Bal Masque

by Fleeta Cunningham

  “You’ll find matters to interest you, wherever you live. You and your husband will find common grounds as your life together develops.”

  “Papa is the one enamored with Armand and the Dupres’ plans.” Lucienne shrugged. “I wish it were his life someone else was arranging. How long would he put up with anyone else making choices for him?”

  “It’s the way of things. The gentlemen make the rules. Ladies make themselves agreeable.” Marie busied herself tidying the chamber. Lucienne roamed the room, finally settling Ninette in her lap and again staring, a bit sullenly, out into the landscape. The silence between the two women lengthened. Jasmine from the broken bottles still permeated the air, though Marie had wiped the dampness from the pine floor and swept shards of glass and feathers out of the crevices.

  As Marie removed the last trace of Lucienne’s outburst, she considered the girl’s intense expression. She knew such silent concentration suggested a plot in the making. Was Lucienne still thinking she could convince her papa to consider another suitor? Or was she still angry that she couldn’t wear the lavish ball gown or attend the grand bal masque? Lucienne was very still, thoughtfully stroking the cat, a shaft of slanting light outlining her against the window. She twitched the curtains together but continued to cast a lingering look through them.

  “Perhaps Papa will do something for me, a little thing to make all this less obnoxious.” She spoke softly as if voicing random thoughts.

  “What is that, chèrie?” Marie glanced back, unsettled by the disingenuous look on Lucienne’s face.

  “Perhaps Papa might be willing to arrange something so I can wear my wonderful masquerade gown. Haven’t I been very good about agreeing to his arrangements? He should be willing to humor my one little whim.”

  Marie could almost hear the whir of plans. Lucienne continued to look through the sheer curtains. “Lucienne, what are you thinking? You said yourself the time of the wedding is for the convenience of the Dupres. Since he’s willing to concede to their time requirements by reducing the usual Mardi Gras celebrations, I am certain he will not change the date. He does not back away easily from something once he has decided.” Very much like his daughter, I think, she added to herself.

  Lucienne walked from the windows to put the kitten on the white counterpane. She cast Marie a sideways look, her elfin eyes bright as black diamonds. “Oh, no, he most certainly won’t do that. But he does like to get his money’s worth out of any purchase—a horse, a piece of land, whatever. And he paid for the butterfly dress even though Grandmère ordered it. He won’t like for his money to be spent for nothing. And I will need yet another expensive gown for the wedding—one that will probably cost even more since it will have to be made in a rush—so he might see value in letting me wear the butterfly dress.”

  “But, p’tite, the butterfly dress, a beautiful dress to be sure, is not suitable for a bride. It is a—a costume, not bridal wear, at all.”

  Lucienne laughed, a brittle edge in her tone. “Oh, it certainly is not. Not the usual bride’s dress, at least. But if I remind Papa that the whole parish will be disappointed if Mille Fleur doesn’t have the annual masquerade ball—and if I point out the wasteful extravagance of having paid for a gown I can’t wear—I might get his attention. Then I’ll suggest we combine the wedding and the ball.” A smothered chuckle colored her words. Marie glanced at her charge with doubled suspicion. “I can wear my wonderful gown, his money will be spent with a purpose, and he will be saved the cost of a second dress.” With eyes as wide as Ninette’s, she continued, “All our friends and family will be so pleased if the ball goes on as usual. It will be less work for Mama and the servants this way.” She added in a measured, reasonable voice, “The wedding will be unique, and that will appeal to Papa. He loves to be the first with a new fashion. This may be unconventional, but it’s far less trouble than what he plans.” Lucienne bent down and buried her face in Ninette’s dark fur with a soft chuckle.

  “And you, chèrie? Will you be delighted to have such a wedding?” Marie knew Lucienne’s change of heart signified more than the desire to wear the butterfly gown, but she couldn’t imagine what Lucienne was planning. Sparing a look out the window, the older woman sought something on the grounds that offered a clue to Lucienne’s thoughts. All she saw was the overseer Price and his daughter Dorcas walking along the path to their cottage.

