They call her Dana (16 page)

She paused at the door, giving me a long, appraising look.

"Mister Julian's a fine gentlemen," she said. "A gal could do a whole lot worse, take my word for it. Spoiled that Miz Amelia to pieces, he did, gave her th' moon. Older men—they's th' best. They takes their time/'

Kayla left with a brisk rustle of skirts, and I sighed, feeling bone-weary now. I hadn't intended to nap, but the bed looked terribly inviting and it was a long time until dinner. I removed shoes and stockings and frock, slipping the ruffled blue and mauve wrapper over my petticoat and tying the sash at my waist. I wasn't really hungry now, but I sipped the lemonade and ate a few of the snacks Kayla had brought up. Lethargy stole over

me, my eyelids growing heavier by the minute, and I stretched out on the bed, the mattress so soft beneath me, sheets a soft, sweet-smelling yellow linen. Older men are the best, Kay la had said, and I felt sure she spoke from experience^ How free and easy she was about matters of the flesh, totally unfettered by bothersome conventions. I had guarded my cherry like a treasured jewel, but . . . yes, gladly would I have given it to the man who had rescued me from Clem and the swamp. Out of gratimde ... or because he was so warm, so handsome, so wonderfully appealing? I closed my eyes, thinking about all that had happened, and sleep quickly claimed me.

Soft rustles and whispers awakened me, and I stirred, feeling rather groggy, aware at once that the sultry heat hadn't abated even though the room was full of velvety black shadows, all color faded. The drapes made silken music as a gende breeze stirred them, bringing with it all the heady scents of the courtyard. The fountain below splashed and splattered, softly pattering, making another kind of music, and the sheets rustled as I got out of bed, pulling the wrapper more closely around me, adjusting the sash. Ruffles fluttered on the fiill skirt as I moved over to the French windows. The sky above was a deep opal, gradually darkening to black, the moon a thin silver disk. The courtyard was a nest of shadows, broken here and there by golden blurs of light fanning out from the windows downstairs.

It had only been dark a short while, I could tell that from the color of the sky. I had plenty of time before Kayla remmed, I reasoned, so I decided to explore the courtyard. Moving down the gallery to the stairs, I descended slowly, my bare feet making no noise whatsoever. Tall green plants rustled all around me, and soft fronds touched my cheek as I moved toward the fountain. The air was so heavily scented it was almost dizzying, and heat seemed to shimmer in the violet-gray semidarkness. The fountain was indeed a marvel, water spilling from tier to tier, a plump cherub with a dolphin in its arms perched on top, large lilies floating in the wide bottom tier.

"—absolutely unthinkable!" a harsh voice exclaimed, and I whirled around, startled.

"—really none of your concern, Lavinia."

"None of my concern! The family—the family name! It might not mean anything to you, Julian, but it means everything to me. I won't be able to hold my head up. I won't be able to face

any of my friends. What will people say when they hear you've— no, it won't do, Julian. It simply won't do. I forbid you to let that creature stay in his house."

"It isn't your place to forbid anything, dear aunt," Julian said.

The voices were coming through a partially opened set of French windows, and I moved through the courtyard toward them, unable to help myself. Standing just beyond the hazy fan of light, concealed by the shadows, I peered in at the brightly lighted room, a parlor of sorts, it seemed, the walls hung with pale lime silk patterned with white, sofas and chairs covered in varying shades of lime, emerald, and white. A somewhat dusty chandelier hung from the ceiling, and candles bumed in ivory wall sconces. Julian was standing in front of a white marble fireplace, a tall glass in his hand, his expression utterly indifferent as the thin, bony woman in black glared at him, seething.

"All of us have tolerated your eccentricities, Julian. Going off to those god-awful swamps, collecting plants, holing yourself up in your study, filling notebook after notebook with scribbling while Charles runs the business—that's bad enough. But this! I've no objection to your taking another mistress, but I will not stand by and see you bring ridicule to—"

She cut herself short, trying hard to contain her outrage. She was standing beside one of the sofas, tall, imperious, frighten-ingly grand. A good fifteen years older than Julian, she had a very thin face with sharp cheekbones and a long nose and thin, pursed lips painted a bright scarlet. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black, glittering now with icy rage, and her hair was as black as a raven's wing, piled atop her head with a plump roll dipping down to midtemple on either side. No woman that age had hair that black, I thought. She must dye it. Long garnet earrings hung from her lobes, and a garnet brooch was fastened at the throat of her long-sleeved, high-necked black gown. Ugly as sin, she was, like a gaunt, haughty scarecrow.

