Gentleman's Trade (15 page)

“Well, perhaps afraid is the wrong word, but she is definitely uncomfortable.”

Adeline nodded. “I would venture to say that if she is afraid, she is afraid he will declare himself and demand an answer from her. She is well aware of Father’s needs for his warehousing this year and would be loath to be the cause of any problems for him.”

Trevor agreed. “I get the feeling there is more to it than that, but what I cannot say. I have started some discreet investigations into Wilmot’s activities, and I hope to have some information on Monday.”

“So, for now, we are left with our original idea,” she said forlornly.

“To continue the ruse of my courtship. Is that truly fair to Vanessa?”

Adeline smiled wanly. “It will not matter ultimately. Her heart is not involved as mine is. Here, I think we have gathered enough flowers. I’ll take the basket now.”

He handed it to her, capturing her hand in his as he did so. He held it for a moment and both stared mutely at each other. It was the sound of a dog barking that broke the magical moment, and they parted self-consciously. They started up the well-manicured path toward the house.

A lone figure, watching from the shadows of the gallery, slipped silently back into the house and out of sight.

Madame Teresa Rouchardier rolled into the room while Paulette held a pot of rouge in her hand, contemplating the delicate placement of its contents.

“Paulette!” she admonished, shock written plainly over the woman’s round countenance. She wheezed and drew another breath.

Vanessa grimaced and closed her eyes, wincing at the impending storm. She’d tried to dissuade Paulette from the use of any cosmetics, but her young friend had airily dismissed her words, certain, she said, that the judicious use of such artifice was common in England. Vanessa doubted her, though she had no proof to gainsay her statement. She looked helplessly at Adeline and shrugged. When Adeline entered the fray to attempt to convince Paulette of her error, Paulette arrogantly informed them they were hopelessly provincial. At that, both retired from the lists, leaving the battle to those better able to handle the situation. It appeared one such person had now appeared, and Vanessa wished she were elsewhere.

Paulette slammed the rouge pot on the vanity top and rose swiftly, turning to face her aunt, her natural blush garishly augmented with the red touches she had carefully contrived.

“What are you about?
Une jeune fille
, it is
incroyable!”
her aunt sputtered, her arms waving in wide circles in counterpoints to the swaying rolls of fat on her arms. She stalked over to Paulette.

“But Aunt Teresa,” began Paulette mulishly.

“
No
,
I do not listen to you. You, you are a child. I should never have let you stay with the Mannions,” she proclaimed as she whipped a lace-edged handkerchief out of the voluminous folds of her red gown.

“What?” protested Vanessa.

“Non, Tante,
listen to me,
s’il vous plait,
” Paulette cried, trying to fight off her aunt to prevent her from sweeping the handkerchief roughly across her cheeks.

Her aunt backed her against the vanity, her massive form pinning her in place. “I should have known my first duty was to you. You are but an
enfant
.” One massive hand clamped around Paulette’s chin to hold her steady. She clucked her tongue and shook her head as she wiped at the offending rouge. “I should have insisted you stay here with me instead of letting you stay with the Mannions.” She turned Paulette’s head to cleanse the other cheek. “I was weak, but no more!” she declared, wheezing heavily.

Vanessa and Adeline looked at each other in alarm. They were concerned for the woman’s health; her breathing sounded labored to their ears. Vanessa glided forward, her arm outstretched. “Madame Rouchardier,” she began.

The woman let go of Paulette, who sagged down against the vanity, and turned on Vanessa.

“You! It is your fault. You have filled
ma petite’s
head with fast ideas. You should be ashamed of yourself, a woman who should be married now and have a home of her own
avec les petits bebés,”
she spat, her large bosom heaving.

“Me!”

“Madame, you are unfair!” protested Adeline.

Vanessa stood riveted, wide-eyed shock leaving her helpless. Dazed, she looked beyond Madame Rouchardier to Paulette, who was struggling to stand upright and straighten the fall of her lavender skirts. Paulette caught her eye, mortification written plainly across her features. She bit her lower lip and looked contrite but remained silent. “Paulette?” queried Vanessa softly.

“You shall not talk to my
bebé,”
Madame said adamantly, turning to enfold Paulette in a crushing embrace.

“What is going on in here?” demanded Amanda Mannion from the doorway. “Guests are arriving and your voices are carrying clear down the hall.”

“I am surprised at you, Amanda, or did you not know you were nursing a viper to your beast?”

“Teresa, what are you talking about?”

