The old man was gray-haired and stooped and held an enormous ear trumpet to his ear. He wore a brown velvet frock coat and a white satin waistcoat embroidered with silver thread. He was nodding happily and seemed about to break into a lively jig. The woman beside him was much taller and had a haunted, withered face heavily coated with powder and paint, a heart-shaped black beauty mark pasted on one cheekbone. She wore a strange silver and white gown with a skirt that spread out a yard on either side of her waist, parting in front to show off the ruffled gold underskirt. Atop her head stood a powdered white wig with a pompadour that towered two feet high, white and gold feathers pinned to one side with a dazzling diamond clasp. Diamonds sparkled at her throat and on her wrists as well, and several strands of pearls adorned the bodice of her peculiar gown.
“Dipped,” Delia confided in a whisper, “and the gems are paste.”
“Julian!” Monsieur Lecomb shouted in a hoarse croak. “You look more like your father every time I see you.”
“Thank you, sir. I take that as a compliment. You know my Aunt Delia, of course, and allow me to present my ward, Mademoiselle Dana O’Malley.”
“Card?” he shouted. “Card, you say?” He adjusted his ear trumpet. “Present your card if you like, but I’d much rather meet this ravishing creature you brought with you.”
Julian presented me again and Monsieur Lecomb cackled and said I was indeed a card and asked if I was a relation of some kind and Julian gave up and said he was happy to be here and left Delia to deal with our host. From across the room Lavinia was giving us outraged looks while whispering furiously to her daughter. Julian presented me to Madame Lecomb who smiled a sweet, tremulous smile and examined me with misty blue eyes that were kind and sad. I had the feeling Madame Lecomb lived in a vague, hazy world neither past nor present. A delicate frown creased her brow as she continued to examine me.
“It’s so pleasant to see you again—but, no—you remind me of—I must be thinking about—please forgive me.”
She looked both pained and embarrassed. There was something very touching about this outlandishly dressed old woman with her heavily painted face and tremulous smile.
“I’m delighted to be here tonight, Madame Lecomb,” I said quietly.
“It’s been much too long,” she said. “I haven’t seen your parents for a while, either. Are they here tonight?”
“I—I’m afraid not,” I told her.
“Do give them my best. Enjoy yourself, child.”
Julian took my elbow and led me aside, explaining that our hostess was frequently confused. People were still staring, still whispering, and, with a mischievous gleam in his eye, Julian took me over to where the outraged Lavinia was standing with her two children. The color drained from her face. She was wearing a black silk gown and a ruby necklace. Her daughter wore peach-colored satin. With her lustrous black hair and large brown eyes, Magdelon was lovely indeed, if glacial at the moment. In his formal attire, her brother was as sleek and handsome as I remembered, an amused smile on his lips as we approached.
“Aunt Lavinia!” Julian said cheerily. “Fancy seeing you first thing! Let me introduce my ward, Dana O’Malley. Dana, this is my Aunt Lavinia, of whom you have heard so much, and her children Raoul and Magdelon.”
“How dare you!” Lavinia whispered hoarsely. “How dare you humiliate the family this way!”
She gave him a venomous look that would have reduced a lesser man to ashes. Julian merely smiled. Magdelon might have been carved from ice. She stared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. I remembered what Regina had said about her and Reginald Vandercamp, and I suspected that she knew I knew about those trysts in his aunt’s gazebo. Her nostrils flared. She longed to scratch my eyes out. Spoiled, petulant, sexually promiscuous, this haughty young woman certainly wasn’t my superior. I smiled and gave her a polite nod that caused her nostrils to flare even more. Livid, she turned to her mother.
“Let’s leave at once, Mother,” she said frostily. “I will not be in the same house as this trollop. I told you what she said to Bertha and Regina. I’m not going to—”
“Hold on, Magdelon,” Raoul said mildly.
“I would love to leave,” Lavinia said, “but we must remember who we are, Magdelon. We must maintain a front. I hope you’re satisfied, Julian. I hope you realize you’ve affronted everyone in the Quarter with this—this outrage to decency.”
