by Val Wood
He glanced in the mirror and brushed his fingers over his sideburns. ‘I doubt they’ll find one, even though she apparently will come with a large dowry. She’s not Rodriguez’ daughter. She’s quadroon, but she hasn’t got that lovely skin colour which they often have. She’s got her grandmother’s blood, I reckon. But apart from that, she’s sulky, arrogant and quite without any decent manners.’
‘Perhaps she’s been compared too often with her mother and sister, sir?’ Allen suggested.
‘Maybe so.’ Edward shrugged into his coat. ‘But I pity some poor fellow who is persuaded to marry her.’
Allen glanced at him. ‘That’s not why you’ve been invited, sir?’
Edward turned sharply. ‘What? What do you mean?’
Allen bit his lip. ‘Well, you’re eligible, sir. Or – at least they think you are.’ He picked up a clothes brush and started to brush the back of Edward’s coat.
Edward put up his hand to stay him. ‘Captain Voularis told them I was a widower,’ he muttered. ‘And I didn’t correct that impression.’ He stared at Allen. ‘Is that why he told them? Does Voularis get a fee for introducing suitable bachelors?’
He sat down suddenly on the bed. ‘My God! She’s mine if I want her. And I don’t! No matter how much money she brings with her.’
‘And you are a married man, sir,’ Allen reminded him.
Edward nodded. ‘I am, that is true. But I can’t tell them that now, can I? My reputation would be ruined!’
Allen held back a weary sigh. All he wanted was to go back to bed. Newmarch had a habit of getting himself into a fix. First with the girl Ruby, and now with this Rodriguez family.
‘You’ll have to be careful, sir,’ he suggested. ‘These people maybe won’t take kindly to being told – erm,’ he almost said lies, but decided against it, ‘erm – embellishments.’
‘You’re absolutely right, Allen.’ Edward’s face had paled. ‘Rodriguez certainly wouldn’t. He’s already killed one man.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Edward arrived at the Rodriguez’ house to find many guests already there. Fine carriages were parked outside and black drivers were standing in groups, talking. His hired cabriolet dropped him at the door and a liveried servant greeted him and invited him to enter. Edward followed him into the drawing room, which was lit by a myriad of candles held in sparkling crystal chandeliers.
A drifting scent of orange blossom permeated the air and young black girls walked around the room with baskets of fruit balanced on their heads, so that the guests could help themselves to slices of melon, black grapes, peaches and oranges, dates and figs.
Other servants carried silver trays of cut-crystal wine glasses, and as Edward drank he relaxed and his fears of being invited only as a possible suitor for Elena began to diminish.
‘Good evening.’ He was approached by a man of around his own age, a short portly man with a look of the Mediterranean about him. ‘It is Mr Newmarch, I think.’
‘Indeed.’ Edward gave a small bow. ‘Edward Newmarch, lately from England.’
‘Carlos de Lassus. I am American, my forebears were Spanish. How do you like our country?’
‘I like it very well,’ Edward replied and wondered how this stranger knew his name.
‘Rodriguez told me that he was expecting an Englishman to join us,’ de Lassus said, his dark eyes gazing at Edward. ‘We can always recognize the new English arrivals: they are so very pale-skinned.’
Edward nodded. ‘Are you a friend of the Rodriguez family?’ He looked around and realized that there were no ladies present, only men. ‘Or a business associate?’
‘Both. Rodriguez and I have known each other since childhood. We are sort of cousins. Our families came from Spanish Florida to New Orleans. They have lived through the rule of Spain, France and Britain. Now we belong to America.’
He gazed across to where Rodriguez was in earnest discussion with a white-haired elderly man with drooping tobacco-stained whiskers, dressed in an old-fashioned black frock coat. ‘Of course,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘some Spaniards, even men like Sancho, do still follow the old ways. They do not embrace the American life. They feel some resentment that they are expected to change.’
‘But you, sir?’ Edward enquired. ‘You consider yourself to be an American?’
‘Absolutely,’ he drawled. ‘It’s the only way to prosper.’
