“Well, Jonas, show him in, of course,” said Richard while he struggled to control a corner of his mouth from lifting in amusement.
Old Jonas’s eyes rolled in his head and his lips split into a broad grin. “Y-yes, sir!” he said emphatically, backing out into the hall.
From inside the library, they heard the butler tell Mr. Wilmot in a very austere tone that the master would see him now. Mr. Mannion’s iron-bar brows rose as one. Jonas never referred to him as the master, and with that supercilious air, he ventured to think Jonas could outshine a quality London butler any day.
He leaned casually against the desk and looked down at Hugh Talverton expectantly. Somehow he knew that if anyone could bring their ship safely to port, it would be this gentleman.
“So, Richard, you think I’ll be able to secure the high-quality cotton I need for my mill in England?” Hugh said loudly as they heard Russell Wilmot approach.”
“Without a doubt. You understand, however, why I can’t quote you a price immediately?”
“Of course,” Hugh said, his face a study of serious intentness.
“Good. Ah, Russell, come in. Hugh Talverton and I have just been discussing the magnitude of his cotton needs,” Richard Mannion said with brash heartiness, his eyes darting about, not quite meeting Mr. Wilmot’s.
Hugh stood up, inwardly cringing at Richard’s tone, for it was a little too hearty and welcoming. “Hello, Wilmot,” he said neutrally, curious to judge the gentleman’s reaction to his presence.
Wilmot nodded with bare civility before turning to address Richard. “Where’s Vanessa? You know I desire a word with her.” His eyes narrowed and slid in Hugh Talverton’s direction. “In private.”
Hugh raised a sandy brow and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You have some objection, Mr. Talverton?” Wilmot asked, his grating voice heavy with challenge.
“Objection?” Hugh returned slightly before a comical expression of petulance pulled down his features. “Why, dash it, yes, I suppose I do. I’d be in a devil of a pucker if she agreed to see you after turning down Trevor and me.” He dropped his hands to his sides and turned toward Mr. Mannion, his posture and demeanor suddenly stiff. “Sir,” he protested lugubriously, “surely you would not allow Miss Mannion to deliver us such a backhanded turn.”
Mr. Mannion coughed suddenly and looked down at the floor while scratching the side of his nose. The alteration in Mr. Talverton’s manner was astounding, and he was trying very hard to maintain his serious expression. “Uh—no, of course not. No daughter of mine would display such ramshackle manners,” he said gruffly, clearing his throat again.
Under the desk, Vanessa shook her head ruefully, amazed at her parent’s participation in a blatant prevarication. She was astounded that her usually sober father could hold his own in the mini-play he was enacting. Mr. Talverton’s performance drew a wry smile to her lips. It seemed he was a natural dissembler. He should have trod the boards. She leaned closer to the floor to better hear their dialogue through the narrow gap between the bottom of the wood panel end piece of the desk and the floor.
“Forgive me, Richard,” Hugh said. “You’d be right to consider me the veriest lobcock for my ill-chosen words.” A sound suspiciously like a snort came from Mr. Wilmot. “Richard, you assured me—”
The library door opened abruptly, cutting off his words as he swung around to see who entered.
“Excuse me, dear,” Mrs. Mannion said sweetly, ignoring the dark scowl on Russell Wilmot’s face, “why don’t you gentlemen join us in the parlor?” Her eyes flickered down, catching sight of white cloth figured with trailing flowers peeping out from under the desk. Her eyes opened wide. Vanessa? Though flustered and confused, she knew immediately her daughter would not be quick to forgive, if her hiding place were revealed.
Amanda Mannion’s eyes flew up and fixed upon Mr. Wilmot. She came toward him and hooked her arm in his, a stiff, broad smile on her face. “Come, sir, let’s provide an uplifting example and lead these two errant gentlemen to the parlor.” She pulled him forward, leaving him no recourse but to acquiesce gracefully. She patted his arm and strolled slowly out of the room. “It is too bad Vanessa won’t join us. The child is dreadfully embarrassed by that bruise on her face. It really is not that terrible, but she is adamant in her refusal to see anyone. She has been keeping to her room. Pouting, I think, poor dear. Oh, but just listen to me, my tongue is carrying on like a fiddlestick. If I’m not careful, you’ll soon be likening me to Mary Langley,” she said with a laugh, her voice fading from Vanessa’s hearing as she led Mr. Wilmot into the hall.
