Gentleman's Trade (7 page)

“I have a favor to ask of you. I know you believe Mr. Danielson to be my suitor as well as Mr. Wilmot,” she said slowly, staring down at her tightly clasped hands. She failed to see the delicate pink blush begin to stain Adeline’s cheeks. “Unfortunately, Father has placed me in an untenable situation by inviting both gentlemen to this theater party. I like and admire both gentlemen well enough, though honestly, I cannot say who I prefer as a suitor. I am thus left in the uncomfortable position of balancing my attentions to both.” She looked up at Adeline to see if she understood. Adeline nodded briefly, her color strangely high.

“At the Langley Ball I virtually ignored Mr. Wilmot, and he is not a gentleman to take kindly to that. I fear he used you most abominably, dragging you along as he followed in my wake. It was highly flattering, but very poorly done on my part. I have decided I must make amends this evening. That, however, will leave Mr. Danielson bereft.”

Color flared brighter in Adeline’s face and she was moved to interrupt. “Oh, no, Vanessa, I don’t think . . .”

“Yes, it will.” She clasped Adeline’s hands in her own. “Calm down, please. I’m not asking you to do anything I wouldn’t do for you. All I ask is that you pay attention to Mr. Danielson, talk to him, and allow him to be your escort. He is a very charming man.”

“Yes, yes he is,” whispered Adeline miserably.

“I know you don’t like to put yourself forward, but please, do this for me.”

Her sister smiled wanly and nodded. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Vanessa.”

She patted Adeline’s hand and stood up. “Everything will be fine.”

“And I hope I know what I’m doing,” Adeline murmured softly, ruefully, but Vanessa didn’t hear. She was already across the room, teasing Paulette on the length of time she was taking with her toilette.

Vanessa and Adeline paused at the head of the stairs, trading mute requests for courage. Each was preoccupied with uneasy feelings of trepidation, and both were annoyed that they agreed to Paulette’s plan to precede her down the stairs.

Vanessa’s glance swept the hall below. The gentlemen gathered there, under the light of the graceful crystal chandelier, presented an intriguing tableau. Mr. Wilmot, dark and swarthy, resplendent in black, exuded an aura of alertness and measured determination. Mr. Danielson, arrayed nattily in a coat of royal blue and tan pantaloons, displayed a boyish charm when he looked up and saw them on the stairs. Mr. Talverton, his broad shoulders filling a darker blue coat with a casual elegance seemingly at odds with his proportions, smiled lazily, his eyes so hooded he might have been asleep on his feet. Instinctively, Vanessa bristled at Mr. Talverton’s inattention. Perhaps Adeline and she did not possess Paulette’s young, vivacious beauty, but, they were ladies, more than passably attractive ladies, worthy of a gentleman’s attention. A slight frown wrinkled her forehead and her lips set in a straight line as she descended the stairs with her sister. Most likely he was again making odious comparisons to the fashionable ladies of London, and in his arrogance he found them lacking. Paulette was welcome to this rude, insufferable Englishman. She wished her joy.

Her father’s wishes to the contrary, her attentions this evening were going to be directed at Mr. Wilmot. Guiltily, she realized she had not yet returned that gentleman’s steady regard. Her brow cleared, and she slid her gaze in his direction, smiling warmly just as they reached the point in the stairs where the chandelier’s glow bathed them in a halo of bright light.

For all his sleepy-eyed appearance, Hugh Talverton had been aware of Vanessa’s approach since she set her foot upon the first stair. He watched her slow, graceful descent with Adeline. As always, he found himself studying the play of emotions upon her features. He saw her coolly regarding him and watched as her expression changed from studied acknowledgment of the men gathered in the hall, to the tiny frown aimed at him that marred her expressive countenance. She had seen him and in some way found him lacking. He repressed an urge to look down at himself, or find a mirror to see what was so amiss with his appearance. He was relieved when her frown dissipated as quickly as it had come; however, an indefensible annoyance settled over him when he realized he was not the recipient of her dazzling smile. He looked over at Mr. Wilmot. The man’s face bore a raffish, rakehell expression. He’d run into his type before and did not trust him. Men of his ilk attracted women likes bees to honey. He wondered at his interest in Vanessa Mannion, certain it stemmed from more than an appreciation for her womanly charms. Miss Mannion, though a feisty, intelligent morsel of womanhood, was not up to dealing with a man of Mr. Wilmot’s weight, and could be heading for a nasty surprise.

