Bal Masque

by Fleeta Cunningham

  The men watching the colts turned and started for the house. Lucienne saw her father wave and a moment later two women, the girls’ mothers, so alike at this distance one could not be distinguished from the other, came from the far side of the house.

  “Our parents are coming in. It must be about time to wake Grandmère.” Lucienne felt relief at having a reason to change the subject. “We’ll be dressing for dinner pretty soon. I’ll call Marie.”

  Lucienne debated with herself all through dinner how she would induce her cousin to take part in the elopement scheme. One idea after another flitted through her brain, only to be discarded. Not until the two girls were settled in Lucienne’s wide bed, with the long sheer netting dropped to keep out inquisitive insects, could she seriously approach the topic.

  “Pierrette, is there any particular young man among the ones Uncle Gaston approved who takes your fancy?”

  “Oh, they all seem much the same to me,” Pierrette admitted. “None of them are reprehensible or repulsive to look at. All of them are very courteous and gallant. Maybe one is richer than another, but I wouldn’t know about that. Papa takes care of those things. Not one is as charming or well-featured as your Armand, of that I am sure.”

  Lucienne drew a breath. “And you would be far happier if Armand were among the ones your papa was considering.”

  “Oh, it would be unseemly for me to even comment on that.” Pierrette turned away.

  Lucienne clasped the linen-covered shoulder beside her. “Pierrette, I’m in such awful despair, and I have no one I can talk to. Can you help me, please? At least listen to my plight.”

  Spilling over with sympathy and concern, Pierrette sat up among the pillows. “What has you so disturbed, Lucienne? How can I help?”

  “I can’t marry Armand, Pierrette, I simply can’t.” Lucienne let a soft sob fill her throat. Along with a gift for mimicry, she had the ability to shed a tear or two when tears were called for. “I’ve loved Philippe Pardue for as long as I can remember. And he loves me. If Papa hadn’t rushed to accept Armand, Philippe would have asked for my hand. But the decision was made too quickly; I couldn't persuade Papa to wait.”

  “And you really don’t care for Armand at all?” Pierrette sounded amazed at the thought.

  “No, no, not at all. I’ve tried every way I can think of to end the engagement, but Papa won’t listen.” She clasped Pierrette’s soothing hand. “But you can save me from this horrible nightmare, sweet cousin.”

  “I? How could I do what you can’t?”

  Lucienne wadded her pillow so she could sit higher in the bed. “You could marry him instead.”

  Pierrette sat bolt upright. “I…I could…could marry Armand?”

  “Yes, it would be so simple. At the wedding, in your butterfly costume, with the mask and everything, you could take my place. We’d send word down to the family that you weren’t feeling well sometime early in the day. Then, instead of me coming down to the parlor, you’d take my place. The dresses are so similar that no one would ever suspect, not even Grandmère, because she hasn’t seen either gown in almost a year. You’d stand in my place, Père Jean-Baptiste would read the vows, and at midnight, when you took off the mask, you’d be married to Armand. See how very easily these things might arrange themselves?”

  “But where would you be, Lucienne? Where could you hide? You couldn’t get away with pretending to be me.”

  “Oh, no, no, no, Pierrette. As soon as Marie goes to tell Papa I’m ready, you will slip out into the gallery. In the dark no one, not even Marie, will see the difference in the dresses. Once you’re out of the room, I’ll go down the back stairs and meet Philippe and we’ll elope. By the time you unmask, Philippe and I will be hours away and married.”

  “Lucienne, what a daring plan! But I don’t think I’m brave enough to try it. I’d be sure to say something to create suspicions, and you’d be stopped.”

  “Don’t be a goose, Pierrette. Think. We’re very much the same size. In almost duplicate dresses, after dark, no one will see through the disguise. You keep your voice low, as a nervous bride should, talk as little as possible, and it will be fine.” Lucienne brought up her most telling argument. “And you should have the man you care for. I know you love Armand far more than I ever would. We’d be doing it for the happiness of all concerned.”

  “I don’t know, Lucienne. It seems a little dishonorable, an underhanded way to go about things.”

