Simone stared at him for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders. “That’s very interesting.”
At that moment a tall, lean man with black hair and dark eyes approached. “Simone,” he said, “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Oh, yes. Claude, this is Monsieur Colin Seymour. Mr. Seymour, Claude Vernay.”
Vernay looked puzzled, but he said, “Happy to make your acquaintance.”
“Mr. Seymour will be singing in the marquis’ new opera.”
Vernay smiled. He had a thin, black mustache, and his black eyes were smoldering. “Never could sing myself. Not my style.”
“You’ll have to forgive Mr. Vernay,” Simone said, her eyes spark-ling. “He’s more interested in swords and pistols than he is in art.”
“Now, that’s not so!” Vernay protested. He was a fine-looking man and dressed at the height of fashion. “I do like to shoot, and I keep in form by fencing, but I like opera.”
“Don’t listen to him, and don’t offend him, whatever you do, Mr. Seymour. He’s deadly with either weapon.”
“I’ll try to be as inoffensive as possible.”
Vernay laughed. “Simone always makes things seem more dra-matic than they are. I’ll look forward to seeing you in the opera. Are you ready, Simone?”
“Yes.” She nodded slightly and said, “I will be interested in hear-ing you when the opera takes place. When will it be, do you know?”
“I would think at least two weeks, from what the maestro has told me.”
She nodded, and Vernay said, “Enjoy your visit, Mr. Seymour.”
Colin watched the two leave and then snorted, saying under his breath, “What a snob! I’ve never seen such a proud pair in all my life.”
Later, however, he saw that Simone d’Or speaking with the mar-quis. Colin was startled to see the eagerness with which Armand con-versed with her. Of course it was true enough that Simone d’Or behaved much better to a nobleman than she had to an ex-fisherman. The idea troubled Colin for a moment, but then he thought, Don’t be foolish. He’s not interested in any woman—especially a woman like that.
In the two weeks that followed, Colin often thought of his first opin-ion of the marquis’ interest in Simone d’Or. He had seen nothing to trouble him at first, but then it became clear that the young woman fascinated Armand. She was no more than twenty-two, he guessed, while the marquis was in his late forties. The d’Ors were a prominent family interested in opera, and Simone went often to the rehearsals. Afterward, Armand escorted her out, and Colin could not help but notice that his master came in very late following these trips.
As the days passed, the marquis’ infatuation with the young woman became obvious, not only to Colin, but to others of the company.
The lead tenor, Dominic Elfonso, was talking once with Rosa Calabria—the diva—the star soprano. She was a vivacious woman with thick chestnut hair and warm brown eyes. During a break, Colin had been standing near when he heard Calabria say, “Well, Dominic, have you noticed the old maestro?”
“What about him?”
“He’s gone crazy over the d’Or woman.”
Dominic Elfonso was a big man with black hair, dark eyes, and a bristling mustache. He shrugged his beefy shoulders, saying, “She’s a good-looking woman. Why not?”
“He’s too old for her.”
“You’re just jealous, Rosa.”
Rosa glared at him. “Jealous? I have no feelings for him, not in that way.”
“Well, if I understand correctly, the marquis lost his wife a couple of years ago. I suppose he’s lonely for feminine company.”
“I think he’s found it then. But something is foolish about an older man falling in love with a young woman.”
Later that day, after rehearsals were over, Rosa said to Colin, “Let’s go out and have something to eat. I’m starving.”
“All right, Miss Calabria.”
“Don’t be so formal. You can call me Rosa.” She took his arm and pressed herself against it, then led him outside. She knew every restau-rant in New Orleans and directed him to a small, intimate place. There she proceeded to eat like a stevedore and at the same time pump him with questions. The fact that he had grown up as a fisherman amused her. “I worked in a cigar factory in Madrid. That’s even worse than being a fisherman.”
Colin liked the singer very much. She was in her mid-thirties, he guessed, somewhat older than himself, and she had no inhibitions that he could discover. He found out more about this when she invited him to her room. She made the offer as if she had been offering him a cup of coffee, and he saw that it meant little more to her. He stood for a moment, awkwardly trying to think how to answer without hurting her feelings, when she laughed out loud.
“I can’t believe it!” she cried, her eyes sparkling. “You’re blush-ing! I didn’t think there was a man in America that had a blush left in him.”
“I’m sorry, Rosa. I don’t mean to be—”
“It’s all right, lover,” she said. She patted his cheek. “I’ll have at least one man that I can trust in this world. That’s quite refreshing.”
“I suppose I’m a fool, but that’s the way I feel.”
“Oh, you’re saving yourself for some woman down the road!”
“That’s part of it, I suppose. Rosa, I heard you and Dominic talk-ing about Simone d’Or and my friend the marquis. Were you serious?”
“Haven’t I seen enough old men make fools of themselves? Not that he’s that old. He still has desires. Did he love his wife?”
“More than I’ve ever seen any man love a woman, and to tell the truth, Miss d’Or does resemble her.”
“There you have it.” Rosa shrugged. “She’s turned down enough men, but one thing worries me about his infatuation.”
