“Lily, you and your sisters are as dear to me as my own children.” Mrs. Thornton reached for Lily’s hand. “It would be a kindness if you would let me pay for these dresses.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Please, Lily.” Camellia’s blue eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I would love to have a new dress.”
How could she resist? Lily squeezed Mrs. Thornton’s hand. “I suppose I could accept a loan.”
“Perfect!” Sarah clapped her hands. “Let’s go right now before Lily changes her mind.”
Although she still wasn’t sure it was a good idea, Lily let herself be swept up by the combined efforts of her sisters, Sarah, and Mrs. Thornton. Soon all five of them were crowded into the carriage, headed for the fabled shops on Canal Street.
Jean Luc slapped at an insect buzzing around his head. They seemed to be everywhere these days. Some said they were the carriers of disease, but while he found them irritating, he could not believe they were the reason for sickness. He never got sick. Avoiding the night air made more sense to him. Evil deeds and evil-minded people used darkness as a cover. Why not illness as well?
Plucking a bloom from the flower arrangement in the foyer, he tucked it into the lapel of his coat. He’d told his mother he was going to town. Anything to get away from the oppressive, disappointed glances she still directed at him. Would he never live down his mistake?
Jean Luc mounted his horse and headed to town, passing cotton fields being worked by dozens of slaves. They were planting seed, a job he did not envy as it required hour after backbreaking hour laboring in the sweltering heat. Papa had mentioned something about purchasing a few extra slaves before harvest. Jean Luc shuddered. He didn’t like going to the slave market. It was foul smelling and filthy. No place for a gentleman to spend time.
Not like his current destination—his tailor. He was in need of a new dress coat and several shirts. The streets were crowded. Farmers with loaded wagons of fresh-picked melons and peaches trundled past immigrants in rough-spun work clothes. Fashionable ladies in bright-colored finery hung on the arms of their dark-coated escorts, eager to purchase everything from hats to shoes. Street vendors hawked fruit, vegetables, and meat pies.
Jean Luc wove his horse back and forth down the street, his teeth clenching as his progress was repeatedly halted. When he finally reached the storefront of Preston and Sons, Jean Luc dismounted with a relieved sigh and tied his horse to the hitching rail. Before he could enter the establishment, however, he was stopped by someone calling his name.
“I’m so glad to find you, Mr. Champney.”
Jean Luc turned to see Lars Steenberg. “Is Hattie Belle back from New Orleans?” He shaded his eyes and looked toward the river.
Steenberg shuffled his feet. “No, sir. We ran into a bit of trouble.”
Dread filled Jean Luc. “Is she sunk?” Most steamships did not last long. They either ran up on a snag and tore a hole in the keel, or the boiler exploded and set the deck on fire. If nature was not dangerous enough, pirates often lurked along the shore and attacked vulnerable boats. A paddle wheeler with a gaggle of females would fit that description pretty well.
“No, she made it to New Orleans.”
“Then why isn’t she here? And why are you here without her?”
Steenberg shrugged. “We ran aground north of the city and had to be pulled free.”
“You what!” Jean Luc was horrified. “Didn’t those idiots know not to travel in the dark? Were they in such a hurry to reach port that they risked my boat?”
“Not exactly. It was daylight.”
Jean Luc stared at the older man. “Who was captaining the boat when it happened?”
“I was.” Steenberg glanced at him, his expression rebellious. “You said you didn’t want Lily Anderson to succeed.”
“I didn’t mean for you to put the Hattie Belle at risk.” Noticing his angry tones had attracted the attention of some passersby, Jean Luc lowered his voice. “I only wanted you to keep an eye on things and report back. I didn’t want you to sink the boat. If the Hattie Belle is lost, I won’t have any chance to prove myself to my father.”
“She’s holed up for repairs, but they’ll probably be sailing her back to Natchez in a few days.”
“How bad was the damage?”
“Not too bad.” The other man shrugged. “A little problem with the paddle wheel and a bit of shattered glass. Probably be as good as new.”