He hung back a step when Trevor and Mr. Wilmot approached the women. He was a little surprised to see them both greet Vanessa first, though in truth, Trevor turned quickly enough to greet Adeline. Uncertain as to what was expected of him, he smiled a smile that failed to reach his eyes and gave them only polite, perfunctory greetings.

Inwardly, Vanessa fumed at Mr. Talverton’s standoffish manner, but she raised her chin haughtily and spared him no more than a polite glance and acknowledgment of his presence. Mr. Wilmot was offering her his arm, and she really had no more time to consider the arrogant Englishman.

“Where’s Paulette?” demanded Mr. Mannion, striding into the hall from the library.

Vanessa started at the sound of his voice and looked up to see him pinning her with one of his piercing stares from under his iron-bar eyebrows.

“Ici
,
Monsieur
Mannion
,” came Paulette’s clear tones from the top of the stairs. All eyes turned in her direction, and Vanessa was forced to admit she did make a grand entrance.

“It’s about time, and confound it girl, speak English. Your father will be extremely displeased when he discovers you’re still lapsing into French.” He turned to address the gentlemen. “Paul Chaumonde’s the only frog I know who knows what it means to be an American, but I certainly can’t say the same for his daughter. These Creoles have the most ramshackle upbringing.”

Adeline blushed. “Father, please!” she implored. “Paulette is our friend and guest.”

“Yes, and we’re supposed to be teaching her American ways.”

Paulette sniffed disdainfully in what Vanessa later remarked to her mother was a very theatrical manner. Born into another family she’d probably have trod the boards. Ignoring Mr. Mannion’s comment, she held her head high and gracefully descended the stairs, her attention and smile directed toward Mr. Talverton. It was truly a magnificent entrance. She regally glided down the stairs, exchanged gracious words of courtesy with Mr. Danielson and Mr. Wilmot, and then turned the full force of her regard on Mr. Talverton. Vanessa was nearly scandalized and hoped the sudden warmth rising to her face was not visible to the others.

“I’ve ordered two carriages to transport us to the theater,” Mr. Mannion bluffly interrupted. “I’ll leave you to sort yourselves out and decide on the seating while I collect Mrs. Mannion from her quilting frame. Seems every moment she has free she’s in there with it. Says she wants to get it done so she can begin something she calls a
Double Wedding Ring
patterned quilt. Now I wonder who that one’s for.” He smirked at his middle daughter, his iron brows twitching.

Feeling all eyes-upon her, Vanessa blushed anew.

When the carriage hit another rut in the road and swayed gently, Hugh Talverton repressed a smile. It was not the coach’s sway that amused him, however. He was actually quite impressed by the vehicle, principally because it was of American rather than British craftsmanship. It was surprisingly well sprung, and only a modicum of effort was needed to maintain one’s upright position despite the abominable condition of New Orleans roads. No, what aroused his humor was the use Miss Chaumonde made of each jolt and sway the carriage received. Every rut and curve in the road was an excuse to throw herself across his lap, then profess coquettish embarrassment and a breathy thank you for catching her.

As Miss Chaumonde offered her latest pleas for forgiveness, he looked at Trevor seated across from him. The man was openly smiling, no doubt enjoying the charade. He surmised, too, that the gloved hand shielding the lower half of Adeline Mannion’s face was not to cover a cough.