  “Delighted?” Lucienne echoed Marie’s word choice with wonder. She shook her head. “Well, perhaps not delighted, but I will certainly be more agreeable.”

  Chapter Two:

  Masquerade

  “What do you think, Ninette? Papa has guests, so he’ll invite the gentlemen into his office to sample this year’s taffia. He should be in a good mood, good enough to grant his little Chou-Chou a small request, shouldn’t he?” Giddy with plans for a way out of Papa’s unacceptable arrangements, Lucienne swirled her embroidered skirts and curtseyed to the wide-eyed kitten on the bed. “If I give him a few hints, maybe Papa will come around to my idea all by himself. He loves to surprise his friends with something a bit unconventional, doesn’t he?” The kitten polished one black paw and tidied her ears. She seemed to agree with her young mistress that winning any campaign started with perfect grooming.

  René Toussaint expected his wife and daughter to be charming and ornamental at all times, but especially so when he had guests for dinner. Though Lucienne dressed with her usual care, tonight her demurely flirtatious dinner dress was also the first step in a delicate ambush, and she had designed her appearance accordingly. The white gown framed her pretty shoulders with a lace pelerine. A fresh camellia tucked into her shining curls helped create a portrait of transparent sweetness. Delicate embroidered scallops edged her hem and brushed the toes of her slippers as she skipped down the gallery steps and into the long dim hallway below.

  From the end of the passage she heard the faint rumble of voices. Her father was speaking to someone else in the small plantation office, a room half hidden by an elaborate étagère. One of the guests talking horses with Papa. Assured that her earlier expectations appeared correct, she slipped silently into the front parlor, where a window put the outside office door in view. She wouldn’t have to eavesdrop, and risk getting caught, to know when the business day was concluded. She could see her father’s guest depart.

  In less time than she expected the door opened, with a force that made it spring outward. Price the overseer marched out, popping his Panama hat against his palm and clearing the veranda with long steps. His sunburned face turned neither left nor right as he charged away from the house and into the gardens beyond. That didn’t bode well for Lucienne’s plans. Price appeared to be in a rage. Perhaps he and Papa quarreled. But Price is always in a hurry, and his red face always looks angry. Lucienne shrugged as he disappeared into the late evening shadow. Maybe that’s the way it is up north where he lived before. Everybody always fussing and fuming. Hope he hasn’t upset Papa. I might have a harder time if Papa’s in a temper.

  Lucienne strolled through the shadowy hall once more, making her way to her father’s office. A faint murmur reached her again, but this time she was sure the voices were only her parents. Mama would be going to the dining room to make a final check on the table settings shortly. Then Lucienne would have her chance. She slipped back into the shadows to wait once more. In a minute or so she heard the rustle of skirts and the quick tap of slippers on the painted wood floor as her mother continued her pre-dinner errands.

  Lucienne assumed an anxious pose in the doorway of the office. A heady scent of cigars, taffia, and leather met her. René Toussaint bent over an open ledger, a finger knotting the loose end of his cravat. He inked a note in the long, narrow book.

  “Could you put those boring old accounts away? Or would I be distracting you?”

  “I’m always ready to be distracted by your sweet smile.” Her father pushed his chair away from the long table and the account books it held. “Come and brighten this dull room b
efore your mama calls us to dinner. Is something worrying my Chou-Chou? Tell Papa.”

  Lucienne hugged him, took the chair he offered, and spread her embroidered skirts over her lap. “Papa?” She put a wistful note in her voice. “Papa, are you sure marrying Armand Dupre is the right thing for me to do?” She twisted one end of her ribbon sash as if thinking through a troublesome subject. “I know you’ve considered it, but I’m just concerned what people might think, the Dupres being in trade and not planters like us.” In the social strata of Lucienne’s world, only planter families mattered, all others being distinctly lower in caste. “You don’t think our friends might look down on us for marrying into a trade family, or possibly shun any child I might have, do you?” As an argument, it was the strongest one she’d been able to devise as she schemed in her room all afternoon.