“Your daughter, she has been poisoning my Paulette, she—”

“No, no
, Tante
,” cried Paulette, tears streaming prettily down her cheeks as she fought her way free of her aunt’s enfolding arms. “It was not Vanessa or Adeline. In truth, they tried to dissuade me, but in my conceit I would not listen.”

“I do not believe this, and with
Le Comte
arriving momentarily,” wailed Teresa Rouchardier.

“It is true, it was all me, I thought, I thought the rouge would make me more worldly and . . . what count?” Paulette suddenly asked, her aunt’s last words filtering through. The tears stopped as quickly as they began.

“Why, Monsieur Baligny’s nephew of course,
Le Comte
Andre Baligny de Sachire.”

“He is a real count?”

“Mais, oui!
He’s over here visiting, but he has extensive properties in France.”

Vanessa relaxed and slouched against the large canopied bed, exchanging amused glances with her mother and sister.

Paulette’s eyes gleamed brightly, and she captured her aunt’s pudgy fingers in her hands.
“Tante
Teresa, I am sorry to be such a trial to you. In truth, the Mannions have been very good to me. I regret to say this, but . . .” She paused, throwing back her head and looking her aunt squarely in the eye. “I am a Chaumonde and I will be honest. You owe the Mannions an apology. The rouge was truly my idea and they tried hard to dissuade me, but me,” she shrugged and relaxed, smiling roguishly. “Sometimes I do not listen that well. You will no longer be mad at me or them, will you?” she wheedled soothingly, her large dark eyes luminous with her regret.

“Ah,
mon enfant,
you are the image of your
maman,
and just as cozening in your manners. All right. For you, my pet, I forgive and beg the Mannions’ pardon.”

“Thank you, best-of-all-aunts,” enthused Paulette.

Her aunt laid a hand against her chest. “But now, I fear I must lie down, all the excitement . . . .”

“Of course, my dear,” agreed Amanda Mannion, slipping one arm around her ample waist and signaling Vanessa to do likewise. “We will help you to your room.”

“Yes, yes, that would be best,” Teresa Rouchardier agreed weakly, tottering between the two women. “Just a little rest; my nerves, you know.”

“Of course,” soothed Amanda. “Adeline, fetch my sal, please.” Over the woman’s sagging head she met Vanessa’s eyes and winked at her. “Just a little rest and I am positive you will be as right as rain and grace the gathering with your presence.”

“Oh, yes,
la soiree,”
murmured the woman.

“I shall send Bessie or Ruth up to you later to see how you go on.”

“Yes, perhaps that would be best,” she conceded weakly.

They met Madame’s maid at the door to her room and turned her over into her brisk and capable hands. “We shall see you shortly,” cajoled Amanda soothingly as she and Vanessa left and returned to the girls’ room.

“Well, young woman, what do you have to say for yourself?” asked Mrs. Mannion when they reentered the room.

Paulette sat before the mirror, patting the curls by her face into place. She frowned in vexation. “Aunt Teresa mussed my coiffure, and Leila isn’t here. She is the only one who can work miracles on my hair. What am I to do? A count is here!”

Adeline, seated on the edge of the bed, looked over at her mother and sister. “She has been like this since you left,” she explained cheerfully, her hands folded in her lap as she watched Paulette with amusement.

“Sacre bleu!
How can you joke? There is so little time. Vanessa, your fingers are clever, could you not help with these curls,
s’il vous plait.”

The last was said so sweetly that Vanessa nearly burst out laughing, but she recovered herself. “I shall try my poor best,” she said with mock solemnity, crossing to Paulette’s side.

Adeline’s mouth curved in a ghost of a smile, her mind contemplating the implications of Paulette’s probable desertion of Mr. Talverton due to the count’s arrival. She sighed contentedly, well pleased with the turn of events.

Amanda pursed her lips and shook her head in consternation. “Hurry up, girls,” she said briskly, then turned her head to hide her own sly smile.

That evening, Paulette fairly ran down the staircase before Adeline and Vanessa, her pale lavender skirts billowing softly behind her. Near the bottom she stopped and looked about her, but the foyer was free of people save the servants stationed near the door. From the double parlor came the rise and fall of voices, punctuated with restrained titters of laughter.

At the top of the stairs, the Mannion sisters watched Paulette shake out her skirts, lift her head, and thrust her small high breasts forward before continuing down the stairs in a stately manner, gliding along the polished floor.

“I do believe Mr. Talverton may find himself bereft of company,” Vanessa observed dryly.

Adeline giggled. “Somehow I don’t think he will mind.”

Vanessa hooked her arm in her sister’s. “Come, let’s hurry. I would like to witness Paulette meeting her count. I have the distinct impression that this evening may prove more entertaining than a play.”

