Gentleman's Trade (5 page)

Yet for all of New Orleans’s differences, there were commonplaces as well, like the social consciousness of the people. He thought he would be escaping that nuisance when he left England, but Trevor was correct, the people here took their society as seriously as most in England.

He looked across the dance floor to where a contredanse was forming. Trevor led out a shy Adeline Mannion, while the outgoing Paulette Chaumonde was partnered with a spindly gentleman in a bottle-green coat over a lavender striped waistcoat. Hugh raised a quizzical eyebrow at the lace handkerchief the gentleman clutched in one slender hand. Just then, Paulette and her partner cast down the line and as she passed Hugh, Paulette noted his expression and saucily winked at him, her eyes glinting merrily. When she met her partner at the end of the line and they joined hands for a four-hand-around movement, she was the picture of demure elegance. Hugh laughed silently, his big shoulders heaving with contained mirth. Quickly he excused himself from Mrs. Langley’s side. Fortunately she heard him over the loud diatribe of the matron, and she waved him an acknowledgment, her quick eyes never leaving the woman’s face.

Hugh lounged against a pillar as he waited for the dance to end, determined to solicit Miss Chaumonde’s hand for the next set. He caught many a speculative young woman’s eye on him, but coolly disdained to notice their regard. It was a useful trick he’d learned after many years of being considered a prime catch on the London marriage mart.

While he waited, he let his eyes casually roam the room, only superficially heeding what he saw until she entered. Vanessa Mannion was back, standing in the doorway under a glittering chandelier, just as he had imagined her. And she was glorious. Oddly mesmerized, he studied her.

In the bright light, her hair gleamed the rich brown of earth, and her skin took on a warm creamy glow. Her neck was long and slender leading to delicately sloping shoulders his hands itched to touch; he flexed his fingers.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a swarthy gentleman in severe evening dress approaching her. Without analyzing his actions, Hugh moved swiftly to her side and raised her hand to brush a feather-light kiss across her fingertips.

“Miss Mannion, I have caused you undue discomfort this evening. Kindly allow me to make amends and grant me the honor of the next dance.” Hugh kept his gaze trained on Vanessa’s face though he was aware of a dark scowl possessing the features of the swarthy gentleman he’d outmaneuvered.

Surprised, a panoply of emotions crossed Vanessa’s face.

A part of her wanted to reject him cruelly, while another remembered her mother’s request. Then there was a third part, a small but insidious part, that felt a tingling rush at the touch of his hand and a certain weakness in her legs when he looked at her. She rudely shoved that part aside; however, with a modicum of relief, she adopted the mien her parents desired. Her face cleared and a slow, genuine smile lit her face.

“It would be unkind not to allow you to make amends,” she replied, a faint teasing lilt coloring her tone. Suddenly she felt a heady, womanly power suffuse her. Her breath quickened, color blooming on her cheeks. “No, more than unkind,” she said slowly, her eyes glowing like jewels, “it would be barbaric
.”

Hugh threw back his head and laughed, drawing many a curious eye in their direction. “Hoisted on my own petard. Miss Mannion, I salute you.” He executed a courtly bow, then straightened and extended his arm. “A new set is forming. Shall we join?” As they stepped through the opening figures of the dance,
A Trip to Paris
, he asked politely, “Do you waltz, Miss Mannion?”

“Waltz?” She had no notion of what the word meant, and there was no time to question him further for they separated to circle the couple below them in the line.

“Yes,” he said as he passed her on the far side.

She shook her head and waited patiently while they danced the figures with the couple next to them, then cast down the line to begin the series of steps again.

“What dances are done here?” Hugh asked.

“The minuet . . .”

He groaned comically, but there was no time to question him for again they parted.

“What else shall I have to suffer through?” he asked moments later.

She raised her eyebrows. Then, before the figures separated them, her answer came out in a rush. “The cotillion and allemande.”

He nodded noncommittally, which mysteriously infuriated her. “Will you dance
Hull’s Victory?
” she asked archly when they came together again.

A brief frown furrowed his brow. “You have the advantage of me there, Miss Mannion. I am not familiar with it.”