“What’s that?”
“You met Claude Vernay?”
“Yes, I have.”
“He’s cock-of-the-walk in New Orleans. Loves to fight duels. He’s killed at least a couple of men and wounded a great many more. You know about this code duello that the young bucks follow?”
“I don’t know much about it.”
“They go around looking for someone to insult them so they can call a duel and hack at each other. Stupid, if you ask me, but they spend a great deal of time talking about honor, and Vernay’s the worst. He has a crowd around him—Byron Mayhew and Leon Manville are a couple of his prominent friends. All of them are wealthy, and they all lust after victims! Tell your friend the marquis to steer clear of them and to be careful.”
“Thank you, Rosa. I’ll talk to him.”
“Well, up in my lonely bed I’ll dream about you.”
Colin reached out and took her hand and kissed it. “You’re a good sport, Rosa.”
“Yes, I suppose I am. Go along with you now before I change my mind.”
The opera was a smashing success. The house was packed on open-ing night, and the critics raved in their reviews. Colin even rated a few lines, though, of course, Rosa and Dominic got the lion’s share of the praise. But Colin was satisfied with his first endeavor into the opera.
What did not please him was the fact that nothing he could say to the marquis about Simone d’Or made any difference. “For such a wise man, he is blind as a bat!” Colin said angrily to himself. He had been in the presence of the woman enough to know that she was self-ish to the bone and cared very little for anyone but herself. He had tried to hint to Armand that though she resembled the marquis’ dead wife physically, she was totally different in character. There was little kindness in her, and in Colin’s mind it would be a disaster if he were to marry her.
But nothing he could say to the marquis seemed to have any effect.
One day late in summer, the marquis, his eyes sparkling, said to Colin, “I have good news.”
“About the opera?”
“No, not about that. That’s a success, and you’re doing very well. No, this is a personal thing.”
An alarm went off in Colin’s mind,
and he held his breath.
Armand said, “I have decided to ask for Miss d’Or’s hand in marriage.”
Colin tried desperately to think of an answer, but he could only say, “Well, that—that is quite a surprise.” Actually it was not. He had seen it approaching but could no more stop it than he could have stopped an avalanche on its inexorable path.
“She’s such a handsome woman—and so like my Jeanne.”
Colin wanted to cry out, but he knew that there was no hope that Armand would listen to him. He heard the glowing hope in Armand’s voice as he spoke of Simone, and finally he said, “I want only your happiness, sir.”
Armand replied, “And I will find it with Simone. She is what I have been looking for since I lost my dear wife!”
Chapter four
“Simone, you must know by this time how deeply I care for you. I want to marry you, and I would be honored if you agreed to be my wife.”
Simone could not believe what she was hearing. The marquis had been attracted to her ever since they had first met—that had been easy enough to ascertain. Simone, of course, was accustomed to the admi-ration of men, and that Armand had shown her such attention flat-tered her. Her parents had been even more impressed, and her father had said, “It would make a fine marriage, Simone. He’s a famous man, wealthy, and you could not do better.”
Simone d’Or had formed a habit of doing those things that a woman can do to attract men. It had been a game with her and one at which she had learned to excel. Her natural beauty had been aug-mented with a spirit that was quick and active, and the game of courtship was to her very much like a game of chess or tennis. Men pursued women, women tried to evade them—or at least gave the appearance of it. If the man was persistent enough, and attractive enough, the woman perhaps allowed herself to be captured. Simone had never found a man she loved enough to marry, and she certainly was not in love with the marquis. Still, he was quite a catch, and the society in which she moved, the Creole world of New Orleans, was watching the progress of the courtship avidly.
Simone, however, was taken quite aback when Armand had come on one of his many visits to her home and almost immediately pro-posed to her.
Only rarely had Simone d’Or been at a total loss for words. She was quick-witted, and as a rule, quite able to handle any situation. But the sight of the marquis standing before her and the impact of his words caught her unaware. She had, of course, thought that someday he might come to that point, but obviously he was more enamored of her than she had supposed. She hesitated so long that Armand said, “You do not speak. Is my case hopeless?”
“Oh, no, Armand, certainly not!” Simone said quickly. “It’s just that—well, you’ve taken me off guard. I wasn’t expecting you to say such a thing.”
Armand took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it. “I know,” he said, “that you are highly sought after and that you have refused many suitors. I come without much hope, for I am aware of the difference in our ages. You do not need to marry money, for your family is wealthy. I am aware also of the many dashing young men who are pursuing you even now. Still, I could do nothing else. The affection I feel for you is too strong for me to ignore. I beg you, Simone, do not refuse me.”
As Armand spoke, Simone was able to gather her thoughts and said, “Armand, I have a great admiration for you. You are famous the world over, and there are so many women who would be happy to become your wife.”
“But I am not interested in those other women. Only in you.” Armand shook his head and said, “I can say only this for my own cause. I was married once, as you know, and my wife was the light of my life. We lived together in perfect peace. You remind me so much of her, Simone. She was such a good woman, and I thought I would never find another to put beside her. But in you I have found such a one.”
