A Moment in Time

By Kathryn Kaleigh

Sometimes just one moment in time is everything. 

 

Juliette Dupre finds solace in numbers, preferring to work in the background. Working at her father's club pulls her out of her comfort zone and she discovers a way of life she never imagined.

George Becquerel, a colonial man raised by an

• Language: English
• Publisher: KST Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Aug 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088272374

Kathryn Kaleigh

Kathryn Kaleigh is a bestselling romance novel and short story writer. Her writing spans from the past to the present from historical time travel fantasy novels to sweet contemporary romances. From her imaginative meet-cutes to her happily-ever-afters, her writing keeps readers coming back for more.

Book preview

2

JULIETTE DUPRE

Present Day

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Ionly worked in the bar during the day.

But tonight three people had sent word that they weren’t coming.

It was hard to find good help. Even harder to find reliable help.

I stood behind the bar, getting my bearings. The music was louder out here. I could barely hear it on the third floor office where I spent my days working.

It was a nice setup, all in all. The bar was on the bottom floor. My family’s home was on the second floor. The usual. A kitchen. Living room. Two bedrooms. One for my parents and one guest room.

My sister and I had rooms on the third floor. Two bedrooms and my office.

It was such a sweet setup that neither my sister, nor I felt compelled to get our own places.

We even had a private entrance out the back, though we didn’t use it.

So since I was the only one, besides James, working tonight, I mixed drinks, and served them, along with appetizers. All things I hadn’t done since college.

I hadn’t gone to school and taken all the exams to be an accountant just so I could stand behind the bar and serve alcohol to people.

Not that I had any opposition to people spending their money on alcohol.

It kept the family business profitable year after year.

Fortunately, our bar was an exclusive bar that required an annual membership in order to get inside the door.

So, even though most of the men were regulars—they were allowed to bring one guest with them—I didn’t know any of the regulars, much less their guests. I knew their names, but not their faces.

One thing I really liked about the exclusivity was that it kept the tourists out.

And I didn’t have anything against tourists either. They kept our city alive.

But running a bar, especially on Canal Street, could get messy.

I preferred to avoid messy.

Accounting was a perfect fit for me.

Numbers didn’t lie.

I could spend all day with numbers and they cooperated perfectly. At least most of the time.

People, on the other hand were the forte of my father and sister.

My sister loved working the bar.

But it was her turn at college and she had a night class tonight.

So I was left with counting down the hours until I could close up at two o’clock, go upstairs to my room, and crash onto the bed.

Tomorrow was my day off, so there was light at the end of the tunnel.

Can I get a glass of pinot noir? One of the gentlemen asked as I made my way around the room checking to make sure everyone was taken care of.

The men mostly talked business, but there was one table where four men were playing poker.

I didn’t mind. They could have easily gone to one of the gambling boats, but it was pretty harmless for them to sit and play cards.

Besides, the boats were crowded with tourists.

That was part of the exclusivity of our club. A local address was required to be approved for membership.

My father’s business associates had said it wouldn’t work. They’d argued that the tourists were the ones who kept us merchants afloat. They were right. In some aspects.

In other aspects not so much. The locals needed some place to go, also.

That’s where we came in.

We called it Club 1818.

My father’s little business was doing so well, he was thinking about taking it to the next level. To buy the space next door. Add a second bar. A restaurant. In fact, he had several other ideas, too, if applications continued to come in.

Standing behind the bar again, I took a cloth and wiped the original counter that had been hand hewn out of walnut. The wood had a unique pattern of light and dark wood.

This building had been here for hundreds of years. Established in 1818. That’s where we got the name.

It had been handed down through my mother’s family, but no one had done anything with in the twentieth century.

My mother, a physician, had given it to my father when they got married. She’d given him free rein with the building. Since it had been a club when it first opened, he had thought it best to revive it as a club. But not just any club. An exclusive club. Using his bold creativity, he’d nurtured it and it had grown by leaps and bounds.

Even though my mother rarely set food in the bar, it was family owned and run. Me. My sister. My father.

The cost, though, was high. Even in a city known for partying, we put everything into this business.

We’d put our life’s blood into this club.

And it was paying off.

But one was for sure. We were going to have to hire more help.

3

GEORGE

Being lost in New Orleans was a bit unsettling

I wasn’t afraid. I could take care of myself. In fact, I carried a knife in my boot. The same knife I’d used to spear a wild boar when I’d been outside walking from the house to the stables one early morning about a year ago.