  René Toussaint sat back in his chair, the faint wrinkle of concern fading from his brow. “Is that worrying you, p’tite?” He put a reassuring hand over hers. “No, I don’t think you should be concerned for your children’s place in the order of things. The Dupres are a fine, honorable family. They were planters, cotton planters, before the sugar cane trade became so big here along the river. They saw a need for agents who could transport the rock sugar and build the market. Old Raoul Dupre has a fine head for business, and he and his son have helped us all get better transportation and prices for our sugar.” He smiled in some amusement. “After all, my papa was only a small farmer when he started out in Saint Domingue. If he hadn’t brought the ribbon cane plant here and succeeded where others gave up, we might still just be small farmers, not one of the big plantations. You mustn’t worry yourself with such trifles.”

  Lucienne drew a long breath as if relieved of a major burden. “I’m sure you know best.” Silence filled the room. She put a note of regret in her voice and hesitantly brought up her real point. “Do you think our friends and family are going to be put out at us for canceling the grand ball, Papa? Everybody looks forward to the masquerade; it’s even more important than the Christmas parties. People may feel grieved when they don’t get to come this year. And we’re not even inviting them to a proper wedding instead.” She sighed heavily. “I know Pierrette is going to be disappointed, especially after Grandmère ordered those dresses for her and me, all the way from Paris.”

  René Toussaint flinched a little at the mention of his formidable mother-in-law. Lucienne knew perfectly well Madame Thierry would not be pleased that the butterfly costumes she’d ordered for her granddaughters received no showing. She would, with great delicacy, let everyone know how she’d been inconvenienced, and mention the exorbitant price of the gowns, though in fact she’d sent the bills to her sons-in-law for payment. She would bemoan the waste for at least the coming year.

  “I know you and your cousin planned a grand entrance and a fine evening bedazzling your beaus with those butterfly things. And your grandmère will have my head for making other arrangements, but what could I do? The Dupres, father and son, have business obligations for months ahead. Unfortunately, when one is in the city, the other is away. I would love to give you the fine cathedral wedding you deserve, Chou-Chou, but we would be waiting a year, perhaps two, before such a thing could happen. The Dupres are not to be put off that long.”

  Two years from now would be an excellent time! Lucienne might wish it, but she knew nothing would convince the men involved to postpone the event. “I feel so dreadful about disappointing everyone, and I hate letting Grandmère’s dress go to waste. I might not be able to wear it, or even be able to attend a bal masque, by next year. Who can tell how things will affect a woman just a year married?” She drew a breath as if struck by a new thought. “Papa, was the dress terribly, terribly expensive?”

  René shrugged in Gallic dismissal, as if the amount didn’t matter in the scope of things, but Lucienne knew how her thrifty father hated waste. She added to his discomfort. “I’ll have to have another gown for the wedding, you know, even if it’s just a small affair here at home. The Dupres would be shamed if we make a poor showing, and Mama will be heartbroken if she doesn’t get to plan a proper dress for her only child’s marriage.” She wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips to suggest concern. “I’m afraid a suitable gown will be very expensive, too, Papa, since we’ll be having it made in a rush just as everyone else is ordering party dresses for the spring.”

  “Too bad your grandmère didn’t have a wedding dress in mind instead of that costume for the masquerade,” René grumbled. “I don’t suppose the butterfly dress can be altered for a wedding gown?” Lucienne managed to hide her glee behind widened eyes.

  “Papa, what are you thinking? Grandmère had that gown made by the best couturier in all Paris. No one here could begin to make changes without ruining the dress.”

  “And you can’t wear it as is? Just let it be your wedding gown?”