Edward considered. Could he ever think of himself as being other than English? He had been steeped in tradition by his family, though he had often rebelled, unlike his brother Martin who had always followed the rules. But isn’t that why I am here? he pondered. To escape the constraints of England? Yes, up to a point, he admitted to himself. It was. But he also wanted to leave to escape the restrictions of married life. He had wanted to bring Ruby and for them to enjoy the adventure and romanticism of another country.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, as he realized de Lassus was speaking. ‘I didn’t quite catch—?’
‘I said, I believe you are a widower?’ De Lassus eyed him keenly. ‘That makes you a contender.’
‘A contender?’ Edward stared back, then took another glass of wine from a passing servant. ‘What? – I don’t understand!’
Carlos de Lassus gave a sudden grin and Edward thought how different he was from his sombre cousin Rodriguez. ‘For the hand of the delightful Elena. Sancho enquires of every new eligible male passenger who arrives in New Orleans. He has an arrangement with the ships’ captains to tell him who might be suitable.’
Edward felt himself grow cold. ‘But I’m – I’m not over the death of my wife,’ he stammered. ‘I can’t possibly consider—’
‘Sancho will wait. He respects protocol,’ de Lassus explained. ‘But he wants her married. You realize she is not his child?’
Edward nodded, his face immobile with tension.
‘He will settle a large sum on her of course; it would be the honourable thing to do.’ De Lassus dropped his voice. ‘But he has never liked her, and he wants her gone so that he can make a good marriage for his own daughter.’
Edward remained silent. How could he wriggle out of this situation? He should never have said he was a widower. But then, neither could he have said that he had abandoned his wife. Inwardly he groaned. What a shambles!
‘If someone did marry her though,’ de Lassus continued, ‘I think she might make a good wife. Once she is away from here where she is considered inferior, she would change, I am convinced of it. And she is clever and bright and—’ He ran out of praise and added, ‘Though I like her well enough, I confess she is not attractive.’
Edward swallowed and thankfully heard the dinner bell. ‘I fear,’ he said solemnly, ‘I made a vow on my wife’s deathbed that I would never love or marry again.’
‘Phew!’ De Lassus dismissed his remark. ‘How would she know?’ he said irreverently. ‘Come. Let us join the ladies.’
The ladies were waiting in line in the dining room for the gentlemen to appear and as they did, they paired off. Edward noticed that Sofia took the arm of the elderly man who had been speaking to her husband, young Sibella rushed to the side of de Lassus and embraced him in a way in which only a very young girl could, and he in turn planted a kiss on the top of her forehead. Rodriguez took his mother’s arm, and, to Edward’s alarm, he saw Elena bearing down towards him.
She gave him a deep curtsy, in a derisory manner, he considered, for she also fixed him with a malevolent glare. He gave a bow. ‘Señorita,’ he greeted her, taking her proffered hand, and followed a servant to their places at the table. When the senior Señora Rodriguez and Sofia were seated, everyone else also sat down.
Elena stared straight in front of her and Edward glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was wearing a gown of white silk which, on anyone slender, would have been charming, making the wearer look ethereal and sylph-like, but on Elena’s robust figure reminded him of a ship in full sail. Her unruly black hair was dressed with white flowers which she pulled at const
antly, as if they were irritating her.
She turned to him. ‘You do realize why you are here, Meester Newmarch?’ she said in a tight whispered voice. ‘You do understand that you ’ave been chosen?’
He stared at her and shook his head. Nothing would have induced him to marry her, even if he had been single. ‘Your father invited me,’ he said in a low voice. ‘He is most hospitable.’
‘He is not ’ospitable and ’e is not my father,’ she grated and looked across at Rodriguez with such hatred that Edward was filled with anxious foreboding. ‘We do not like each other, señor, and he wants rid of me.’
She waited whilst they were served with chicken soup and then said with her mouth turned down, ‘He wants me to marry you.’
‘But – but, I can’t!’ Edward grew hot then cold. ‘I’m married! At least I was married – my wife—’
‘I know.’ She broke bread into her soup and ate noisily. ‘But that doesn’t matter. ’E says if we are betrothed we can wait until after your mourning period.’ She glanced up at Edward. There was no pleasure on her face as she continued, ‘I said that I would, but I must tell you, señor, that I will make conditions.’
