She nodded sagely before their steps took them apart. A smile played upon her lips for she now held him off balance, as he had held her.
He looked at her quizzically, but “Later” was her only reply, for Miss Chaumonde and the swarthy gentleman were now their partners in the line and he watched, with black annoyance, a wide smile spread across Vanessa’s face as she greeted the gentleman with pleasure.
When the dance ended, Hugh led Vanessa to the refreshment table, procuring for her a glass of cool punch, then guided her into a nearby chair. “Now tell me, for I’ve always accounted myself conversant with all manner of fashionable dances, what is Hull’s Victory?” He sat down next to her.
Vanessa laughed, nearly spilling her drink. “It is a contredanse that originated in this country. It commemorates the defeat of your Guerrière warship by Isaac Hull’s Constitution frigate in the last war.” She was impressed when he merely nodded at the information and took a sip of his punch. She had expected him to turn arrogant again.
“Battles and birthdays have spawned the creation of many dances. But the waltz, now that is something special.” His deep voice held a warm affection that sent shivers down her back.
“Yes,” sneered a dark gravelly voice, “a dance fit only for the Quadroon Balls.”
Vanessa swung sharply around at the sound of Mr. Wilmot’s voice. He, too, sent shivers down her back, but not the kind associated with pleasurable emotions. Even the ebullient Paulette on his arm looked a trifle subdued.
Hugh Talverton stood in deference to Paulette, though a cool, frighteningly blank mask descended over his features. He had heard of the Quadroon Balls while on board ship, for they were deemed a New Orleans attraction not to be missed by any gentleman of means. Like the Cyprian Balls in London, they were an open opportunity for cavorting with mistresses and other high-flyers. That the unknown gentleman should ally the waltz with lightskirts showed a gross stupidity on his part, or a desire to discredit him in the eyes of Miss Mannion. Hugh was inclined to believe the latter, though he thought it quite rag-mannered to mention the balls before ladies.
He studied the dark-complected visage before him. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t frequent such affairs,” he said stiffly. “Concerning the waltz, however, I have heard it said that if improperly executed, it could descend into vulgarity.”
Vanessa froze at the tangible tension existing between the two men, like wild animals warily circling before battle.
“Oooo! Then it is a dance I should like to see,” Paulette said eagerly, gliding over to Mr. Talverton and placing her hand on his arm. She was oblivious to the crackling tension. “You will demonstrate to me one day, yes?”
“Paulette!” Vanessa interrupted. She did not know who to believe regarding the waltz, but she decided it would be safer to avoid further discussion, especially as it was a subject to arouse enmity between the gentlemen before they had even formally met. What would her father say if he knew they met in discord through her?
“Where are our manners? We have not even introduced these gentlemen!” she said in a rush, tittering a falsetto laugh. “Mr. Wilmot,” she began again, a bright strained smile on her lips, “this is Mr. Hugh Talverton. He is the gentleman Mr. Danielson spoke of last evening.” She clasped her hands tightly before her and chewed anxiously on her soft inner lip.
Hugh noted her nervousness and realized she was concerned that they should get along. Suddenly, the strange animosity ebbed, leaving only a feeling of disquiet. Even that he suppressed as he summoned one of his social smiles and stretched out a hand in greeting.
“Ah, you two have met!” Trevor Danielson congenially slapped Hugh on the back as he and a singularly glowing Adeline joined the group.
Vanessa thought she’d never seen her sister look quite so beautiful. She was shimmering with a gentle vibrancy that heightened her color. It appeared her shy sister was beginning to be comfortable in company. No doubt Mr. Danielson helped to ease her discomfort by his kind attention. Vanessa was glad of that, for her sister needed attention in order to gain her own confidence.
Trevor Danielson leaned closer to his friend. “Eh, this is a dreadful crush, isn’t it?”
“Is it? Come, Trevor, your memory can’t have dimmed so with age,” Hugh said caustically. Trevor looked at him blankly. “Surely you remember the gatherings in London.”
Trevor’s face relaxed and he waved a dismissing hand in Hugh’s direction while Vanessa shot Talverton a tight glance. Would the man never stop with his blasted comparisons? It was obvious New Orleans always suffered, for his arrogance denied allowance and appreciation for the differences.