“You’d better hope that’s true.” Jean Luc leaned closer to the captain. “Because if she’s not, I’m holding you responsible.”
Steenberg cringed. “I can’t help it if they don’t get her repaired proper.”
“She wouldn’t have to be repaired if not for your idiocy.” Jean Luc started to turn on his heel, but a thought occurred to him. “Do you want to make it up to me?”
“Yes, sir. They let me go, and there’s not many boats needing captains.” His eyes shifted to the left. “I’d be glad to work for you.”
Jean Luc nodded. “Then you watch for my boat to get back in, and let me know the minute it appears around Dead Man’s Bend. I want to be on the docks waiting to greet Miss Anderson before her dainty foot touches dry land.” He jangled the coins in his pocket. Pulling out a handful, he selected one and tossed it in the air.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Steenberg caught the coin before it hit the ground. “I’ll be on the lookout, Mr. Champney.”
“Good, because if you fail me this time, it will be your last.” Jean Luc walked away, certain the man had gotten the point.
Now he needed to concentrate on the business at hand. If he was going to convince Lily to allow him to take over the management of the Hattie Belle, he needed to look his best.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Conflicting desires pulled at Tamar. She could barely concentrate on getting the two older girls ready for the ball because of wondering whether Jensen would come to visit while the others were out dancing. He’d come to the Thorntons’ home several times over the past week, but that didn’t mean he would come tonight, not after she’d told him to leave her alone.
She regretted her words even if they were sensible. He was too nice a man to get tangled up with the likes of her. She would be happy if he didn’t come, wouldn’t she?
The answer was simple. She wouldn’t be happy at all. There were so many reasons to push him away. A thousand obstacles stood between her and Jensen, not the least of which was that she had no right to marry. She was too old, too plain, too dark, and too sensible to listen to his suggestions.
“I think you’ve pulled my corset too tight.” Lily reached back to tug on her hands.
Tamar released some of the pressure on the laces. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where my mind is tonight.”
“I wish I could go.” Jasmine sat pouting in a corner of the girls’ bedroom. “I’m going to be all alone.”
“No, you won’t.” Camellia stood in front of the mirror, admiring her new blue gown. “David and Tamar will be here.”
“I’m practically grown up.” The whine in Jasmine’s voice contradicted her words. “Besides, you and Lily can’t dance. You’re still in mourning.”
Tamar knew her girls well enough to know that Camellia would probably be on the dance floor before the beginning of the second song. Here in New Orleans no one knew about her grandfather’s death, so she would see no reason to deny herself. Lily would probably remain seated with the matrons and old maids, content to watch the younger girls dip and swirl in the arms of their suitors. If she didn’t watch out, she would find herself alone as her sisters married and began families.
“I hope both of your sisters will dance, Miss Jasmine.” She reached for the hooped crinoline that would make Lily’s skirt stand out in a bell shape. “I’m sure your grandfather wouldn’t disapprove. He’d like to see his girls having a wonderful evening.”
Jasmine crossed her hands over her chest. “I’m not so sure about that. He’ll prob
ably be upset to see me staying here with you and David.”
“Don’t be so anxious to grow up, Jasmine.” Lily stood still while Tamar lifted her new skirt over her head and settled it around her waist. “You need to learn the trick of finding enjoyment no matter your age, or you’ll always be so busy looking ahead that you’ll miss a lot of grand adventures.”
“But you and Camellia are wearing your new clothes. Why did you get a dress for me if I can’t wear it?”
Tamar frowned at Jasmine. “You’ll wear it tomorrow when you go to church.”
Jasmine turned her face to the window.
Tamar tweaked the gray material of Lily’s skirt, making sure every fold was perfect. Not many women could wear this color without looking like they were ready for a grave marker, but the soft color reflected on Lily’s face, muting the line of her stubborn chin and bringing a special glow into her sweet brown eyes. She looked as young and fresh as Camellia, who came to stand next to her. Seeing them made Tamar feel old and worn out, like a well-used rag.