She nodded sagely before their steps took them apart. A smile played upon her lips for she now held him off balance, as he had held her.

He looked at her quizzically, but “Later” was her only reply, for Miss Chaumonde and the swarthy gentleman were now their partners in the line and he watched, with black annoyance, a wide smile spread across Vanessa’s face as she greeted the gentleman with pleasure.

When the dance ended, Hugh led Vanessa to the refreshment table, procuring for her a glass of cool punch, then guided her into a nearby chair. “Now tell me, for I’ve always accounted myself conversant with all manner of fashionable dances, what is
Hull’s Victory
?” He sat down next to her.

Vanessa laughed, nearly spilling her drink. “It is a contredanse that originated in this country. It commemorates the defeat of your
Guerrière
warship by Isaac Hull’s
Constitution
frigate in the last war.” She was impressed when he merely nodded at the information and took a sip of his punch. She had expected him to turn arrogant again.

“Battles and birthdays have spawned the creation of many dances. But the waltz, now that is something special.” His deep voice held a warm affection that sent shivers down her back.

“Yes,” sneered a dark gravelly voice, “a dance fit only for the Quadroon Balls.”

Vanessa swung sharply around at the sound of Mr. Wilmot’s voice. He, too, sent shivers down her back, but not the kind associated with pleasurable emotions. Even the ebullient Paulette on his arm looked a trifle subdued.

Hugh Talverton stood in deference to Paulette, though a cool, frighteningly blank mask descended over his features. He had heard of the Quadroon Balls while on board ship, for they were deemed a New Orleans attraction not to be missed by any gentleman of means. Like the Cyprian Balls in London, they were an open opportunity for cavorting with mistresses and other high-flyers. That the unknown gentleman should ally the waltz with lightskirts showed a gross stupidity on his part, or a desire to discredit him in the eyes of Miss Mannion. Hugh was inclined to believe the latter, though he thought it quite rag-mannered to mention the balls before ladies.

He studied the dark-complected visage before him. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t frequent such affairs,” he said stiffly. “Concerning the waltz, however, I have heard it said that if
improperly
executed, it could descend into vulgarity.”

Vanessa froze at the tangible tension existing between the two men, like wild animals warily circling before battle.

“Oooo! Then it is a dance I should like to see,” Paulette said eagerly, gliding over to Mr. Talverton and placing her hand on his arm. She was oblivious to the crackling tension. “You will demonstrate to me one day, yes?”

“Paulette!” Vanessa interrupted. She did not know who to believe regarding the waltz, but she decided it would be safer to avoid further discussion, especially as it was a subject to arouse enmity between the gentlemen before they had even formally met. What would her father say if he knew they met in discord through her?

“Where are our manners? We have not even introduced these gentlemen!” she said in a rush, tittering a falsetto laugh. “Mr. Wilmot,” she began again, a bright strained smile on her lips, “this is Mr. Hugh Talverton. He is the gentleman Mr. Danielson spoke of last evening.” She clasped her hands tightly before her and chewed anxiously on her soft inner lip.

Hugh noted her nervousness and realized she was concerned that they should get along. Suddenly, the strange animosity ebbed, leaving only a feeling of disquiet. Even that he suppressed as he summoned one of his social smiles and stretched out a hand in greeting.

“Ah, you two have met!” Trevor Danielson congenially slapped Hugh on the back as he and a singularly glowing Adeline joined the group.

Vanessa thought she’d never seen her sister look quite so beautiful. She was shimmering with a gentle vibrancy that heightened her color. It appeared her shy sister was beginning to be comfortable in company. No doubt Mr. Danielson helped to ease her discomfort by his kind attention. Vanessa was glad of that, for her sister needed attention in order to gain her own confidence.

Trevor Danielson leaned closer to his friend. “Eh, this is a dreadful crush, isn’t it?”

“Is it? Come, Trevor, your memory can’t have dimmed so with age,” Hugh said caustically. Trevor looked at him blankly. “Surely you remember the gatherings in London.”

Trevor’s face relaxed and he waved a dismissing hand in Hugh’s direction while Vanessa shot Talverton a tight glance. Would the man never stop with his blasted comparisons? It was obvious New Orleans always suffered, for his arrogance denied allowance and appreciation for the differences.