A wave of irritation swept through Vanessa. The man was conceited and toplofty. Worse was his chameleon coloring, his feigned social veneer. When he was smiling in his most superficially congenial manner was when she saw the secret laughter in his eyes. It was as if he viewed New Orleans as one would view Gaetano’s Circus!
Belatedly she realized Mr. Danielson was claiming her attention. She felt a swift stab of chagrin. She had been expending unconscionable time considering Mr. Talverton when her attention should have been directed toward her suitors. She turned her attention to Mr. Danielson and warmly smiled.
“They’re forming sets for The Black Nag. Shall we join them?”
She took his outstretched hand and rose from her chair. “With pleasure. It is a favorite of mine for its exuberance.” She shot a look at Mr. Talverton as they passed. “But most likely it is frowned upon by the highest English sticklers for that reason.”
Mr. Wilmot watched them pass, scowling at Trevor’s grabbing Vanessa’s attention. Abruptly he claimed a dance from Adeline and hurried to join the set with them.
Paulette looked up at Hugh, a puzzled expression on her face. “Do you truly disapprove?”
He laughed. “Hardly. It is an enjoyable dance, but I wouldn’t want to spoil Miss Mannion’s exit line by joining the set. I fear your friend does not approve of me.”
“Oh, it is not you personally. I think it is all aristocrats that she dislikes. She is so-o Americaine, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. Please, won’t you sit down? Here, what’s this?” He picked up a fan from the chair.
Paulette took it from him and slowly unfurled it. “It is Vanessa’s! She will be distraught to find it missing.” She looked over to where Vanessa was dancing with Mr. Danielson. “I shall hold it for her,” she said, sitting down in the chair and waving the fan lightly before her.
“You look hot, Miss Chaumonde. May I get you a drink?”
She smiled engagingly at him over the top of the fan and tipped her head in assent.
When he returned, she took the proffered glass from him, murmuring her thanks, then patted the seat next to her in invitation. Mr. Talverton bowed and sat down.
He was amused at her adept flirting with Miss Mannion’s fan. It seemed that many social habits crossed the ocean with alacrity. He watched her and responded gallantly in kind until something about the colors of the fan she was so languidly waving captured his attention.
“Miss Chaumonde, may I see that fan a moment?”
“What? Yes, naturellement.” She held it out to him, a puzzled expression on her pert features.
“This is New Orleans, isn’t it?”
Her brow cleared. “Oui, from the wharf in late afternoon. See, the buildings, they catch the afternoon sun, while behind, the sky, it is blue and red as evening comes.”
“You say she is fond of this fan?”
“Oh, oui, monsieur,” she said gaily. “Just as she is fond of her city. She is very loyal, you know, and very proud.”
Casually Hugh looked in Vanessa’s direction. She caught his eye and their gazes locked. He closed the fan with a snap and held it to his forehead in mock salute. She blushed and averted her eyes, nearly missing a dance step.
Hugh looked back at Paulette and returned the fan to her. “Are you familiar with the dance Hull’s Victory?”
Her fa
ce brightened. “Certainly!”
“Regrettably, I am not. Will you tell me the steps?”
Enthusiastic to have captured his attention, Paulette leaned toward him, her fingers tracing figures in the air as she talked. She was still talking animatedly when The Black Nag ended and the sets dispersed. Vanessa glanced over at them, a faint frown of annoyance crossing her brow at the sight of them comfortably sitting at the side of the room seemingly engrossed. As quickly as it came, her annoyance vanished, for she remembered her determination to ignore Mr. Talverton. She turned her head to smile up at Mr. Danielson, assenting to his suggestion to a turn about the courtyard for fresh air. Behind them followed Adeline and Mr. Wilmot.
CHAPTER FOUR
A faint breeze stirred the leaves of the trees in the small garden behind the Cathedral at the Place d’Armes. Vanessa, seated on a low bench, tilted her head back to capture the errant wind and cool her faintly heated face. She closed her eyes and inhaled the delicious mingled scents of the garden flowers. Ignoring the muted cacophony of sounds emanating from the busy square less than a block away, she let the peace of the small garden seep through her, concentrating instead on the sound of the birds conversing in neighboring trees.