  Lucienne bit back her irritation. She was offering the girl what her heart desired. Why did the little fool hesitate? Lucienne added one more bit of sugar, regardless of how much it pained her to mention it. “Just think, as Madame Dupre, Armand’s wife, those wonderful pearls will be yours. You’ll be wearing them at your own wedding, not watching me wear them.” Steeling herself to make the sacrifice she added, “They’ll look much better on you. I could see that when you held them this afternoon.”

  “I do care for Armand.” Pierrette’s words were so low Lucienne strained to hear them. “I would never have said so as long as I thought he had your affections. But if you truly think Philippe Pardue will make you happy, I’ll do it. I’ll take your place and try to make Armand glad of the trick we played on him.”

  “My good cousin, you’re better than a sister.” Lucienne kissed her cousin’s cheek in gratitude. Now things would work out the way she wanted.

  “But I do hope Grandmère isn’t correct about the Blanchards dragging all the Bowie kith and kin into the feud. Duels are so dreadful.”

  The jump in subject barely touched Lucienne’s mind. She was far too caught up in her own plans. Now that she knew that it was only that man Bowie involved, she’d lost interest.

  “You don’t think Philippe will challenge Blanchard, do you? To a duel?”

  Something in Pierrette’s tone caught her attention. Lucienne rolled over to look at her cousin in the pale moonlight that filled the room. “Philippe? A duel? Why on earth would he challenge Blanchard?”

  “The Pardues are cousins of the Bowies. Surely you know that?”

  Lucienne shook her head. If she had known that, she’d forgotten. Involved, extended family trees were too tiresome to remember.

  Pierrette drew closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “That was what Grandmère didn’t say this afternoon, what I was trying to mention when she went back to talking about your wedding plans. Till she told the story, I didn’t know who was involved in the duel in town. Once she explained, I could see why Uncle René and Papa were trying to keep it from us. The Bowies and the Pardues are second cousins, but they’ve been close as brothers for dog’s years. That horse race, the one Grandmère mentioned, it was Philippe’s horse that Bowie rode. As host, Philippe couldn’t race, so they traded. They had a huge wager on it, and Blanchard knew it. He cost them a fortune with his cheating, but they can’t say anything because they were doing a fiddle with the betting.” She gripped Lucienne’s hand under the coverlet. “I hope your Philippe can stay out of it with honor, but with his cousin wounded, he may think he must challenge.”

  Philippe dueling? Over that foolishness at the horse race? Surely he had more sense. Mon Dieu, if he fought, he might be maimed for life, or even killed on the spot. Philippe dead? No, it would not happen. She’d demand he apologize, make amends, admit he was wrong to try the stunt. He’d do what she asked, for love of her. Of course, he would.

  Chapter Five:

  Moonlight Confidences

  Lilting strains of a waltz swirled around the dancers. For the small masquerade, the louvered doors had been left open so the veranda became part of the parlors and the dining room. A dozen couples, masked but wearing evening dress, paused as the last note faded into the rising chatter.

  “It’s a lovely party, isn’t it, m’sieu?” Lucienne lowered her beaded mask and flipped her fan open. “And just warm enough to open the house, so we have enough room for dancing.”

  “Most perfect, mam’selle.” Armand put his own mask aside. “We ca
n hope for such excellent weather about three weeks hence.”

  His reminder of the rapidly approaching date stopped her breath for a moment. “I don’t suppose it would dare rain on such an occasion.”

  “Rain would never be so bold as to mar the event.” He gestured to a quiet corner. “Would you like to sit out the next set? Two cotillions should come before the next waltz, which you kindly promised to me.”

  Armand was an excellent partner on the dance floor. He’d led her through the set with flawless grace. A betrothal did have a use, she told herself. It made it possible to dance with one very good partner somewhat longer, instead of a number of bad ones, without incurring the wrath of the matrons along the wall. As if summoned by her thought of bad partners, Lucienne saw her Uncle Gaston coming their way. He loved the cotillion, though he could never keep the dance figures straight. Sitting out a dance to wait for another waltz with Armand was preferable to keeping her toes out of Gaston’s way. “I would be most happy for a breath of air.”

