The butler came back in, announced dinner.
Amethyst took Bandit’s arm, outmaneuvering Clarissa who was trying to get across the room to him. “Shall we go in, Tony, my dear?” She put special emphasis on the name and waited for that familiar, crooked grin, that arrogant expression. But he looked nervous and ill at ease as he escorted her to the long dinner table.
It was set for twenty, very formally, with place cards, crisp white linens, and the finest of silver and china.
“Now, Tony”—she smiled up at him—“I will sitatone end of the table as hostess and you, of course, get the place of honor at my right.”
He did know enough to pull out her chair for her, she thought as the chattering crowd found their places. Papa sat at the other end of the table, Monique to his right.
Amethyst had deliberately separated the two, so that Monique could not assist Bandit on questions of etiquette. She tried not to smile with amusement when she looked down the long table, saw the annoyance on young Clarissa’s face at being seated far from the Texan, between Amethyst’s father and an elderly official.
The dullest, most snobbish person in the group had to be Mrs. Hortense Webster, so of course, she had been seated to Amethyst’s left, across from Bandit. The pretentious Señor Muñoz was next to Mrs. Webster, the dour Mrs. Wentworth on Bandit’s other side.
Everything is going according to plan, Amethyst thought with satisfaction as she watched Bandit’s face. He stared at the ornate array of silver, the half-dozen wine glasses by his plate. “Is this hardware all for me or am I supposed to share it up and down the table?”
Amethyst winced, but Mrs. Webster tittered with delight, her bony shoulders shaking. “I do declare, Señor Falcon, you are the funniest thing!”
But he hadn’t meant to be funny, Amethyst thought, watching the panic in his eyes. He looked as if he would like to get up and run.
Servants moved up and down the glittering table, pouring wine, as light from the ornate candelabra reflected off the women’s jewelry.
As Amethyst fingered her necklace, the Texan leaned toward her. “My, you smell good, Aimée, better’n the hill country in spring time.”
She didn’t look at him, ashamed now of her scheme. “Thank you, Tony,” she said, turning to strike up a conversation with the thin Southern lady to her left.
This time, when the servant poured the wine Bandit didn’t ask for beer. He obviously didn’t intend to be embarrassed again. Amethyst spread her napkin on her lap, glanced over at him as Mrs. Webster laughed and was quickly joined by others around her. “Señor, you are just a delight! Why, anyone would think you didn’t know any better!”
Amethyst stared. Bandit had tucked his napkin into the front of his collar so that it protected the front of his shirt. His head turned slowly to look up and down the table, and he flushed crimson as he looked into the staring faces.
He jerked the napkin out of his shirt, winking at Mrs. Webster. “Why, señora, someone’s got to liven up the table.”
But his eyes showed panic as he looked at Amethyst. She bit her lip, looked back into his accusing gaze.
Why are you doing this to me? His look said.
She thought of him plotting with the tall redhead and of what a fool she had been to feel anything for him, then glanced away and returned to her conversation with the skinny Southern dowager.
The dour governess seemed to be doing all right, although she drank a little too much wine.
The butler served the soup course, a chilled, spicy gazpacho.
Bandit looked down at it, then over at Amethyst. “All this hardware and all you’re servin’ these folks is a little thin soup?” He dipped his spoon in. “Besides that, it’s cold. I think I’ll send it back to the kitchen.”
The people who heard that tittered with laughter and punched each other. Amethyst gave him a smug, superior look. “It’s supposed to be cold. And that’s just the first course.”
Bandit shrugged. “In Texas, we put all the food out at the same time. It’d save that butler fella a heap of trouble runnin’ back and forth.”
Everyone at that end of the table snickered again and Bandit reddened, sank back in his chair. At the opposite end of the table, Monique seemed to be managing fine, and Amethyst was glad her papa, seated down there in the host’s chair, couldn’t hear what was going on down at her end of the table.
The butler served the main course, a festive turkey mole in pepper sauce, with the slightest of rolls. French pastry and bread had caught on while Maximillian and Carlotta had been emperor and empress, before the Mexicans had deposed them.