“Lavinia, dear,” said Delia, who, having stopped to speak to a friend, had just joined us. “How lovely to see you.”
“You’re in this, too! I’ll never forgive either of you!”
Lavinia took her daughter’s arm and the two of them marched away toward the ballroom, chins atilt, skirts arustle. The amused smile still played on Raoul’s beautifully chiseled lips. He shook his head and explained that his mother had been under considerable strain recently, apologizing for her conduct. It was in his best interest to stay on Julian’s good side, I thought. He kissed Delia on the cheek, shook Julian’s hand and then gazed at me with velvety brown eyes that could easily make many women grow weak at the knees. Tall, lean, glossy, he was undeniably handsome, spectacularly so, with tremendous allure. I could feel the pull of that allure, even if I failed to respond to it.
“We meet at last,” he said in that husky, melodious voice. “I’ve heard an awful lot about you.”
“I feel sure you have,” I replied.
Raoul chuckled softly. It was a very sensual sound. “She’s enchanting, Julian,” he said “and not at all what I expected.”
And what did you expect? I asked silently. He turned to me, another smile curving on those full lips that seemed even pinker because of his deep tan. His brown eyes seemed to glow, seemed to promise future delights. Oh yes, he was a womanizer. He exuded sensuality and animal magnetism, and I could see why women vied for his attention.
“I suppose I should call you ‘Cousin,’” he said.
“Cousin?”
“You’re Julian’s ward. He is my cousin. So, in a sense, you’re my cousin, too. Once or twice removed. What shall I call you?”
“Mademoiselle O’Malley will do nicely,” I said.
That amused him. He chuckled again and turned back to Julian.
“I’d better go see about Mother,” he said. “I look forward to seeing you all later on.”
He nodded to us all and strolled away in a loose, confident stride, looking as though he owned the place, I thought. “Insufferable young ass!” Julian muttered. Delia shushed him, then went over to speak to a friend who had just arrived. Julian sighed and took my arm, leading me on into the ballroom. People were watching us. I held my head high, pretending not to notice. The ballroom was wondrous to behold with a huge, gleaming golden oak dance floor and pale yellow walls with delicate panels adorned in gold gilt designs. Six glorious crystal chandeliers hung from the domed white ceiling, and all around the floor were bowers of yellow and white roses with gilt chairs and small tables for guests to use. To the left was a bank of French windows opening onto the large courtyard, and to the right were doors leading into another large reception room where buffet and bar had been set up. Long drapes of thin yellow silk hung at the opened French windows, billowing gently to and fro, and the musicians were concealed behind yet another bower of roses at the end of the ballroom. The dance floor was aswirl with couples moving gracefully to the melodic strains.
“Impressed?” Julian asked me.
“It—it’s like something out of one of those novels. It’s like-like being inside a jewel box.”
Those guests not dancing were sitting at the tables or moving about, visiting, chatting, drinking champagne. I saw Raoul surrounded by a bevy of admiring young belles in lovely pastel gowns. Magdelon was dancing with a tall, redheaded youth, and Lavinia was sitting at one of the tables, looking quite distraught as she spilled out her woes to a plump matron in purple silk who patted her hand in commiseration.
“Feeling better now?” Julian inquired.
�
�A—a little, I suppose.”
At least there wasn’t a mass exodus when I arrived, I added to myself.
“You handled yourself beautifully,” he told me. “Perfect poise. The little girl from the swamp has come a remarkably long way in a very short time.”
“I may have been ragged,” I retorted, “and I may have spoken with a terrible accent, but my—my ma was gentry, and she brought me up properly. I was never the—the ignorant urchin you seem to think I was.”
“There’s no need to be so defensive. I was merely trying to pay you a compliment. Apparently I’m out of practice.”
“Apparently you are.”
“My, we’re very testy.”
“We—we’re just very nervous,” I said.