"We are Etiennes," she reminded him in her crisp, icy voice. "We have an obligation to the community. There are standards we must uphold. Minor transgressions are one thing, they're expected of the aristocracy, but this—this is outright defiance of every precept of—"

Julian's weary sigh interrupted her. I noticed then a shiny black boot and a deep plum trousered leg stretched out from a

large white chair that was turned at an angle from my line of vision. The leg moved, and a man stood up, his back to me. He was wearing a superbly tailored plum-colored frock coat that accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist, and his hair was thick and glossy and startlingly black. He walked across the room to a liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink, turning then. Raoul Etienne, for that was who he must be, was lean and sleek and polished. His skin was deeply tanned. His dark brown eyes seemed to glow. His full pink mouth was undeniably sensual. As Kayla had said, he was as handsome as could be, but I sensed something crafty and dangerous just beneath the surface. He reminded me of a beautiful panther.

"I'd like to see this giri," he said.

His voice was deep and melodious, like a husky caress. His mother shot him a warning look, and he grinned, leaning back against the liquor cabinet, clearly amused by all the uproar. Lavinia Etienne drew herself up haughtily, glaring at her nephew-by-marriage, every inch the formidable grande dame.

' 'What precisely do you intend to do with her?'' she inquired.

"I intend to see Emil Moreau in his offices first thing tomorrow. I intend to make her my ward, become her legal guardian. The child has no one."

Lavinia gasped and slammed a palm to her heart. Both men ignored her dramatic gesture.

"I intend to hire tutors," Julian continued, "and see that she is given a chance in life. She's an intelligent child. I have no doubt she'll come around splendidly."

"An illiterate swamp girl! A bastard to boot! You've lost your mind, Julian! You've quite plainly lost your mind. Charles will— if Charles were here, he would never allow this to happen!"

"This does not concern Charles," Julian said calmly, "and I might remind you that / am the elder brother, Lavinia. I have taken this child in and that is that. I need not justify my actions to you, dear aunt, or to anyone else. People can think what they will. I couldn't care less.''

"She must be something," Raoul observed.

"You're both welcome to stay to dinner. I'm sure you'll find her as charming and guileless as I do."

"She's obviously a clever and conniving little trollop who has you completely hoodwinked! You've always been a fool, Julian, but I never believed you could be so—so—" Lavinia's icy voice

seemed to crack. "Come, Raoul," she commanded. **I don't intend to stay in this house one minute longer!"

Raoul arched an eyebrow, took a final sip of his drink and, giving Julian an amused look, reluctantly followed his mother as she marched haughtily out of the room. Julian watched them leave, lifted one hand to run his fingers though his hair and then moved over to the liquor cabinet to pour another drink. I slipped back through the shadows to the staircase and hurried back up to my room, arriving just as Kay la tapped on the door. I quickly lighted candles and then opened the door.

Kay la insisted on helping me dress, then insisted I sit at the dressing table and let her do my hair. She brushed it skillfully until it shined with rich golden-brown highlights, then fluffed the waves and let them tumble in a gleaming cascade about my shoulders. She chattered blithely all the while, mostly about men and the delights of loving. Finally satisfied, she stepped back to examine her work.

"Oh, you's a real beauty, Miz Dana," she declared. "Th' men are gonna go wild for you. New Aw-leans is fulla dashin' bucks, an' all of 'em are gonna be bustin' their breeches to win you."

"Nonsense."

"You got lovin' in your blood," she continued. "I can tell. You's still a virgin, still unawakened, but when you becomes a woman—oh, lawdy, Miz Dana, they ain't gonna be no stoppin' place. You's gonna have all-a th' men at your feet."

"I ain—I'm not interested in men," I said primly.

"You just thinks you ain't," she informed me.

I stood up, adjusting the folds of my skirt. Kayla led me out of the room and down the hail to the backstairs, which, she explained, were much handier and quicker. I was bewildered and disoriented, quite certain I would never find my way around in this large, rambling house. Downstairs we moved through a series of short, narrow hallways, finally turning under the grand staircase and arriving in the main foyer, where Delia was waiting. Kayla gave me a grin and made a pert curtsey, then scurried away.

