in one of his fits of temper. Not that I’d ever go back to the Woodlands, and Murray knows it.”
“Humph,” Betty grumbled. “I figured maybe it was Roland spreading dirt about Duke’s family, seeing how Duke stole the woman Roland had his heart set on marrying.”
“Isn’t that water down the toilet? Oh, sure, Roland bellyached to his old cronies, although he’s a loner, that one. If you ask me—and no one does—Roland Dewalt’s becoming a hermit.”
“Let’s go inside where we can eat and chat some more, Mary Louise. Today’s my day off, so I’m not in any rush.”
“Mine, too. Having a day off is new for me. Roland Dewalt expected me to work seven days a week, and for a lot less than I’m making working a shorter week for Baumgartner’s.”
The friends went inside and sought an out-of-the-way back booth.
Mary Louise lowered her voice further, mostly to avoid being overheard by a chatty group seated at a nearby table. “Do you think Angelique knew her husband was playing around? Or would she ever tell you such a thing, since you’re only a shirttail cousin?”
“Angelique didn’t tell a soul. Truth is, I overheard Casey pitching a royal fit. I guess in some letter she and Jackson found, it more or less said their mother forgave Duke his little transgression. Know what else I heard, though? This tickles me pink.” Betty gave a smug smile. “Esme Fontaine had no earthly clue.”
“My, my. Considering how hard it was for her to swallow the idea of Jackson’s love child, that little girl, showing up to live at Bellefontaine, I’m surprised Esme didn’t have a stroke over learning her brother had one of his own hidden away.”
“Well, she won’t be hidden for long. She’s coming for the reading of Duke’s will tonight. I’d love to be a fly on the wall in that meeting. Which is why I’ll bet you Esme arranged for Shelburne Prescott to read it on my day off. Mademoiselle Froufrou would like nothing better than to keep this secret inside the family. Mark my words, Esme’ll have that girl in and gone again before she can do any more damage to Duke’s reputation.”
“Doesn’t matter whether you get along with Esme or not, Betty, you can’t fault her for feeling like that. She’s lived half her life with everyone in town snickering over the way Roland broke their engagement when he fell for Angelique.
“If this was just about Esme’s feelings, I’d say tough. But Casey doesn’t deserve to have this kind of shadow over her marriage. And poor Jackson. Now that Duke’s dead, that boy’s been left in charge of an operation his father barely let him touch.
“It’s the same with Murray Dewalt, God love him. Duke and Roland, for all their petty squabbles, seemed to think a son proved their virility. Yet both of ’em were too stubborn and arrogant to equip their boys to take over if anything ever happened to them.”
“Ain’t it the truth. But I’m sure Duke didn’t plan on going.”
“Yep. I imagine he’d have done a whole lot of things differently if he’d had any idea he and Angelique were going to get killed in that plane crash. To make matters worse, the poor kids had to learn their papa was flying the plane that day.” She shook her head. “Still, any way you cut it, Duke left Jackson and Casey in a thorny situation.”
The women’s friendly gossip session ceased abruptly as a waitress showed up to take their lunch orders.
CHAPTER ONE
Maui, Hawaii
“HI, MIDORI.” NOELANI HANA breezed full-tilt into the executive offices of Shiller Cane Company, the same way she’d moved through life for most of her twenty-seven years. Her long, straight hair settled like dark rain over her olive-toned shoulders as she skidded to a stop in front of Bruce Shiller’s secretary. “What’s so urgent to make the boss send a runner to the mill to get me? I’ll have our vat computers running fine before the first load of cane’s delivered, if that’s what he’s worried about.”
“He didn’t give a reason, just opened his door and told me to find you ASAP.”
Noelani peeled off her leather work gloves and tucked them into the back pocket of her khaki walking shorts. “Guess I’d better go see. Oh—has he met with those truck farmers again? You know, the ones who proposed turning the cane fields into a tomato patch or some ridiculous thing?”
“Bruce hasn’t mentioned them in weeks. He’s still muttering about selling, though. You know this is the fourth year in a row our profits have dropped.”
Noelani knocked on Shiller’s door. Pasting a smile on her face, she burst gaily into his office. “You rang, oh great master?”
Seated behind a huge mahogany desk, a gaunt, sixtyish man, with a weathered face and white hair, glanced up. Probably for the first time ever, he didn’t return Noelani’s smile. “Take a seat.” Rocking back in his chair, he idly twirled a pencil.
Unable to read his expression Noelani grew uneasy. “If this is going to be another lecture about flagging profits, Bruce—don’t worry. I’ll coax more from our worn-out equipment. We haven’t given the new computer program I wrote a chance to show what it can do.”
“Sit, Noelani. I didn’t call you here to talk about the mill.” Tossing the pencil aside, he peeled open a creamy envelope and removed an official-looking letter.
She did as he asked this time, throwing herself into a chair. Bruce’s office was like home. Until her mother died of lymphatic cancer, Anela Hana had kept Shiller’s books. Noelani had barely turned thirteen the day Bruce informed her Anela had died. It was the only other time she recalled seeing such deep sorrow in Bruce’s eyes, and her stomach reacted accordingly.
“Noelani, it grieves me greatly, but I have the task of telling you that Duke Fontaine and his wife, Angelique, died in a plane crash.” Bruce Shiller pushed the letter toward her. “This lawyer, Shelburne Prescott, says you’re named in your father’s will, along with Cassandra and Jackson Fontaine. They, of course, live at Bellefontaine. Duke’s plantation…on the mainland,” he clarified as Noelani stared at the letter without touching it.
“He had other kids? Well, if they’re named Fontaine, I guess they’re legitimate.”
“Noelani!”
She crumpled the page and threw it back across the desk. “What am I supposed to feel, Bruce? Sorrow…for someone who didn’t give a damn about me? I’ve never even met the man!”
“You should’ve gone there after your mother died.”
“I didn’t need him. I had Grandmother. And I had you.” She shook her head. “Did he come to her funeral or even send flowers? I know you notified him.” Furious now, as she always was when she thought about the man her mother had thrown away her life for, Noelani twisted a lock of hair. The auburn streaks and her five-foot-six-inch height were attributes she’d probably inherited from Duke Fontaine. If Noelani felt curious about anything, it was what traits, if any, she shared with half siblings she hadn’t known existed until this minute.
“Duke cared enough to name you in his will. His sugarcane operation makes mine look like small potatoes, kid. You think it’s not obvious that you’re practically killing yourself in my mill, trying to achieve what Duke’s children have by birthright?”
The initial shock of Bruce’s news had begun to fade. In purely mercenary terms, Noelani considered what she could do with a windfall of cash. Do here—at Shiller’s, she hastily corrected. Except…wasn’t there always a catch when it came to money? In this case, she’d have to admit she was Duke Fontaine’s bastard.
She eyed the balled-up letter belligerently. “I can’t imagine that Duke’s legitimate kids want me appearing on the scene to muck up their lives. How old are they?”
“Cassandra is thirty or thirty-one. Jackson’s a little younger. Nearer your age. Girl, you owe