  A pair of slender chairs at the end of the veranda sat away from the direct line of dancers but would not be so isolated as to make Lucienne the object of gossip. Armand drew one toward her and held it as she managed her tulle skirts.

  “Having your cousin and grandmère here must have been a help to you and Madame Toussaint with the wedding plans,” Armand commented as the silence between them grew.

  “Oh, Mama has everything well in hand, but it’s been fun to have Pierrette here. It’s good experience for her. She’ll be going through much this same bustle soon, I’m sure.”

  Armand raised a querying brow. “Her father has accepted a suitor for her hand? I hadn’t heard.”

  Lucienne shook her fan at him. “Now, now, I can’t be telling family secrets to you just yet, but I vow Pierrette will be wed in less time than anyone thinks. She’s a very pretty girl, and you know she’s the gleam in her papa’s eye. A man who wins her will be fortunate indeed.”

  “Then there will be two fortunate men in this family.”

  Considering the plans she had along that line, Lucienne had no intention of following that course of thought. She searched for some diverting topic to introduce and said the first thing that came into her head. “Grandmère told Pierrette and me there had been another dreadful duel at the Oaks just a few days before she came to visit. Why do men do such awful things?” As the last word left her lips she knew she’d brought up gossip no gentleman would discuss with a lady.

  Armand gave her a look of some astonishment, but rather than drawing away at her breach of propriety, he bent closer. “It’s often arrogance, sometimes encouraged by too many cups emptied in the course of an evening. I’ve seen men challenged over the most trifling matters—a fancied slight to a popular ballerina’s performance, the best purveyor of sweets, and other equally foolish things.” His gaze seemed to see beyond the veranda and its passing dancers. “Swords and pistols at dawn aren’t trappings of sport. A man’s life should be worth more than a dancer’s lackluster performance or a preference in bonbons.”

  Lucienne forgot any conventional rule that might have stopped her words. She’d brooded over Philippe’s plight far too much to practice restraint. “How can a man of good sense be drawn into such a stupid affair? It’s not logical.”

  Armand’s mouth thinned. “Your grandmère was speaking of the Blanchard and Bowie matter, I suppose.” He glanced up as she nodded affirmation. “Pride swollen by mistrust, I think. And two men who have only suspicion and arrogance between them. I believe we saw the beginnings of the most recent turn of events at the horserace last month. You will recall the scene we witnessed in the barn.”

  Lucienne flinched at the reminder of her attempt to speak privately to Philippe. “Not truly an affair of honor, then? Just two angry men with a grievance.”

  “No, more likely a history of trickery and misjudgment on both sides. No honor attaches to either party in this meeting.” His look met hers. “Not that there isn’t sometimes a reason to fight, or even to kill, Lucienne,” he added. “A man defends his family, or his life, where there’s need. But not his vanity or his convenience. A man shouldn’t manufacture a pretext for taking up arms where none exists. Only if danger is real should a man resort to weapons.”

  “I should apologize for mentioning something so indelicate, I suppose. It’s gracious of you to indulge my whims.”

  “Lucienne, I am not being indulgent.” His face looked harder, intent, his hand on hers almost painful with the sincerity of his thoughts. “I would far rather talk to you of real concerns and honest opinions than trade in the empty conventions most of society calls conversation. I might shock your mother with my views, or perhaps anger your father, but I believe Madame Thierry has a more realistic view of life. She and I might see a good many things at the same level.”

  Lucienne raised her fan to hide momentary confusion. Armand’s comments suggested he approved of the turn their conversation had taken. She’d never suspected such an attitude could exist in Armand Dupre’s orthodox mind. He actually appeared interested in her opinions. In uncharted seas, she fell back on convention and safe conversation. “Oh, Grandmère is a scandal to the whole family and apt to say most anything to shock Papa. It amuses her to get his temper up when she knows he can’t answer back.”

  Armand leaned back in his chair, his face no longer bright with interest. “But she is your favorite relative, regardless?”