Camellia’s golden curls were fastened on top of her head with three white camellia blossoms. A matching blossom was pinned to the front of her bodice, its delicate bloom standing out against the dark moiré silk of her gown. Her milky-white skin also contrasted against the material, glowing in the candlelight. She was sure to be sought after by all the young men at the ball.
Smothering the desire to wear something flattering instead of her shapeless brown gown, Tamar concentrated on her charges—collecting fans, smoothing gloves, and settling cotton lace shawls around their shoulders. She had no reason for the tears that sprang to her eyes as the two young ladies left the bedroom. Wishing for the impossible only made a body miserable. She was going to have to spend extra time on her knees this evening, asking God to root out the envy in her heart. She needed to concentrate on the blessing of having kind owners and a chance to see something of the world beyond the boundaries of Natchez and Les Fleurs plantation.
As soon as the bedroom was straightened up, Tamar went down the back stairs toward the kitchen, which was separated from the main house by a courtyard. She tarried in the cooler air, her fingers trailing across the wide leaves of a palm tree. Her gaze went to the sky, wonder filling her as she gazed at thousands of stars and the bright round globe of the moon.
“’Tis a lovely evening.”
She jerked in surprise. Her gaze traveled around the courtyard, searching for the person who’d spoken. “Jensen.” She recognized his voice, of course. It was the voice that entered her dreams, whispering of things she shouldn’t consider. Tempting her to reach out for a future that didn’t belong to her.
He stepped from the far corner of the courtyard, nearest the stable. “Stay a moment and talk to me.”
“I told you yesterday we don’t have a thing to talk about.”
“Of course we do, only you don’t want to listen.” Jensen moved closer.
Tamar’s heart beat so hard she thought he could probably hear it. She knew she should turn her back on him, but her legs wouldn’t move. “I’m listening.” Was that her trembling voice?
He reached out slowly, his hand traveling toward her face. Tamar’s breath caught, and her heart stopped beating altogether. His fingers gently smoothed her hair against her temple where it had escaped her cap. They left a trail of fire in their wake. She felt like she might die right there, right then. Then his whole hand cupped her cheek, warm and a little rough. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t step back, couldn’t do anything but look into his eyes. What she saw made her knees shake. Fierce emotion burned inside this man. But rather than frighten her, it kindled a flame inside of her.
His lids drooped and the corners of his mouth turned up. “I want to steal a kiss from you, Tamar. I want it more than I want to draw my next breath.” He moved even closer, his shoulders blocking out the rest of the world. “Please say yes.”
Tamar lifted her hands. She had to put a stop to this now or be lost forever. “No.” Forming fists with her hands, she pushed at his chest.
Pain entered his face as though she had struck him, but Jensen moved back. She felt like she had thrust a knife into the man’s heart. Or was it her own heart she had wounded? Tamar wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything except that she needed distance from the feelings Jensen stirred in her.
With a sound of equal parts pain, fear, and frustration, Tamar ran to the kitchen. She jerked open the heavy wooden door and slipped inside. Slamming the door behind her, she leaned against it and gasped for breath. The other slaves looked up in surprise but didn’t ask any questions. That was a good thing. She had no answers.
The Cartiers lived in a huge mansion in Lafayette Square, several miles south of the Thorntons’ town house. Lily enjoyed the carriage ride but wished Blake and Mr. Thornton could have joined them inside instead of riding alongside on horseback. But she and Camellia could barely fit their skirts on one bench of the carriage, so wide were their crinolines, and Mrs. Thornton had instructed the men to take horses rather than crowd them.
“Don’t leave the ballroom with any strangers, Camellia.” Lily had a list of instructions for her sister. “Don’t eat too much at the midnight supper. Don’t accept any invitations to dance; we are still in mourning. Keep your fan attached to your wrist or you will lose it.”
Mrs. Thornton leaned forward and patted her wrist. “It will be all right, Lily. Don’t be so worried. Your sister is a sensible young lady.”