Amethyst kept up a mindless chatter with both Mrs. Webster and Bandit. On occasion, she glanced over at Mrs. Wentworth who ate with great concentration, the two hairs in the mole on her nose wriggling as she chewed.
Sweat beaded Bandit’s forehead and he actually looked afraid. Amethyst had never seen him show fear before. He seemed to be watching her every move, waiting for her to choose a piece of silver before he picked his up. Obviously, faced with all that formal, ornate tableware, he hadn’t the least idea what to do. He was being humiliated, shamed. His expression looked pained.
Amethyst had to stifle an urge to jump to her feet, scold them all. You rude, social-climbing snobs, she thought, how dare you mistreat him, embarrass him.
But reminding herself that this was what she had intended, she said loudly to him. “You need to improve your manners, Tony. Yours seem to be lacking.”
He gave her a long look. “I thought well-mannered people proved it by making strangers feel at home?”
Touché! She felt her face flame, looked away. If Papa knew how rude and arrogant she had just been, he would have scolded her for her own lack of manners.
Señor Muñoz, the shopkeeper from Remolino, sat next to Mrs. Webster. He leaned across toward Bandit and said, “So you’ve been in Texas, señor? Those Texans are arrogant, don’t you agree?”
Bandit grinned. “I’ll admit no one ever accused Texans of being humble. They figure they got a lot to be arrogant about.”
“I fail to see what it is.” Señor Muñoz evidently saw nothing good about Texans. The pouches under his eyes deepened as he scowled. “All those cutthroats drifting across the border! Why, my innocent niece was rudely approached only a couple of days ago at the stage relay station.”
Amethyst recalled the place, looked into Bandit’s eyes, knew he remembered, too. She had a sudden vision of herself on the grass, locked in his arms; could taste his lips. She thought of the sultry girl at the cantina, wondered if she were Señor Muñoz’ “innocent” niece? “What happened, señor?” she asked politely.
“A trio of bandits passing through,” he grumbled, with a shake of his head. “Of course, she let them know she was not that kind of girl and sent them on their way. She said they asked all sorts of nosy questions.”
Bandit seemed to stiffen. “A trio? Tres?”
Amethyst looked at him curiously, wondering about the change of expression on his face, then turned her attention back to the Mexican. “Were they gringos?”
The man nodded. “Sí. She said there was a big one in part of a Union uniform, a short one in Confederate gray, and a gunfighter type riding a gray horse.”
Bandit choked on his wine, put his napkin over his mouth as he coughed.
Santa María, what was this all about? Maybe some of his old outlaw buddies?
Bandit wiped his mouth. “Tell me, señor, where did your lovely niece say the outlaws were going?”
The man shrugged. “She didn’t tell me, just said that they asked questions and headed on south.”
Amethyst looked at Bandit curiously. He appeared very tense, disturbed.
Mrs. Webster pursed her thin lips. “It’s getting so a decent woman is hardly safe anymore, what with all the saddle trash running loose. Why, I do worry about Clarissa.”
As well you might, Amethyst thought, sipping burgundy as she finished her rare roast beef. That young lady
is liable to rape some man.
“I do declare, señorita Durango,” the lady drawled, “I’ve been thinking of sending my dear Clarissa to that lovely convent school where your daddy sent you.”
Amethyst smiled in spite of herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Clarissa leaning over and trying to catch Bandit’s eye from the other end of the table. “I think the Convent of the Cloistered Sisters would be a perfect place for Clarissa,” she said emphatically.
Señor Muñoz leaned forward. “Speaking of the convent, did you hear they’ve taken the Mother Superior to an asylum and brought in a new one?”
That’s the right place for her, Amethyst reflected silently.
Mrs. Wentworth paused in shoveling food into her mouth, looked wistful. “Just from what I saw of the place, I envied the Cloistered Sisters. It was so quiet, so peaceful.”