  Lucienne laughed outright. “Of course. A young girl adores the grandmère who passes out forbidden sweets and spins colorful tales. Mama says I mustn’t let Grandmère fill my head with her unseemly notions and her outspoken ways.” She gestured toward the tiny lady in the deep rose gown as Madame Thierry whirled by on the arm of Pierrette’s tall brother. Both seemed to be enjoying the dance.

  “She’s quite spry, isn’t she?” Lucienne waved at the couple as they passed.

  “I think she’d be offended by that word. It appears your grandmother holds her own among the belles of the ball.” He rose and gave her a slight bow. “I know you promised the next waltz to me, but may I beg off? I’d like the honor of taking a more mature lady around the floor once.”

  Lucienne gave him a demure curtsey. “I’ll manage to find another partner, I’m sure. Enjoy your dance, but don’t let Grandmère tell you any of her salty stories. She’s been known to make them up, you see, just to see if she can get away with it.”

  Lucienne saw her cousin half hidden behind a festive garland and slipped through the crowd to join her. “Avoiding a dance with Uncle Gaston?”

  “No, not really,” Pierrette protested, but she drew back against the wall as her father came in view. “I must give him a duty dance sometime.”

  They watched the dancers turn and bow to the pattern of the dance. Pierrette motioned Lucienne closer and lowered her voice to the faintest whisper. “I’m feeling very uncertain about this plan of yours. You and Armand were having such an intimate conversation on the veranda. He’s devoted to you, as anyone can see, and I think he’ll be outraged to find himself married to another.”

  Lucienne hid her frustration behind her sparkling mask. Pierrette wasn’t going to back out at this point, not when the plans were finally coming together. “Oh, you silly goose, you don’t have any idea what we were discussing, do you?”

  “It looked very much like two people charmed to be sharing a moment alone.”

  “And so we were glad to have those few minutes,” Lucienne agreed, “but we were discussing you.”

  “Armand spoke to you about me?” Pierrette flushed a bright pink and fluttered her fan to cool her burning cheeks.

  Lucienne recast the conversation to suit her needs of the moment. “I agreed with him that you are a beautiful girl, and the man who wins you will be fortunate indeed. He was wondering why no announcement of an engagement has been made.”

  “Really? You were truly speaking to him of me? And he was interested in the plans Papa is making for my future?” Pie
rrette looked near to swooning.

  “Just so,” Lucienne affirmed. “I think he’ll be quite pleased, come the evening of the grand bal masque. And I know I will be.”

  “If it should truly be so, then I would be a very happy woman.” Pierrette sighed. “Though how he could ever prefer me to my most beautiful cousin, I can’t imagine.”

  It wasn’t likely Armand would ever admit that was not the case, Lucienne told herself. When the man found himself married to Pierrette, he’d be far too much the traditional gentleman to make a fuss about it. He would never embarrass his wife, no matter how awkward the situation.

  “And so you shall be, for we’ll make certain of it.” Lucienne saw the dancers begin to drift toward the refreshment table. A familiar figure edged through the crowd. “I fear Uncle Gaston has found us at last. I’m going to be a coward and leave him to you. I see Grandmère is taking over the corner and holding court with all her admirers. I’ll go sit with her while you have your duty dance with your papa.”

  “And then I’ll send him to you for the next one.” Pierrette giggled. “It’s only fair to share.”

  Lucienne made good her escape and joined the small group clustering around Madame Thierry. General laughter rippled through the group at some quip the older woman made. “Glad to see you having such a good time, Grandmère.”

  “I enjoy a party now as much as I did when I was a girl your age.” A polka filled the room. Though a number of partners asked for the dance, Grandmère turned them away, saying she’d like to sit with her granddaughter a bit. The knot of chattering friends thinned until Lucienne and her grandmother sat alone.

  “I like that young man of yours. I believe René has done something right, for a change, in arranging this particular marriage for you. Young Dupre has a head on his shoulders. Backbone leavened with a little wit, and as handsome as the very devil, though he doesn’t make a show of it.” Her look searched the room. “Not like some I’ve noticed.” Lucienne followed her glance and saw Philippe Pardue making his way, his brilliant blue evening attire marking him like a peacock among drab pigeons, across the room.