by Angela Lee
“Hebe, are you engaged?” The little Creole stopped sifting through a table of lace and looked at Pan horror struck. Miss Lejeune coughed and laughed simultaneously creating a sort of squeaky hiccough. Her face reflected more amusement than embarrassment.
Hebe’s honeyed accent conveyed nothing but disgust, “Why in heavens would you ask that?”
“For your trousseau.” Pan stammered and waved a hand around. Another squeak from Miss Lejeune. Pan was having a hard time keeping herself collected, “Is that what we are doing here?” When Hebe raised her brows in question and then shook her head no, Pan spewed, “What are we doing here then?”
“Shopping.” Hebe lifted one shoulder in an off handed manner and returned to her browsing.
“For?” Pan remained frozen, eyes shifting between Hebe and Miss Lejeune.
Hebe laughed, “We are being daring, Pan. Why should we have to be married to wear silky night rails or lacy corsets in bold colors. I am tired of ivory and plain linen. I want to feel beautiful in my underthings even if no one can see. Even if no one will ever see.”
Pan continued to stammer nervously, “I didn’t know that unmarried... I mean, I…” Madam Coustant led her to one of the gold framed mirrors. At the seamstress’s direction, she stepped up on a cloth covered block and faced herself in the mirror. The dressmaker held a black corset at Pan’s bosom. The garment was completely sheer between the boning and trimmed in black lace. A vine of red roses was stitched into the sheer portions following the hipline
“Oh, that is lovely,” Pan said tracing the rose vine with her fingers.
“You see the fabric is so smooth, the boning is lined here. Mademoiselle can omit the chemise if she prefers. The black stockings have the rose trim as well.”
“Gorgeous,” Pan answered breathlessly still tracing the needlework.
“There are more pieces that match this set. Each with the rose stitching.” The seamstress brought several other garments for Pan’s approval. Green silk, white lace, scarlet satin, each piece of lingerie as beautiful as the last.
Pan smiled at Hebe and Luna, who each now stood on a pedestal in front of other mirrors. “Alright. Let’s be daring.” She wondered if she could request the needlework flowers in yellow.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Jesus man, the girl is beautiful, but she said no. More than once. Cut line,” St. Luc said dryly. “It’s not like you to lose your head over a woman, let alone a deb.”
“I have not lost my head. You two know me better than anyone. A man should be able to confide in his closest friends.” Fin paced the Trevigne library in frustration.
“And a man should not disguise his pursuit of a woman with a visit to his housebound friend,” came another dry retort from the seated Creole.
Alex handed each of them a tumbler of bourbon before sitting down. His cousin chuckled, “Speaking of women, debs more specifically, Luc, where might your sister and the beautiful doctor be?”
“Son of a bitch,” St. Luc cried in mock outrage tossing a cushion at the still standing Fin. “You did only come here hoping to accidently run into the girl at my mother’s tea. You even towed Alex here to make it believable.”
Fin shrugged sheepishly. All three men laughed heartily.
Luc continued, “Apparently, both she and Hebe left early for a charity event. Knowing my sister, well God knows what that can be translated to mean. Sounds like your lady doctor has a bit of a reckless streak as well. Together those two might be up to something really horrendous.”
Fin laughed again but his thoughts strayed. He had stayed on the balcony that night at the doctor’s dinner watching Pan go back into the dinner. It had been a Herculean feat to keep from ripping that Yankee doctor’s hand from her side, picking her up, and storming from that plantation with her thrown over his shoulder. Fin’s Neanderthal response did not bother him as much as her continued refusal. She had responded to his touch with passion, despite her innocence. That day in the alleyway he had nearly spent in his trousers when she had touched him as skillfully as any experienced lover.
He chastised himself for all the mistakes he was making with this girl. Being caught in a tryst at the supper party would have devastated her reputation. Even if it had been buried by an expedited marriage, the stain of the indiscretion would still carry. It was torture for him to stop, yet he did so because he should have never taken it that far in the first place. But when it was done, she had dismissed him and that still stung. “You’ve never had difficulty with women. Perhaps you want this one because the lady doctor doesn’t want you,” Alex snorted into his bourbon.
“Alex, I’m not chasing some deb I want as a conquest. I like this woman, her intellect, her wit.” Fin raked a hand through his hair, gritting his teeth. His friends meant well and made sense.
“She is beautiful,” St. Luc reiterated.
“Yes. Stop noticing that!” Fin growled with jealousy. “It’s more than that. She’s a doctor, she’s…she’s just more. And she does want me.” Fin threw his hands up, “I don’t know exactly what the cause of her resistance is. I’m not giving up.”
The truth was that in some ways he had. He had been avoiding the cotillion, had been avoiding her. There had been no debauchery as she had teased when they went to the orphanage. He had stayed in the cardroom during the balls, ignoring all advances from public women and those on the hunt for a new benefactor. He just couldn’t stomach the idea of watching her accept dance offers and flirtations from other men in public while refusing him in private.
Every morning his first thought had been of her since the day he had met her. Fin had been thinking of her one Thursday staring out the window of his office and had seen her there on the street below. He had smiled catching sight of her fingers restlessly working a small patch of fabric from her skirt. He fought the urge to join her on her rounds as he had the time before, deciding it was best to give her space until she was ready.