A wave of irritation swept through Vanessa. The man was conceited and toplofty. Worse was his chameleon coloring, his feigned social veneer. When he was smiling in his most superficially congenial manner was when she saw the secret laughter in his eyes. It was as if he viewed New Orleans as one would view Gaetano’s Circus!

Belatedly she realized Mr. Danielson was claiming her attention. She felt a swift stab of chagrin. She had been expending unconscionable time considering Mr. Talverton when her attention should have been directed toward her suitors. She turned her attention to Mr. Danielson and warmly smiled.

“They’re forming sets for
The Black Nag
. Shall we join them?”

She took his outstretched hand and rose from her chair. “With pleasure. It is a favorite of mine for its exuberance.” She shot a look at Mr. Talverton as they passed. “But most likely it is frowned upon by the highest English sticklers for that reason.”

Mr. Wilmot watched them pass, scowling at Trevor’s grabbing Vanessa’s attention. Abruptly he claimed a dance from Adeline and hurried to join the set with them.

Paulette looked up at Hugh, a puzzled expression on her face. “Do you truly disapprove?”

He laughed. “Hardly. It is an enjoyable dance, but I wouldn’t want to spoil Miss Mannion’s exit line by joining the set. I fear your friend does not approve of me.”

“Oh, it is not you personally. I think it is all aristocrats that she dislikes. She is so-o
Americaine,
you know.”

“No, I don’t know. Please, won’t you sit down? Here, what’s this?” He picked up a fan from the chair.

Paulette took it from him and slowly unfurled it. “It is Vanessa’s! She will be distraught to find it missing.” She looked over to where Vanessa was dancing with Mr. Danielson. “I shall hold it for her,” she said, sitting down in the chair and waving the fan lightly before her.

“You look hot, Miss Chaumonde. May I get you a drink?”

She smiled engagingly at him over the top of the fan and tipped her head in assent.

When he returned, she took the proffered glass from him, murmuring her thanks, then patted the seat next to her in invitation. Mr. Talverton bowed and sat down.

He was amused at her adept flirting with Miss Mannion’s fan. It seemed that many social habits crossed the ocean with alacrity. He watched her and responded gallantly in kind until something about the colors of the fan she was so languidly waving captured his attention.

“Miss Chaumonde, may I see that fan a moment?”

“What? Yes,
naturellement.”
She held it out to him, a puzzled expression on her pert features.

“This is New Orleans, isn’t it?”

Her brow cleared. “Oui, from the wharf in late afternoon. See, the buildings, they catch the afternoon sun, while behind, the sky, it is blue and red as evening comes.”

“You say she is fond of this fan?”

“Oh,
oui,
monsieur,” she said gaily. “Just as she is fond of her city. She is very loyal, you know, and very proud.”

Casually Hugh looked in Vanessa’s direction. She caught his eye and their gazes locked. He closed the fan with a snap and held it to his forehead in mock salute. She blushed and averted her eyes, nearly missing a dance step.

Hugh looked back at Paulette and returned the fan to her. “Are you familiar with the dance
Hull’s Victory
?”

Her face brightened. “Certainly!”

“Regrettably, I am not. Will you tell me the steps?”

Enthusiastic to have captured his attention, Paulette leaned toward him, her fingers tracing figures in the air as she talked. She was still talking animatedly when
The Black Nag
ended and the sets dispersed. Vanessa glanced over at them, a faint frown of annoyance crossing her brow at the sight of them comfortably sitting at the side of the room seemingly engrossed. As quickly as it came, her annoyance vanished, for she remembered her determination to ignore Mr. Talverton. She turned her head to smile up at Mr. Danielson, assenting to his suggestion to a turn about the courtyard for fresh air. Behind them followed Adeline and Mr. Wilmot.

A faint breeze stirred the leaves of the trees in the small garden behind the Cathedral at the Place d’Armes. Vanessa, seated on a low bench, tilted her head back to capture the errant wind and cool her faintly heated face. She closed her eyes and inhaled the delicious mingled scents of the garden flowers. Ignoring the muted cacophony of sounds emanating from the busy square less than a block away, she let the peace of the small garden seep through her, concentrating instead on the sound of the birds conversing in neighboring trees.

