Free Josephine: Bride of Louisiana (American Mail-Order Bride 18) by Cindy Caldwell

did you lose your taste for French delicacies? Your mother would roll over in her grave if she knew.”
    Pierre laughed and reached for a grape, popping one in his mouth. “Ever since you’ve known me, I believe,” he said as he patted her shoulder. “So why all this now?”
    She set down her knife and wrapped the chunk of very strong cheese she’d just cut in a napkin, placing it in the basket beside the bread. “If you truly expect your father to be happy with this, she needs to at least be familiar with French delicacies--whether she chooses to eat them or not. He would know in an instant if she’d never heard of foie gras and didn’t know what it was.”
    “I’m not exactly trying to fool him, Bernadette. Just help Josephine be acceptable for whatever his version of this mythical French lady is.” He reached into the pie safe and took out the pie Josephine had made that they’d had last night at dinner. He’d never had it before, and she’d explained it was a New England favorite, Boston Cream Pie. “And some of this, please?”
    “Ah, you liked that, I see.” She laughed as she took the pie from him and cut two pieces, wrapping them as well and placing them in the basket that now was getting full. “About that...the mythical French lady, as you called it.”
    She gestured for Pierre to sit across from her as she sat herself. “We haven’t discussed this for a very long time, Pierre.”
    “Discussed what?” he asked as he reached for another piece of chocolate.
    She wiped her hands on her apron and leaned on the table toward him. “How much do you remember about your mother?”
    Pierre’s hand stopped in mid-air as he turned to look at Bernadette. “Why do you ask?”
    “You were so young when she passed away. I’ve often wondered how much you remember.”
    He closed his eyes, trying again to conjure up a memory--her voice, her hair, her scent--and just as the other night, it was difficult. He couldn’t.
    “I’m sorry to say not much. I look at her picture regularly, and try to remember--but it always seems just out of reach.”
    “She was very special, your mother. It’s a shame that you don’t remember more. If you did, you’d know exactly what your father’s version of a perfect French lady is.”
    She pushed herself back from the table and covered the basket, handing it to Pierre. He frowned, looked at the basket and up at Bernadette.
    “I don’t mean to confuse you, dear boy. But I will say that Josephine--rough as she would be, according to your father--possesses many of the best qualities of your mother. Kindness, compassion, the gift of laughter not the least of them. I’m pleased that you’re giving her a chance--if you sincerely want to help.”
    “Is that so, Bernadette?” Jerome said as he walked into the kitchen and reached for some chocolate himself. “I’m a little older than Pierre, but I don’t remember much about Aunt Vivienne, either.” He lifted the napkin from the basket in Pierre’s hands. “Does this mean that it went well? Are you and Josephine beginning your lessons?”
    Bernadette smacked his hands from the basket. “You mind your business, young man. Let Pierre do what he needs to do.” She looked past Pierre to Josephine standing in the doorway and pushed past them both, wrapping her in a hug. “I’m so pleased that you’re staying, my dear. I fixed a basket for the two of you--the trip around the whole plantation takes some time and I didn’t want you to get hungry.”
    Pierre squinted at his cousin to quiet him. Jerome shrugged, his eyebrows raised as he turned back to the chocolate. “I had the buggy brought around for the two of you--just in case.” He smiled and nodded at Josephine.
    This was uncomfortable enough for Pierre and he was anxious to leave the unwelcome comments behind. He turned to Josephine and paused--he blinked several times as he took in her change.
    When he’d first seen her in town, he’d thought she was beautiful,