“Mon Dieu, mais mon pieds, they are tired,” sighed Paulette, resting her feet on the small pile of parcels that were the fruits of their labors amid the many shops in New Orleans.
Vanessa slitted one eye open to glance at her friend seated next to her. “You, tired? Then assuredly we must return home at once!” she declared, a teasing smile lifting the corners of her mouth.
“Pour quoi?”
“The only time I have known you to tire is when you’re ill. You must be put to bed immediately.”
Paulette’s mouth formed a moue of dissatisfaction with Vanessa’s humor. “And you, you tell me you are not tired?”
“Certainly I am, but I don’t profess to your vigor.” She sighed contentedly as dappled sunlight shifted across her face when a small gust toyed with the leaves above, sighing as it passed. “I will admit, however, that sitting here is doing much to restore my dreadfully flagging spirits.”
“Bon,” declared Paulette, “for you must be in the best of spirits for tonight.”
Vanessa grimaced at the reminder of the theater party her father arranged. “I fear it will be awkward at best. I have two suitors accompanying us, while Adeline has none.” She straightened, her eyes opening. “Worse yet, Father wishes me to be nice to Mr. Talverton, which would annoy you and my two erstwhile suitors, to say nothing of annoying me to be in proximity of the gentleman.”
A bubbling laugh spilled from Paulette. “Rest assured, I shall take care of Mr. Talverton, and Mr. Mannion, he will not mind.”
“And what of Adeline?” Vanessa’s tone was full of exasperation, for she had been troubled by this problem since her father had issued the invitations on the night of the ball.
“You make of it too much a problem,” Paulette said airily.
“So you say, but I am at a loss.”
Paulette shook her head tolerantly. “Vanessa, think! You will devote your attention to Mr. Wilmot, for that gentleman is becoming, how do you say it? Jaloux?”
“Jealous.”
“Oui, merci. He followed you around the ball with a ferocious scowl, even when he was dancing with me! Believe me, I know. It was an insult I would bear for no one but you.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“No, Vanessa, it is not. You, you must open your eyes and see! You spend too much time thinking and worrying, and little time seeing. You did not even consider Mr. Danielson a suitor until Adeline said he was one. Then your mind took over and you have been dissecting the man like an insect, weighing his suitability, judging your feelings. Bah! One day, my friend, you will awaken. I hope you do before you find yourself married to the wrong man or too old to capture one.”
Vanessa laughed. “You’re impossible, Paulette, and so ardent.”
“Am I? Phtt, n’important pas. Let us return to tonight. You will give your attention to Mr. Wilmot, let Adeline succor Mr. Danielson. He is a good-natured gentleman, he will not slight her. Mr. Wilmot would overwhelm her into a silent doorstop,” she said carelessly.
“A what?”
“A doorstop,” Paulette averred. “She would be just there, a prop, no more.”
“You’re probably correct, and with Mr. Danielson, she’s known him long enough to feel comfortable conversing, at least about his children if nothing else. He did put her in quite good spirits at the ball,” Vanessa admitted consideringly.
“You see, it is tres convenable.”
Vanessa sighed. “You are probably correct.” She straightened, distractedly fiddling with the ends of her shawl. Her older sister never had such a complicated courtship, she mused. Louisa knew immediately upon meeting Charles Chaumonde that he was the man she would marry, and his response to her was equally straightforward. It was uncommon for a Creole man to marry an American woman, yet from the instant they met, their differences melted like ice in warm water, then blended to create something infinitely greater than their separate identities. Love, she called it. A pang of envy stabbed Vanessa. She wished she understood that emotion Louisa sighed about whenever she talked of Charles. The next time she saw Louisa, she must make her explain.
Vanessa dropped the shawl’s fringe and pulled the garment closer around her. “I wonder what Charles is doing,” she said suddenly.
“Mon frère?” Paulette looked at Vanessa strangely, struggling to follow the train of her thoughts.
“Yes, I was just thinking of him and Louisa, and realized we haven’t seen him in a while. Why don’t we see if we can persuade him to invite us to lunch?”
Paulette scoffed, “Impossible, my brother’s head is filled with laws and statues.”