“Mon Dieu, mais mon pieds,
they are tired,” sighed Paulette, resting her feet on the small pile of parcels that were the fruits of their labors amid the many shops in New Orleans.

Vanessa slitted one eye open to glance at her friend seated next to her. “You, tired? Then assuredly we must return home at once!” she declared, a teasing smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

“
Pour quoi?”

“The only time I have known you to tire is when you’re ill. You must be put to bed immediately.”

Paulette’s mouth formed a moue of dissatisfaction with Vanessa’s humor. “And you, you tell me you are not tired?”

“Certainly I am, but I don’t profess to your vigor.” She sighed contentedly as dappled sunlight shifted across her face when a small gust toyed with the leaves above, sighing as it passed. “I will admit, however, that sitting here is doing much to restore my dreadfully flagging spirits.”

“Bon,”
declared Paulette, “for you must be in the best of spirits for tonight.”

Vanessa grimaced at the reminder of the theater party her father arranged. “I fear it will be awkward at best. I have two suitors accompanying us, while Adeline has none.” She straightened, her eyes opening. “Worse yet, Father wishes me to be nice to Mr. Talverton, which would annoy you and
my
two erstwhile suitors, to say nothing of annoying me to be in proximity of the gentleman.”

A bubbling laugh spilled from Paulette. “Rest assured, I shall take care of Mr. Talverton, and Mr. Mannion, he will not mind.”

“And what of Adeline?” Vanessa’s tone was full of exasperation, for she had been troubled by this problem since her father had issued the invitations on the night of the ball.

“You make of it too much a problem,” Paulette said airily.

“So you say, but I am at a loss.”

Paulette shook her head tolerantly. “Vanessa, think! You will devote your attention to Mr. Wilmot, for that gentleman is becoming, how do you say it?
Jaloux?”

“Jealous.”

“Oui, merci.
He followed you around the ball with a ferocious scowl, even when he was dancing with me! Believe me, I know. It was an insult I would bear for no one but you.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“No, Vanessa, it is not. You, you must open your eyes and see! You spend too much time thinking and worrying, and little time seeing. You did not even consider Mr. Danielson a suitor until Adeline said he was one. Then your mind took over and you have been dissecting the man like an insect, weighing his suitability, judging your feelings. Bah! One day, my friend, you will awaken. I hope you do before you find yourself married to the wrong man or too old to capture one.”

Vanessa laughed. “You’re impossible, Paulette, and so ardent.”

“Am I?
Phtt
,
n’important pas.
Let us return to tonight. You will give your attention to Mr. Wilmot, let Adeline succor Mr. Danielson. He is a good-natured gentleman, he will not slight her. Mr. Wilmot would overwhelm her into a silent doorstop,” she said carelessly.

“A what?”

“A doorstop,” Paulette averred. “She would be just there, a prop, no more.”

“You’re probably correct, and with Mr. Danielson, she’s known him long enough to feel comfortable conversing, at least about his children if nothing else. He did put her in quite good spirits at the ball,” Vanessa admitted consideringly.

“You see, it is
tres convenable.”

Vanessa sighed. “You are probably correct.” She straightened, distractedly fiddling with the ends of her shawl. Her older sister never had such a complicated courtship, she mused. Louisa knew immediately upon meeting Charles Chaumonde that he was the man she would marry, and his response to her was equally straightforward. It was uncommon for a Creole man to marry an American woman, yet from the instant they met, their differences melted like ice in warm water, then blended to create something infinitely greater than their separate identities. Love, she called it. A pang of envy stabbed Vanessa. She wished she understood that emotion Louisa sighed about whenever she talked of Charles. The next time she saw Louisa, she must make her explain.

Vanessa dropped the shawl’s fringe and pulled the garment closer around her. “I wonder what Charles is doing,” she said suddenly.

“
Mon frère?”
Paulette looked at Vanessa strangely, struggling to follow the train of her thoughts.

“Yes, I was just thinking of him and Louisa, and realized we haven’t seen him in a while. Why don’t we see if we can persuade him to invite us to lunch?”

