”

  “You’re wrong,” Sylvie said, her eyes sad. “But I know better than to argue when you get this way. I’ll leave it to William to make his case.” She found a smile. “I think he’s up to the challenge.”

  “Get on with you.” Anne shooed her. “We’re simply friends,” she said for the second time this morning, even though she was afraid she agreed with Sylvie’s assessment. William Armstrong did nothing by halves.

  But then, neither did Anne Marchand.

  Resolved not to think of him again and to cancel their dinner, she turned in search of a little girl looking forward to a visit to the zoo.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WILLIAM PEERED OUT the wall of windows in his office overlooking Canal Street, pondering the latest report from his source at the Hotel Marchand. Given the hotel’s straits, he’d felt it prudent to have a neutral set of eyes in place. He was as aware as Anne that her daughters tended to gloss over many of the details of what was happening, attempting to protect her from worry.

  He understood the urge; he felt it himself. The more he knew of today’s Anne Marchand, the more she appealed to him on a personal level. She was the diametric opposite of his late wife; where Isabel had deferred to him, Anne challenged. Isabel had put her energies into the social scene; Anne had built a business. He’d begun to realize that far from being merely Remy’s helpmeet, as many thought, she’d been the driving force behind the hotel’s success. Remy, true to his culinary genius, had been absorbed by the restaurant and only marginally interested in the guest quarters.

  Both women were fiercely devoted to their offspring, but Isabel had tended to live through their daughter, Judith, while Anne’s relationships with her girls had allowed them freedom to spread their wings.

  Isabel had made William the center of her world, and he’d enjoyed all the benefits, he saw now. He’d never held her back from the pursuits that interested her, he was certain. Her ambitions were simply more modest than Anne’s.

  Anne Marchand operated on a grander scale. Understood, in a way Isabel never could have, what he’d faced as he created his empire.

  The same way he understood the obstacles confronting her now. In her own way, quieter than his, she was every bit as proud and, he smiled at the thought, just possibly as headstrong.

  Far from the takeover of the Hotel Marchand that he’d once envisioned, what he now wanted was to help Anne hold on to what she’d put her life’s blood into creating.

  He could offer the money required to retire the second mortgage she’d had to take out after Remy’s death—but he was certain he could predict her reaction. He would still offer at some point, but he’d hedged his bets in the meantime.

  He was positive Anne would do almost anything to avoid selling the hotel to the group that had submitted an offer and was having a hard time taking no for an answer.

  But just in case, he’d initiated steps to submit one himself. Not as William Armstrong, no, and not as Regency Corporation. He’d resorted to subterfuge, using a law firm recommended by his own chief counsel to keep his identity secret. He was doing it to help her, but he suspected that if Anne knew, she wouldn’t have spoken to him this morning, much less let him kiss her.

  And what a kiss that had been. He rubbed the heel of his hand over his heart. He might be sixty-five, but his body sure hadn’t responded like it a few hours ago. He felt like a damn stallion scenting a mare.

  And wasn’t that just a fine way to start out a morning?

  “Daddy?”

  Grin still in place, he turned to see his daughter in the doorway. “Hi, sweetheart.”

  “Got a minute?”

  “For you, always.” He gestured to the leather sofa. “Shall I have Margo bring coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’m way past my limit already.”

  Though he’d originally given her a job just for something to do after her husband left her, Judith had exceeded his expectations. She worked very hard—too hard sometimes. He settled beside her. “Problem?”

  “You tell me.” She met his gaze head-on. “I came by your house this morning early. I thought we’d have breakfast, but you were already gone.”

  She wouldn’t want to hear that he’d been restless and gone in search of Anne. “I got a jump on the day. What did you need?”

  “We had a—”

  “—meeting.” As quickly as recollection hit him, he mentally groaned. He’d gotten distracted by Anne. Lingered over breakfast and completely forgotten that he’d agreed to meet with Judith at eight for a reason she hadn’t divulged. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. There’s no excuse. Guess I’m getting older than I thought.” Though he hadn’t felt this young in years.

  “You’ll never be old, Daddy.” His own blue eyes looked back at him out of a face framed by Isabel’s blond hair, sleek and in tune with Judith’s always-chic attire. “Where were you?”

  Her expression told him she suspected. Not that it was any of her business.

  Anne wasn’t the only one with overprotective offspring.

  Judith was still fragile after the divorce, shaken by being left for a younger woman who was already pregnant with her husband’s child. William didn’t want to hurt her, but he wouldn’t lie to her, either. “I went to see Anne.”

  Displeasure tightened her features. “Do you think that’s wise?”

  “What do you mean?” He searched for patience, though it had been many years since anyone had attempted to question his judgment. She and her mother had been extremely close, but Isabel had been gone eight years. When was enough time to mourn?
>
  He reminded himself that a man might take more than one wife, but a child’s heart had only one mother. The loss had hit Judith hard, and he hadn’t realized her marriage was also rocky. That she’d been trying unsuccessfully to have a child. She’d needed her mother’s gentle hand, and he’d done his best as substitute, but he’d felt all thumbs.

  He’d spent too much of her youth building a business; now he was trying to make up for lost time. He’d brought her back to New Orleans from Chicago, given her a job as assistant to the very ambitious Glen Schaefer, a man who clearly wanted to succeed William when William was ready to step down.

  Until Anne, William hadn’t been ready, had lived for his work—but she was changing a lot of his assumptions these days.

  Judith spoke up. “I have a plan, Daddy. I’ve been analyzing the situation, and Glen is all for it. It’s what I wanted to talk to you about. But this…association with that woman could hinder Regency Corporation’s best interests.”

  “What?” His head whipped around. At another time, he might have admired the way she stood there, straight and slim and intent on proving herself worthy of his confidence. He’d begun to see promise in her that might make her, not Glen, his successor, once she was a little more seasoned.

  But she was still his daughter, and her remarks came perilously close to questioning not only his personal life, but his devotion to the enterprise he’d spent forty years nurturing.

  “Explain.”

  “All right.” Reserve gave way to enthusiasm. “The Hotel Marchand is failing. The physical plant is outdated, and the economics of restoring it are iffy. There is a group from Thailand that has made an offer on it—” Her gaze slid to the side, to test whether that was news to him.

  He merely nodded. “Go on.”

  “The Marchands are dragging their heels, no doubt hoping that Mardi Gras revenues will buy them some breathing room.” She paused. “I don’t believe they will, and recent problems bear that out. The Hotel Marchand’s reputation can’t survive much more, and I believe Charlotte knows that, whether or not her mother concedes it.” Her mouth tightened. “Charlotte’s reputation is one of determination laced with pragmatism. I think there’s an approach to be made that can work with her. We give her only slightly more than the offer on the table now, but we pledge to keep the Marchand name in place and her job intact.”