I was more annoyed, though, than anything else.

Charles Lafleur had kept me longer than need be.

I should have been relaxing in my room at the inn by now.

But instead, I appeared to be going in circles.

Finally I just stopped.

Walking in circles was doing me no good.

Unfortunately, I’d gotten off the beaten path and there was no one I could ask for directions.

I turned around and attempted to retrace my steps.

At least there were more people on the streets back this way.

There was a gentleman, an older fellow with a head of gray hair, on one of the street corners playing a harmonica, filling the air with mournful music.

He had a lantern at his feet, making him a beacon in the darkness.

Excuse me, Sir, I said, trying to be heard over his music. Can you point me toward the Canal Street Inn?

The man finished out the strain he was playing and I had all but given up on him answering me.

Just as I was turning away, the music stopped and he spoke.

Go to Club 1818, he said. You’ll find your way from there.

Club 1818? I’m looking for my inn. Not a club.

Find the club, the man said. and it will lead you in the right direction.

The old gentleman started playing again. The same mournful tune.

I just shook my head and walked away.

I had wasted my time on him. I was no closer to finding my way to my inn than I had been before.

Taking a right turn at the intersection, I walked along, looking for something familiar.

There were lanterns on some of the buildings and here and there on the street, but mostly the streets were shrouded in darkness.

There was a fog coming in off the river.

Living on the river myself, though several hundred miles north, I knew that the fog rolling in would settle into every crevice and linger there until tomorrow’s sun burned it away.

With the fog, my chances of finding my way decreased significantly.

I walked past a cottage sitting off the street, in the shadows, then I came to some more merchant buildings.

I didn’t think I’d been this way before.

So I stopped again and forced myself to look around. To study my surroundings just as I would if I were lost in the woods back home.

Then I saw a small sign next to a door on my right.

Club 1818.

Well hell.

The crazy old man hadn’t been completely rambling about nothing.

Maybe there was someone inside who could point me in the right direction.

Why not at least ask?

I tried the door knob and it opened easily.

Pushing the door open slowly, I peeked inside.

The room was filled with cigar smoke, much like the fog rolling in off the river outside.

There were about two dozen men sitting around at tables.

Some were just talking and having a drink.

Men played poker at a couple of the tables.

There was a large bar at the other side of the room.

There was a man standing at the bar, straightening bottles of liquor.

Finally. Someone who looked like he could answer my question.

As I walked toward the bar, several men glanced curiously in my direction.

They were all well-dressed gentlemen obviously all upper-class men.

I stopped at the bar and stood in front of the bartender.

The bartender silently filled a glass with whiskey and slid it toward me.

Bad night? he asked.

I took a swallow of the whiskey, letting it burn all the way down as the bartender waited patiently.

I need directions to my inn, I said. The Canal Street Inn.

The bartender smiled. Happens, he said. I’m happy to assist.

Thank you, I said.

But you can rest for a bit if you like. You’re actually quite a ways from Canal Street.

That’s odd. I thought I’d been walking in circles.

How long have you been walking?

I looked around for a clock, but didn’t see one.

I don’t know. An hour maybe.

You’ll get there, he said.

I caught a glimpse of a young lad coming out through a door behind the bar.

What do you mean? I asked.

If you can wait ‘til we close, I can walk you there. It’s on my way home.

This night was just getting worse.

I hadn’t planned on being out this late, I said.

The bartender shrugged. Suit yourself, he said, filling three glass with liquor, placing them on a tray and taking them to one of the tables.

He wasn’t giving me much choice other than to wait. If I went back outside and tried to find in this fog shrouded darkness, I might never get back to the inn.

I’d heard enough tales about this city to make me just wary enough.

I walked to the far side of the bar and sat in at an empty table.

The conversations and laughter of the men faded into the background and I closed my eyes. Just for a moment to rest them.

What can I get you to drink? It was the voice of an angel.

I opened my eyes and looked at the young lady standing in front of me.

I immediately realized she was actually the lad I’d seen. I’d thought she was a lad because she was wearing pants and what looked like a man’s shirt.

But she was most definitely a woman.

Strands of dark brunette hair had come loose from where she’d pulled it back and fell loosely around her face. Her skin was flawless, her lips full and pink, and her eyes…

Her wide jade green eyes were framed with full lush lashes.

She’d asked me a question, but I couldn’t get my thoughts to line up coherently.

Drink? she asked.

I held up the glass I’d forgotten I held in my held. Yes, I said.

She looked at me quizzically.

Then