The Secret Daughter

“Damn. Excuse my manners.” Adam reached around her and thrust open the screen, then the door. He grappled with her bags, accidentally brushing against her as he shoved his way inside, bellowing, “Auntie E! You have company.”

Turning apologetically to Noelani, Adam added, “Jackson thinks Esme’s losing her hearing. Casey claims Esme plays her TV so loud she wouldn’t hear if dynamite went off on this level. Excuse me a minute, please. I’ll go knock on her sitting-room door.”

Adam hurried away. Noelani found herself gazing around a tall-ceilinged shotgun hall, twelve to fifteen feet wide, that ran from one end of the house to the other. Scarred hardwood floors were glossy black. Large oil paintings of flowers and landscapes hung on walls illuminated by three chandeliers, whose diffused light shivered through hundreds of intricate crystal prisms. Off to her left, she saw Adam lope up a sweeping staircase.

Tiptoeing over to double French doors, Noelani peered through beveled glass panes into a room too elegant to be livable. The furniture looked uncomfortable, and there were no pillows, books or toys lying around. Everything shone with polish.

A noise had her jerking back, turning toward the stairs where a stiff-backed elderly woman slowly descended. Damn Adam Ross. He’d abandoned her to this aunt she’d never met.

Yanking discreetly at her wrinkled short skirt, Noelani also attempted to straighten the damp collar of her blouse. If she’d dared hope Esme Fontaine would be plump and jovial like her tutu, she would have miscalculated. The aunt wore a jade crepe dress sprigged with yellow flowers, an ensemble made dressier by a citrine choker and matching earrings. Not a hair of her perfectly coifed auburn hair was out of place. Even the jeweled collar worn by the small gray dog prancing at her heels cried out pampered wealth. She crooned to the animal in French.

As her father’s sister drew nearer, Noelani was faintly relieved to see curiosity and not hostility in the pale ocean-green eyes. She recalled her mother mentioning how captivating she’d found Fontaine’s green eyes. Noelani took immense satisfaction in knowing she, at least, didn’t share that family trait.

“So, you’re Duke’s secret daughter?” Esme murmured in a slightly nasal inflection, as if English wasn’t her first language. Noelani found it reminiscent of the many French-speaking South Seas islanders. Anela had spoken French fluently, and Noelani had a passable command of the language.

“Oui,” she murmured, considering whether or not she ought to curtsey.

“My dear, you are wetter than Adam indicated. I sent him to check the towels in your boudoir. We’ve hosted a round of guests this past week, what with two funerals.” She shook her head without displacing even a hair. “Even though Jackson knew the property settlement meeting was scheduled for tonight, he gave Betty Rabaud, our cook-housekeeper, the day off. But come, we mustn’t keep you shivering in the hall.” Esme scooped up the yipping dog and started back up the curving stairs.

Noelani shouldered her purse and her overnight case. She gamely grasped the handles of her two larger bags.

“Leave those,” Esme said sharply. “Adam will bring them. Won’t you, mon chèr?” She fluttered an age-spotted hand. Fire shot from her many rings.

Glancing up, Noelani caught sight of Adam Ross striding down the stairs. His nut-brown hair curled over his forehead as it dried. The man she’d more or less dismissed suddenly had alarm bells clanging in her head as he closed in on her.

Noelani stepped aside. Even if he was about as perfect a specimen of manhood as she’d ever chanced to encounter, she hadn’t come to Baton Rouge to dally with men. And if she did feel like indulging in a fling, she’d never choose some honey-voiced southerner. Her mother’s bleak existence had taught Noelani that much.

Work. Hard work. She’d found that to be far more satisfying than either of her own brief romances. Both had occurred while she was attending college and were irrelevant to her life—then or now.

Dropping her bags at Adam’s feet without a word, she carefully skirted his broad shoulders and ran up the stairs to catch Aunt Esme of the poker back.

Esme crossed a hall at the top of the stairs and flung open a white door. “This will be your room throughout your stay at Bellefontaine. I must say you aren’t what I expected. It appears your mother at least taught you to dress like a lady.”

Noelani thought of the suitcase brimming with shorts and jeans. She’d brought one suit and two semidressy outfits in case she had to be here a week or two. But she wouldn’t, not if the property settlement was tonight.

As she stepped into the room, everything else flew right out of her mind. “Oh! This room is beautiful. Look—carved pineapples on the bedposts. On the cornice, as well.”

“I thought you’d like the pineapple bedroom.” Esme seemed pleased.

