Charles cocked an eye at Trevor, Russell, and Hugh. “Any other man who weds a Mannion will find himself likewise blessed.”
Hugh laughed. “You talk like a marriage broker.”
Unabashed, Charles nodded. “Can I help it? These sisters are very special to me. Ah, but with my own sister, I have a problem. That one is a hoyden and needs a strong hand.”
Trevor grinned at Hugh, but he ignored him and pointed to the field before him. “Is all your acreage planted in indigo?”
“Mostly, to my father-in-law’s everlasting dismay,” he said, casting a teasing look his way. “But I am thinking of switching over to sugarcane. Monsieur Baligny, my neighbor, and I are discussing the merits of sharing the cost of a sugar mill and refining our own sugar and that of other small plantation owners as well. There is talk in the government circles of imposing a three-penny tariff on imported sugar to boost local production and profit. I think it will pass; consequently, this would be a good opportunity for us.”
Behind him he heard Richard Mannion grumbling under his breath. Charles laughed. “Now, Richard, don’t take offense. If everyone grew cotton, we’d flood the market and ruin the land. Besides, you know it is much too wet here and someone has to grow these other crops, or their scarcity would make their price too dear.”
Hugh looked out across the well-ordered fields and shook his head. “I’m still amazed. You are a lawyer and a plantation owner. What other trades are you involved with?”
“I’ve part ownership in a sailing vessel and am heavily involved with banking,” he said as he gently urged his horse out from under the shade of the tree and led the party back to the house.
Trevor laughed at Hugh’s slightly bemused expression. “Not at all like England, is it?”
Hugh shook his head as he followed the others. “No,” he said slowly, “but I admit I find myself a trifle envious,” he said as he kicked his horse into a loping canter, “for here it is the gentleman’s trade.”
Trevor rode easily beside him. “You should consider staying here. As you said to me last Saturday, there are fortunes to be made.”
He shook his head regretfully. “No, my home is in England.” Then he wondered why he said that, for he’d spent little time there since 1808. Was it force of habit that called him home, or desire? He didn’t seem to know anymore.
As they approached the stables, they spied Adeline and Vanessa running and playing a form of tag with two small children, while on the gallery surrounding the house sat Louisa, Amanda, and a rotund Teresa Rouchardier, Charles’s and Paulette’s aunt. Amanda was cradling a white-swathed form in her arms.
Trevor reined in and sat a moment on his horse as he watched Adeline with his children, a loving smile hovering on his lips. Hugh and Russell Wilmot noted his expression and looked in the same direction to see Vanessa laughingly pretend to miss a towheaded little girl she was supposed to tag.
Vanessa looked up to see the men dismounting, dismayed to feel her heart beating faster and a faint flush creep up her neck. She could not forestall it. She watched Trevor and Hugh approach, followed by her father, Charles, and Mr. Wilmot, and her breath clogged in her throat. In wonder she realized she had never really looked at Mr. Talverton before, so ready was she to condemn his every action. Now her breath was swept away. He was so handsome with the sun glinting off his sandy blond hair and the faint afternoon breeze lifting and gently ruffling its golden waves. His shoulders were broad and his legs showed well-defined muscles through the tight fit of his buckskin breeches, yet still he moved with a fluid, catlike grace. Suddenly that strange tingling she felt before in his presence rippled through her, and she felt light-headed. To hide her confusion, she pulled Trevor’s daughter, Mary, into her arms and sank down on to the green sward. She looked down at the little girl until her cheeks cooled and the tingling subsided.
Unaccountably, Hugh felt his heart sink to the soles of his feet when he saw the look Vanessa gave Trevor. He wanted them to be together, he told himself savagely. But a small voice asked him if that was true, why did he feel an aching emptiness at the thought? Then he realized if he saw that ardent exchange, Wilmot did also. He looked back to see Wilmot scowling darkly, a dangerous gleam in his narrowed eyes that were pinned on Trevor’s back. Hugh took a deep breath. Tonight, he would have to claim Miss Mannion’s attention as best he could lest Trevor and Wilmot come to blows.
“I had to see you, to talk to you. This farce is becoming extremely painful.”
