Bal Masque (3 page)

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.”

“Combine the two? Is that possible?”

“A masquerade wedding, you might say.”

“It’s unheard of, René. I don’t think it’s ever been done. What will people think?”

“Unheard of? I suppose so, but whatever others think, Chou-Chou is happy with the idea.”

Charlotte sighed. “If Lucienne is happy about it, I’ll not oppose it. She’s been most distraught over this betrothal. I feared the marriage was not to her liking, but if you think it’s only that she will miss out on the excitement of a grand celebration, this certainly will fulfill her every dream. I think we can persuade the Dupres to agree. She’s our only child, after all.”

“I hoped you would see it that way.”

Lucienne had heard enough. She tripped back up the stairs and followed the open gallery around to the front of the house. The first part of her plan to escape this awful marriage was in place. Now she only had to find a willing accomplice.

Not until midafternoon the next day could Lucienne put action to her intentions. Most everyone was sleeping off a substantial noon meal. Even the field hands were taking their time about getting back to work. Clouds had sprung up just before noon, and a heavy shower looked to be on the way.

Lucienne lifted her rosy skirts and followed the shell path to the neat white cottage ahead. A slanting roof shaded the stone porch in summer, giving respite to the sultry heat. Now, in the last weeks of the mild Louisiana winter, it would shield the cottage from chilly rain and sudden gusts blowing off the river. The thick walls made a comfortable home for the overseer and his daughter. Lucienne knocked politely. No one came to answer.

Where would—oh, the garden—Dorcas was always in the garden. Lucienne hurried the length of the porch and looked out at the small patch of damp earth that ran along the side of the house. Dorcas knelt in the dirt, sifting and leveling the spaded mounds.

For a moment Lucienne envied the other girl. Dorcas had bundled her brown hair under a calico bonnet. Her skin, toned by sun and wind, glowed with the sheen of good health. No need for her to hide behind cumbersome hats or parasols. She lived in the outdoors during the day, running barefoot much of the time, with no raised eyebrows or reminders of what a lady of good breeding should do. Lucienne recognized the brown plaid dress Dorcas wore as one that had been her own a year or so before. Though faded and a bit short in the hem, it seemed to suit the gypsy-dark girl.

“What are you planting so early, Dorcas?” she called. The girl looked up, her blue eyes bright, her cheeks reddened by a kiss from the sun.

“Law, Miss Lucy Ann, I’m just plannin’ and thinkin’, getting the beds ready.” She stood up, brushed dirt stains from her knees, and wiped her square hands on a washed-out apron. “Hear tell there’s to be a weddin’ in your life right soon.”

Lucienne nodded. “So it seems. Papa and M’sieu Dupre have agreed on it.”

Dorcas looked at her sharply. “You don’t seem to be rejoicin’. From all I hear, Armand Dupre is pretty well thought of. Most of the young misses here ’round would be plumb silly over catchin’ his eye.”

Dorcas spoke the truth, Lucienne knew. Even her cousin Pierrette had cast a moony look Armand’s way during the fall season. “If someone else didn’t hold my whole heart, I might feel that way. But to marry one when your affection belongs to another, that’s a cruel situation.”

Dorcas shot her a sharp look. “Philippe Pardue, is it? I heard he called, but your pa didn’t suggest he linger. Somethin’ of a wild one, isn’t he?”

“No, Philippe’s high spirited, that’s all. And he loves me as I love him. I know Papa would have agreed to the match if the Dupres hadn’t pushed so hard. Everyone likes Philippe. Given the choice, wouldn’t you rather have Philippe, who’s charming and lighthearted, than dull, stodgy Armand Dupre?”

Dorcas shook her head. “’Twere me decidin’, I’d take Mr. Dupre. He looks solid, the kind you depend on when the baby’s sick or the crops don’t make. And nobody talks about how much he drinks or how often his horses finish dead last. Makes better sense to me.”

“You’ve a
tendresse
for the man, Dorcas,” Lucienne exclaimed in feigned amazement, as if she hadn’t seen the long looks the girl sent his way when she caught sight of him coming to call.

“If you mean I take him to be a gentleman of some distinction, I guess I’d say I do.”

Lucienne leaned against the whitewashed fence.
Can I actually do this?
she asked herself. It meant giving up that gorgeous gown. And the scandal would rock the parish. She steeled herself to the idea. A girl in New Orleans had eloped with her lover last winter. The family cringed, but in the end, they’d accepted the situation. The Toussaints would do the same. She could do it; she would do it. To have Philippe, yes, it would all be worth it, even giving up the butterfly gown.

“Dorcas, how would you like to be married to Armand Dupre? And have a glorious wedding with dozens of guests and flowers and music and all that goes with it? With a gown to make every other girl in the room pea-green envious?”

“Miss Lucy Ann, what is goin’ on in your head? Armand Dupre wouldn’t marry an overseer’s daughter if she was the only single girl left in Louisiana.” Dorcas laughed heartily at the idea.

“No, he might not, if he knew, but if he didn’t, and you were the girl on the other side of the altar after it was all over, he’d be too honorable and decent not to stay with you.” Lucienne grinned, a wicked chuckle bubbling up at the look on Dorcas’s face. “And I know how to make sure you’re that girl.”