Benedict moved ahead of Elene toward the stairs that led to the upper gallery. He made a smooth gesture in that direction before standing aside. “I put your guest there. Shall I bring a pot of chocolate and a cake or two?”
“Please,” Elene said, her voice warm to make up for her earlier sharpness. “That is, bring chocolate for the lady, but I prefer coffee.”
Benedict bowed with a faint smile. Elene turned away to move up the stairs.
“Elene, chère! I had to come see how you are and to give you all the news.” Hermine rose to meet her, giving her a quick, light embrace. Elene made the actress welcome, waving her back into her seat as she took a chair across from her. They exchanged the usual pleasantries.
Her face alight with amusement, Hermine went on, “You will never believe it. There is not a professional theater in New Orleans. Not one!”
“You can’t mean it.”
“I do indeed. Oh, there is an occasional amateur production at a makeshift theater called the Spectacle de la Rue Pierre, and another place known as La Salle de Comédie — or perhaps they are the same, I don’t know. Anyway, they hardly count. What can have possessed the Spanish to do without?”
“An excess of piety? Or perhaps they just have had no talented professionals such as your troupe to inspire them.”
“I like the last reason,” Hermine said with a twinkle in her eyes. “But you will be happy to know the situation is about to change. Morven has found us a place.”
“A theater where there is none?” Elene did her best to show proper interest, despite the distraction of the problem with the perfume.
“Nothing so miraculous. It’s a vauxhall.”
“A what!”
A vauxhall, Elene knew, was a pleasure garden in imitation of the famous attraction of that name in London. Such places frequently included a stage for light entertainment on the order of juggling and acrobatics, a few comic skits, the singing of light airs, and music for dancing. The audience usually sat in boxes having supper, drinking, laughing, and talking, giving only cursory attention to the entertainers unless they were either sufficiently comical or risqué to catch their attention.
“Don’t look so shocked, my love. We’ve performed in worse places, I assure you. It happens that our patroness has a major financial interest in the vauxhall outside the city, at the end of the canal.”
“I see.”
Hermine grinned. “I doubt it. This patroness is a middle-aged widow, one not only rich and amorous, but completely charmed with Morven. Widows are rather a specialty of his.”
“You mean that he—”
“That he takes advantage? He can’t help himself, poor dear. And the widows appreciate it. It gives them memories to make them smile when they are old.”
“Don’t you mind?” Elene asked in perplexity.
Hermine gave a light shrug. “Only a little. It doesn’t mean anything to him, and we have to live.”
“I suppose.” To Elene’s ear, however, the actress’s explanation was far too airy and offhand. It did not match the desolation in her eyes. Hermine, for all her sophisticated understanding, did mind. She minded a great deal.
“Anyway, we will have a performance at the end of the week, and you and Ryan must come. Not only shall we love to see you in the audience, we need the applause!”
Elene agreed. She did not think Ryan would mind since Morven was an old friend.
The chocolate and coffee arrived in separate pots, both of delicate Sevres porcelain painted with roses. Benedict poured the beverages for them, then withdrew as quietly as he had come.
Hermine sipped, pronounced her chocolate delicious, then tilted her head to one side inquisitively. “Have you heard from the others of our group? M’sieur Mazent has driven out to inspect the plantation he had the foresight to purchase here some years ago. It was converted to sugar production shortly after he bought in, and now he finds himself still a wealthy man in spite of having lost a fortune on Saint-Domingue. He considers building a fine new house on his lands, but hesitates because Flora prefers the delights of town.”
“And the Tusards?”
“When I saw Madame Tusard, she was bitter. M’sieur Claude spends all his time at the Café des Réfugiés on St. Philip Street with the other gentlemen from Saint-Domingue, drinking absinthe and talking about the time when they were figures of importance. The friends with whom they have been staying are already casting out hints that they find a place elsewhere. Madame fears she will be reduced to some paltry cottage and a pittance from the French government — if even that small pension can be pried from the First Consul. Napoleon, it seems, is bored with the importuning and the horror tales from the survivors of the island. As are the people of New Orleans.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve noticed something of it myself,” Elene said, thinking of the milliner’s tirade against the women of Saint-Domingue.
“Madame Tusard is to be pitied, but she can be tiresome. She came to see me yesterday. She seemed convinced for some reason that her Claude might be with me instead of at the café. She seems to think that I am the actress who apparently led her husband astray years ago, causing him to absent himself temporarily with government funds.”
“I didn’t know there was an actress involved in the scandal. I don’t think she was mentioned on the ship.”
“Nor do I. In any case, I was glad to be able to disabuse the lady of the idea that I had anything to do with it. It is too absurd; I was in Paris at the time, I swear it! But I think the tragedies the woman has endured has made her see enemies everywhere.”
Elene nodded. “It can happen.”
“And I suppose you have heard from Durant?”
“No, nothing.” Elene could not think why the other woman would assume she had, unless she thought Durant would be visiting her while she was ensconced as the mistress of another man. He had, in fact, ignored her as if she didn’t exist, which was just as well. Ryan had been very busy with his affairs in the past few days, but she did not think he would approve of Durant making himself free of his house when he was not present.