Adeline turned with a start, then smiled. She laid her basket down at the edge of her sister’s flowerbeds and extended her hands toward Trevor. “I, too, am finding it grievously difficult,” she admitted softly, her fingers curling into his.
He lifted one hand and then the other to kiss, faintly caressing her knuckles with his thumbs.
She blushed, then gently pulled her hands free. “We mustn’t be seen in this way,” she murmured, distressed.
“Hush, love.” He dropped her hands. “I am being selfish and unfair. I should know better and desist from plaguing you.”
Her head flew up. “Oh, you are not plaguing me!” she assured him, then blushed anew and smiled shyly.
He smiled fondly at her. “Yes, I am, but happy am I to hear you so ardently tell me nay. Well, for propriety and prying eyes, may I assist you in collecting flowers?” he suggested, picking up her basket.
She nodded, and they began to walk the garden paths, stopping occasionally as Adeline selected a bloom.
“By the length of stem you are cutting, I would gather you are not collecting for your flower art,” Trevor finally said, breaking the strained silence between them.
“No, you are correct. I’m collecting flowers for vases. I think a room looks so much prettier with flowers around, and by my sister’s own admission, she is no dab hand at it.” She laughed slightly. “When I offered to create the bouquets for the parlor and hall, she agreed with unsurprising alacrity.”
“When we are wed, I vow our gardens will rival any in the state,” he said sincerely.
She smiled shyly again. “I liked the sound of that.”
“What, my love?”
She stopped and stood in front of him. “Our,” she answered, her eyes sparkling.
“Oh, Adeline,” Trevor said, closing his eyes tightly, then opening them and sighing deeply. “You make me want to pick you up in my arms and carry you away.”
She skipped away from him. “Remember where we are,” she said teasingly. Then she sobered. “We must discuss this evening. I have been watching Mr. Wilmot very closely. He does not notice me for he holds me to be a drab slip of a woman.”
“The man is blind.”
Adeline smiled and nodded her head in thanks but went on: “His eyes follow Vanessa everywhere, and he scowls deeply when any man talks to her, even Charles! He desires private conversation with Vanessa, but so far he has been thwarted by you and Hugh. He is growing increasingly restive. Perhaps we should allow him his time with her.”
Trevor’s dark sable brows pulled together across the bridge of his nose as he thought. “I don’t know. Hugh and I had an opportunity to talk earlier. He seems to feel Vanessa is afraid to be alone with Wilmot.”
“Vanessa, afraid? I find that difficult to believe of my sister.”
“Well, perhaps afraid is the wrong word, but she is definitely uncomfortable.”
Adeline nodded. “I would venture to say that if she is afraid, she is afraid he will declare himself and demand an answer from her. She is well aware of Father’s needs for his warehousing this year and would be loath to be the cause of any problems for him.”
Trevor agreed. “I get the feeling there is more to it than that, but what I cannot say. I have started some discreet investigations into Wilmot’s activities, and I hope to have some information on Monday.”
“So, for now, we are left with our original idea,” she said forlornly.
“To continue the ruse of my courtship. Is that truly fair to Vanessa?”
> Adeline smiled wanly. “It will not matter ultimately. Her heart is not involved as mine is. Here, I think we have gathered enough flowers. I’ll take the basket now.”
He handed it to her, capturing her hand in his as he did so. He held it for a moment and both stared mutely at each other. It was the sound of a dog barking that broke the magical moment, and they parted self-consciously. They started up the well-manicured path toward the house.
A lone figure, watching from the shadows of the gallery, slipped silently back into the house and out of sight.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Madame Teresa Rouchardier rolled into the room while Paulette held a pot of rouge in her hand, contemplating the delicate placement of its contents.
“Paulette!” she admonished, shock written plainly over the woman’s round countenance. She wheezed and drew another breath.