Miss Chaumonde’s blatant bid for his favors both amused and exasperated him. She refreshingly lacked the poised artifice and scheming machinations of the London beauties who in the past had set their caps for him. But her schoolgirl transparency made him feel the aged roué. Needless to say, that was not a feeling that sat comfortably. He decided he much preferred Vanessa Mannion’s reserve, though he perversely delighted in upsetting her equilibrium. Also, it was quite evident she did not consider him a potential husband. That knowledge did much to raise her credit in his eyes. He was not in the market for matrimonial leg-shackles, especially to any hoydenish American miss.

He was, however, strangely concerned that she should view Mr. Wilmot as a possible mate. She had certainly allowed herself to be kept close to his side, and made no demur at the carriage seating arrangements Miss Chaumonde took upon herself to dictate. If anything, she was amused, for he was quick to note the tiny tightening and curving of her lips at Paulette’s suggestions. For all her seriousness, there was a streak of humor in Miss Mannion that he desired to see released. It was an adjunct of a hidden passion she possessed, bubbling just below the surface. Was Mr. Wilmot cognizant of that well-spring? Somehow, Hugh hoped he was not.

Miss Chaumonde clasped him tightly as the carriage drew up before the theater. “I shall have to speak to Monsieur Mannion about this coachman.
Mon Dieu,
but I swear I shall be black and blue come morning from this wild ride,” she babbled earnestly, looking up at Hugh with soulful dark eyes. “And this last, one would think the man would know how to rein in his team in a less hectic fashion. I would have landed on the floor if it hadn’t been for you, Mr. Talverton.”

“Somehow I doubt that, Miss Chaumonde,” he drawled. “But I thought you were to converse only in English.”

“Bah! English is such a tiresome language.” She paused at Adeline’s and Mr. Danielson’s sudden burst of laughter, furrowing her brow in exasperation, for she detected nothing humorous in her words. She cast them a resentful little look and shrugged her dissatisfaction before turning her attention back to Mr. Talverton.

“But don’t you consider my French lapses
charmante?”
she asked prettily.

“Truthfully, Miss Chaumonde, no,” he said as he descended from the carriage and turned to extend his hand to her.

Momentarily subdued, she meekly accepted his aid. She sighed loudly as they stood to the side awaiting Trevor and Adeline, and for an instant, Hugh regretted his caustic words. Then he felt her hand tuck itself into his arm. He looked down to meet her twinkling eyes.

“I have it now, Monsieur Talverton. You are roasting me most unkindly.” She edged shockingly closer to him as Trevor and Adeline joined them.

A chuckle welled up in his chest. Truly, Miss Chaumonde was irrepressible. Trevor shook his head in silent commiseration while Adeline frowned warningly at Paulette.

Ignoring Adeline, Paulette batted her lashes and preened. She was proud of herself for making Mr. Talverton laugh. Soon she would have him eating quite contentedly out of her hand. Giggling at her success, she skipped forward to meet the other Mannion carriage, pulling Mr. Talverton along in her wake.

“These streets, they are horrible, are they not, Vanessa?” Paulette inquired when the other party had descended.

Vanessa was nonplussed but smiling. “I’m sorry, have I missed something?”

Trevor laughed. “Only Miss Chaumonde’s complaints.” The group started toward the theater steps.

“Now it is you who are horrible,” complained Paulette petulantly, while clinging to Hugh’s arm.

Trevor professed astonishment and innocence.

“I know I shall be quite bruised tomorrow, and if I am not, it will be only because Mr. Talverton was kind enough to protect me from being completely tossed about like a child’s ball.”

“Yes,” Adeline said, her soft gray eyes gleaming mischievously in the lantern light. “It was quite amazing how she was jostled about.”

“I can well imagine,” Vanessa said dryly, though she looked at her younger sister intently. There appeared a bloom in her fair cheeks and a rare gaiety in her spirit. It was unlike her quiet sibling to enter into conversation in company, much less to tease. It appeared Mr. Danielson was a fortuitous choice for an escort. Perhaps, now that she is comfortable with him, she will learn to be comfortable with other gentlemen.