Julian smiled. It was such a lovely smile. It was like sunshine, full of warmth. I had been defensive, but I was indeed very nervous. His smile helped. What did it matter what any of these people thought? What did it matter if they continued to stare discreetly? Julian was beside me, large and strong and handsome, and no harm could come to me.
“Sorry about Lavinia and Magdelon,” he said. “Who, incidentally are Bertha and Regina and what did you say to them?”
I told him about the encounter at Corinne’s, eliminating only those details about his cousin Magdelon and her lovers, and Julian chuckled as I repeated that parting remark of mine. The music continued to swirl, lovely and melodic, as he led me over to one of the tables. The scent of the roses was heady, blending in with the smell of candle wax and powder and, already, the musty odor of perspiration.
“I suppose I shouldn’t have said it,” I told him. “I’m sure it’s all over the Quarter by now.”
“Undoubtedly. You’re an original, my dear, and considerably more interesting and amusing than any of these simpering society belles.”
“Is that another compliment?”
He nodded, smiling again. Goodness, he was actually being gallant, in his way. Was it my gown? Was it the ever so subtle makeup? I felt a curious exhilaration as he helped me into one of the gilt chairs and let his hand linger a moment on my bare shoulder. I loved that faint suggestion of a double chin, the full curve of his lower lip. I loved the mischief and amusement that danced in those warm brown eyes. There were dozens of handsome young men in the ballroom tonight, a few, like Raoul, dazzling indeed, but none was as handsome, as virile, as this genial, oft absentminded man who had given me a new life.
“Champagne?” he inquired.
“Do you think I dare?”
He chuckled, remembering that night in the swamp when I had been very under the influence after drinking the wine he produced. That seemed a lifetime ago. Julian signaled to one of the liveried Negro footmen and plucked two glasses of champagne from the tray he was carrying. Delia entered the ballroom with two elderly ladies, all three of them talking at once. She waved gaily as she sauntered to a table across the way with her friends. I sipped the champagne, relaxing a little, though still acutely aware of the attention we were receiving from the other guests.
“They keep staring,” I said. “They pretend not to, but—”
“The men in particular,” Julian observed. “You’re quite the loveliest woman here tonight—bar none.”
“If you continue with these compliments, I fear it’ll go to my head.”
“I’ll keep you in line,” he promised. “I can’t understand it. Last time I looked you were a wretched waif with a clacking voice, then suddenly—voilà! Confounding, to say the least.”
“You don’t like me this way?”
“On the contrary, I find you distressingly enchanting.”
“Distressingly?”
“Drink your champagne, Dana,” he ordered.
I smiled to myself, feeling a particularly feminine triumph. Julian took a sip of his champagne and sat back in his chair, looking around with lazy contentment. Although he had vehemently protested coming, I could tell that he was enjoying himself. He nodded occasionally to friends of his, but none of them came over to the table to visit. I knew the reason why, of course. Julian looked at me. He seemed to be reading my mind.
“They’ll come round eventually,” he said. “Maybe not tonight, but eventually they’ll see we have nothing to hide, and—all this talk will end.”
“You knew they were going to stare and whisper, didn’t you?”
“Of course. I fully expected it. I knew it would be rather uncomfortable for you, but—it was important we come tonight.”
“To show them we have nothing to hide.”
“Precisely. Not that I give a damn what they say, but I have the family to think about.”
“I’ve caused you an awful lot of problems, haven’t I?”
He nodded. “I should have dumped you out of the canoe and let the alligators get you, but, being the idiot I am, I decided not to. Now, alas, it looks like I’m stuck with you.”
“Looks like you are,” I said. “Thank you, Julian. Thank you for—everything. You—if it hadn’t been for you—”
My voice trembled. He gave me an exasperated look.
“If you cry,” he said, “I fully intend to spank you.”
“You probably would, too.”
“Unquestionably.”