Vanessa grimaced and closed her eyes, wincing at the impending storm. She’d tried to dissuade Paulette from the use of any cosmetics, but her young friend had airily dismissed her words, certain, she said, that the judicious use of such artifice was common in England. Vanessa doubted her, though she had no proof to gainsay her statement. She looked helplessly at Adeline and shrugged. When Adeline entered the fray to attempt to convince Paulette of her error, Paulette arrogantly informed them they were hopelessly provincial. At that, both retired from the lists, leaving the battle to those better able to handle the situation. It appeared one such person had now appeared, and Vanessa wished she were elsewhere.
Paulette slammed the rouge pot on the vanity top and rose swiftly, turning to face her aunt, her natural blush garishly augmented with the red touches she had carefully contrived.
“What are you about? Une jeune fille, it is incroyable!” her aunt sputtered, her arms waving in wide circles in counterpoints to the swaying rolls of fat on her arms. She stalked over to Paulette.
“But Aunt Teresa,” began Paulette mulishly.
“No, I do not listen to you. You, you are a child. I should never have let you stay with the Mannions,” she proclaimed as she whipped a lace-edged handkerchief out of the voluminous folds of her red gown.
“What?” protested Vanessa.
“Non, Tante, listen to me, s’il vous plait,” Paulette cried, trying to fight off her aunt to prevent her from sweeping the handkerchief roughly across her cheeks.
Her aunt backed her against the vanity, her massive form pinning her in place. “I should have known my first duty was to you. You are but an enfant.” One massive hand clamped around Paulette’s chin to hold her steady. She clucked her tongue and shook her head as she wiped at the offending rouge. “I should have insisted you stay here with me instead of letting you stay with the Mannions.” She turned Paulette’s head to cleanse the other cheek. “I was weak, but no more!” she declared, wheezing heavily.
Vanessa and Adeline looked at each other in alarm. They were concerned for the woman’s health; her breathing sounded labored to their ears. Vanessa glided forward, her arm outstretched. “Madame Rouchardier,” she began.
The woman let go of Paulette, who sagged down against the vanity, and turned on Vanessa.
“You! It is your fault. You have filled ma petite’s head with fast ideas. You should be ashamed of yourself, a woman who should be married now and have a home of her own avec les petits bebés,” she spat, her large bosom heaving.
“Me!”
“Madame, you are unfair!” protested Adeline.
Vanessa stood riveted, wide-eyed shock leaving her helpless. Dazed, she looked beyond Madame Rouchardier to Paulette, who was struggling to stand upright and straighten the fall of her lavender skirts. Paulette caught her eye, mortification written plainly across her features. She bit her lower lip and looked contrite but remained silent. “Paulette?” queried Vanessa softly.
“You shall not talk to my bebé,” Madame said adamantly, turning to enfold Paulette in a crushing embrace.
“What is going on in here?” demanded Amanda Mannion from the doorway. “Guests are arriving and your voices are carrying clear down the hall.”
“I am surprised at you, Amanda, or did you not know you were nursing a viper to your beast?”
“Teresa, what are you talking about?”
“Your daughter, she has been poisoning my Paulette, she—”
“No, no, Tante,” cried Paulette, tears streaming prettily down her cheeks as she fought her way free of her aunt’s enfolding arms. “It was not Vanessa or Adeline. In truth, they tried to dissuade me, but in my conceit I would not listen.”
“I do not believe this, and with Le Comte arriving momentarily,” wailed Teresa Rouchardier.
“It is true, it was all me, I thought, I thought the rouge would make me more worldly and . . . what count?” Paulette suddenly asked, her aunt’s last words filtering through. The tears stopped as quickly as they began.
“Why, Monsieur Baligny’s nephew of course, Le Comte Andre Baligny de Sachire.”
“He is a real count?”
“Mais, oui! He’s over here visiting, but he has extensive properties in France.”
Vanessa relaxed and slouched against the large canopied bed, exchanging amused glances with her mother and sister.
Paulette’s eyes gleamed brightly, and she captured her aunt’s pudgy fingers in her hands. “Tante Teresa, I am sorry to be such a trial to you. In truth, the Mannions have been very good to me. I regret to say this, but . . .” She paused, throwing back her head and looking her aunt squarely in the eye. “I am a Chaumonde and I will be honest. You owe the Mannions an apology. The rouge was truly my idea and they tried hard to dissuade me, but me,” she shrugged and relaxed, smiling roguishly. “Sometimes I do not listen that well. You will no longer be mad at me or them, will you?” she wheedled soothingly, her large dark eyes luminous with her regret.