“I’ll follow behind you, just let me get my glass,” Vanessa heard Hugh say loudly.
She started to back out of her hidey-hole on her hands and knees, only to bump into Mr. Talverton’s shins and sit down on his foot. Mortification stained her cheeks cherry red, and she bolted upright just as he leaned down to assist her. Her head collided violently with his chin and she toppled forward again as Hugh bit back an oath, a hand coming up to nurse his sore jaw.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered savagely while blinking back the tears caused by the sharp pain on the top of her head. She grasped the edge of the desk and pulled herself up.
“I wanted to be sure you were all right, but I didn’t expect you to wallop me,” he whispered back.
“What? I think, Mr. Talverton, you have the wrong end of things,” she declared, tenderly touching the sore spot on the top of her head.
They stood and glared at each other. Eventually the humor of their attitude percolated through to Vanessa, and she started to giggle. Quickly she compressed her lips to stifle the sound. She waved a hand toward the door.
“You’d best join them before Mr. Wilmot becomes suspicious.”
“Becomes!” he retorted caustically. “I thought that was his natural state of being.”
She swallowed another laugh and pushed him toward the door. She was rapidly revising her impression of Mr. Talverton. Truly, he displayed wit, intelligence, and understanding, all traits she admired. If it wasn’t for his unfortunate habit of causing her injury and embarrassment, she could even come to like the gentleman.
Adeline opened the French doors of the parlor and walked out onto the gallery overlooking the gardens. Trevor followed behind her and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. She turned to look up at him, a melancholy sadness touching her delicate features.
“What are we going to do, Trevor? Everyone believes you wish to marry Vanessa.” She gave a tight little laugh. “I even told Vanessa that last Friday.”
“I know,” he said softly, “and last Friday I believed it, too. But then I thought I would never love another woman as I loved Julia, and I was looking for second-best, someone to be a companion to me and a mother to my children.”
He turned her around to face him, taking both her hands in his. “I cannot believe I was blind for so long.”
She pulled her hands from his and grasped the balcony railing. “This has all happened too fast. We must be mad.”
“I realized that night at the theater that I loved you. I realized then it was a love that had been growing for some time, only in my blindness I didn’t see it for what it was.” He grinned. “Do you know when it really hit me? It was when Wilmot touched Vanessa. I was angry, angrier than I can ever remember being. But what went through my mind was that my anger was like that of a brother. After Hugh’s antics I looked down at you and it hit me with a hurricane’s force that if it had been you he touched, I would not have hesitated as I did. I would have milled him down immediately because I love you.”
“Oh, Trevor,” she said, smiling wistfully, “I knew the night of the Langley Ball when we danced. I don’t know why or how. I can’t explain it. I felt awful about the theater because Vanessa asked me to keep you occupied for the evening so she could allow Mr. Wilmot to be her escort. I felt, I don’t know, almost rebellious, for I knew Vanessa was busily comparing you and him. It wa
s as if I could see her making up lists of the good points of both of you.”
He chuckled and gave her a little hug. “We’re both very lucky.”
“Yes,” she said slowly, then backed away a step and looked at him earnestly. “But we can’t tell anyone of our attachment yet, and you must continue to act as if you are courting Vanessa.”
He frowned but nodded. “I agree. Vanessa is ripe for marriage, but if her heart is not entangled, I don’t wish her to fall into Wilmot’s grasp. The man is up to something. I can smell it, but for the life of me I don’t know what it is.”
“Father has been acting very strangely, too. He knows of the incident at the theater but has virtually ordered Vanessa to forgive Mr. Wilmot his transgression.”
“That doesn’t sound like Richard.”
