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erratically.
    “May I assist you ladies in some way?” he gallantly offered and made a sweeping bow.
    Lavinia laughed and dimpled prettily despite the glasses on her nose and the dowdy, brown calico gown she wore. “We’re in need of a carriage to take us to—”
    Laurel interrupted her, her green eyes flashing. “We can manage quite well by ourselves to get to the hotel. Thank you anyway for your offer, Mr. Duvalier.”
    Duvalier folded his arms across the front of his brown frock coat. “Ah, that would be the Garland Hotel. I know the place quite well. Perhaps I could escort you.”
    “Would you?” Lavinia gushed and batted her lashes. “We’d be most grateful.”
    “No!” Laurel’s vehement objection startled herself as well as the others. She sent Lavinia a chastising look.
    Since Duvalier had kissed her two nights ago, she hadn’t seen him. Instead she had stayed in her cabin, forced to listen to Lavinia’s pitiful wails about being confined. When Laurel snapped at her, telling her she should consider herself lucky that no member of the St. Julian family had the opportunity to discover her whereabouts, Lavinia had given her a peculiar glance. It was almost as if she hadn’t realized until that moment that her docile cousin had a temper or a tongue. Lavinia had silently retreated to her own cabin.
    Laurel had spent the rest of the her time reading, and at times recalling Duvalier’s kiss and her wanton response to it. She had been only vaguely aware that Gincie was moving slowly while putting things in order and didn’t notice that Gincie’s usual chatter was absent.
    “I didn’t ask if you’d consent to a breach of propriety, Miss Delaney.” Duvalier’s voice intruded upon her thoughts, and she found herself blushing, not failing to miss his amused grin.
    “I’m sorry,” she said, aware that Lavinia’s gaze darted suspiciously between herself and Duvalier. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
    “Apology accepted.” His expression changed from one to amusement to seriousness. “However, your slave appears to be about to faint.” Bounding forward, Tony reached for and grabbed the swooning Gincie in his arms.
    “Gincie, what’s wrong?” Laurel asked worriedly. Beneath Gincie’s dark complexion, her skin was ashen, and her eyes were puppy dog sick.
    “Just feelin’ poorly. Nothin’ to worry about. I’ll be fine.”
    Laurel knew that Gincie was seldom ill, that whatever ailed her might be serious. “We must find you a doctor.”
    Tony whistled, still holding Gincie against him. A carriage that had been parked at the curb rolled onto the pier at the summons. Gently he placed Gincie inside. When Laurel and Lavinia joined them, he gave orders in French to the driver, and the carriage traveled down the street. Soon it was beyond the town, finally stopping at a small house. The house was in the Acadian style with a low roofline and a long porch across the front. A small but well-tended garden ran the length and width of the house on all four sides.
    Tony carried Gincie from the carriage, as she protested she was fine. He seemed not to hear her and pushed open the white picket fence with his foot before entering the yard.
    “Gaston! Gaston!”
    Immediately a black man, respectably dressed in a white shirt and gray trousers, ran out the front door onto the porch. “I have a patient for you,” Tony said to the gray-haired man.
    “Bring her in, Mister Tony,” the man said and motioned them into the house.
    Laurel began to walk inside, but Lavinia grabbed her arm. “I’ll stay in the carriage. I don’t like sickness.”
    Once inside the house Tony introduced Laurel to Doctor Gaston Mornay and his wife Lillie, a plump, cheerful black woman who made Gincie comfortable on a small cot.
    “I’ll be fine,” Gincie insisted and gave a deep cough, but the doctor frowned as he checked her throat and chest. He turned to Laurel.
    “Do you have a place for Miss Gincie to stay? I’m afraid