The actress drank the last of her chocolate and set her cup aside, then went on in her melodious tones. “Durant appears to have had resources he did not mention while on board the ship. He has not only togged himself out splendidly at the most expensive tailor in town since his arrival, but has purchased the flashiest carriage you ever saw, a phaeton of black lacquer with bright blue trim and pulled by a pair of chestnuts that have no equal in the colony.”
“Durant always did enjoy owning the best.”
“Which reminds me that his mistress has been provided with a gown the same shade of blue as the carriage, and a blue bonnet with black plumes. For Serephine’s sake, he has taken the upper floor of a house, also, one located at quite a fashionable address. It happened that the proprietor of the inn where Durant and the Mazents were staying objected to his mistress sharing his rooms and eating in the common room with the other guests. Durant removed her and has been flaunting her about ever since.”
“It sounds like him.”
“I assume that was the whole purpose of the carriage, to show himself and his mistress abroad, tooling up and down the levee road. It isn’t as if he has estates to inspect or relatives to visit out of town, which is the only reason most people here buy a vehicle. It seems excessive.”
“Durant enjoys that also.”
“I thought he might, though it’s always possible he misses you to excess instead, and is busily showing everyone he doesn’t.”
Elene shook her head with a wry smile. “Doubtful indeed.”
“How disappointing. I had every hope that being thwarted in love might be the making of Durant!”
They talked of other things until finally Hermine rose to go. Elene walked with her down the stairs and through the courtyard to the opening of the porte cochère. Just inside the shadowy underpass, the actress paused.
“We, the troupe, that is, have left the b
oardinghouse we found, you know, and moved in with the widow to rehearse in her garden. You must come to see us when you have nothing else to do.”
“The widow won’t mind?”
“No, no. She adores visitors.”
The actress gave Elene careful directions to the house. Elene was repeating them when the door to the small room she and Devota had taken for a workroom swung open just along the wall behind her.
Devota emerged. “I’ve done it, chère!” she cried as she caught sight of Elene. “Now it’s right.”
“You finished without me?” Elene did not try to hide her disappointment.
“It came to me what was missing. Only smell now—” Devota pressed the bottle she held into Elene’s hand along with the square of linen. Only then did she catch sight of the actress. “Mam’zelle Hermine, I didn’t see you there. My eyes — it’s so bright out here when I’ve just come from the workroom.”
“Good morning, Devota,” the actress said easily. “Don’t tell me you have made more of the famous perfume already?”
Devota gave a reluctant nod.
“What a fascination it is, the making of a good scent. To smell it is to breathe the distilled memories of flowers, to wear it is to create memories of one’s own.” Hermine’s gaze moved to the blue bottle in Elene’s hand. She watched intently as the stopper was removed and the ritual of inhaling the fragrance was performed.
“Well?” the actress demanded.
“Well?” the maid questioned.
Elene divided a slow, wide smile between the two women. “Beautiful,” she said. “Perfect.”
Hermine sighed. “Wonderful. You will permit me one little sniff? I can’t wait to see if it’s truly the same as yours. Such a marvelous fragrance.”
Elene was aware of a moment of reluctance, of dislike of the idea of handing over her perfume. It was because the triumph of getting it right was so new, she told herself. There was no call to be so absurd. She relinquished the sample of perfume and waited for the reaction of the actress.
“Ah, wonderful,” Hermine sighed in bliss. “Nothing, but nothing could be so heavenly. It’s a breath of paradise, nothing less. Tell me this little bit isn’t all you have made, I beg of you. I must have some of it. I really must!”
A promise had been made. There was nothing to be done now except keep it. Elene forced a smile and passed the tiny stopper for the bottle to the actress. “Take this, the very first bottle. It’s yours, just as we agreed — and since you have given us the perfect name for it. I think we will call it, simply, Paradise.”
Devota made a small gesture, as if she would retrieve the bottle, then quickly drew her hand back. That movement was lost as Hermine threw her arms around Elene, crying her thanks. When the actress had gone, taking her perfume with her, Elene looked around. Devota was gone, slipping away back into the workroom.
11
ELENE STOOD IN AN invisible cloud of perfume. Its aura hovered around her, redolent of tropical nights with exotic flowers pale in the moonlight, of warm breezes laden with the scent of spice, of sun-kissed white sand beaches and rolling turquoise waves, of arching palm trees and moist fern bowers. Oblivious of the intangible aura she had created, she stood carefully measuring minute quantities of perfume into tiny blue bottles with green and lavender ribbons tied around the necks. Each bottle was firmly fitted with a stopper and set to one side.
Ryan stood watching her with his shoulder braced on the door frame. The gold of her hair seemed to glow in the dim room lighted only by the fading gleams of the setting sun beyond the windows. Her face was absorbed, almost stern, and yet the curves of her mouth were gentle and soft with pleasure. She moved with quick competence, her fingers nimble among the small bottles. There was nothing in what she was doing that was the least enticing; nevertheless, he wanted her with a sudden, almost frightening, intensity.