As much as he had avoided seeing her at balls and curbed his temptation to chase her down the street, he hadn’t completely stopped trying to see her. He’d gone to the clinic under the guise of a pain in his wrist. Her father had stepped in to treat him as she escaped upstairs. The senior Dr. Fontenot examined the wrist and chuckled that perhaps Monsieur had injured the other hand? The physician had patted Fin on the back and wished him luck.
Weathers had sent his goddess buttercups, chocolates, even coffee beans, every day this week. She had sent the same polite response each time. Thank you for the gift. -Panacea Fontenot.
Formal. Indifferent. She was dismissing him over and over again.
When that didn’t work, he made sure to have a case of coffee and candy delivered to the orphanage along with a carriage load of produce on a day that he knew she would be there.
“Of course, you’re not giving up.” The three men looked up to see Felice Weathers. She walked in and kissed her son on the cheek. She did the same to each of the other men. “I had heard you were here and just wanted to say hello. I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, son.” Fin arched his brow and the other two chuckled; they all knew better.
Felice propped herself on the arm of St. Luc’s chair and gave his shoulder a pat. “Since I did, I might as well add my opinion. The Fontenot girl needs coaxing. She’s not like other marriage minded misses trying to lure you in with a chase. Creole men suck all the air from a room. A woman like that needs some of her own space, she won’t want to lose her independence.”
Fin paced from the chair to the bookshelf and back. “I applaud her accomplishments! I would never try to change her.”
Felice smiled at her son, “All of you Villere men are alike. When you find your match, you fall hard and fast. It happened for each of your uncles. Your Irish father was just the same. Do you know that man told me he would marry me the day we met?” she played with the pendant on her necklace and laughed. “You men are so confident in how right you are about what you feel, not one of you know what to do with a woman who d
oesn’t dive headfirst into love with you.”
Fin shook his head vigorously, “That’s not the case at all. I’m patient. I don’t expect her to. I’m not. This is not,” he was flustered and paused to collect his thoughts.
“Son, slow down. Woo her.”
“I’ve sent flowers, chocolate, chicory coffee. For God’s sake!”
“Coffee, hmm,” Felice smirked, “Try harder. Think bigger.”
“We’re sponsoring the cotillion to raise funds for her damned orphanage!”
His mother arched a knowing brow, “Think bigger.”
The other three people in the room stared at him with similar looks of amusement. Fin grit his teeth and decided to divert their attention. “Mother, your theory is flawed. You say that all Villere men are this way.” Fin said slyly, “What about Alex? You really think this rogue is going to fall hard and fast?”
“First, you are avoiding the truth, son. Second, your cousin has already fallen.”
Felice looked over at Alex who stood by the window that overlooked the garden. At the mention of his name Alex’s head shot towards Felice. She spoke softly as if only to her nephew and then winked, “For a longtime now. His situation is just a little trickier.”
Alex’s poker face was blank, but he never took his eyes off his aunt as she spoke. Fin looked back and forth between his mother and cousin uncertain what to think. The lady stood from her perch, “I’ll leave you to your visit, then. Did you know that Madam Fontenot is here? Delightful woman.” As she exited through the room she called back, “Don’t give up.”
Alex resumed his spot by the window before he proposed, “Perhaps your mademoiselle perceives that Southerners will reject the idea of a woman doctor. And if they reject that, they will reject any politician who is tied to one?” Fin was silent. They all knew this to be true.
“What are your intentions with the doctor? As we have already established, she’s a lady. An unmarried lady. Do you seriously expect her to agree to an affair? That she’ll give up her reputation and shame her family to live in the residence you set up for her on Ramparts? She might be progressive, my friend, but I suspect that is a bit farfetched,” Luc continued. Alex left his spot at the window and moved to the seat across from Luc.
“Don’t be an ass,” Fin grumbled.
“What then?” St. Luc pressed.
“He’ll marry her,” Alex offered quietly, never looking up. The other two stopped and stared at Villere. St. Luc looked equal parts horrified and appalled. Alex sat comfortably; feet propped on an ottoman as he swirled his bourbon in its tumbler. Fin had ceased pacing, his face pivoted from friend to friend. He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it, then opened and closed it again.
“I’m going to marry her,” Fin mumbled. A moment later he repeated it with more certainty, “I’m going to marry her.”
“Christ,” St. Luc muttered, shaking his head and holding out his glass for Alex to refill. Alex claimed the glass and stood. He walked over to the bar and refilled the two glasses he held and filled a third. He handed each of the other men their drinks.
“Cousin, it is hard to marry a woman who won’t have you,” he said slowly, the voice one uses to break bad news to a child. “If you are certain that she is the one, then we’ll need a plan.”
“I know. I need to woo her.”
“Something better than fake injuries and pounds of chicory coffee,” Alex chided.
St. Luc laughed, “Something bigger.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
As if the country were not at war and the port of New Orleans was not closed, the Villere family maintained the tradition of extravagant dinner services. Pan marveled at the lavish mansion filled with polished antiques and French and Spanish heritage.