“Statutes.”
“He will be impossible to persuade,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.
“Let me try. I’ll say I’d like to discuss Louisa and the baby, little Celeste. That topic might be good for three hours.” Vanessa rose to her feet, gathering her parcels.
“Mon Dieu, my head, already it is aching and you wish me to socialize? What is the phrase? Do the pretty?”
Vanessa laughed. “Nonsense, I know what has you concerned. You are afraid he will start into one of his brotherly lectures.” She extended her hand to help her friend to stand. Groaning, Paulette accepted the aid.
Vanessa laughed. “Come on, you, the one who is never tired. Let’s accost your brother before my stomach begins to grumble in a highly unladylike fashion.”
“It would never dare,” Paulette said stoutly as they made their way out of the park and headed for Rue de Chartres.
The wide streets, muddy just two days before, were dry, and a dusty haze, kicked up from the passing swarm of people and carts, glowed in the air. Paulette and Vanessa threaded their way quickly through the traffic, almost sagging with relief when they reached Charles Chaumonde’s snug little town house with its first-floor law offices facing the street.
“Mr. Danielson was correct,” Vanessa said with a laugh as she reached forward to open the French doors leading to the office. ‘Trade has increased. I don’t recall this many people about since the victory celebration for General Jackson!”
“Our city, she is important, no?“
“Very,” Vanessa answered with pride.
A little bell tinkled as she opened the office door, commanding the attention of a young clerk seated by a high desk at the back of the room. He laid down his quill and slid off the stool. “Good morning, Miss Mannion, Miss Chaumonde.”
His eyes only briefly touched Vanessa, his attention centered on Paulette. Vanessa compressed her lips tightly for a moment to conquer a threatening smile. She cleared her throat to remind the infatuated young man of her presence. “Mr. Pierot, is Mr. Chaumonde available?”
He looked toward Vanessa and blushed guiltily. “Uh- uh . . . Yes! Yes, he is. Just a moment an
d I’ll . . . I’ll inform him you’re here.” He scurried past them, his eyes darting toward Paulette, and disappeared down a short corridor. “Paulette, for shame, teasing that young man so.”
Her companion raised a faintly haughty eyebrow. “I? I do not. I cannot help it if the man admires me.”
“But you do not discourage him either,” Vanessa ruefully pointed out. She laid her packages on the floor and flexed her cramped fingers.
Paulette shrugged. “Such admiration is a woman’s due.”
“And you see to it that you receive more than your fair share!”
“Are we sniping at one another, Vanessa?”
“Oh, Paulette, I apologize, but you have an ease of manners with the men that I admire and am jealous to possess. You amaze me, for you are so young to practice such wiles.”
“It is not that I am so young, it is you who are too serious. Just as you wish to know and understand trade, you wish to understand all that surrounds you. You expend your energy thinking rather than feeling. A waste.” Her cheeks, dimpled. “Et ce n’est pas tres amusant.”
“Still speaking French, Paulette?”
Paulette started guiltily at the sound of her brother’s voice, then twirled around to hurl herself into his arms. “Charles! Mon frere, it has been too long!”
Charles gave Vanessa a wry look. “And if I were to see her more often, she would accuse me of being a meddlesome big brother. I fear, I cannot win.” He spread his hands deprecatingly, then gently set his sister away from him. “Would that I could believe your sincerity, little one.”
“Oh, you are impossible! I cannot even greet you with affection without you doubting me. Vanessa, I can see it was a mistake to come. Let us go.”
As Vanessa knew Paulette’s demonstration of sisterly affection was lacking the depths of sincerity she professed, she was not inclined to humor her. The truth was, Paulette was glad she was not staying at her brother’s country estate while her father was in Washington and her usual chaperone, her aunt, Madame Teresa Rouchardier, was aiding Louisa with the baby. Louisa and the infant were ensconced on their small plantation ten miles out of town for fear of yellow fever. Paulette knew that soon it would be summer, and they would all retire to the country to flee the contagion which swept through the city every late summer and early fall claiming untold lives. Until that time, she wanted to taste the fruits of society: to flirt, shop, and dance until she dropped.
Gentleman's Trade Page 5