“Oh—there’s a pineapple carved on the ceiling medallion.” Now Noelani saw that the bedspread, too, had been crocheted in a pineapple motif. “Do you grow pineapples at Bellefontaine?”

“Mercy, no. It’s generally thought that early Louisiana plantation owners hosted visitors from the islands.” Esme lowered her voice. “There’s an old custom in Louisiana of delivering a fresh, whole pineapple to guests on their arrival. It’s said that if guests overstayed their welcome, they’d wake up to a cut pineapple on their dressers, signifying it was time to leave.”

“Uh, thanks for the warning, but I’m not planning to overstay my welcome.”

Esme chuckled as she backed out the door. “You’re Duke’s daughter, all right. I do believe you’ll give Cassandra and Jackson a run for their money. If you’d like a tour of Bellefontaine after you’ve had a chance to freshen up, I’m in the last room at the south end of the hall. Dinner is at eight. Cocktails at the table tonight. Except for Adam, you and I have the place to ourselves until seven. Tanya, Miss Megan’s nanny, has taken the child to an after-school movie in town. Ah, here’s Adam with your cases.”

She moved to one side, allowing him room to enter. “I know you’re impatient to get back to work, Adam. However, I was telling Noelani we’re dining at eight tonight. I trust we’ll see you then?”

He gave a brief jerk of his chin, which sent a gold cross he wore around his neck swinging. Even though the room was large, he seemed to fill it as he entered and set her bags near the bed. Ignoring Noelani, he turned and went out again, chatting amiably with Aunt Esme about dinner.

Overwhelmed and more homesick than ever, Noelani flung herself across the crocheted pineapple spread. She blinked up at a frothy canopy hooked to the four corners of the tall bedposts. The tears that stung the backs of her eyelids didn’t fall—but only by the sheer force of her will. She hadn’t expected to be welcomed like a long-lost sister, but she didn’t need hired help like Adam Ross slighting her as a blatant reminder that she didn’t belong at Bellefontaine.

Vaulting off the bed, intent on changing out of her wet clothes, she made up her mind. By damn, she’d give Cassandra and Jackson a run for their money, just like Esme had predicted. Their money? Well, her portion of it, anyway.

They were divvying up Duke Fontaine’s guilt money tonight, and all the people involved knew it.

CHAPTER TWO

ADAM ESCAPED NOELANI’S ROOM not a second too soon. Her light, spicy perfume seemed to follow him. He’d promised Esme he’d show up for dinner, but he doubted it’d be an enjoyable occasion given the vulnerability he’d noticed in their guest’s eyes as they left her alone in the pineapple bedroom.

Once Jackson got back, maybe Adam would beg off. The storm had delayed his project; he’d had to cancel the roofers. It should be finished already, but he’d had trouble matching the mansion’s old shingles. The historical society’s rules for preservation made no exceptions when it came to building materials.

As Adam busied himself measuring for kitchen cabinet hardware, his thoughts kept straying—to Noelani Hana. He hadn’t liked leaving her in that big old room where she looked so small and lonely. Maybe not so small, he mused. He’d assumed that as a rule Hawaiians were short. She had to be five-seven or eight. Still, short compared to his own six-two. And she certainly wasn’t very big.

He had to stop thinking about her, had to keep his mind on his work. He didn’t need distractions, Adam reminded himself. Refurbishing Bellefontaine was his lucky break. Not only because of the generous fee he and Casey had negotiated or the way this job would enhance his reputation, but because of Bellefontaine’s proximity to Magnolia Manor, his old family home. His mom had been forced to sell it after a nervous breakdown that resulted in permanent hospitalization. Adam’s goal had always been to buy it back one day.

Right before Nick invited him to leave Natchez and bid on this job, Adam learned Magnolia Manor might soon be offered for sale by the state. He couldn’t help feeling the renovation of Bellefontaine had been an omen, bringing him within reach of his heart’s desire. So no matter how pretty, lost or vulnerable old Duke’s illegitimate daughter was, Adam had to forget her and stay focused on his objective.

Which proved easier said than done, especially as the afternoon wore on. Several times Noelani Hana’s laughter interrupted Adam’s work as she toured the house with Aunt Esme. No, he wouldn’t be skipping dinner tonight. Even though he should…

NOELANI NEEDED TO REST after the tour. Aunt Esme had brought Bellefontaine’s history to life, and Noelani’s head throbbed with facts. While she might forget these facts in time, the pride with which Esme had imparted her family history would linger. Built in the early 1800s, Bellefontaine had withstood the ravages of the Civil War. Noelani knew little about that war, but Esme made it sound as if it had been fought yesterday. For the first time, Noelani was glad she didn’t have what Esme called Yankee blood in her. Auntie E was a southern belle from the top of her coiffed hair to the toes of her designer shoes.

