Simone could not move. Very rarely in her life had she found herself completely speechless. She was aware of Claude’s standing on her right, and that he had gone stiff, but her eyes were fixed on Colin Seymour. She hadn’t expected to have to converse with the man she’d only fought with previously. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and as he stepped forward and bowed slightly, he said, “It’s been a long time, Miss d’Or.”
“Yes, it has.”
Mayor Ahern was surprised. “Oh, you’ve met before!”
“Yes. It seems like a long time ago,” Colin said. His eyes went to Claude Vernay, and their gazes locked. Something passed between them, and then Colin said, “Our dance, I believe, Miss d’Or.” He stepped forward, and without thinking, Simone accepted his arm. He led her back onto the dance floor. When she turned toward him, he was considering her in a strange way. The music started, and he put his arm behind her waist. She lifted her hand, and he took it, and they began to move around the floor. He was an excellent dancer, but Simone was silent. She could think of absolutely nothing to say. He was, unexpectedly, as fine a dancer as she was herself.
“You’re looking very well, Miss d’Or.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Simone had thought much about the terrible thing that had hap-pened to Armand de Cuvier. She had heard little about his life, really only once. A friend had visited the Beaufort estate and she had over-heard him telling someone else, “It’s a real tragedy. Armand de Cuvier died still stuck in that wheelchair. He was such a lively, cheerful man before, and his life seemed to have been stolen from him.”
The words came floating back to her, and she tried desperately to think of some way to express what she felt. She remembered the scene when the man who now held her in his arms had begged her to stop the duel, and she had coldly refused. She had changed, she knew, for if such a thing happened today, she would react much differently.
“You’re doing well professionally, sir.”
“Yes. I’ve been very fortunate.”
“You’re not married.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I’m surprised.”
“Well, music leaves little time for such things. You’re not married either.”
“No, I am not.”
Simone was conscious of Colin’s masculinity. He was holding her loosely enough, but still, from time to time, they brushed against each other, and she knew that if they had had no past history, she would think of him as one of the most attractive men that she had ever met.
The dance ended, and they both applauded. Then he extended his arm, and taking it, she allowed him to lead her off of the floor. “I wish you well with your opera.”
“Thank you very much, Miss d’Or.”
When they reached the open area off the dance floor, Claude Vernay was waiting. His eyes were hard and adamant, and he spared no look for Simone.
“Thank you for sharing your partner, Mr. Vernay.”
Vernay listened to his words, seeming to hunt for something deeper than their surface meaning. “I see you are back, Mr. Seymour.”
“Yes, the bad penny shows up again.”
“I think, sir, we have some unfinished business.”
Colin paused for one moment, and the two men stared at each other. “I’m always at your service, sir.”
“Please, Claude, I would like some refreshment.” Simone took his arm and gently tugged. Reluctantly he wheeled, and as he walked toward the refreshment table, he said, “I can’t stand that fellow!”
“Claude, we’ve got to talk about this.”
“About what?”
“About the marquis. I know how you are about things like this.”
“He struck me, and I haven’t forgotten.”
Simone stopped, and he turned to meet her gaze. She was look-ing up at him with an intensity that he had seldom seen in her eyes. Her back was straight, and she said clearly and distinctly, “Claude, I will not be fought over again. I am not a bone that two dogs will battle for.”
“Why, Simone—”
“I mean what I say, Claude. If you pursue that stupid quarrel any longer, I will never speak to you again. Do you understand me?”
“But my honor is involved.”
“No, your pride is involved. I’m not going to argue. You have my word that if you fight this man, I will never speak another word with you as long as I live.”
Claude Vernay watched Simone turn and walk purposefully away. He knew very well that beneath the beautiful exterior, Simone d’Or had a will of iron. He had laughed at it before but always felt that he could get around her. Now as he followed her off the dance floor, he knew that she meant exactly what she said. I’ve got to get at that fellow, but it won’t be easy. His mind was working as he took the glass of wine an attendant handed him, and when he turned back to Simone, he said nothing. His eyes were on the Marquis Lord Beaufort as he danced with a woman, his head high and his smile bright.
Chapter nine
“Well, my dear Colin, that was a fine ball the mayor gave last night.”
“Very impressive.”
“I saw you dancing with Miss d’Or.” Herzhaft hesitated and stud-ied Colin’s face. Seeing no expression there, he said, “I take it you two have made up your differences?”
Colin did not answer. The two were sitting in Herzhaft’s office to discuss launching the new production of Juliet. In all truthfulness, it had taken some effort for Colin to show no response when Herzhaft had mentioned Simone d’Or. He had been shocked to realize how deep his feelings toward the woman ran. Ever since the duel, he had struggled with his emotions and usually lost the battle. Toward Claude Vernay he felt no ambiguity. He despised the man and had come to America with the idea of revenge. All of the long months and arduous labor that he put into making himself into an expert swordsman—not to mention the hours spent with a pistol in practice—he had found himself picturing Vernay as his opponent.