Mr. Mannion did not let the party dally on the steps of the theater but quickly ushered them into the building. Hugh Talverton followed amiably along with the group, though his attention was diverted by the variety of people entering the theater. One aspect that particularly struck him was the preponderance of French being spoken.

“Trevor,” he said sotto voce as the women were divested of their wraps and seated by the box railing, “where are we?”

“What?”

He waved his hand out before him to indicate their sumptuous surroundings and all the elegantly attired theater patrons. “Is this Paris?”

Trevor laughed softly, and sat down in his seat behind Adeline and Paulette. Hugh sat next to him, behind Paulette and Vanessa. He crossed his legs and leaned toward Trevor.

“This mimicry is comical.”

“It’s not mimicry. Most of these people are of French or Spanish antecedents and are fiercely proud of their heritage. Actually, they don’t care for us Americans much. The Chaumondes are among the few exceptions.”

The hand Hugh had rested on his knee received a stinging little tap. He turned in surprise to see Vanessa frowning at him and waving her closed fan above his hand, prepared to deliver another tap.

“I beg your pardon?” he said with chilling politeness.

Paulette turned her head to look back at him. “
Chut!
The play, it is about to begin!”

Vanessa nodded and turned her attention toward the stage.

He leaned forward between them. “My humble pardon. And what is it we are to see?”

Paulette raised her eyebrow in disbelief. “A Moliere play, of course.
L’Ecole des Femmes
.”

He groaned. “Don’t tell me,” he said heavily. “It’s in the original French.”

She looked perplexed, then shrugged.
“Mais naturellement.”

Vanessa kept her eyes directed toward the stage, though her shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Hugh nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Naturally,” he muttered.

Trevor, seated on one side of him, smirked; Mr. Wilmot, seated on the other, looked at him with disdain. Hugh had the distinct impression he was in for a long night.

Later in the evening, after the requisite intermission to allow the patrons to saunter the halls, purchase refreshments, visit, exchange gossip, and, most important, be seen, the Mannion party settled back comfortably in their chairs to watch the second half of the play.

Vanessa sighed, her brow furrowing a moment with the effort of concentrating on translating the French dialogue. It was rumored the theater would soon begin producing plays in English as well as in French. She hoped the story was true. She would particularly enjoy seeing Shakespearean plays like
Romeo and Juliet
or
Twelfth Night.
She enjoyed the Moliere comedy, but the undivided attention necessary to achieve enjoyment could also engender throbbing temples.

That was, perhaps, unfair. She was restless tonight, bound up by unknown feelings. She had toured the halls on Mr. Wilmot’s arm during intermission and felt content, almost proud to be seen in his company, for she’d noted many a considering eye turned in their direction. By the numerous nods and little waves he bestowed upon the different people they passed, he appeared to know all of New Orleans, and not, judging by their attire, strictly the elite. He would not stop, however, to introduce her to anyone. Nor did he choose to stay near Adeline, Paulette, and their escorts to converse. He seemed to desire her to himself. She didn’t know whether to be piqued or flattered by his possessive manner. Nonetheless, she admitted she did find satisfaction and a measure of delight in his company.

Vanessa stiffened when she felt a light touch on the top of her shoulder. She looked over, shocked to see it was Mr. Wilmot’s hand resting there with a license she had never bestowed to him. And here she had just been thinking about how she liked him. His conceit was greater than Mr. Talverton’s if he believed that by returning his attention she was granting him license.

Very slowly and precisely she raised her other arm to disengage his hand. He allowed his hand to be removed but clasped her fingers tightly in return. Stunned, she tugged, only to feel his grip tighten, though his thumb lazily caressed her knuckles. The blast of a cold, all-consuming fury shook her. Turning, she glared at him with frosted eyes, cold and glittering like icicles, and issued a silent, daring challenge.

In answer he smiled, his dark eyes gleaming with something predatory flickering in their depths. Her eyes widened, her delicate nostrils flaring. Panicked, she tugged again at her captured hand. Suddenly she felt startlingly alone and helpless although they were surrounded by many people.