He had gone about his business much as usual in the past few days, but his heart wasn’t in it. His thoughts had a way of returning to Elene here in his house at the most inconvenient times. He made love to her nightly, held her in his arms while she slept, sat across from her as she presided over his table, and kissed her good-bye each morning as he left her. Still she eluded him.
Obsessed. He was becoming obsessed with her. It was all he could do not to return to the house a dozen times a day to see if she was still there. His desire for her, instead of being slaked by constant appeasement, seemed only to grow. She lingered in his mind just as the scent of her perfume lingered on his body and haunted the corners of his house. His life was permeated with her, while it seemed that she was hardly conscious he existed, except when she was in his arms. It was intolerable. Just as it was intolerable that she should go on working without knowing he was there.
He pushed away from the door frame and stepped into the room. Moving in behind her, he circled her waist with his arms to draw her against him.
Elene stiffened in alarm. The empty bottle she held clattered to the tabletop. She whipped around, stepping back.
“What are you doing here?” The words were taut, and her face flushed with guilty chagrin.
“I live here, you will remember.”
“But you left—”
“I took a wild notion to return, in the main because Benedict hinted this morning it might be of interest.”
“Benedict,” she said, her voice hollow.
“You will have to forgive him. It’s his job to look after my welfare.” He braced one fist on his hip, waving with the other hand toward the bottles arrayed behind her. “You didn’t expect, surely, to keep this from me for long. The smell alone is enough to give you away.” Nor had he needed Benedict’s hint. Her eagerness to be rid of him and her preoccupation of late had been enough to arouse his suspicions.
“We have been opening the doors and windows and working only an hour or two at a time.” She lifted her chin. “We haven’t done any harm to your house or your storeroom.”
“I never thought you had.” A frown drew his brows together at her defensive gesture. “My concern is for why you thought it necessary to do it behind my back.”
“To avoid just such a scene as this, the outrage of the master of the house because a mere female wanted to do something on her own. Why should I come begging for your permission? To give you the pleasure of refusing?”
That she could so misjudge him brought the rise of real anger. “What in the name of all the gods do I care what you do in here? It’s nothing to me if you want to spend your time dabbling in perfume. I even made the suggestion, if you remember. But you might have trusted me enough to discuss going ahead with it.”
“Dabbling! It’s a joke to you, just as when you first mentioned it. You don’t take it seriously at all.” She glared at him, an infuriated golden angel in the dim room.
“Don’t put words in my mouth. You have no way of knowing what I think, what I want, or what I will do.”
“Fine talk, but you would still have refused to allow me this, just as my father always denied his permission, to prove your power over me.”
“I’m not your father. I don’t have to prove anything!”
Elene’s attention was snared by the hard conviction in his tone. She stared at him, at the dark shadows in his eyes and the grim planes of his face, while his words sank slowly into her mind. Before she could speak, he went on.
“I will tell you this about me. You may do what you like, in here or elsewhere, but don’t ever try to make me your dupe again. That I will not tolerate.”
“You … don’t really mind this?” Her question was tentative as she indicated the storeroom around them, as if she still could not quite believe him.
“Why should I? I’m not using the room.”
“But you might need it later.”
He held to his temper, giving her a perplexed frown. “Do you want it or not?”
“Yes, I want it!”
“Then take it.”
He was right, she didn’t know him. A
part of the reason was his own armored defenses, but another was her need for self-protection. If she did not allow herself to come too close, she could not be hurt when they went their separate ways. There was also her guilt over using the perfume against him. Discomfort of conscience did not encourage intimacy.
Now there was this added apprehension. If he was so incensed at being deceived over the use of his storeroom, what would he feel when he learned of the perfume?
She lifted her chin to meet his gaze squarely. “I’m sorry. On second thought, it might be better if I didn’t use it. In fact, it might be as well if I left your house.”
“No.” The word was rough as he reached to catch her arms. “I won’t let you go.”
“You can’t keep me against my will.”
“Try me.”
There was in his grasp the firmness of restrained strength. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to break free. She did not try. Her gaze clear, she said, “And give you the opportunity to prove your power after all?”
He acknowledged her riposte with a twist of his lips. “Why should I release you? So you can go to another man?”
“So you would be left in peace.”
“Peace isn’t what I want, nor is it a house without you, without your damnable perfume.”
She tilted her head, her eyes shadowed. “It’s the perfume that attracts you then?”
“You know it isn’t.”
“Do I?”
“I could show you,” he said in grim amusement. “Have you ever had passionate love made to you on a hard floor?”
“You are well aware—”
“Yes, I am, one of my favorite memories. You know, sometimes I long for that black hole under Favier’s house.”
She stared at him at a loss. “But why?”
The reason, Ryan knew, was because there in that dark space he had not been able to see the reserve in her eyes. Because then there had been a strong probability that her bridegroom, Durant Gambier, was dead. Because for those brief days Elene Larpent had been wholly his, unable to evade him.
“Marry me,” he said.
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