Gentleman's Trade (17 page)

“Miss Mannion,” murmured Russell Wilmot as he led her off the dance floor, “I regrettably am not, by nature, a patient man; yet with you I have exhibited a marked degree of patience. I have desired private conversation with you this past week.”

“I know, sir, and I apologize.” She fidgeted with her fan, her eyes downcast. “But I find I have no words of encouragement to offer you, and in my weakness, I found avoidance easier.”

“You will not forgive my presumption?”

“It is not that! Truthfully, I now know that your actions were not so forward as to be beyond forgiveness,” she said weakly, coloring slightly at the memory of Hugh’s kiss. Desperately she looked around for Hugh, for now she felt like a damsel in distress and would have him rescue her. But it was not Hugh she spied making his way across the crowded room toward her but Trevor. Her face cleared, a faint sigh of relief passing her lips.

Wilmot noted her blush and followed the direction of her eyes. His eyes narrowed, and a scowl darkened his countenance. “You would have me understand that your heart is otherwise engaged?” he growled.

She looked back toward him, startled. The truth of his statement pierced her heart. She loved Hugh Talverton, but it was a love doomed to frustration. She felt helpless, gripped as she was in the throes of her emotion. Gripping her fan tightly, her face pale, she nodded slowly, her tongue cloying to the roof of her mouth.

“Your pardon, Miss Mannion,” Wilmot said stiffly, a particularly feral gleam flaring in his eyes. “For the moment, I shall relieve you of my presence.” He bowed, then cast Trevor a malevolent glance, before turning to walk away.

Vanessa silently watched him leave, confusion and sorrow evident in her face. Her grip on her fan tightened until she heard a snap. Looking down at her hands, she was dismayed to see a stick of her beloved New Orleans fan splintered beyond repair.

“You are troubled,” said a soft, melodious voice. A gentle hand touched Hugh’s arm.

He looked down into the delicate visage of Adeline Mannion. She smiled sweetly at him. He stiffened. He did not want sympathy, or even knowledge of his desires.

“So is my sister,” she added, looking to where Vanessa stood irresolute at the side of the room.

Wilmot was saying something to her. She nodded slowly, her face a canvas of tortured emotions. A sharpening of his features conveyed Wilmot’s ill will toward Trevor. Vanessa appeared to be attempting to placate him with little success. He bowed stiffly and walked away. A momentary anguish wrung her features as she stared down at her hands, but she recovered swiftly and donned a brilliant smile for the world.

“I cannot help her,” Hugh said harshly, hating the words as they left his lips.

Adeline looked at him piteously, then sighed. “For now, Trev—I mean, Mr. Danielson, shall offer such protection as she will allow; however, I greatly fear my sister will stubbornly tread her own path. At least Mr. Danielson has secured her company for supper.”

Hugh nodded. “That was to be expected,” he said loftily.

“Was it?” queried Adeline.

He looked at her sharply, momentarily shaken out of his stoic attitude. She was attempting to convey some message to him, a message he declined to comprehend.

Recognizing the absurdity of his pose, Adeline’s mouth twitched then lifted into a smile as she gave into her inclinations. “And Paulette,” she continued airily, “has quite effectively claimed the attentions of the Comte Baligny.” She paused and looked at Hugh steadily. “I have a request to ask of you, Mr. Talverton, that I realize is highly improper on my part.”

He looked at her quizzically, her soft features unusually intent. He bowed. “Your servant, Miss Mannion,” he murmured.

She drew a deep breath. “It is nearly time for supper, and I have no partner. I confess these Creole gentlemen quite overwhelm me.” She grimaced slightly. “Their form of gallantry puts me so to the blush, I hardly know where to look. Many have the mistaken idea that American women are shockingly fast, you know.”

“I had no idea, Miss Mannion. I should be delighted to escort you and count myself fortunate that you should trust me.”

She laughed. “It is no mean request, Mr. Talverton, for I know you are enamored of Vanessa.”

“You quite mistake the matter, Miss Mannion!” he said abruptly, glaring at her.

She continued smiling. “Am I?” she said with feigned vagueness. “Oh, dear, I hope I have not embarrassed you, sir.”