Paulette scoffed, “Impossible, my brother’s head is filled with laws and statues.”

“Statutes.”

“He will be impossible to persuade,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.

“Let me try. I’ll say I’d like to discuss Louisa and the baby, little Celeste. That topic might be good for three hours.” Vanessa rose to her feet, gathering her parcels.

“Mon Dieu,
my head, already it is aching and you wish me to socialize? What is the phrase?
Do the pretty?”

Vanessa laughed. “Nonsense, I know what has you concerned. You are afraid he will start into one of his brotherly lectures.” She extended her hand to help her friend to stand. Groaning, Paulette accepted the aid.

Vanessa laughed. “Come on, you, the one who is never tired. Let’s accost your brother before my stomach begins to grumble in a highly unladylike fashion.”

“It would never dare,” Paulette said stoutly as they made their way out of the park and headed for Rue de Chartres.

The wide streets, muddy just two days before, were dry, and a dusty haze, kicked up from the passing swarm of people and carts, glowed in the air. Paulette and Vanessa threaded their way quickly through the traffic, almost sagging with relief when they reached Charles Chaumonde’s snug little town house with its first-floor law offices facing the street.

“Mr. Danielson was correct,” Vanessa said with a laugh as she reached forward to open the French doors leading to the office. ‘Trade has increased. I don’t recall this many people about since the victory celebration for General Jackson!”

“Our city, she is important, no?
“

“Very,” Vanessa answered with pride.

A little bell tinkled as she opened the office door, commanding the attention of a young clerk seated by a high desk at the back of the room. He laid down his quill and slid off the stool. “Good morning, Miss Mannion, Miss Chaumonde.”

His eyes only briefly touched Vanessa, his attention centered on Paulette. Vanessa compressed her lips tightly for a moment to conquer a threatening smile. She cleared her throat to remind the infatuated young man of her presence. “Mr. Pierot, is Mr. Chaumonde available?”

He looked toward Vanessa and blushed guiltily. “Uh- uh . . . Yes! Yes, he is. Just a moment and I’ll . . . I’ll inform him you’re here.” He scurried past them, his eyes darting toward Paulette, and disappeared down a short corridor. “Paulette, for shame, teasing that young man so.”

Her companion raised a faintly haughty eyebrow. “I? I do not. I cannot help it if the man admires me.”

“But you do not discourage him either,” Vanessa ruefully pointed out. She laid her packages on the floor and flexed her cramped fingers.

Paulette shrugged. “Such admiration is a woman’s due.”

“And you see to it that you receive more than your fair share!”

“Are we sniping at one another, Vanessa?”

“Oh, Paulette, I apologize, but you have an ease of manners with the men that I admire and am jealous to possess. You amaze me, for you are so young to practice such wiles.”

“It is not that I am so young, it is you who are too serious. Just as you wish to know and understand trade, you wish to understand all that surrounds you. You expend your energy thinking rather than feeling. A waste.” Her cheeks, dimpled.
“Et ce n’est pas tres amusant.”

“Still speaking French, Paulette?”

Paulette started guiltily at the sound of her brother’s voice, then twirled around to hurl herself into his arms. “Charles!
Mon frere,
it has been too long!”

Charles gave Vanessa a wry look. “And if I were to see her more often, she would accuse me of being a meddlesome big brother. I fear, I cannot win.” He spread his hands deprecatingly, then gently set his sister away from him. “Would that I could believe your sincerity, little one.”

“Oh, you are impossible! I cannot even greet you with affection without you doubting me. Vanessa, I can see it was a mistake to come. Let us go.”

As Vanessa knew Paulette’s demonstration of sisterly affection was lacking the depths of sincerity she professed, she was not inclined to humor her. The truth was, Paulette was glad she was not staying at her brother’s country estate while her father was in Washington and her usual chaperone, her aunt, Madame Teresa Rouchardier, was aiding Louisa with the baby. Louisa and the infant were ensconced on their small plantation ten miles out of town for fear of yellow fever. Paulette knew that soon it would be summer, and they would all retire to the country to flee the contagion which swept through the city every late summer and early fall claiming untold lives. Until that time, she wanted to taste the fruits of society: to flirt, shop, and dance until she dropped.

