Gentleman's Trade

by Newman, Holly

  “That does seem a pity,” her mother responded noncommittally.

  “It doesn’t help that he teases me.”

  “Teases you?”

  “Sometimes he says things merely to get me to react. And I do! In the next moment, however, he can be charming and gallant. He even purchased flowers for Paulette and me before we left the market.”

  “My goodness,” murmured Mrs. Mannion, struggling to maintain her poise.

  Vanessa stopped before the sofa, sighed, and sat down again. “I do want to be nice to him and like him for Paulette’s and Mr. Danielson’s sakes, you know. But he elicits such odd feelings in me. I feel out of balance.”

  “I see. That is a rather unusual circumstance for a gentleman you have seen on merely two occasions,” her mother observed.

  “I am aware of that. I think it is his aristocratic attitude I react to. I cannot tolerate that type of arrogance. It must be the Federalist within me,” she mused.

  “No doubt.” Her mother smothered another smile, keeping her attention on her needlework.

  Restlessly, Vanessa rose again and walked toward the tall French doors that let out onto the gallery overlooking the courtyard. She didn’t want to talk about Mr. Hugh Talverton, nor think of him for that matter. Maddeningly, he kept invading her thoughts. What she needed to contemplate was how to handle her suitors; how to evaluate their feelings for her, and how to judge her own in return. Those concerns should carry far greater weight than any thoughts of Mr. Talverton. She particularly needed to understand her feelings for Mr. Wilmot. It was unfair that she did not possess her elder sister’s confidence in dealing with emotions. She envied Louisa her fairytale courtship.

  A deprecating smile hovered on her lips as she looked down into the courtyard. Adeline was there, gathering spring flowers as she seemed to do every day. Her favorite pastime was pressing flowers and afterward creating intricate floral designs under glass. Vanessa’s smile warmed, some of the tension leaving her body as she watched her industrious sister. Once again the giant tomes in her father’s study would become repositories for fragile blooms nestled between pieces of blotting paper. Father had never come to understand Adeline’s hobby, but he had become resigned to the use of his library. Now if he took down a heavy book from a shelf to show some business associate and a pressed flower fell out, he would casually replace it among the pages and proceed.

  Adeline’s hobby had provided countless presents for relatives and friends. Sometimes virtual strangers, seeing examples of her work hung in the house, ventured to inquire where they might come by like works of art. Invariably Adeline made the picture a present to whomever inquired, leaving a bare spot on the wall that in time was replaced with a new creation.

  Adeline was like the flowers she loved: fragile, floral scented, and beautiful. And perhaps also naive, fresh and unspoiled with the hint of dew still on her petals. Still, flowers often took a severe buffeting from man and nature and survived. Nonetheless, watching her sister, Vanessa knew Paulette was correct; she could not leave Adeline to Mr. Wilmot’s less than tender mercies. While a man like him fascinated Vanessa for his financial success and aura of leashed power, he terrified Adeline. Vanessa wanted to understand the source of his power and magnetism. He aroused strange feelings within her, and she wondered if they might not be the precursors to love. If he would quit his possessive nature and strive to acquire an empathy and concern for others around him, he might make an ideal husband. She knew she could do worse.

  Tonight she needed to spend time in his company. It would not do for him to lose patience with her and disappear out of her life. A young American woman’s options for matrimony in New Orleans were slim, at best, within their social circle.

  It was a pity Adeline did not have a suitor; she deserved her own happiness and, truthfully, was more ready for marriage than Vanessa herself. Vanessa decided that in the future she would have to account herself as matchmaker for Adeline. Tonight, however, she did need her to accompany Mr. Danielson. Luckily, they had for years maintained an easy friendship. In many instances, Adeline talked more with him than with anyone! Of course, it was his children, whom she adored, that drew them to such familiarity.

  That was another matter. Children. Vanessa did not know how she felt about the possibility of becoming the stepmother of two rambunctious children. With Adeline they were like meek lambs, looking up at her with adoration. Adeline would definitely be a favored aunt should she marry Mr. Danielson.

  Could the warm, friendly feelings she felt for Mr. Danielson evolve into love? He and Mr. Wilmot were so different, but truthfully, Vanessa didn’t know which of the two she could love. To be quite blunt about it, Vanessa admitted she didn’t even know what love was.