He gazed at her. Words failed him. His soup went cold, his appetite completely gone. He opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out.
‘He ’as worn me down, you see. I ’ave refused everyone else that he ’as brought.’ She shrugged her shoulders almost to her ears. ‘But now – ’e gives me only two options.’
‘What are they?’ Edward whispered.
‘I can marry you if you will ask of me—’
‘But – You don’t know me,’ he interrupted. ‘We have only just met. You know nothing of me – I could be a criminal or anybody!’
She laughed cynically at that. ‘I don’t think so, señor: ’e will ’ave asked questions and found out. Rodriguez knows all the criminals.’ She glanced towards where her mother was sitting next to the elderly gentleman whose head and whiskers were bent over his soup. ‘Or else I must marry that old billy goat who is sitting next to my mother.’
Surely not. Rodriguez couldn’t be so cruel! The man was old enough to be her grandfather! He began to feel some sympathy for the girl, though not enough to give her any encouragement.
His bowl was taken away, the soup untouched, and the next course of lobster served with side dishes of sliced eggs, prawns and anchovies brought in. ‘Do you not wish to ’ear my conditions, Meester Newmarch?’ she asked. ‘It is as well that you do.’
He tried to gather his senses and speak in a friendly way without giving offence. ‘I regret that I cannot—’ he began.
‘I would wish to ’ave my own ’ouse. Not here in New Orleans but elsewhere.’ She spoke into his ear, and, repulsed, he eased his head away from hers. ‘I would not wish to live wiz you and neither must you expect to sleep wiz me.’
He gazed in shock. For a young woman to speak so bluntly!
‘I will sleep wiz someone else, you see.’ She looked at him frankly and defiantly. ‘You would ’ave plenty of money. You can choose some other woman, or women, if you wish.’
‘Is there someone else you want to marry?’ he asked.
She glanced again at Rodriguez. ‘Yes, but Rodriguez won’t let me. The man is quadroon like me and just a servant. He isn’t good enough for a man like Rodriguez. ’E says I must have someone with breeding.’
Edward picked at his lobster, then said in a low voice, ‘I’m sorry, señorita. But it can’t happen. I can’t possibly marry you.’
She looked at him in dismay. ‘But it ’as been decided. I ’ave agreed.’ She pointed with her finger at the old man and her mother glanced across at her, a questioning look on her face. ‘You can’t let me marry ’im. ’E would want to sleep in my bed. ’E has said so already!’
Edward felt sick. I need to get out. I need some air. But there was no chance of that. His plate was taken away and another brought, along with a dish of sliced turkey, goose, capon and spicy forcemeat balls, and his glass refilled with wine. He looked across at Rodriguez and found that he was watching him. Rodriguez raised his glass in a toast, a smile on his face, and Edward responded with his own glass though he found it difficult to smile.
After the meal was over, the men moved to the drawing room and the ladies elsewhere. Port was served, malmsey and cigars offered. Rodriguez sought out Edward. ‘So very pleased that you could come to our little supper, Mr Newmarch.’ He shook Edward’s hand. ‘You seem to be getting on very well with our daughter. I haven’t seen her so animated in a long time.’
‘For such a young woman she is very lively,’ Edward agreed. ‘They have a great deal of energy at that age, do they not?’ He gave a weak laugh. ‘I remember I was much the same when I was young.’
‘Oh, but you are not so old!’ Rodriguez remonstrated. ‘Under thirty? Yes? A good age for a man.’
‘Maybe, but I have had such sorrow and adversity in my life to make me feel old,’ Edward asserted. ‘My wife—’
‘Yes. Yes. I do understand. But by coming to a new country you are already putting your old life behind you, are you not?’ Rodriguez leant his head back, drew on his cigar and blew smoke rings in the air. ‘What you need, Mr Newmarch, is a helping hand.’ He gazed thoughtfully up at the ceiling. ‘Perhaps a leetle business coming your way? Some good connections. A new lady in your life?’ He smiled at Newmarch. ‘All of this can be arranged.’
The doors to the dining room were opened and the gentlemen were invited back in. The table and chairs had been cleared and the room transformed into a ballroom. A small orchestra was in place and playing a soft air, and as the gentlemen entered through one door and the ladies through another they struck up with music for dancing.