Charles strolled over to Vanessa’s side and claimed her hands in his. “And you, how are you today? You appear, I do not know, tense, drawn like a bowstring perhaps, before the arrow is released.”

“I? No. There is a great deal on my mind, that’s all.”

Paulette strolled over to the French doors and watched the traffic in the street. “Thoughts of all her suitors are occupying her mind,” she said over her shoulder.

“Really?” Charles said, grinning.

Vanessa blushed. “Paulette exaggerates, but it does seem both Mr. Danielson and Mr. Wilmot have been attentive.”

An indelicate snort came from the direction of the doors.

“Paulette!” Charles admonished.

“You would laugh, too, if you had seen her maneuverings. I did better when I was fifteen!”

“Eighteen is not much beyond that,” drawled Charles.

“It is compared to Vanessa,” exclaimed Paulette matter-of-factly. “Oh! Oh, look!” she exclaimed from her post by the door. “It is Mr. Talverton!” She pointed eagerly to the tall, broad-shouldered figure coming down the street.

“Richard stopped by the other day and mentioned the gentleman. I should like to meet him.”

Paulette didn’t need any further encouragement. She opened the door, setting the entrance bell tinkling again. “Mr. Talverton!”

Hugh raised his head and turned to see Paulette Chaumonde exuberantly waving at him.

“Mr. Talverton,
a moi, s’il vous plait!
’ She urgently motioned him toward her.

Charles laughed and joined her at the doorway. Vanessa sighed deeply and followed.

Hugh cocked an eyebrow in inquiry, though a smile curved his lips.

“Miss Chaumonde, what a pleasant surprise! What are you about today? I had not anticipated the pleasure of your company until this evening.” He drew her hand to his lips for a feather-light salute across her fingertips, then straightened, noting Vanessa’s presence.

“Miss Mannion, you also? This is a delight.”

Vanessa compressed her lips tighter, striving for a neutral visage. A broader smile split his lips as he noted her endeavor. She was obviously not aware how her features were a canvas for her emotions. He liked watching her shifting moods and unguarded moments, endlessly fascinated by the beauty they created on a pleasing, but not otherwise noteworthy, visage. He bowed low before her, his lips lingering longer on her hand. She pulled it peremptorily away, whipping it behind her, eliciting a chuckle from Hugh.

“Mr. Talverton,” she said primly, and Hugh immediately knew she was in her “propriety” mood. “I’d like you to meet someone. This is my brother-in-law, Charles Chaumonde. Charles, Mr. Hugh Talverton.”

“Brother-in-law, you say?”

“I had the good fortune to marry Vanessa’s older sister,” Charles said amiably, shaking Hugh’s hand. “Richard told me about you. He said you were here to buy cotton for a mill you have interest in in England.”

“Yes, there have been some intriguing innovations developed in the past few years that a few of my friends and I decided to invest in. Most mills are archaic and depend upon long working hours and child labor to provide profits. We’re hoping these new innovations, coupled with better working conditions, will lead to a revolution in the mill industry by increasing productivity from the machines and the workers.”

“An aristocrat with a social conscience?” sneered Vanessa. Instantly she regretted her ill-considered words, but it was too late to recall them. With dismay she noted shocked expressions on Charles’s and Paulette’s faces at her rudeness, while a dark scowl turned Mr. Talverton’s face into a stony mask. She bit her lip, wishing she could be anywhere but standing before him. Her only recourse, she decided, was to brazen the situation out. She tossed her head up to look him straight in the eye, an eyebrow arching quizzically, and a determinedly neutral expression sliding over the rest of her features.

Hugh almost burst out laughing. He saw chagrin sweep over her swiftly, and recognized the moment the impudent wench decided to meet his ire boldly, though she knew herself to be impertinent. The woman was enchantingly transparent.

“What opinions you Americans have of us,” he drawled. “They are almost as ludicrous as our opinion that all Americans are ill-mannered, uneducated, bumptious louts.”

Vanessa blushed, and she swallowed the hot retort that rose in her throat.