Rechecking her watch, Noelani thought she had an hour or two for a nap before changing for dinner. She drifted off quickly, and had no idea how long she’d slept when she awoke to voices and hurried footsteps in the hall. Her room was dark. Turning on a lamp, Noelani saw it was seven-thirty. She sprang off the bed in a panic. Her bags still sat where she’d left them after pulling out the slacks and blouse she’d hurriedly donned for her house tour. She felt rumpled again and pawed through the larger case, this time removing both of the dresses she’d packed. Why hadn’t she asked how dressy people would be tonight? She eyed a sleeveless red linen shift. The other, a black crepe, was definitely dressier. The red, she decided, digging out red sandals. Faced with meeting Duke Fontaine’s legitimate heirs, her spirits needed the bolstering red offered. She’d originally thought the family might be in mourning, but as Esme had worn a flowery dress today, Noelani doubted anyone expected her to wear black.

She splashed water on her face, then slipped into her dress and sandals. She started down the stairs with five minutes to spare. All the while, she prayed she wouldn’t be the last to arrive.

She was. Talk stopped dead. The men’s chairs scraped back the moment she appeared in the archway. Her knees knocked. Her palms were sweating. Determined not to show her nervousness, she breezed into the room. “Sorry I’m late. I fell asleep. Must be jet lag,” she said as though she were a seasoned traveler.

Esme was slower to rise. “You’ll sit here,” she directed. Her miniature schnauzer, Toodles, lay curled on a velvet pillow under Esme’s chair.

Noelani gripped the back of her assigned seat. A place mat peeked out from beneath off-white china. She spotted lead crystal and real silver. A soup bowl sat perfectly centered on her dinner plate, and a matching soup tureen steamed as it sat just so between etched, hand-blown glass fly-catchers. Esme had explained that before Bellefontaine was fitted for air-conditioning in the 1940s, the bottom of these globes were filled with sugar water to attract the flies that came into the house through unscreened open windows.

Noelani tried to remember what the odd contraption hanging beside the light fixture above the table was called. Ah, yes. A shoo-fly fan. According to Esme, a slave child would sit out of sight in a corner and operate the fan with a rope pulley, which controlled the sweeping blades. It was impossible for Noelani to comprehend what life must have been like back then.

Anytime she felt as nervous as she was now, trivia tended to cycle over and over in her head. Aunt Esme had given her plenty of trivial facts.

“Noelani, you’ve met Adam. Jackson’s at the end. His daughter, Megan, is to your right next to her nanny, Tanya Carson.” Esme inclined her head toward a thin young woman. “And this,” she finished breathlessly, “is Noelani Hana.” Esme smiled through a series of greetings. At last, she suggested they all sit again, and she requested Jackson serve the soup.

Noelani detected a similarity between Duke Fontaine—as he looked in the snapshot she’d tucked into her purse at the last minute—and his son. Brown hair streaked blond by the sun had been recently cut. His navy eyes were shaded by indecently long lashes, which Noelani noted his daughter shared. Megan’s eyes were gray, however, and her mop of curls a much richer brown. Athletically built, Jackson Fontaine appeared tanned, fit and stylish, although casually put together with that look only top designers could achieve.

Tanya Carson, young for a nanny in Noelani’s estimation, had pouty lips and wore big glasses that gave her violet eyes a permanently myopic look.

Adam and Tanya had been discussing music, and they continued their conversation after everyone sat. Noelani deduced that jazz was Tanya’s area of study. Although the young woman chattered nonstop with Adam, her eyes followed Jackson’s every move. In fact, she gazed dreamily at him, although Noelani doubted he even noticed.

It was just as well that Adam and Tanya were talking, considering no one else at the table bothered. Megan was practically falling asleep in her soup. And no wonder, given the late hour. Noelani tried to draw her out several times to no avail.

Really, though, she was dying to inquire if what Adam had said about cutting wet cane was true. If so, what type of harvester did they use? Bruce’s operation could benefit from cutting stalks beaten down by Maui’s heavy rains. Maybe she’d have to wait until Casey joined them before she could ask. Since Jackson seemed preoccupied, and his silent wraith of a child didn’t respond to her overtures, Noelani endured a tense meal except for an occasional word from the stiff-backed Esme.