His feelings toward Simone d’Or were more ambivalent. He had remembered her as a haughty woman filled with pride and had known that she had despised him as one beneath her station. What he had forgotten, however, was the beauty of the woman. She had grown, if anything, more attractive during the years he had been gone, and as he had danced with her, he felt himself drawn to her in a way that made him despise himself. He had been glad when the dance was over, and he could concentrate on Vernay.
There in Herzhaft’s office, though, he knew better than to bring Herzhaft into his personal life. “We have little enough in common, I think. And the duel was a long time ago.”
“I’m glad you can put it behind you. It was a tragic thing.”
“Indeed it was.”
“Well, I can’t tell you how excited I am about doing this opera. Imagine, the introduction to the world of Juliet by Armand de Cuvier! It’s such a privilege, and I can’t thank you enough for choosing me as your producer.”
Colin could not help but smile slightly as he thought, I chose you only because you were in New Orleans, and I was determined to come back and get my revenge on Claude Vernay. Aloud he said, “You are a good producer, Enoch, and I trust we are going to have an outstand-ing opera.”
“I have had singers from everywhere begging for a part. The audi-tions will be today, as I told you.”
“That’s good. I think we need to get the major parts assigned as quickly as possible.”
“We won’t have any trouble with the chorus. I have a good stable here, better than when you were here the last time. Do you have any preferences about who will sing the role of Juliet?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Well, you’ll have your pick of some very fine voices.” He pulled out a watch as big as a turnip from his waistcoat and looked at it. “It’s time. I think they’ll be waiting. Nobody will be late today, I think.”
Colin was growing tired. He had already selected the singer who would play Mercutio after listening to several candidates, and then he had heard thr
ee women who had come to audition for the part of the nurse—a very key figure in Shakespeare’s drama. “Are there any more?”
“One more. Next,” Enoch called loudly.
Colin watched the woman as she crossed the stage. He straight-ened up. “Why, it’s Rosa!”
“Yes, Rosa has gone downhill a little bit. She can no longer sing leading roles.”
Colin listened, and as Rosa Calabria sang, sadness gripped him. She had grown very heavy, which didn’t matter as far as the nurse part was concerned, but he remembered her as a beauty, and she had lost that. “What happened to her, Enoch?”
“Hard living. She fell in love with a baritone. He treated her abominably, and she took to drink. I didn’t want her to audition, but she insisted.”
“She’s still got the voice,” Colin whispered. When the song was over, he got up, vaulted over the front seats, and walked around to the stairs leading to the stage. “Rosa, it’s good to see you.”
Rosa halted, and he saw tears come into her eyes. “Hello, Colin,” she whispered.
Colin stepped forward and took her hand. “I’m so glad to see you again. I’ve thought about you often.”
“I’ve thought about you too.”
“You were such a help to me. I’ve never forgotten.”
“That—that seems like such a long time ago.”
Colin smiled and said, “I’ll be seeing you.”
Hope flared in Rosa’s eyes. It was obvious that she was not used to good news, and she whispered brokenly, “Thank you, Colin,” and slipped off the stage.
Two hours later, Colin had listened to three sopranos trying out for Juliet’s role, all of them adequate. The trouble was that one of them was nearing forty and looked it, and Juliet was closer to thirteen or fourteen. Another was much younger but was also short and chunkily built with none of the slender, lissome quality that he pictured in the romantic heroine. The third was a possibility, but in all truth Colin was not thrilled with her vocal range.
“Do you like any of them?” Herzhaft whispered. He was sitting in the second row of seats with Colin, and his face was anxious. “They’re all qualified.”
“Yes, I suppose they are.”
Herzhaft said, “I don’t want to pressure you, but Margaret Fleming is the sister of the governor. It would give us some prestige to have her sing the part of Juliet.” Fleming was the third of the singers who looked the part of Juliet, more or less, but whose voice was rather weak, in Colin’s opinion. “I’ll think about it.
Colin looked around and asked, “Are there any more auditions for the lead role?” No one answered, and he nodded, saying, “Thank you all for coming. We will be letting you know our decision by tomorrow. If any—” At that moment a voice cried out, “Just a minute, sir!” He turned to see a young woman charging down the aisle of the theater.
“Yes, Miss, what is it?”
“Please, I’m sorry to be late. I was detained.”
Colin waited until she had stepped up on the stage. She was an impressive-looking woman with exotic coloring. Her hair was bright red, and she had green eyes deeply set and beautifully shaped. Her lips were full and mobile, and she had a perfect body for an opera singer: tall, barrel-chested, and well padded. “What is your name?”
“I am Marie Devois.”
“Well, Miss Devois, you’re not very prompt.”
“I am sorry, Lord Beaufort.”
“Mr. Seymour will do. You want to try out for the leading role?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. Let’s hear what you can do.” He went back to sit with Enoch and asked, “What do you know about this girl?”
“She’s a good singer. Great voice and a good actress too. She just hasn’t had a break yet. But I really think that the governor’s sister would be the best choice.”