  She fiddled restlessly with the fringe on the drapery swag hung on either side of the French doors. “Mama,” she said over her shoulder, “how will I know when I’m in love?” Behind her, Amanda Mannion jabbed her needle into her finger, quickly raising it to her lips to nurse the afflicted member. “I beg your pardon?”

  Vanessa came back to the sofa and sat down, her face earnest. “How will I know when I’m in love? I guess what I really want to know is: What is love?”

  Mrs. Mannion carefully slid her needle into the fabric so as not to lose it, then leaned back in her chair. “That is a difficult question to answer,” she began slowly. “It means different things to different people for it is a very personal feeling.” A dreamy reverie transfigured her face as she paused. She looked at Vanessa who was staring at her so intently, anxiously awaiting her answer, and a slow smile transfigured her face, setting her eyes glowing with memories and feelings. “When love comes, you will know.”

  Vanessa closed her eyes and heaved an audible sigh. “That is not an answer, Mama.”

  “I know, darling, but it’s all I can tell you.”

  Her daughter opened her eyes and shook her head ruefully. “I once received much the same answer from Louisa. And her face wore the same vague expression as yours. As I cannot imagine myself in such an amorphous state, perhaps I am not destined to know love.”

  Mrs. Mannion laughed. “Give yourself time, my love. You may be closer to it than you think,” she said enigmatically. Vanessa slumped back into the chair and lightly massaged her temples, feeling more confused and unbalanced. She needed to understand. It was one thing to know love intellectually, but it was another to understand it emotionally. She was beginning to realize the vast difference between the two types of comprehension, although that realization was no help in deciphering the puzzle. She would have to study other relationships carefully for clues, while maintaining awareness of her own reactions. At the moment, however, her mind was too muddled for further thought.

  She gathered herself together and stood up, smiling wanly at her mother. “I cannot fathom it, but perhaps I am more tired than I thought. I believe I will lie down for a while.”

  Her mother pulled her needle loose from the fabric and again began plying it with quick, sure little stitches. “Perhaps that would be best,” she agreed, while a stubborn little smile kept playing across her features, refusing to be dimmed.

  Vanessa knocked on the door of the bedroom shared by Adeline and Paulette with a certain degree of trepidation. It was nearly time to leave for the theater; Mr. Wilmot was already below and Mr. Danielson and Mr. Talverton were expected momentarily. She hadn’t known how to broach the subject of Mr. Danielson to Adeline, and she still needed to resolve that arrangement for the evening. She hoped her sister wouldn’t mind, and go along with the plan. Though Adeline was a shy, quiet woman, she was noted for occasionally revealing a hidden iron determination and strength, like her beloved flowers, bending but not breaking in the wind. It was odd, Vanessa thought, though she and her sisters were very different for Louisa was the sociable one, she the serious one, and Adeline the kind one, they all possessed a stubborn strength. None of them would contemplate falling into a fit of vapors at shocking events, and they had all been amon
g the leaders of the corps of women who aided the soldiers after the Battle of New Orleans.

  Adeline opened the door, and so deep was Vanessa in her thoughts, she nearly jumped.

  “Come in,” Adeline invited, stepping aside. “Leila is still working with Paulette’s hair, but we shouldn’t be too long.”

  “I came to tell you Mr. Wilmot has arrived and Father desires we make our entrance.”

  “Has Mr. Talverton arrived?” Paulette asked, hardly daring to move while Leila coaxed an errant curl into place.

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, I, for one, will not descend until he does. I shall make a grand entrance on the stairs, and he shall look up and admire me.” She flung her arm out dramatically. “Ouch!” she yelped, feeling a sharp tug on a lock of hair.

  Leila placidly waited for Paulette to settle down before continuing to pin her curls in place.

  “And what are your plans for us?” Adeline inquired good-naturedly. “Are we to go down before you or are we to wait until after you’ve made your entrance?”

  “In truth, that is a good question. I think you go before so that will heighten the anticipation for my appearance, no?”

  “Oh, of course,” Vanessa agreed dryly. She silently watched Leila arrange Paulette’s hair for a moment more, then took her sister’s arm and led her over to the bed. She sat down and urged Adeline to join her. Adeline looked at her inquiringly, but nonetheless she acceded and sat down beside her.