  “Could we do that?” Lucienne paused as if considering. “It’s a wonderful idea!” She hesitated. “But it’s terribly unconventional. The Dupres are most awfully proper, and we wouldn’t want to embarrass them.” She drew a breath as if considering the radical suggestion. “Still, they’ve rushed us, so perhaps it’s only fair for them to make a concession. If you think it won’t upset M’sieu Dupre too badly, I’ll do it, Papa.”

  “Do it, Chou-Chou? Wear your grandmère’s ball gown for the wedding?”

  “Why, Papa, that would solve everything, wouldn’t it? And be the talk of every gathering for ages. A masquerade wedding! What a sensation! Everyone, even Armand, in costume, too—that would make it the event of the year. We might start a new fashion.” Lucienne giggled with pleasure.

  She read her father’s face as René weighed the expense of a second gown, the waste of the butterfly costume, and the astonished amusement of his family and neighbors. Eyes twinkling, he drew his thumbnail over his thin moustache. His growing smile registered the logic and the pleasure he saw in combining the grand ball his colleagues and family expected with the necessary celebration of an only daughter’s wedding. The savings alone, one expense to cover two extravagant affairs, appealed to his thrifty nature. Lucienne saw her point about the Dupres rushing things carried with him, also. They might as well deal with some of the consequences of their impatience, she told herself with satisfaction. She knew René’s pride demanded his daughter celebrate a memorable wedding, not some thrown-together event that would demean her position. At the same time, Madame Thierry, a mother-in-law not to be trifled with, would be placated and her extravagant gowns worn.

  As her Papa’s petite Chou-Chou, Lucienne knew he’d make every effort to please her. After her coming out in New Orleans, he’d boasted to his friends about her conquests among the young men. Papa had permitted a select few to call. Armand Dupre was Papa’s choice, and in the normal course of things their betrothal would have been announced at the grand ball, with the wedding planned for fall or perhaps Christmas. She knew Papa was disappointed when the event was moved up so hastily; Lucienne suspected her mother Charlotte also harbored regret over the pared-down celebration.

  “It all begins to arrange itself, ma fille.” Papa looked as if he’d planned a wonderful surprise just for his precious Chou-Chou. “I’m relieved you are so pleased with my idea. I feared it might be too unconventional for you, not the romantic wedding of your dreams.”

  “Oh, no, Papa.” She demurely looked down at her skirts to hide her satisfaction. “I would never have imagined anything half so romantic or grand.”

  After dinner, when their guests, Lucienne’s uncle and two visiting horse breeders, ambled down to the stables to look over Uncle Gaston’s new mare, René and Charlotte Toussaint withdrew to the plantation office to “discuss some family business.” Though she could have easily sent Marie, Lucienne went upstairs to her room for a shawl against the cool evening. Her errand made a perfect excuse to cover a trip down the back stairs, where she could stand beside the slightly open window and hear, if not see, how her mother dealt with the
changed wedding plans. A pale wash of light spilled out of the tall window. Lucienne took care not to step where her white gown would show against the darkened garden.

  “Charlotte, the man assured me there was nothing in it. He thinks you merely overheard chatter between two girls who had little else to do. We must be sure before we act on such a serious charge.” Lucienne struggled with impatience. Papa was talking about some boring plantation business, not what she wanted to hear.

  “I’ll look into it further, but I think there’s more here than idle gossip,” her mother answered.

  “And how can you be sure you know the guilty party even if your suspicions are verified?” The scent of a fresh cigar perfumed the air around the window.

  “I would be a poor chatelaine indeed if I didn’t know what was happening beneath my very nose.” Charlotte’s tone became a bit more astringent.

  “And none could ever fault your diligence.” Thin smoke escaped the window. Lucienne saw him now. He’d moved from the desk to stare out into the garden. “We have other things to discuss. I’ve made a decision about this business of the wedding, and I think you will agree it solves much of the dilemma. How do you think the Dupres would feel if we simply combined the wedding and the masquerade ball? I suggested it to Chou-Chou. She’s very down in the mouth over giving up a grand wedding and the ball, too. She cheered up when I mentioned it to her.”