Sofia appeared at Edward’s side. He gazed at her. She was so breathtakingly beautiful. He gave a deep bow. Her skin was flawless. A touch of carmine on her lips gave them a moist seductiveness and her eyes gleamed beneath dark lashes. She was dressed in a rose-coloured gown which emphasized her small waist and revealed her bare shoulders. In her dark hair she wore a glittering comb and he could smell her perfume. She drew her fan to her face and leant to whisper to him.
‘Elena speaks very well of you, señor. She does not often approve of the gentlemen she meets.’ She almost touched his ear with her lips as she spoke and he caught his breath and didn’t answer, but turned to hold her eyes with his. Are there other women like her in this country? he wondered. Eligible women, of course. If there are, then I will surely succumb to their charm and beauty. I’m a mere man. I cannot possibly resist.
‘Would you care to ask me to dance, Meester Newmarch, or shall we sit and talk?’
Not talk, he decided. The conversation will inevitably drift towards the subject of Elena and I must avoid that at all costs. ‘I would be delighted if you would care to dance, señora.’ And I can put my hand on her waist and breathe in her perfume. It will be so good to feel a woman next to me again.
He looked down into her eyes. He desperately wanted to flirt with her, to whisper to her how beautiful she was, but he held back. He was so sure that he could feel Rodriguez’ penetrating eyes on him and he could not, dared not, risk his displeasure.
‘We would like to know you better, Meester Newmarch,’ she said softly. ‘Would you care to visit with us at our plantation in the country? We ’ave a nice ’ouse there. Sometimes we like to get away from the city. Otherwise, it is always business, business, business.’ She tapped his arm with her fan. ‘I will travel with our daughters on Thursday and Sancho,’ she barely breathed his name, ‘’e will come on Saturday with his mother. Perhaps you would come on Friday and I will show you the sugar cane and the cotton fields?’ She smiled and he felt that there was a hidden invitation there. ‘You ride, of course, señor?’
‘Ride?’ he croaked. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘We have good riding country and some fine horses. The best.’ She smiled. ‘It would give me great pleasure if you would come.’
<
br /> How could he refuse when it was put so charmingly? Yet it was with misgivings that on the Friday morning he stepped into the carriage which Rodriguez had sent to collect him and drive him away from the bustling and colourful city, taking him east to the lowlands, to the fields of cotton and sugar cane, to Sofia and to – He drew in a breath as the driver urged on the horses. To Elena! I’m a fool, he thought. I am a fool!
CHAPTER NINE
Georgiana asked the desk clerk if he had a forwarding address for Mr Dreumel. She thought he hesitated for a moment before answering. ‘I regret not, Miss Gregory, but Mr Charlesworth might know it. If he’s in New York I guess you’ll find him at the Portland Hotel.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I will enquire if he is there.’
She slipped back upstairs and put on her shoulder wrap and her wide-brimmed bonnet, and took her parasol for the sun was bright. ‘I won’t be long, Kitty,’ she said. ‘I’m just going to the Portland. Whilst I’m gone perhaps you’d pack a change of clothing for both of us. Something sensible,’ she added. ‘Suitable for a journey.’
‘But where are we going, Miss Gregory?’ Kitty asked plaintively. ‘How can I pack if I don’t know where we’re going?’
Georgiana raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, don’t pack dancing slippers, that’s for certain.’
Mr Charlesworth was in and would be down in just a moment, the bellboy informed her after going up to his room. He asked if he could get her anything whilst she waited. A glass of orange juice or coffee?
She declined and took a seat in the foyer with a view of the stairs and the door, where she watched people coming and going. This is a much smarter hotel than the Marius, she decided, much richer residents judging by the elegant clothes they are wearing, but, she pondered, I do prefer the Marius. It is well run and comfortable without being pompous or pretentious.
John Charlesworth came down the stairs. He was wearing a double-breasted frock coat and carried a silk top hat as if he was on his way out somewhere. She considered that he was rather handsome and that he probably knew it. He was tall and slim, with long sideburns and well-groomed dark hair flecked with silver. He oozed confidence and panache.