  “I have a favor to ask of you. I know you believe Mr. Danielson to be my suitor as well as Mr. Wilmot,” she said slowly, staring down at her tightly clasped hands. She failed to see the delicate pink blush begin to stain Adeline’s cheeks. “Unfortunately, Father has placed me in an untenable situation by inviting both gentlemen to this theater party. I like and admire both gentlemen well enough, though honestly, I cannot say who I prefer as a suitor. I am thus left in the uncomfortable position of balancing my attentions to both.” She looked up at Adeline to see if she understood. Adeline nodded briefly, her color strangely high.

  “At the Langley Ball I virtually ignored Mr. Wilmot, and he is not a gentleman to take kindly to that. I fear he used you most abominably, dragging you along as he followed in my wake. It was highly flattering, but very poorly done on my part. I have decided I must make amends this evening. That, however, will leave Mr. Danielson bereft.”

  Color flared brighter in Adeline’s face and she was moved to interrupt. “Oh, no, Vanessa, I don’t think . . .”

  “Yes, it will.” She clasped Adeline’s hands in her own. “Calm down, please. I’m not asking you to do anything I wouldn’t do for you. All I ask is that you pay attention to Mr. Danielson, talk to him, and allow him to be your escort. He is a very charming man.”

  “Yes, yes he is,” whispered Adeline miserably.

  “I know you don’t like to put yourself forward, but please, do this for me.”

  Her sister smiled wanly and nodded. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Vanessa.”

  She patted Adeline’s hand and stood up. “Everything will be fine.”

  “And I hope I know what I’m doing,” Adeline murmured softly, ruefully, but Vanessa didn’t hear. She was already across the room, teasing Paulette on the length of time she was taking with her toilette.

  Vanessa and Adeline paused at the head of the stairs, trading mute requests for courage. Each was preoccupied with uneasy feelings of trepidation, and both were annoyed that they agreed to Paulette’s plan to precede her down the stairs.

  Vanessa’s glance swept the hall below. The gentlemen gathered there, under the light of the graceful crystal chandelier, presented an intriguing tableau. Mr. Wilmot, dark and swarthy, resplendent in black, exuded an aura of alertness and measured determination. Mr. Danielson, arrayed nattily in a coat of royal blue and tan pantaloons, displayed a boyish charm when he looked up and saw them on the stairs. Mr. Talverton, his broad shoulders filling a darker blue coat with a casual elegance seemingly at odds with his proportions, smiled lazily, his eyes so hooded he might have been asleep on his feet. Instinctively, Vanessa bristled at Mr. Talverton’s inattention. Perhaps Adeline and she did not possess Paulette’s young, vivacious beauty, but, they were ladies, more than passably attractive ladies, worthy of a gentleman’s attention. A slight frown wrinkled her forehead and her lips set in a straight line as she descended the stairs with her sister. Most likely he was again making odious comparisons to the fashionable ladies of London, and in his arrogance he found them lacking. Paulette was welcome to this rude, insufferable Englishman. She wished her joy.

  Her father’s wishes to the contrary, her attentions this evening were going to be directed at Mr. Wilmot. Guiltily, she realized she had not yet returned that gentleman’s steady regard. Her brow cleared, and she slid her gaze in his direction, smiling warmly just as they reached the point in the stairs where the chandelier’s glow bathed them in a halo of bright light.

  For all his sleepy-eyed appearance, Hugh Talverton had been aware of Vanessa’s approach since she set her foot upon the first stair. He watched her slow, graceful descent with Adeline. As always, he found himself studying the play of emotions upon her features. He saw her coolly regarding him and watched as her expression changed from studied acknowledgment of the men gathered in the hall, to the tiny frown aimed at him that marred her expressive countenance. She had seen him and in some way found him lacking. He repressed an urge to look down at himself, or find a mirror to see what was so amiss with his appearance. He was relieved when her frown dissipated as quickly as it had come; however, an indefensible annoyance settled over him when he realized he was not the recipient of her dazzling smile. He looked over at Mr. Wilmot. The man’s face bore a raffish, rakehell expression. He’d run into his type before and did not trust him. Men of his ilk attracted women likes bees to honey. He wondered at his interest in Vanessa Mannion, certain it stemmed from more than an appreciation for her womanly charms. Miss Mannion, though a feisty, intelligent morsel of womanhood, was not up to dealing with a man of Mr. Wilmot’s weight, and could be heading for a nasty surprise.