“You’re a politician, Enoch. I’m not.” Colin listened as the woman sang an aria from Rossini’s opera La Cenerentolea. It was not a well- known opera but it had always been a favorite of Colin’s. He leaned forward halfway through, his attention fully fixed on the woman. The role of Juliet was highly important, and he knew that this one had the capability.
When she finished, he stood up and said, “Thank you very much, Miss Devois. Now, once again, you will all hear one way or another tomorrow. Thank you all for coming.”
Enoch asked, “Do you want to talk about the candidates?”
“No, I’ve heard them. I must make the decision myself.”
“Very well. Can you do it by tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, I think so. We need to begin rehearsals day after tomorrow.”
Enoch left, and for a while Colin wandered around the theater. He moved around the stage from one place to another, trying to get some feel for it, and he was almost ready to go when he heard his name called. “Mr. Seymour?”
Colin turned to see Marie Devois, who was standing in the aisle close to the orchestra pit. “Please, may I speak with you?”
“I don’t think that would be fair, Miss Devois.”
Marie ignored his words. She climbed the steps to the stage and stood directly in front of him. “I don’t always play fair.”
Colin could not help but smile. “Is that right? Then I must be very careful with you.”
“Opera stars never do. In the last opera I was in, the two female singers hated each other. Right in the middle of the performance one of them leaned over and whispered to the other, ‘Your right false eye-brow is falling off.’ Immediately the other woman pulled off her left eyebrow to make them match—only the right one hadn’t fallen off, and the audience laughed uproariously.”
Colin laughed. “I suppose all is fair in love, war, and opera.”
“I don’t want to ask for special consideration—” Marie stopped and laughed. She had a delicious, deep laugh. “I, of course, do want special consideration. We all do.”
“I liked your singing very much.”
“I know the pressure will be on you to pick Margaret Fleming.”
Colin blinked in surprise. “I hadn’t known it was that obvious.”
“Well, it’s always been that way with Margaret. She gets roles because of who she is, not because of how well she can sing.”
“That’s a rather bad thing to say about a woman behind her back.”
Marie gave Colin a direct look. “I’d say the same thing to her face, sir.”
“I believe you would. Well then, tell me why I should choose you rather than any of the other ladies.”
“Because none of them will work at this like I will. I may not be as attractive as some of the others, but I’m sturdy. I can sing for eight hours at a stretch, and I will. I’m big enough to take the hard work that opera demands. Nobody knows any better than you how hard it is.”
“Indeed you are right, Miss Devois. People often don’t understand how arduous opera is.”
“Please give me a chance. That’s all I can say.”
The woman strangely moved him. Colin knew something about being on the bottom of the heap. He had been there, and he admired her pluck and her determination. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to ask for a spe-cial treatment, but as he looked into her green eyes, he saw a fierce, driving desire, and he liked that. He felt also something of the passion that was in the woman, and not just from music. He was not a wom-anizer, but there was a powerful aura about Marie Devois that he could not miss. She was a woman made for love in every sense of the word, and it troubled him that she managed to stir him simply by looking into his eyes. Quickly he said, “Well, you’ll have to wait just like all the others, Miss Devois.”
“Yes, sir. I just wanted to let you know that I will do anything to get this role, and I will give it everything that’s in me.”
“I believe you.”
Marie was pacing the floor when the knock sounded. Quickly she turned and ran to the door and flung it open. Disappointment swept across her face. “Oh, it’s you, Simone.”
“Well, nice to see you, too, Mar
ie,” Simone said, surprised at her friend’s ungracious welcome. “Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
Simone closed the door behind her. Marie’s shoulders were droop-ing, and anxiety showed in her face. “What’s wrong, Marie?”
“I don’t think I got the role I wanted in the new opera.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
Marie shrugged her shoulders, and bitterness pulled her lips thin. “I didn’t much expect to. You know that the governor’s sister was try-ing out for the role of Juliet.”
“Yes, I heard about that.”
“I’m sure she got it.”
“But you can sing so much better than she.”
“That doesn’t seem to matter.” Marie sat down, and Simone went over and sat beside her. She took Marie’s hand and said, “I’m so sorry. I wish I could help.”
“Well, it’s just part of this business. There’s more heartache in it than there is in selling dresses in a shop.”
Simone set out to try to cheer Marie up, but she had little success. Finally a knock at the door sounded, and Marie said, “That’s probably the note telling me that I haven’t been accepted. I didn’t think I’d even get that.”
She got up and walked to the door, and when she opened it, she stood stock-still.
“Hello, Miss Devois.”
“Mr. Seymour!” Simone jumped up and saw Colin Seymour standing in the doorway. His eyes swept past Marie’s and met hers. “Oh, you have company.”
“Oh, it’s just a friend of mine. Come in, please.” She stepped aside, and Colin entered. “This is Miss d’Or,” Marie said quickly.
“Yes, we’ve met.”
Simone nodded.
“I’m a little late. I sent your note by messenger, but I put the wrong address on it. I wasn’t aware that you hadn’t received it until thirty minutes ago.” He handed her the note and said, “You can open it, but what it says is that you will be in the opera.”
“You mean in the chorus?”
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