He shook his head curtly and relaxed. “Not at all, Miss Mannion. I suppose my solicitude for your sister could be mistakenly construed.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

But she didn’t look at all convinced, and he chafed under her steady, calm regard. Drawing upon his vast store of presence and arrogance, he looked down upon her haughtily.

She clapped her hands together, delighted. “You do that so well. Come, they have rung the bell for dinner.”

Hugh’s breath expelled in a whoosh. “Are all you Mannion women so truthful?” he asked in exasperation.

“Oh, Louisa and Vanessa are much more discerning than I. I am quite the shyest of the lot,” she assured him.

“Indeed,” he murmured, caught between his initial exasperation and his natural inclination to see the humor in life. In jest, he once asked Trevor if he was being thrown to the wolves, and in jest his friend had agreed. But some jests bear a striking similarity to reality, he thought wryly as he offered Adeline his arm, the beginnings of his own smile turning up his lips.

Trevor Danielson came into the dining room the next morning softly whistling through his teeth, his face alight with good humor. Hugh Talverton was before him, filling his plate from the broad selection of meats, fruits, and pastries spread across the sideboard. His face bore a shuttered expression, and his complexion held a muddy cast accentuated by dark smudges under his eyes. He glanced once in Danielson’s direction then looked away, settling himself at the far end of the table.

Trevor noted the dissipated appearance of his friend, and his concomitant surly behavior. Chuckling, he filled a plate for himself and grabbed a cup of coffee, seating himself across from Hugh.

Hugh barely glanced up, looking at him through heavily hooded eyes before returning his attention to his plate where he absently shoved his food around.

“Got foxed, did you?” said Trevor jovially. “You must be showing your age. I remember the time. . .”

“Enough,” growled Hugh. His face contorted as various emotions surged through him. “I’m sorry, Trevor. I do want to say though,” he paused, bringing his napkin up to dab at the corners of his lips, then laying it very precisely beside his plate. “I do want to wish you happy.”

“You do? You know?” asked Trevor, nonplussed.

Hugh nodded his head heavily, wishing he were anywhere except sitting before his friend and witnessing his happiness.

A slight sound, like a muffled scuffing, attracted his attention. He looked up. Wilmot was leaning against the door molding. How much had the man heard? He watched cagily as the man unfolded his arms, pushed himself away from the door, and strolled into the dining room.

“I hope I’m not interrupting a private conversation?” he inquired politely, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“No, no, not at all,” assured Trevor. “My friend here,” he said, casting a jaundiced eye over Hugh, “is still recovering from tipping his elbow too much and is sorry company. I welcome your appearance.”

Hugh’s scowl darkened.
I bet you do,
he mocked silently. He pushed a few more pieces of food around on his plate, then rose, nodding his head coolly in Wilmot’s and Trevor’s direction. “If you’ll excuse me, please, gentlemen,” he murmured, striding toward the door. At the doorway he passed Richard Mannion and Charles Chaumonde, ignoring them both. He shoved past them, as if all the demons of hell were nipping at his heels.

Richard and Charles looked after him, bemused expressions on their faces.

“Is something the matter with Hugh?” inquired Charles.

Trevor laughed. “Nothing that time and black coffee won’t cure. He has a devilish head this morning.”

Richard grunted as he placed a succulent section of capon on his plate.

“My compliments to Louisa, Charles,” Trevor continued. “That was an excellent party.”

“She has a flair for entertaining, my Louisa does,” affirmed Charles, seating himself at the table.

Russell Wilmot set down his coffee cup and dabbed his mouth with a fine linen napkin. “I should like a word with you, Mannion, before I leave this morning,” he said curtly, his dark brows twitching.

Charles set his fork and knife down abruptly. “You’re leaving, Russell? It was my understanding you were all staying until late this afternoon.”

Shaking his head, Wilmot smiled slightly, his eyes nearly closed. “The press of business. I’m sorry,” he said deprecatingly. “It has been, however, an enlightening weekend.”

Richard Mannion looked at him sharply, then back at his plate and resumed eating.

“Bonjour!”
called Paulette gaily as she swept into the room, the train of her forest green riding habit draped over her arm.