He grinned and finished his champagne. The music stopped for a moment, and the dancers applauded politely. A few of them left the floor, moving toward the tables and the reception room where food was being served, but most of them waited for the music to begin again, which it did almost immediately, slow, lilting, lovely. I saw Regina dancing with a tall, handsome blond youth. She was wearing a gorgeous pink satin gown trimmed with white lace, a large pink-white camellia in her hair. She saw me, too, and shot me a venomous look. I nodded politely as she swirled past. Julian arched an inquiring brow.
“Regina Belleau,” I said. “The girl I didn’t tell to go get laid.”
Bertha was on the dance floor, too, looking even plumper in mauve satin and dancing with a dashing red-haired youth. I longed to dance myself, to swirl and sway to that enchanting melody. Monsieur Augustine and I had executed our steps to the flat, tinny notes banged out by the pianist who accompanied him, but this music was so rich, so fulsome, it would catch you up and propel you along. Julian must have seen the longing in my eyes, for he gave a resigned sigh and got to his feet.
“I suppose,” he said, “I really should see if all the money I’ve been paying that fop Augustine has been well invested.”
“I suppose you should,” I agreed.
“I’m rather out of practice,” he confessed, “but—we’ll see if Augustine has done his job.”
He took my hand and led me onto the floor and curled his arm loosely around my waist and, I swear, whispered one-two-three under his breath and then twirled me around and we were moving to the music. It seemed to possess me, and my body melted and moved to the melody, held back only by Julian’s grip on me. Were he to release me, I felt I would soar and spin like a butterfly, completely carried away. He was not nearly as good a dancer as Monsieur Augustine. He was not, in fact, any good at all, executing each step cumbersomely and by rote and frequently losing count even then.
“I told you I was out of practice,” he said.
“That’s all right.”
“You dance divinely, though.”
“Ouch!”
“Sorry. Did it hurt?”
“I think you crushed a couple of toes, but I’ll survive.”
“Dancing’s not my specialty.”
“Don’t keep talking, Julian. You’ll lose count again.”
“Lippy minx.”
“One-two-three, one-two-three, turn, begin again. One-two-three—”
“I should have let the alligators get you.”
He grinned and tightened his arm around my waist, pulling me closer, and we moved around the floor without crashing into anyone and his ineptness didn’t matter at all. It was wonderful to be held so closely, to feel his strength, to be led around the floor, however inex
pertly. I felt a curious delight, a delicious sensation welling up inside me, and it continued to glow even when he stepped on my foot again. When, finally, the music ceased and he led me off the floor, the exhilaration was still there. Julian took me into the reception room, and we had our plates filled with beautiful food and went back to our table. The aspic was wonderful, the lobster salad divine, and the tiny pastries filled with meat were absolutely marvelous
“I’ve never had such food,” I said.
“The Lecombs always put on a lavish spread,” Julian informed me. “They’ve got the best cook in the city.”
“I liked them a lot. She—Madame Lecomb apparently thought I was someone else, someone she knew.”
“The old dear’s daft. So’s her husband. They’re still a power in the Quarter, though. She actually helped Marie Antoinette into her laces and velvet, and unloosened her stays when that royal personage had had too much cake. You can’t get much more exalted than that.”
“Poor Marie Antoinette. I read a novel about her only last week.”
“One of Delia’s infernal romances, no doubt. I’m glad to see you reading, though, even if it is historical romance.”
“I can’t get enough of it,” I confessed. “Reading, I mean. It’s like I step into a whole new world with every book I read. Each time I finish one book, I’m eager to begin another immediately.”
“I will have to do a bit of supervision. Madame Campan’s memoirs, for example, are far more interesting than any novel about the unfortunate Antoinette. She was First Lady-in-Waiting and the queen’s intimate friend. Her memoirs are full of fascinating details about daily life at the court.”
“I’d love to read them.”
“We’ve got them at home, I’m sure.”
“How is your book coming along?” I inquired.
“Rather well, actually,” he told me. “During these past five months I’ve completed the entire text and now I’m working on the footnotes—they’re hellishly difficult, but I should be done in a few more months. After all of these years, all those hundreds of thousands of notes, I’ve finally managed to put it all together.”
They Call Her Dana Page 18
