“Nevertheless, Victoria, that man rescued you. What would I do if something were to happen to you?” Mrs. De’Muerre had gotten ill after giving birth to Samantha and nearly died. She was no longer able to conceive children; therefore, unlike most large families of the day, Victoria and Samantha were the only children in the family, and consequently, very close.
“I am quite curious as to who those men were. They surely appeared to be men that would have gone to the same sorts of gatherings as us, though I know I have never seen them before,” Victoria mused aloud and was shocked to find herself thinking of her hero’s bewitching brown eyes. She could still feel the weight and warmth of his hands upon her. She ran her hands over the spot that the man had held her. Then, shocked with herself, folded her hands primly in her lap.
Samantha gave a nonchalant and nearly, microscopic shrug of her shoulders. “Perhaps they are merely passing through on their way to Texas or California or one of those other places out west. More and more gentlemen seem to be heading out that way.”
“You don’t think they could be…” Victoria began as a horrifying thought filled her head.
“You mean the mysterious Brennan boys? Hmm… now that would be something, wouldn’t it?” Samantha’s eyes began to twinkle as they only do when mischief is cooking up inside her brain.
“Oh goodness no! I may die of embarrassment this evening if they are indeed the Brennans. Oh Sam, you are right what a horrible first impression I have just made.”
Samantha and Victoria continued to warm their hands and feet by the fire, enjoying their tea, and people watching -- in a melting pot of culture like New Orleans, there was always something new to be seen, if one only sat back and waited. Once again, most of the gossip that the sisters overheard was discussion over the Brennans’ party. This robbed Victoria of any hope to push the embarrassing moment that she had just experienced on the street from her mind, and only caused her to continue to stew and fret at the idea that those men might be the Brennan boys. Two pots of tea later, Robert and the newly shoed Shorty came to fetch them back home. The sisters noted that the weather and fog continued to worsen on the way back to their townhouse.
“I thought I warned you two not to dawdle in town?” Mrs. De’Muerre, in a completely disheveled state, lectured the sisters immediately upon their arrival. “You will never be ready in time at this rate! I, myself, will never be ready in time, at this rate! Now hurry upstairs Polly and Hannah are already upstairs waiting for you.”
Their mother was right. The evening was rapidly approaching and the girls were now in their shared dressing room preparing for the event, in a much less frantic frame of mind than their mother, who felt obligated to continue to present herself as the leader of New Orleans society. The populace of the high society had unofficially proclaimed her to be so and Mrs. De’Muerre couldn’t let them down by showing up in a less than fantastic manner. Polly and Hannah assisted Victoria and Samantha with their necessities. Corset tightening, buttoning, hooking, and coiffing were all part of the slave girls’ duties as chambermaids to their mistresses. Luckily for the girls, Polly and Hannah were both highly skilled and effective in those duties.
“Pull tighter Polly!” Victoria demanded as she clung to the wrought iron post of the daybed where the rest of her garments for the evening laid strewn about. “Christopher is going to be at the ball and I want my waist to be as small as possible.” Christopher Worthington was an old childhood playmate, and Victoria’s wealthy beau, whose family had a plantation the distance of a day’s drive from the De’Muerres’ farm.
“I do not understand why you fret so, Tory. Your waist is already as tiny as can be. Most of the girls would wish their corseted waist was as small as yours is naturally,” Samantha complimented her sister as she sat at the vanity while Hannah put the final touches on her coif. Samantha was already gowned and nearly ready for the evening. She wore a silk midnight blue gown trimmed with white lace and ribbons. Her petticoat was made of white silk with trimming that matched the blue of her gown. Light brown hair stood piled high on her head with long ringlets framing her face and a silver and sapphire necklace in the shape of repeating crosses filled in the area between Samantha’s low-cut bodice and neck.
Victoria had tirelessly dawdled over the gowns that Polly had laid out for her as she attempted to determine which gown was best suited for the evening. Victoria was sure that Christopher would be asking for her hand any day now and she wanted to look perfect tonight, just in case tonight was the night. It would be the first time they had seen each other since the outbreak of The Bleeding Death, and with the celebratory atmosphere of the ball, there could be no better time, since her father would also be there and available for Christopher to ask for his blessing if he had not already done so without Victoria’s knowledge. Finally, after tedious inspection, she had chosen the off-white French silk gown that Polly helped her step into and then did up the tiny eyelets in the back. Padded blue silk trimmed the dress, and strategically placed blonde chenille lace was gathered into flowers and tassels at the poufy hips.
“Do you really think he will ask tonight, Tory?” Samantha asked her sister, excitedly.
“There is no telling, Sam. He has been hinting at it over the last year. Tonight would be the opportune moment, though. Don’t you think?”
“I envy you… Christopher Worthington…” Samantha sighed dreamily. “He is the perfect Southern man. He will make an excellent husband.”
“Yes, he is quite the catch, isn’t he? But you know you will have your choice of beaux soon enough now that you have been welcomed into society properly.”
“I know. It’s just that because of all these bizarre deaths going around people are not entertaining as much because so many people are in mourning. This will be my first ball since the cotillion. I’m a little nervous. What if I end up an old maid?” The epidemic had made this an awful season to come of age.