Bandit raised one eyebrow and smirked at Amethyst. “Señorita, I’ll bet it wasn’t peaceful while you were there.”
The rascal! “I wouldn’t know,” she answered a little too sweetly. “I spent every waking moment in contemplation and prayer.”
Mrs. Webster felt called upon to quote some old poem about solitude while her daughter rolled her eyes and watched Bandit.
Amethyst was bored and ashamed. She avoided Bandit’s eyes as the course was cleared. Dessert was finally served, a rich flan with thick caramel sauce. But she was too miserable to enjoy the delicate vanilla flavor, the smooth texture. Would this evening ever end? She looked down at Papa whose three chins moved as he chewed, but he gave her a disapproving look. Monique looked at her, too, ill at ease and speculative.
Now, as the meal ended, the servants set finger bowls of the finest gold-rimmed china on the service plate before each guest. Amethyst could hardly wait for the evening to be over. She sighed with relief, reached out to dip her fingers into the water as the others were doing.
But Bandit looked down at his finger bowl, and grinned. “About time!” he said. “I was gettin’ mighty dry!”
While everyone watched in horror and amusement, he picked up his finger bowl, drank it to the last drop.
Chapter Sixteen
Amethyst stared in shock as the Texan put the finger bowl down, wiped his mouth. Then he seemed to notice the silence, the faces all turning to stare at him.
Someone down the table tittered with laughter, and Amethyst flinched as Bandit looked into her eyes. She had never seen such panic on a man’s face. For a split second, he looked as if he might get up and bolt away from the table. Her victory was complete. She had humiliated him.
Is this what you wanted? his eyes silently asked. To make a fool of me?
Hadn’t that been her intention? To show him he could never belong here? To humiliate him and his mistress so they’d leave the Durango ranch and never return.
But suddenly she realized she could not bear to see him embarrassed before all these people. Amethyst took a deep breath, reached for her finger bowl. “I’m mighty thirsty myself!” she announced loudly, breaking silence. And taking a deep breath, she drank the water in her finger bowl.
Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked at Bandit. He gave her an admiring gaze and winked at her.
The guests looked at her, then at each other, in confusion. Amethyst watched them with amusement. Certainly no one would dare laugh at the table manners of one of the richest, most noble girls in all Mexico.
Papa, seeming to realize for the first time that she was protecting Bandit, gave her an approving nod and drank from his finger bowl, too. Monique picked hers up, looking as if she were not quite sure what she was supposed to do with it, and drank the contents down.
All up and down the table, people looked at each, guiltily took their hands out of the bowls, picked them up, and drank from them.
It was all Amethyst could do to keep from breaking into laughter as Mrs. Webster picked hers up, looked around uncertainly, then drank from it.
This arrogant crowd of snobs had felt compelled to follow their hostess and one and all had gradually picked up their finger bowls and drunk from them.
Amethyst silently chided herself. You softhearted idiot. This was the perfect opportunity to make a fool of him. Isn’t that the reason you set up this whole thing? But somehow, she didn’t care. The gentle smile Bandit gave her made her heart leap, made it all worthwhile.
As they made ready to leave the table, he pulled her chair back for her, murmured, “Gracias, Aimée. This bunch was fixin’ to laugh me right outa here!”
He’s right, she thought, with an annoyed flounce of her bustle. She’d set this trap, then ruined her own plan. She must be loco!
The crowd left the dining room, the ladies to retire to the drawing room to gossip, the men to enjoy brandy and cigars in the library. Later they all gathered in the music room for entertainment.
Everyone sat and yawned while young Clarissa played Mozart very badly, her bony mother beaming with pride.
Amethyst clapped politely, though she believed she could have played the piece better with her elbows. Certainly Clarissa’s playing would have improved if she’d watched the keyboard instead of Bandit.
Monique was called upon to sing “The Last Rose of Summer,” the song that had been so popular in America during the Civil War. She sang pretty well, Amethyst had to admit, and she got louder applause. Papa stuck his thumbs in his vest and smiled expansively.