A slight warning went off in Simone’s spirit; she was wise to the ways of men and women. She knew that she could never be what Armand’s first wife had been. From all reports, coming mostly from him, she had been an excellent woman but totally unlike Simone her-self. He had spoken so often of her gentleness, and Simone was not blind to the fact that she had an impetuous spirit that she had not yet learned to control.
“I am honored by your proposal, Armand, but I must have time to think.”
“That is all I ask.” Armand’s eyes brightened. “I was so afraid that you would refuse me outright. It would be a better match for me than for you, but my dear, you must believe that I am willing to do what-ever will make you happy.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Armand. Just give me some time.”
“Why, of course. In the meantime, I trust I will learn more about you and your family, and perhaps you will learn more about me.”
“Oh, I know a great deal about you, Armand,” Simone said, relieved that the crisis was over, at least for the moment. “But women always know more about men than men do about them.”
Armand laughed. “I think that is probably true. I must go now. Will I see you at the opera tonight?”
“Oh yes. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“What do you think of my protégé?”
“He sings very well. I think he has great potential.”
“I’m very proud of him. If I had had a son, I would have wanted one exactly like Colin. Well, I must go.” He took her hand, kissed it, and took his leave.
As soon as he left, Simone took a deep breath and stared at the door. “Well, it’s too bad he’s not twenty years younger. He would have been irresistible then. But even now it would be quite an honor to be the wife of a famous man such as the Marquis de Cuvier.”
“But you can’t even think of such a thing, Simone!”
Claude Vernay had been fearful of exactly what had come to pass. When he arrived to escort Simone to the opera, she told him almost at once about the marquis’ proposal. Vernay stared at her and exclaimed, “Why, he is an old man!”
“He’s not old, Claude.”
“Of course he’s old! He must be fifty.”
“He’s not. He’s only forty-eight.”
“Even if it weren’t for the age difference, he’s not the sort of man who can make you happy.”
Simone laughed and teased Claude. “Are you an expert in what sort of man would make me happy?”
“I should be,” Vernay grinned. “I’ve studied you enough. I know what you are, Simone.” He reached over and took her hand, and she made no attempt to prevent him. He stroked it and thought for a moment, studying her intently. He was impressed, as always, by the ripe, self-possessed curves of her mouth. She had the richest lips a woman could possess, and now her smile illuminated her face. Her skin was fair and smooth and rose-colored, and her hair was the same color as a very clear honey, a rich yellow that gleamed whenever the light caught it. He was also aware of the shape of her body within her dress, and not for the first time thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—and he had seen a great many.
“You’re a woman of fire, and the marquis’ fires have burned low.
You need excitement and a man who will challenge you.”
“Can you recommend one, Claude?”
Vernay knew that she was laughing at him, but it didn’t trouble him. The thought that she might marry the marquis did. She was an impulsive woman, he knew, and he said, “If you gave it time, you wouldn’t marry him, but you are always jumping into something, Simone. Marriage is something you can’t jump out of easily.”
“Still, the wife of the marquis would have a lot. You would have to call me Lady Beaufort.”
Claude pulled her to him and kissed her. She did not struggle, and when he released her, he said, “You’ll not marry that old man!”
“Don’t be too sure. I would be part of the nobility in France as well as in this country. I’m sure he has a castle, too, and everywhere I went, people would look at me.”
“That would please you for a while, but not for long. You’ll never marry him.”
Simone g
ave Vernay a curious glance. “You seem very sure of that.”
“I am sure. You know I want to marry you myself. The time’s not right yet, but no other man can have you.”
“You’re very possessive, and I don’t want to be a possession.”
“Yes, you do. You want to belong to a man, and you want the man to belong to you.”
The astute quality of Claude Vernay’s mind impressed Simone. He was the most dashing of the Creole gentry, and he stirred her physi-cally in a way that no other man had. Still, he demanded a great deal more than she was willing to give. Quickly she said, “Let’s not talk about marriage. Let’s talk about the opera.”
“Very well. But remember what I said.”
During the intermission, Claude Vernay encountered his friend Byron Mayhew. Mayhew was a small young man, no more than five foot six, with fair hair and gray eyes. His family was prominent, and Mayhew himself was a much more steady individual than his friend Vernay. The two of them made a strange pair, but both were pas-sionately devoted to fencing, and both had engaged in duels. Mayhew was not as enamored of the practice as was Vernay, but still the two were close.
“I’ve heard rumors that Simone might marry Lord Beaufort, Claude.”
Claude shot a glance at his friend. “That will never happen, Byron.”
“I don’t see why not. The old man is panting after her in full chase, and she must be flattered to have a world celebrity after her.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve already talked to her about it and warned her.”
Byron laughed. “You know Simone better than that. The surest way I can think of to make her do something is to tell her she can’t.”
An angry light burned in Claude Vernay’s eyes. He was a man of unstable emotions, at times perfectly amiable, but at the slightest provocation his temper could explode. “I’ll call him out if she agrees to marry him.”
Byron stared at his friend. “Why, you can’t do that!”
“Why can’t I? There’s always some way to provoke a man into an insult.”
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