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went on to tell him the whole story about Marcel Dupuy.
    As her father listened to her tale, his expression darkened. By the end, he’d risen and was pacing the room, obviously thinking. He stopped and stared at her, his jaw firm. “One of the reasons my liaison with your mother was so short was that I found her attitude to be far too mercenary. I understand the importance a woman would place upon security, and I was prepared to provide well for Isadora and any children we might have. But I never felt any warmth from her to me. And when the opportunity came to move to New York, I had no qualms about leaving her behind. . .with a generous parting gift. But I didn’t know she was enceinte .”
    Delia felt the caring in his words, a welcome contrast to her mother’s coldness.
    “Why didn’t Isadora tell me?”
    “She told your mother. Mrs. Bellaire has provided for my schooling at the convent.”
    “Seems I need to have a talk with my mother,” Andre said grimly. He sat and took her hand. “We’ll go visit Isadora. I’ll give her money so she’ll have no need to sell you.”
    Delia pulled him back. “Marcel Dupuy is a powerful man. . .” She hesitated, not knowing how to address him.
    His gaze tender, he touched her cheek. “Call me Papa.”
    She couldn’t help a misty-eyed smile back at him. “Papa.” Just saying the word made warmth fill her. But in the next moment, the thought of Marcel Dupay chilled her again.
    He patted her knee. “I don’t want you to worry.”
    She shook her head. “Marcel Dupuy’s enemies often don’t survive. If he kills you and takes me anyway. . .” Her tone turned bitter. “Maman will have the money from both of you and be quite satisfied with herself.”
    His fists clenched. “Then you’ll have to stay with me. I doubt either Isadora or Marcel Dupuy will think to look for you here. That will buy us some time while I decide how best to handle this matter.”
    Stay with him? Her heart sped. Delia looked down at her hands, twisted in her lap.
    “Come, daughter.” He placed his hand on top of hers.
    Daughter. Hearing the word, uttered in a loving voice touched the loneliness in her heart. Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away and glanced up at him. “I doubt your mother and brother will approve.”
    “My mother hasn’t approved of me for many years.”
    She looked askance.
    “I dared to work for a living.”
    His comical expression when he said work made her giggle.
    “Yes, the Creole gentleman dared to dirty his hands.”
    Delia could feel her father’s hand. Whatever work he’d done had not involved physical labor. His palm was too smooth.
    “My grandfather. . .” Andre paused, a smile lighting his face. “Your great-grandfather had his fingers in many industrial pies, most of them in the North. He’d gotten old and needed someone to take his place. Against the wishes of my mother and my brothers and sisters, I did just that.”
    She absorbed the story, eager to learn more about him.
    “My grandfather died many years ago, leaving me the bulk of his fortune. Now that I’m home, my family may in time forgive the taint of trade . And I suppose the more generous I am with them, the quicker that will happen. This old mansion does need a new roof. I’m sure if I offer to replace the roof, my daughter will be allowed to remain under it for a few days.”
    Andre stood and pulled Delia to her feet. “Come. Let us tell the others.” Retaining her hand, he escorted her out the door, across the entry, and into a room housing a desk and bookshelves. In one corner of the room, a silver tea set, along with several platters of cookies and dainty sandwiches, sat on a round table surrounded by four leather wing chairs. Her grandmother and uncle sat there, cups of fragrant tea and plates of food in front of them.
    Neither looked pleased to see Andre enter with Delia.
    He stepped back and ushered her to the table.
    Her uncle and grandmother exchanged