"I do declare, that girl beats all," Delia sighed. "She's a hard worker, and she has very winning ways, but she simply refuses to learn proper decorum. Always larking about."

"She's charming," I said.

"Come, dear, Julian will join us in the dining room. Jezebel's cooked a very special meal tonight—I believe we start with buttered escargots."

"Escargots?"

"Snails, dear."

"I—I'm sorry, but I ain—I'm not eatin' no snails, ma'am."

"You'll adore them dear. Jezebel uses just a touch of garlic in the butter."

"Even so . . ."

Delia smiled and led me down a wide hall leading off the foyer and then into the dining room. The long mahogany table was draped with fine old linen and set with wonderful gold-rimmed white china and crystal glasses. Candles burned in ornate wall sconces, and massive silver pieces set on a huge mahogany sideboard, most of them in sad need of polishing, I observed. Rich dark wood covered the lower half of the walls, rather depressing faded maroon wallpaper with pink, white and brown flowers above. The chandelier hanging over the table had round and pear-shaped crystal pendants, all of them shimmering and throwing off rainbow spokes of reflected light. Like the other rooms I had seen, this one was elegant indeed but slightly worn at the edges.

Julian joined us a few moments later, sporting a new neckcloth and looking distracted, his mind clearly on other things besides food. How handsome he was in his frock coat, his thick chesmut hair a bit rumpled, as though he had been running his fingers through it again. He remained distracted during the meal, speaking little, although he did chuckle when Delia insisted I eat a snail and showed me how to employ the tiny silver fork. Tasted surprisingly delicious, it did, particularly when you dipped it into the little dish of melted butter. The snails were followed by asparagus with hollandaise sauce and filet of sole cooked in wine, tiny green peas and baby carrots on the side.

The meal was served by a grinning Elijah, under the stem supervision of Pompey, and after dessert of cream custard with melted brown sugar sauce, an exceedingly plump Jezebel waddled in to ask if the meal had been satisfactory, although her real purpose was plainly to get a good look at me. Dressed in a voluminous purple dress, a white apron around her waist, a white bandanna atop her head, she had a round black face, a wide grin and friendly brown eyes. I liked her immediately.

"You's too skinny, chile," she told me. "We's gonna hafta fatten you up some. Leave it to Jezebel. She'll see you gets some flesh on dem bones."

Julian informed us that he had some things to attend to in his study, and he left, patting me absentmindedly on the shoulder as he passed. I was disappointed and a little hurt. It seemed that now that he had me here in the house, he had lost interest in me, although I realized I was probably being too sensitive. He had certainly stood up for me to that dreadful Lavinia and her sleek, too good-looking son.

"I suppose he's eager to sort out his specimen and get to his notes," Delia said. "He's always preoccupied when he returns from one of his trips, but I should think this time he would ..." She shook her head, letting the rest of the sentence drift away. "We'll go to my sitting room and visit for a while, dear."

I obediently followed her down the hall again, Delia chattering about our forthcoming visit to the dressmaker Corinne, who, she assured me, would create a marvelous wardrobe for me. Her sitting room was near the back of the house, a small, comfortable room done in shades of ivory, peach and pearl-gray, the furniture French, elegantly gilded. There were several pieces of gorgeous porcelain—Sevres, she informed me, dusty, I observed—and candles burned in magnificent silver candlesticks lightly spotted with tarnish. The nap of the embroidered peach silk covering the sofa was worn, and the low table in front of it was pleasantly littered with magazines and books. I noticed these things as she led me into the room, but my attention was caught and held by the portrait hanging over the light gray mantel.

I had a curious feeling of deja vu, although I knew for certain I had never seen the man before. He had rich chestnut hair and dark blue eyes and a full mouth held in a firm, resolute line. His face was lean with high, broad cheekbones and a perfect Roman nose. He was extremely handsome, extremely virile as well, like . . . like a younger, leaner version of Julian, I thought, although Julian could never look so stem and formidable. The artist had done a superb job in capmring those strong, chiseled features and the character behind them. One could sense strength and impatience and steely determination. The dark blue eyes seemed to stare at me with accusatory wrath, while the mouth