“It’s true. He had a long talk with Vanessa about it yesterday.”
Trevor leaned against the balcony railing, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’ve told Hugh I would start some discreet inquiries into Mr. Wilmot. There have been rumors of a connection with Laffite.”
Adeline paled but remained silent.
“Hugh and I have had doubts about Wilmot. Hugh has even volunteered to be cannon fodder to draw Vanessa’s attention away from Wilmot.”
Adeline smiled. “I don’t believe that will be difficult.” Trevor cocked an eyebrow in inquiry.
“I think my sister is more than halfway in love with Mr. Talverton.”
Trevor’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, really. I feel the same interest in her from Hugh. Perhaps my continued show of interest in Vanessa may be just the trick to get him to appreciate his feelings.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because long ago he and I were both suitors for Julia’s hand, and Hugh has never been one to take defeat easily. This time he just might exert himself to be certain he doesn’t lose again.” He looked down at Adeline tenderly. “Oh, but I would like to declare myself for you.”
She smiled back. “Soon, my dearest love, soon,” she said, choking slightly.
Trevor pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
“I cannot find her anywhere!” proclaimed Paulette, sweeping into the parlor.
Trevor and Adeline sprang apart.
“Now, where is everyone?” demanded Paulette.
Adeline sighed with relief and looked ruefully at Trevor. “Mr. Danielson and I are out here.”
Paulette came to the door. “Oh, is she in le jardin!”
“No,” Adeline said, moving past her into the room, “we didn’t see her out there.” She sat down by the quilting frame and bent her head to set some more stitches.
“Mon Dieu, where can she be?” Paulette asked.
Trevor shrugged and sauntered over to stand by the fireplace. Just then they heard voices from the hall, and Paulette turned expectantly toward the door.
Amanda Mannion was still chattering to Mr. Wilmot as they came into the room, chastising herself for her runaway tongue. She hastily rang for refreshments, sat down next to Adeline, and waved everyone else to dispose themselves at their leisure.
Paulette sat down, then bobbed up again. “But where is Mr. Talverton?”
“Right here, Miss Chaumonde,” he said from the doorway. He crossed the room to her side and sat down.
“It is unfortunate Miss Mannion will not make an appearance,” he said to the room at large, seemingly oblivious to the various tensions in the air. “I really am quite interested to know how well the raw beef worked.”
CHAPTER NINE
Late the next afternoon, Hugh Talverton sat slumped in a scarred wooden chair in the bar room at Maspero’s Exchange, absently contemplating the sawdust clinging to the toes of his boots. In another hour, the cavernous room would burgeon with merchants, town tulips, and swashbuckling filibusters. Then there would be a raucous energy throughout the building as the rafters sang with loud voices filled with hilarity and anger, or creaked with the whispered plans for some illegal or noble endeavor. Now it was quiet; the few who sat at scattered tables, far apart from others, talked in hushed tones.
Hugh sat there the better part of an hour, attempting to sort his thoughts into some semblance of logic. His frown deepened, and his eyebrows pulled together creating furrows across his wide forehead. Hugh didn’t like the strange maze he walked. It lacked the formal elegance and precision of an English garden maze. There was an unseemliness to its twisted paths, an unseemliness relieved solely by the brightness of Vanessa Mannion. Her father did well to call her his bright star. There was a vibrancy about her that heightened Hugh’s senses and stirred a heretofore unknown protectiveness within him.
He grinned sardonically as he realized Shakespeare’s All’s Well That Ends Well might be the source of Mannion’s phrase. He looked up at the ceiling and silently mouthed the lines:
‘Twere all one That I should love a bright particular star And think to wed it, he is so far above me. . .
He was certain Shakespeare would appreciate the irony, for those were the words the lowborn Helena said regarding the highborn young count she loved. In the reality he faced, Hugh felt those were his words; in these United States, he was the interloper without position.