Victoria scoffed at her sister’s fretting. “Oh, please. You won’t be able to keep the men off of you tonight. You will have all the matrons in a tizzy trying to fend the beaux off and keeping your reputation intact.”
Once dressed Victoria sat at her dressing table and Polly labored painstakingly to curl the mass of Victoria’s blonde hair with the iron that was heated on a wrought iron plate in the fireplace. As she curled each strand, she wove a delicate string of Mother of Pearls through the coiffure. Polly had just pinned the last strand into place as the butler knocked on the door to fetch the girls down to the carriage, out into the already dark night, and off to the party.
Chapter Two
The Brennans’ town home was only a short ride from the De’Muerres’, and like most of the houses in the Garden District, a small area of trees and flowering bushes separated the home from the street. The De’Muerres’ carriage ride was illuminated by kerosene street lamps that stood every hundred feet or so to shield the street against the foggy weather. It was easy to spot which house was the Brennan’s home, because the residence shined brightly with candles in all of the windows and hurricane lanterns hung from the trees, illuminating their small front yard. The bright lights created a warm and welcoming atmosphere, standing in stark contrast to the creepy aura of the gloomy weather out on the streets. A line of young male slaves stood waiting to help the guests out of their carriages and then to escort them into the house. The Brennans’ home was two stories tall, made of yellow clapboard with black shutters, and trimmed in cream, with cream columns supporting the double decker porch that was surrounded by black wrought iron railings. It was very French and very trendy.
Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre led their family into the foyer to make the acquaintance of the Brennans in the lengthy receiving procession. Mr. and Mrs. Brennan emigrated from Ireland a year earlier, but had just arrived in Louisiana a few months back, and all of New Orleans high society was eager to welcome their wealthy new neighbors -- welcome and nosily snoop, that is. Mr. Brennan introduced his wife to The De’Muerres and motio
ned over his shoulder to their two sons.
The two young men stepped forward to welcome the sisters. Victoria and Samantha gasped audibly in shocked recognition. They were, indeed, the men who had rescued Victoria that morning. Victoria thought she might die right then and there. “Mr. De’Muerre, ladies. These are my sons: Wesley and Thomas,” Mr. Brennan introduced his heirs with pride.
The men greeted each other with gusto and the brothers bowed formally to Mrs. De’Muerre. Victoria then stood in front of Wesley, fruitlessly hiding her blush. “Miss De’Muerre, it pleases me greatly to make your acquaintance,” Wesley bowed over her hand. He kept his eyes lifted to hers, struggling to hide the amused grin that twitched at the corner of his lips. Victoria felt a blush creep into her cheeks as he gently pressed his lips to her knuckle. He allowed his grin to spread into a full smile, then. She had the sneaking suspicion that he was envisioning the earlier sight he had of her as he yanked her from the road with her skirts pulled up above her ankles. She, however, was simply envisioning her response to the whole affair. He must think me to be very ill bred. I must thank him properly sometime this evening. Oh, but I do wish he would stop looking at me like that. Victoria’s thoughts ran rampant through the introduction process.
Thomas had greeted Victoria’s younger sister in the same formal, yet flirtatious manner, as was custom. However, it appeared Thomas held Samantha’s hand just slightly longer than the typical greeting would permit, Victoria gladly noted. His chilling blue eyes took on a warmer hue as he greeted the young woman. Victoria hoped that she had been correct in saying that things were about to turn around for her sister and if that flirty greeting progressed to something, then it would be Samantha who would soon be the envy of the single ladies about town. For, the Brennan boys were quite fetching, not that Victoria noticed, of course.
“Victoria, Samantha, come we must go say hello to the ladies,” Mrs. De’Muerre called to her daughters. Mrs. De’Muerre was still a relatively young woman and it was obvious that the sisters got their fine, delicate features from her, as she could have easily passed for an older sister in her dark ball gown. The sisters followed their mother to a group of matriarchs hovering together near the edge of the room. The women were chatting of the engagement of someone’s cousin to someone else’s son. All talk stopped as the circle opened allowing the De’Muerre women to be oohed and aahed over as greetings were exchanged. Talk then returned to the former gossip. Victoria did not know who either party was, so she slunk back to the edge of the group. There was a gathering of men close enough for her to eaves drop on. Their conversation was sure to be more interesting.
“Yes, the slaves are always very superstitious when so many things seem to go wrong in a relatively small amount of time. A plague of deaths and a series of crop failures in the same year…” The speaker shook his head. “Mine are worried about it, as well; they claim that it is all interlinked. I have found all sorts of voodoo mumbo-jumbo about my property. They tell me it is to ward off the evil.”
“Personally, I must disagree with you and your slaves. I see no correlation between the two. The bleeding deaths are so strange they could not possibly have anything to do with the crops. If cattle or other animals were dying strangely I could possibly see something to worry about, but the crops just have bad seasons. It is not as though we are losing whole crops though, just small portions. Therefore, I think it is much more important for us to focus our attention on the political situation and the upcoming presidential election. We cannot allow Lincoln to take office,” a familiar voice spoke with confidence and common sense. Victoria turned to look at the man and smiled.