Mr. Wilmot was a stranger, a man she didn’t recognize, and he frightened her.

Hugh Talverton looked over in time to see Wilmot clasp her fingers and Vanessa turn toward him. Her expression was hidden from him by the deep shadows in the box, but by the rigid set of her body he knew she was not pleased with the gentleman.

The situation amused Hugh, for he’d earlier thought she was no match for Wilmot. He turned the other way to poke Trevor in the ribs to share his appreciation of the scene. He was startled to see him already watching the encounter with outrage evident in the tight clenching of his jaw and of his white-knuckled fists resting on his knees. He had never witnessed Trevor in a rage. He was always friendly, and likely to be an arbiter of disputes, not a participant. Instinctively, Hugh knew he couldn’t trust his friend to act rationally. He’d heard duels were commonly fought in New Orleans over trifles, and this was no trifle. He had to diffuse the situation quickly. He saw Mr. Wilmot smile wolfishly at Vanessa while refusing to relinquish her hand. At any moment he expected Trevor to jump to his feet and mill Wilmot down, then demand satisfaction.

He uncrossed his legs and swung his other leg up to change sides, letting the momentum of the swing carry his foot into the side of Vanessa Mannion’s chair with a resounding jolt.

“Oh, Miss Mannion, I’m terribly sorry. It’s these confounded great long legs of mine. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

The jarring action took both Vanessa and Mr. Wilmot by surprise. The man’s grip loosened, and Vanessa’s fingers slid free.

She felt disoriented, like a top, spinning off and dancing away. The force of her fury melted rapidly, leaving her dazed and numb. She slowly turned to face Hugh Talverton, struggling to pull her scattered wits about her, realizing he was speaking to her.

“No, no. I’m quite all right, I-I . . .” she stumbled, then paused. She found herself staring up into Mr. Talverton’s face and was astonished when he slowly winked at her. And there was no mistaking it for a wink, for at the moment he was not sleepy-eyed, and accompanying the wink was an audacious smile pulling up one corner of his lips.

He’d kicked her chair on purpose! The realization washed through her with an almost dizzying sense of relief, for he had saved her from an intently embarrassing situation. Immediately she recovered, a quick smile warming her features. Now it seemed every eye in the box was fixed upon her and she blushed.

“I understand, it was an accident,” she said as solemnly as she could manage, though her breathing was rapid and shallow. “It is a wonder that more such incidents don’t occur, as cramped as these boxes are,” she tossed out lightly, her laugh barely escaping hysteria.

“No,” he gravely protested, “you’re just trying to make me feel better and I thank you, but Trevor here can tell you what a clumsy oaf I can be at times with this big frame, isn’t that right, Trevor?”

With an effort, Trevor tore his hostile gaze from Mr. Wilmot, who appeared to be merely sitting at his leisure, his attention once again on the play.

“What? You, clumsy?” Instantly he felt Hugh’s heavy hand descend upon his thigh and squeeze. “Oh, oh yes, very clumsy,” he amended hastily and the pressure was relieved. He looked askance at Hugh and massaged his mistreated limb.

Vanessa smiled wanly at the byplay.

“Chut!”
remonstrated Paulette, turning around and pouting prettily at them all for disturbing the play.

Hugh nodded his apology and leaned back in his chair, shifting around again so his long legs were angled in Mr. Wilmot’s direction. It put him in immediate striking distance should the gentleman attempt to make another foray upon Miss Mannion’s person.

Mr. Wilmot raised an eyebrow, but Hugh merely smiled congenially back at him. He decided he needed to have a long talk with Trevor. Tonight.

Still feeling agitated and unbalanced, Vanessa leaned forward in her chair, feigning an absorption in the play she did not possess. Her posture was at once a deterrent to further liberties, and an opportunity to cool her heated features. She could feel her cheeks still burning and she did not trust herself to look at any of the others in the box lest they see and question her high color.