The tenor of his own thoughts stunned him. Love? Wed? What paths were his mind and heart taking? He shook his head and straightened in the chair, looking about to signal a waiter for another drink. His maudlin thoughts on the dark maze tricked his senses. He was not hanging out for a wife. To entertain himself in New Orleans with a dalliance was acceptable, but a wife? He shuddered convulsively. She was Trevor’s chosen and they’d deal admirably, he told himself forcibly as he caught the attention of the waiter and conveyed his request. It was his duty to aid his friend in clearing the path, not clutter it as he had with Julia. Years in the military had taught him well the responsibilities of doing one’s duty.
Now, it was also his duty to untangle the skein of Mr. Wilmot’s plans and save the Mannions if he could, for that had to be Richard Mannion’s reason for confiding in him. He held that confidence dear, and not readily would he divulge his knowledge, not even to Trevor. For some reason, he had been given a mandate, a sacred trust, to lead the family out of the maze. It was a trust he would honor. The question was, how?
He accepted another glass from the hovering waiter and took a long drink. He closed his eyes, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he thought. His other hand dangled by his side, the glass loosely held in his fingertips. He drew in a deep sighing breath and expelled it slowly.
His best course was still perhaps the one he laid out for Trevor. Mannion felt his best recourse was to prevent a relationship from developing between Vanessa and Wilmot, without arousing Wilmot’s suspicion and thereby causing him to force matters to his satisfaction. If he could do this during the time prior to their summer departure, Vanessa would then be removed from Wilmot’s grasp for the duration of the summer and by the time she returned, Mannion expected to have the funds to repay the purchased notes.
There was one major aspect of Mannion’s plan that was faulty, and Hugh could not believe Richard did not see it. Vanessa now held Mr. Wilmot in fear and disgust. He saw that yesterday in her father’s library. Hugh doubted the gentleman could overcome her newfound abhorrence. Vanessa operated within her own very strict sense of personal rules. They could be bent but not broken, and Wilmot quite effectively broke those unwritten rules by his behavior the night of the play. Not for the first time did Hugh wonder what possessed the man to so ill judge an action.
Hugh did not believe Wilmot was likely to win the fair Vanessa with honeyed words. He doubted the man was even capable of uttering such speech. Wilmot’s only recourse was blackmail. He could threaten her father and therefore blackmail her into marriage to obtain financial safety for her family. Knowing Vanessa, Hugh would be surprised if she did not succumb to that type of coercion. He doubted, however, that Wilmot would play his hand too soon; a willing bride would be preferable to an unwil
ling one. In the meantime, he may rethink his strategy and begin plying his charm with a trowel. But he could only do this if he was in Vanessa’s orbit, preferably alone. In company, he could not achieve his ends. Consequently, Hugh’s first priority was to be constantly upon the Mannion’s doorstep.
It may also be wise to continue to adopt his slightly jovial, quick-to-temper-and-hurt demeanor. It will be interesting to see what Wilmot makes of the mien, Hugh thought sardonically since he could not see himself cowering and bowing prostrate before the man, a circumstance Hugh was confident Wilmot was unused to. It would put him slightly off stride.
Hugh’s second order of business would be to subtly encourage Trevor to press on his investigations into Wilmot’s character and dealings within the town. He needed to know the extent of the man’s clout. It may end up being wiser to move Vanessa farther afield than a summer home, and send her to some other part of the United States.
He shifted in his chair and stretched languidly. The level of noise in the bar room was increasing, its haven for thought evaporating. He rolled his head to get the kinks out of his neck and opened his eyes.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d fallen asleep,” said Russell Wilmot sitting in the chair opposite him, his lips curled in a travesty of a smile.
Hugh started, nearly dropping his drink. What was the damned man doing here? Hugh faked a yawn to play for time to gather his wits. “I almost was,” he said ruefully, his agile mind wondering what the man’s game was, and how long he’d sat opposite him. He didn’t enjoy surprises like that. They set his teeth on edge. What was damnable was the fact he’d not heard the man approach. He’d not been out of the service a year and already his instincts were failing him. Time was when he slept so lightly he heard the slightest rustle of fabric, footfall, or expelled breath and leapt to his feet.
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