Christopher Worthington was a striking image of southern male elegance. He was dressed in all black except for his white ruffled, high-collared shirt and stood almost a full head taller than most of the men in the room. Christopher wore his blonde hair cropped short and brushed over to the side, as was the common style of the men of his high standing. His blonde whiskers framed his intriguing smile in a neatly trimmed goatee. Victoria knew that Samantha was not the only lady that envied the fact that he had chosen her above all the other women in the area. He raised his blue eyes to meet hers and excused himself from his peers.
He bowed his lean frame formally before her and then took her gloved hand in his. “Well, well, my dearest Victoria, I have missed you!”
“As I have missed you, Christopher! It feels like it has been ages since I last saw you. How have things been at your home? Are your sisters here tonight?” Victoria inquired as he led them into a quieter sitting room.
“Things are as well as can be, considering everything. My sisters have been feeling poorly, so I am the only one that has come into town. Mama and Father stayed at the plantation with them. Father also had to let his overseer go last week. He is inquiring after some possible new hires.” Christopher paused and sighed a sudden look of apprehension crossed his face, then quickly disappeared, but not before Victoria was able to take note of it. “I have much that I need to tell you.”
A loud male voice boomed out through the house, “Dinner is served!”
With their conversation interrupted, Christopher and Victoria followed the rest of the crowd back into the parlors, which had been transformed into temporary dining. Intimate family style tables of six to eight had been setup, with name cards indicating where each person should sit. The De’Muerres sat with the Brennans, allowing the neighbors to get to know one another better. Christopher’s place, however, was set across the room with a group of other land owning bachelors.
Victoria sat beside Wesley. She could not help but to be curious of the man who had saved her life earlier in the day and observed him out of the corner of her eye. Victoria peered down at her sister at the other end of the table and saw that she too was observing the men. Samantha seemed to favor the younger brother, Thomas, in particular, undoubtedly due to their apparent closeness in age as well as his unabashed flirting during their introduction. Victoria quickly noted that his blue eyes wandered in her sister’s direction as well. Combine that with the lingered handholding and things might indeed be looking up for my sister, after all. She thought and smiled to herself.
The two sets of parents conversed about the process of building of the Brennan plantation and Mrs. Brennan couldn’t thank Mrs. De’Muerre enough for the slaves that she had lent out to them. Mrs. De’Muerre also filled Mrs. Brennan in on all the gossip of the community. She gave her the quick rundown of who is who, as was her assumed duty. Samantha was engrossed in a conversation with Thomas about local cultural events, which left Wesley and Victoria eating in awkward silence, a silence that was only broken by the murmurs of serving slaves as they came to take and replace plates as they served each new course.
About the time of the fourth course, Wesley cleared his throat. Victoria looked up at him from the corner of his eye. He caught her glance causing her to quickly avert her eyes back to her plate. The food was suddenly fascinating. “I am glad to see that you appear to have survived your ordeal from this morning, quite well,” Wesley said as he leaned into Victoria. His lips almost brushed a curl that dangled low across her ear.
“Yes, I have gotten over the shock of almost being trampled. I want to thank you for pulling me out of the way. Samantha mentioned that in my flustered state, I did not do so earlier,” Victoria tried to maintain a cool demeanor and attempted to reposition herself in her chair in a desperate need to be further away from Wesley. Being so near to him made her heart pound in abnormal rhythms. The intimacy of him murmuring into her ear had caused her skin to flush. Victoria realized that the count stood at two blushes within the past two hours because of this guy, and she was not one to blush easily.
“Just doing my duty, milady,” Wesley gave her the same mischievously captivating smirk from when he greeted her this evening. His blazing brown eyes took in her blush with delight. “What causes you distress, Mavourneen?”
“Well, sir, we barely know each other, and the way you act so
familiar with me is quite troubling, especially when I am already spoken for. And in case you have forgotten, my name is Miss De’Muerre, not whatever appellation that was with which you just referred to me by.”
“Tch-tch,” Wesley scolded her. “Victoria, certainly the man who saved your life has earned the right to call you by your given name. Mavourneen is an Irish word. Don’t you think it sounds pretty? ‘Tis a pretty term of endearment for a pretty girl.”
Victoria’s mouth fell agape. Who was this man who spoke to her in such a way? Victoria regained enough of her senses to close her mouth as her mother’s words rang in her head chiding her for looking like a fish about to take the bait. She barely managed to form the words as the only thing she could think of whispered past her lips. “What does it mean?”
“Well, I don’t know if I should tell you, since you are spoken for…” Wesley trailed off sounding wistfully morose. “And who exactly is this gentleman that has the privilege of calling you his own?”
“Christopher Worthington,” Victoria told him as she raised her head with pride having finally regained her senses.
“Oh really?” Wesley lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. He appeared to be deep in thought as he rested his jaw on his fisted hand and tapped the index finger upon his cheek. “So when is the wedding ceremony to be performed?”
The Possessive Kiss: Victoria's Story: Book Two of The Kiss Series Page 2