Adeline murmured her agreement, secretly hoping Vanessa was right.

Due to Paulette’s stately progression across the hall, Vanessa and Adeline were not far behind her when they, too, entered the front half of the large double parlor, the back half cleared of furniture to provide a good-sized ballroom. They were astonished by the multitude of people gathered, conversing predominately in French. Vanessa looked at her sister and made a slight moue of dissatisfaction.

“Remember, Louisa has had to work hard to win these people’s respect. Please do not think to turn this party into a romp.”

“Me?” asked Vanessa, mockingly scandalized.

“Yes, you,” whispered her sister furiously. “And don’t smile so idiotically at me, either. Now where’s Paulette?”

Vanessa, the taller of the two, looked around and over heads of milling people. She saw a brief flash of lavender heading for the French doors leading to the gallery. “This way,” she whispered, pulling her sister across the room.
“Pardon. Pardon. Excusez-moi,”
she rattled out absently as she threaded their way through the throng.

“Why is it everyone seems to congregate in one area?” Vanessa whispered. Adeline only giggled in response.

“Miss Mannion!” hailed Mr. Wilmot, stepping across her path.

Vanessa halted abruptly, her sister nearly colliding into her. “Excuse me, Mr. Wilmot,” she said, attempting to steer clear of his formidable black form.

“Surely you will not refuse me a few moments of your time,” he persisted.

“No, no, of course not. But we are late descending, and we must find Louisa. I am certain she wishes to introduce us to her guests.”

“It would be very rude of us if we only talked among ourselves,” Adeline offered timidly, looking past Vanessa. She spotted Hugh Talverton’s tall figure and threw him a speaking glance.

As luck would have it, Hugh was looking in their direction and Adeline caught his attention. He was surprised by her ardent look of entreaty and casually started toward her, absently making his excuses to those he was talking with. He took but a few steps when he spied Vanessa’s glossy brown hair near Mr. Wilmot. His sandy brows lowered and his eyes narrowed as he made his way toward them.

From his position amid a group of plantation owners gathered near the fireplace, Trevor Danielson also saw Wilmot and Vanessa. He bowed out of the group, edged around several women settled on a sofa, and approached his friends.

Inexorably, Trevor and Hugh made their way from opposite ends of the room to Vanessa’s side, each determined to rescue her from any unnecessary unpleasantness.

“I have been waiting for days to speak to you, and surely you would be forgiven a small conversation with a suitor,” Mr. Wilmot coaxed, not quite able to keep the undercurrent of threat removed from his voice.

“Suitor! La, sir, you take me by surprise,” she returned airily, hiding behind her fan, though her hand shook betrayingly.

“Don’t take me for a fool!” he said harshly, his face darkening and his voice rasping against her nerve endings. Then his face relaxed and he spoke softly, winningly. “You must know, Miss Mannion, of my heartfelt intentions.”

“Sir, you put me to the blush. Not now, please,” she pleaded, stepping back a pace. Around her, she noted people beginning to turn and stare.

Trevor and Hugh both saw the little retreat and the blush staining her cheeks, and each grimly began formulating a comment to interrupt and cut through the tension between Vanessa and Wilmot. Unfortunately, their mutual, immediate reactions were not to do it with joviality.

Adeline saw them both, and though daunted by their expressions, she was relieved, and turned quickly from one to the other to smile welcome.

“
Vanessa!”

Vanessa snapped her head up and glanced away from Wilmot with some little relief.

“Vanessa!” called Paulette enthusiastically, waving her hand to catch her friend’s attention as she plowed through the people around her with a devastatingly handsome young man in her wake.

Shocked gasps were heard at the hoydenish impropriety of her call, soon followed by a surge of rapid, scandalized French from those same souls. Paulette ignored them all.

“Vanessa! Here is someone I wish you to meet. You, too, Adeline,” she added gaily. She pulled the young man to her side, clasping her hand possessively around his forearm. “This is the Comte Andre Baligny de Sachire. He has been telling me the most remarkable things about France and his
estates.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief, the curls at the side of her face dancing, for she could not be still.

Trevor and Hugh stopped where they stood on either side of Vanessa, wondering how to proceed. They had both worked such malice into their thoughts that it was difficult to reorient their thinking. They glanced, up, seeing each other at opposite sides of their goal and glowered, each realizing the other’s intent, and how they might not have been the one to extricate her. An irrational jealousy gripped both as their gazes locked.

“Oh, but where are my manners?
Comte, celles-ci Americaines sortt mes amies Mademoiselles Vanessa et Adeline Mannion.”