“You are up early,” observed her brother.

“Who could be abed on such a wonderful day?” she asked rhetorically before leaning over to bestow a kiss on her brother’s cheek.

His eyebrows rose. This behavior was not typical for Paulette. He turned his head to watch his sister take a thick sweet pastry for her plate.

“I suppose I need not ask what your plans are for this morning,” he said dryly.

“Comte Baligny is taking me riding this morning,” she managed between bites. “I must hurry or I shall be late.”

“What are Vanessa and Adeline doing?”

“They are helping with the children,” she tossed out, as if bored with the topic. “I think they are planning a picnic for them.”

“Indeed!” put in Trevor. “Dashed good notion. I don’t spend enough time with my two. I believe I will go see if I may be of assistance. If you gentlemen will excuse me,” he said, hurriedly using his napkin and pushing back his chair. “If you’re firm in your decision to leave this morning, I doubt I shall see you again, Wilmot, so I’ll say my goodbyes now.”

He held out his hand to Russell Wilmot, who looked at it a moment before offering his own in return. Richard Mannion and Charles Chaumonde were surprised at the blatant insult, and stirred uneasily in their chairs. Trevor chose to ignore it, and bidding the others good morning, he left in search of the women.

“Now see here, Wilmot,” began Richard.

Wilmot cut him off, his face coldly neutral. “We will talk later, Richard. In private,” he promised.

Paulette looked from one to the other, her eyes wide. Finishing the last bite of her pastry she, too, rose to leave.

She hurried to the stable to order the gentlest horse available to be saddled. She knew herself to be an indifferent rider; however, that was not something she wished to confess to the count. Nonetheless, a little helplessness would not be amiss.

After giving her orders she questioned the servants on the location of Mr. Talverton and set off to find him.

She was aware that her family and friends considered her a pretty ninny hammer and hoyden. That didn’t bother her; it was a useful excuse, and it permitted her much freedom. And in truth, she knew herself to be disgracefully self-centered. But if she was not, how might she achieve her goals? Vanessa and Adeline could use some self-consideration. Bah! Everyone was tripping over each other to help and nothing was being accomplished.

Impossible, these
Americaines,
making everything so complicated! Shaking her head, she headed purposefully down the path the stable boy had indicated, contemplating her course of action.

When finally she spied him, he was standing on a small levee at the side of a canal, studying its construction.

Silently she came to stand beside him. He looked down at her, the top of her saucy hat just reaching his shoulders. Some of the haggard grayness had left his complexion, and the deep furrows across his brow had eased. He was surprised and a little wary of her presence.

She sighed dramatically, which brought a smile to his face.

“I don’t know what I should do first,” she said conversationally as she looked down at the still waters, “beg your pardon, or call you
imbecile.”

Hugh blinked, at a loss for words.

“I am very fickle, you know, and I did lead you a merry dance,” she said seriously, pursing her lips. “My situation, it is
tres tragique,
for I am neither fish nor bird.”

The corners of Hugh’s lips lifted up again. “I believe,” he drawled, “you mean neither fish nor fowl.”

She shrugged. “
N’importante pas.
The Creoles, they are not happy with
mon pere,
they say he is too
Americain.
They do not wish their sons to marry his daughter for they feel I shall taint them in some manner, despite all I do to prove I am a true Creole.”

“Is that why your speech is often heavily accented, while your brother speaks near perfect English?”

“Oui.”

“Miss Chaumonde, I fear you refine too much on the matter. Your brother appears perfectly well accepted, and his wife is an American.”

“Phtt! You do not understand. He is a man, and he can do manly things to prove he is Creole at heart, like fight duels and gamble till dawn. He is also rich.”

Hugh threw back his head and laughed. “And does he do these things, duel and gamble?”

She frowned.
“
No
,
for he says words are his sword, and he gambles every day he invests.”

“Wise man.”

“Do you really think so? I don’t know,” she said. “It seems so tame and not at all romantic. But what was I saying before?”

“That you are not accepted by the Creoles.”

“
Oui, merci.
It is very true, I shall most likely die a spinster if I wait upon a Creole husband. So I said to myself, Paulette, you must marry an aristocrat and then thumb your nose at the Creoles. Therefore, even before I met you, I decided I would marry you.”