Then he said, “And of course we must have Amethyst play.”
Amethyst looked around, noticed some of the men were dozing and some of the ladies were yawning behind their hands. Sometimes the entertainment did get a little dull. She wondered what people would do for entertainment a hundred years from now?
“Well, Papa, if you insist.” She played Beethoven. Although she played well, the slowness of the piece seemed to cause more and more people to fall asleep in their chairs. Even Bandit yawned noticeably. She felt stung and, without thinking, acted on impulse. “Perhaps Señor Falcon plays?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders, reddened. “A little, but not them kinda songs.”
She smiled a little too sweetly, and couldn’t resist the temptation to chide him before the sleepy crowd. “Oh, do come and play, Tony! I know we’d all be interested in hearing the kind of music you prefer.”
He grinned at her crookedly. “Reckon we might play a duet together?”
“Well, I don’t think . . .”
But around her, people were sitting up in their seats, showing interest and urging him to join his fiancee at the piano.
Even Papa made a motion with his hands. “Sí, daughter, I think that would be nice!”
Why not? she thought. She played very well, and figured here was a chance to show the smart aleck up. “Of course, Tony!”
Bandit swaggered to the piano and sat down on the bench, giving her a decided push that almost sent her off the other end.
The nerve of this pistolero. She smiled. “Why don’t I just watch a moment, Tony? You play and I’ll try to pick up the melody later.” She certainly didn’t want to cover up his awkward playing. Surely no Texas cowboy could do her grand piano justice.
Monique leaned a little closer. The lusty Clarissa changed seats so she could sit next to the piano.
Amethyst smiled sweetly up at him to hide her annoyance. “Tony? What did you have in mind? Mozart? Beethoven?”
He grinned as he spread his big hands over the keyboard. “Stephen Foster,” he said. -
“I don’t think I’m familiar with that composer.”
He just grinned and winked. “I’ll sing the first verse in English,” he instructed the group, “and when you think you’ve got the words, then jump in any place!”
Clarissa leaned over so she could almost touch Bandit. “Oh, this is such a treat!” she gushed, and she wasn’t looking at the piano. As her gaze went over Bandit’s form she looked like a puppy licking up spilled cream.
Then Bandit began to play in a loud, saloon-ty
pe style, the likes of which had never before been heard in this elegant circle of Mexican society:
“The Camptown ladies sing this song, doo-dah! Doo-dah’!” he sang. “‘Camptown race track, five miles long. Oh, doo-dah day! Gwine to run all night! Gwine to run all day! I bet my money on de bobtail nag—Somebody bet on de bay’!”
He played with such skill, Amethyst was stunned. She stared at his flying fingers, not sure she could keep up. The audience started to awaken; toes began tapping.
He looked over to her in amusement, that old arrogant gleam back in his eyes. “Jump right on in, Aimée, anytime; that is, if you think you can play well enough to keep up!” Now he lifted a hand to lead the singing crowd:
“‘The Camptown ladies sing this song . . .
He’s in control of the situation, Amethyst thought, looking around at the smiling, admiring faces as people sat up, began to sing. He played fast and rhythmically, almost pounding the keys.
Amethyst’s fingers had to fly to keep up with his as she took up the chorus, playing along with him: “‘Doo-dah! Doo-dah’! ”
Her papa nodded and smiled, tapping his foot. Everyone smiled, tried to sing the americano song:
“‘I came down dar wid my hat caved in. Doo-dah! Doo-dah! I go back home wid a pocket full of tin. Oh! Doo-dah day!’”
What applause! Certainly no one had ever applauded her like that, she thought with a frown. When he tried to leave the piano, the crowd begged for more. The Texan was clearly the hit of the evening.
He waved for silence and gave young Clarissa a heartfelt look. “I dedicate this next one to the Southern belles in our audience!”
Amethyst, still sitting next to him on the piano bench, gritted her teeth. That, of course, meant Miss Clarissa and her mother. “I probably won’t know it,” she said, smiling thinly.
Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) Page 27