“Ah, mon enfant, you are the image of your maman, and just as cozening in your manners. All right. For you, my pet, I forgive and beg the Mannions’ pardon.”
“Thank you, best-of-all-aunts,” enthused Paulette.
Her aunt laid a hand against her chest. “But now, I fear I must lie down, all the excitement . . . .”
“Of course, my dear,” agreed Amanda Mannion, slipping one arm around her ample waist and signaling Vanessa to do likewise. “We will help you to your room.”
“Yes, yes, that would be best,” Teresa Rouchardier agreed weakly, tottering between the two women. “Just a little rest; my nerves, you know.”
“Of course,” soothed Amanda. “Adeline, fetch my sal, please.” Over the woman’s sagging head she met Vanessa’s eyes and winked at her. “Just a little rest and I am positive you will be as right as rain and grace the gathering with your presence.”
“Oh, yes, la soiree,” murmured the woman.
“I shall send Bessie or Ruth up to you later to see how you go on.”
“Yes, perhaps that would be best,” she conceded weakly.
They met Madame’s maid at the door to her room and turned her over into her brisk and capable hands. “We shall see you shortly,” cajoled Amanda soothingly as she and Vanessa left and returned to the girls’ room.
“Well, young woman, what do you have to say for yourself?” asked Mrs. Mannion when they reentered the room.
Paulette sat before the mirror, patting the curls by her face into place. She frowned in vexation. “Aunt Teresa mussed my coiffure, and Leila isn’t here. She is the only one who can work miracles on my hair. What am I to do? A count is here!”
Adeline, seated on the edge of the bed, looked over at her mother and sister. “She has been like this since you left,” she explained cheerfully, her hands folded in her lap as she watched Paulette with amusement.
“Sacre bleu! How can you joke? There is so little time. Vanessa, your fingers are clever, could you not help with these curls, s’il vous plait.”
The last was said so sweetly that Vanessa nearly burst out laughing, but she recovered herself. “I shall try my poor best,”
she said with mock solemnity, crossing to Paulette’s side.
Adeline’s mouth curved in a ghost of a smile, her mind contemplating the implications of Paulette’s probable desertion of Mr. Talverton due to the count’s arrival. She sighed contentedly, well pleased with the turn of events.
Amanda pursed her lips and shook her head in consternation. “Hurry up, girls,” she said briskly, then turned her head to hide her own sly smile.
That evening, Paulette fairly ran down the staircase before Adeline and Vanessa, her pale lavender skirts billowing softly behind her. Near the bottom she stopped and looked about her, but the foyer was free of people save the servants stationed near the door. From the double parlor came the rise and fall of voices, punctuated with restrained titters of laughter.
At the top of the stairs, the Mannion sisters watched Paulette shake out her skirts, lift her head, and thrust her small high breasts forward before continuing down the stairs in a stately manner, gliding along the polished floor.
“I do believe Mr. Talverton may find himself bereft of company,” Vanessa observed dryly.
Adeline giggled. “Somehow I don’t think he will mind.”
Vanessa hooked her arm in her sister’s. “Come, let’s hurry. I would like to witness Paulette meeting her count. I have the distinct impression that this evening may prove more entertaining than a play.”
Adeline murmured her agreement, secretly hoping Vanessa was right.
Due to Paulette’s stately progression across the hall, Vanessa and Adeline were not far behind her when they, too, entered the front half of the large double parlor, the back half cleared of furniture to provide a good-sized ballroom. They were astonished by the multitude of people gathered, conversing predominately in French. Vanessa looked at her sister and made a slight moue of dissatisfaction.
“Remember, Louisa has had to work hard to win these people’s respect. Please do not think to turn this party into a romp.”
“Me?” asked Vanessa, mockingly scandalized.
“Yes, you,” whispered her sister furiously. “And don’t smile so idiotically at me, either. Now where’s Paulette?”
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