“I know, but—”
“You’re giving me a headache.” Camellia touched her gloved hand to her forehead.
Lily sat back with a sigh. “Then perhaps we should turn the carriage around and go home.”
“No!” Both Camellia and Mrs. Thornton chorused their disagreement.
“This is my very first ball, Lily. Please don’t take away my pleasure.”
“I know the feelings you’re experiencing, Lily, my dear.” Mrs. Thornton’s voice hinted at amusement. “I felt the same way the first time I took Sarah to a party. But don’t worry. We will all look out for Camellia. As to dancing, I don’t see the harm since this is a family party. No one here knows you. They will assume you are my family, and they’ll be confused if I am not also in mourning.”
Lily found it difficult to argue with Mrs. Thornton’s pragmatic view. Besides, this was Camellia’s first dance. It should be a memory to treasure. If Camellia had to sit on the wall next to her sister and the other old maids, she would not enjoy herself very much. Pinning a smile on her face to cover her misgivings, Lily turned to Camellia. “If you promise to be circumspect—”
Camellia reached past the material of their skirts and hugged Lily close. “I promise to do whatever you say. I won’t lose my fan or my gloves. I won’t leave the ballroom with anyone, male or female. And I promise not to eat too much at supper.”
Lily returned her embrace and sent a prayer heavenward that she was making the right decision.
The carriage stopped, and they disembarked. Mr. Thornton offered his arm to his wife, while Blake escorted both Lily and Camellia up the shallow steps to the main entrance.
Dr. Cartier, a man some ten years older than Sarah, was fashionably dressed in white from chin to toe. He was much quieter than Sarah, but the love they felt for each other was obvious in the way their gazes locked and the little touches they managed to exchange while receiving their guests.
“Good evening, Mother, Father.” Sarah was resplendent in a pale-yellow gown, her dark hair upswept and held in place with a diamond tiara. “I have a surprise for you.”
She turned around and grabbed a young man who’d been lurking in the shadows. “Look who got into town this afternoon.”
The first thing Lily noticed was the thatch of thick auburn hair on his head. Below that was a pair of eyes as green as grass. Something about him looked familiar, but she did not place him until Mrs. Thornton stepped forward with a glad cry.
“Jonah, why didn’t you come to the house to tell yo
ur mother you had arrived safely?”
So this was the youngest Thornton child. She glanced at Mr. Thornton and realized why Jonah looked familiar. He was a younger version of his father.
“I’m sorry, Mother. Sarah wanted to surprise you.” He hugged her close before turning to shake hands with his father. “I’m glad to see both of you looking so well. We have many things to talk about.”
“Yes, yes.” Sarah stepped between them. “But for tonight you are to forget all that and enjoy yourself.”
He shrugged and turned back to the receiving line. He smiled at Lily as they were introduced, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Camellia. She blushed and nodded when he asked for the first dance.
Lily’s glance met Blake’s, and they shared a moment. It was as if they didn’t need words to communicate. Her little sister was going to be a big hit in New Orleans.
Lily and Camellia, followed by a grinning Blake, trailed the Thorntons into the crowded ballroom. Over the next half hour they were introduced to so many of New Orleans’ elite that Lily soon lost count.
The musicians began playing, and couples started walking to the center of the room. Jonah came to claim Camellia for the promised dance. He was soon replaced by others, as many of the young men vied for her attention.
One or two of them turned to Lily as a second choice if Camellia was not available, but she refused them all, preferring her role as chaperone.
Between the crush of people and the candles all around the room, Lily grew rather warm and wished she could escape through some french doors that had been flung open in the hope of coaxing some of the cooler night air into the room. She was about to seek out a chair along the wall when a hand on her arm stopped her.
“Would you like to dance?” Blake’s drawl in her ear made gooseflesh pop up along her arms.
Lily shook her head resolutely. “I’m here as a chaperone for Camellia. This is her evening to dance.”
Lily (Song of the River) Page 18