  He hung back a step when Trevor and Mr. Wilmot approached the women. He was a little surprised to see them both greet Vanessa first, though in truth, Trevor turned quickly enough to greet Adeline. Uncertain as to what was expected of him, he smiled a smile that failed to reach his eyes and gave them only polite, perfunctory greetings.

  Inwardly, Vanessa fumed at Mr. Talverton’s standoffish manner, but she raised her chin haughtily and spared him no more than a polite glance and acknowledgment of his presence. Mr. Wilmot was offering her his arm, and she really had no more time to consider the arrogant Englishman.

  “Where’s Paulette?” demanded Mr. Mannion, striding into the hall from the library.

  Vanessa started at the sound of his voice and looked up to see him pinning her with one of his piercing stares from under his iron-bar eyebrows.

  “Ici, Monsieur Mannion,” came Paulette’s clear tones from the top of the stairs. All eyes turned in her direction, and Vanessa was forced to admit she did make a grand entrance.

  “It’s about time, and confound it girl, speak English. Your father will be extremely displeased when he discovers you’re still lapsing into French.” He turned to address the gentlemen. “Paul Chaumonde’s the only frog I know who knows what it means to be an American, but I certainly can’t say the same for his daughter. These Creoles have the most ramshackle upbringing.”

  Adeline blushed. “Father, please!” she implored. “Paulette is our friend and guest.”

  “Yes, and we’re supposed to be teaching her American ways.”

  Paulette sniffed disdainfully in what Vanessa later remarked to her mother was a very theatrical manner. Born into another family she’d probably have trod the boards. Ignoring Mr. Mannion’s comment, she held her head high and gracefully descended the stairs, her attention and smile directed toward Mr. Talverton. It was truly a magnificent entrance. She regally gl
ided down the stairs, exchanged gracious words of courtesy with Mr. Danielson and Mr. Wilmot, and then turned the full force of her regard on Mr. Talverton. Vanessa was nearly scandalized and hoped the sudden warmth rising to her face was not visible to the others.

  “I’ve ordered two carriages to transport us to the theater,” Mr. Mannion bluffly interrupted. “I’ll leave you to sort yourselves out and decide on the seating while I collect Mrs. Mannion from her quilting frame. Seems every moment she has free she’s in there with it. Says she wants to get it done so she can begin something she calls a Double Wedding Ring patterned quilt. Now I wonder who that one’s for.” He smirked at his middle daughter, his iron brows twitching.

  Feeling all eyes-upon her, Vanessa blushed anew.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When the carriage hit another rut in the road and swayed gently, Hugh Talverton repressed a smile. It was not the coach’s sway that amused him, however. He was actually quite impressed by the vehicle, principally because it was of American rather than British craftsmanship. It was surprisingly well sprung, and only a modicum of effort was needed to maintain one’s upright position despite the abominable condition of New Orleans roads. No, what aroused his humor was the use Miss Chaumonde made of each jolt and sway the carriage received. Every rut and curve in the road was an excuse to throw herself across his lap, then profess coquettish embarrassment and a breathy thank you for catching her.

  As Miss Chaumonde offered her latest pleas for forgiveness, he looked at Trevor seated across from him. The man was openly smiling, no doubt enjoying the charade. He surmised, too, that the gloved hand shielding the lower half of Adeline Mannion’s face was not to cover a cough.

  Miss Chaumonde’s blatant bid for his favors both amused and exasperated him. She refreshingly lacked the poised artifice and scheming machinations of the London beauties who in the past had set their caps for him. But her schoolgirl transparency made him feel the aged roué. Needless to say, that was not a feeling that sat comfortably. He decided he much preferred Vanessa Mannion’s reserve, though he perversely delighted in upsetting her equilibrium. Also, it was quite evident she did not consider him a potential husband. That knowledge did much to raise her credit in his eyes. He was not in the market for matrimonial leg-shackles, especially to any hoydenish American miss.