The minute Pan had returned from her outing with Hebe, Iris had raced her upstairs to prepare for dinner at the Villere mansion. It seemed the two women had so much in common at the Trevigne tea that Madame Weathers had invited the Fontenot family to dinner.
At her mother’s insistence, Pan was dressed in one the best dresses she owned, a bright emerald silk from Paris. It sat just off her shoulders with a thin four-inch row of matching emerald lace decorating the bodice. The waistline was fitted and flared out fully to the floor. As always, the dress was without any other ornament as Pan preferred. It was her mother’s favorite because it highlighted Pan’s gold eyes.
She arrived to find most of Fin’s family in attendance, along with several other families including Anne Marie’s family, as well as, Hebe and her parents. There were even two bachelors that did not seem to belong to any of the families. Recognizing that this was more than a simple dinner invitation, Pan began to fear the motives behind this particular invitation.
Pan had been careful to avoid contact with Fin beyond what was expected as courtesy. To her dismay, she was seated next to him during the meal. She distracted herself by surveying the dinner guests discreetly.
Alex and his parents were in attendance along with his younger brother Roman. Madam Weathers was there, of course, the picture of Creole femininity. Felice Weathers looked more like an older sister than Fin’s mother. Pan was happy that her own mother had really taken a liking to the woman. Smiling at the thought, she was struck by the impression that Felice looked familiar in a different sort of way. With little to share at dinner she spent much of the meal, observing the family, worrying over their names, and trying to recall who Felice Weathers reminded her of.
The Villere clan was indeed heavy with handsome men. Fin’s mother was the only sister of the older generation, and there were no sisters or female cousins in Fin’s. Fin had told her that all his cousins were bachelors. The older Villere wives were welcoming of Pan but in most ways, she recognized that she was different from the women of the family. This was still a very traditional family. Table discussion gravitated to social topics appropriate for all company. The war, politics, business, literature, anything intellectual really, was rarely discussed and only the men chimed in. Pan fought the urge to roll her eyes at the thought.
As a steaming bowl of crab gumbo was placed in front of her, Fin’s Uncle Alexandre addressed her with a smile, “Mademoiselle Panacea, my nephew says that you offer much of your time to the St. Vincent Children’s Asylum. I admire your charitable nature. I assume you have learned quite a bit from your father.” He nodded towards Charles.
She couldn’t help but smile at her father, “Indeed sir. My father is my mentor.” She shifted in her seat, fully aware that the table’s attention was focused on her.
Fin’s uncle was every bit the older version of his handsome son and namesake, Alex. He continued, “Fin says you are fully credentialed as a medical doctor like your father.” Oh no. He wouldn’t. Infuriating man. She felt a hand squeeze her knee beneath the table. She didn’t bother to look at the handsome culprit as she swatted his hand. This only resulted in him holding hers. Without drawing attention there was really nothing she could do; he must have known this as he chuckled and ran his thumb over her glove.
Pan answered his uncle quietly, “Not quite. I did complete my medical training, but Papa trained in Europe for his surgeon’s skills. I chose not to.”
Her father’s booming voice carried across the table as he announced, “My sweet girl is modest. She is every bit the surgeon, that I am. Probably better.”
Uncle Bruno asked, his attention also focused on Pan, “How does a woman get her medical license?”
“The same as a man, I would assume. She apprentices for at least two years under a licensed physician and completes two years of medical college.” Pan would have expected scorn or some other similar expression. Instead the Villere family seemed fascinated.
She lifted a shoulder and continued, “With that complete he or she is free to submit an affidavit of his or her qualifications in application for state licensure. Louisiana, however, disbanded its State Medical Board before the war. As a result, anyone claiming to have medical training can practi
ce at will,” she shook her hand free of Fin’s and waved it in irritation.
“The medical college you attended; it was all women like you?” Uncle Alex asked.
Fin’s hand reclaimed its position on her thigh beneath the table while he listened intently. She shot Fin an irritated look before answering, “Like me? Well, no. I mean there were other women, certainly. But I did not attend a women’s college, though they do exist.”
“Amazing,” came the first man’s response. “You are trained in all aspects of medicine. You can perform work on the operation table?”
“I have delivered seventeen infants, one of them breech, three stillborn. I have removed bullets and stitched together the wounds on more soldiers than I can count.” She had been about to add that she had assisted in the amputation of several war related injured limbs. Delicate rosettes in the hair of Alex’s youngest aunt, a woman barely older than herself, caught Pan’s attention from the other side of the table. The distinctly feminine adornment reminded her that their topic of conversation was far from appropriate for a dinner party. She forced the list of medical accomplishments back into its mental drawer praying that the Uncles would not question her further.
After six courses had been served, the ladies retired to the parlor while the men headed to the library to finish their more serious discussions. Later in the evening the sexes would again join company for various entertainments.
Pan looked around the hallway guiltily. A quiet cough told her that Fin was in the corner where he had whispered to meet before she left the dining room. She made her way to the darkened alcove where he boxed her against the wall with his hands on either side of her.
“You are still upset with me,” he said quietly.
“You told your family about me, not to mention a room full of dinner guests,” she whispered.