“You did?”

“
Naturellement
, so long as you possessed wealth, of course.”

“Ah, now I know why Trevor teased me about being raised to the manner born.”

“He did that?” She shook her head dolefully. “Regardless, I regret to inform you, you will not do at all.”

“No?”

“
No
.
Now, my pardon is done and I will tell you why you are an
imbecile.”

Hugh crossed his arms on his chest. “By all means, please continue,” he said, amused by Paulette’s disclosures.

“You are an
imbecile
for you do not realize Vanessa will never love Mr. Danielson.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t yet,” he said stiffly, “but with time—”

“Phtt! There is no help for you. I tell you one more thing, and then I go. Mr. Wilmot is leaving this morning.” She gathered up the train of her skirts in her arm and turned to leave.
“Au revoir,
Monsieur Talverton. I must not keep the count waiting. I have a mind to be the Comtesse Baligny. It has a nice sound, no?”

Hugh laughed. “Enjoy your ride.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Me, I am not fond of horses, but one does what one must. Oh, I nearly forgot. Vanessa, Adeline, and Trevor are planning a picnic for the children. You might find it—umm, enlightening.” She giggled and turned to run down the path toward the stables, her hand on head to keep her hat in place.

“Enlightening?” Hugh echoed, but she was already out of earshot. He shook his head. Sometimes Paulette truly had lamentably poor English. He wondered what word she had meant.

“Is this a private party, or may a father join?” Trevor Danielson asked, standing in the doorway to the bedroom allotted Alex and Mary.

“Papa! Papa!” Mary yelled, twirling out of Adeline’s grasp and launching herself at her father.

He crouched down to catch her and hug her tight. When he looked up, he observed Alex coming closer in a properly reserved manner, though he could tell by the expression on his face that he longed to copy his sister’s spontaneous action. Trevor smiled and opened his arms, waving Alex to join in the embrace.

The little boy didn’t need further encouragement before he, too, launched himself into his father’s arms.

Vanessa, rocking back in her chair and folding her hands in her lap, smiled complacently at the familial scene. It was heartbreakingly tender. Trevor knelt on the floor without regard for his buckskin breeches or the tails of his coat brushing the floor. His arms encircled his children, their heads resting lovingly on his shoulder. Mary’s hair was a pattern card of his own glossy sable-brown locks; her brother’s hair more closely resembled their mother’s. They were prettily behaved children and delightful company.

Vanessa looked over at her sister to see her reaction to the family tableau. She was surprised to note tears on her sister’s eyelashes while a gentle smile hovered on her lips. She opened her mouth to comment only to be forestalled by the expression she noted on Trevor’s face. He was looking over his children’s heads at Adeline, the light of love evident in his eyes. Vanessa blinked and shut her mouth abruptly. She stared at Adeline and Trevor in silence. They were oblivious to her regard, so wrapped were they in their lovers’ roles.

They were perfect! Why couldn’t she see that before? Did they know? Yes, of course they did, though they tried hard not to show it, she thought, remembering their shared glances, long conversations, and time spent together. Why were they trying to deny their relationship? It was obvious they were in love. Or was it only obvious to her because she was now familiar with that heady, confusing emotion?

Vanessa compressed her lips in an amused smile as she studied them. She cleared her throat noisily and gently asked, “Am I the last to know?”

Guiltily, Adeline turned toward her sister, a pink blush surging over her features. “Oh, Vanessa, I’m sorry—”

“For what, you ninny hammer?” asked Vanessa, sliding off her chair on to the floor beside her sister. She took Adeline’s hands in hers, squeezing them gently. Behind them, Trevor gently extricated himself from his children’s embrace, and taking their hands in his, led them from the room, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

Copious tears now trailed down Adeline’s cheeks. “Oh, Vanessa,” she murmured.

Vanessa’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “Is that all you can say to me,
Oh, Vanessa
? And stop that crying! Here, take my handkerchief,” she said, removing a small square of embroidered linen from the neckline of her dress and handing it to her sister. “I swear, Adeline, you’re a watering pot. Now stop this lest you have me in tears as well.”