They call her Dana (20 page)

"That's not so, dear, and you know it. You are a grouch tonight. I wish Charles were here. He might not Qnjoy these gatherings, but at least he doesn't carry on like a spoiled child and make everyone else miserable. I for one intend to have a marvelous evening.''

"It's almost eight. Where's that blasted girl?"

That blasted girl? I felt my cheeks flush. I swept on down the stairs, skirts swaying. Delia gave me a warm smile. Knowing I had overheard, Julian looked sheepish, and then, when he had had a good look at me, looked completely stunned.

"Jesus," he whispered.

"I'm sorry if I've detained you," I said coldly.

"You haven't, dear," Delia assured me.

"What have you done to yourself?"

"Done?"

'' You look—you look—''

"She looks enchanting, Julian."

"That child I brought back from the swamp—"

"I'm not a child! I haven't been for some time."

"There's no need to get snippy. I merely meant—My God, you're—maybe it's the gown. How much did it cost me, by the way?"

"Plenty," I retorted.

Julian looked amused. I glared at him, still offended by his referring to me as "that blasted girl." I longed to tell him exactly what I thought of him, longed, in fact, to give him a sharp kick in the shin, but I was a proper young lady now and proper young ladies didn't do such things. Being "civilized" definitely had its disadvantages.

"The surface is smoother," he said, "but the spirit is still there. Why haven't I noticed these changes before?"

"You've been too bloody busy with your blasted book," I snapped, and that particular sentence was quite a test of my newly acquired vocal skills. Professor Jobin would have been proud of me.

"It's amazing," Julian said thoughtfully. "I could swear the last time I saw you you still had a dirty face and pigtails."

"I nevef had pigtails!"

"And now—lo and behold, you stand before me the very epitome of gracious young womanhood. You're cool, refined, beautifully poised, although I fear you're as lippy as ever, even if the sound is more soothing. All those tutors putting me into the poorhouse have apparently done an excellent job."

"Dana has worked very hard," Delia said.

"I certainly have."

"Can you read and write now?"

"I read all the books I can—" Seeing his grin, I cut myself short. "You're teasing me!"

"It's a deplorable habit I have," he confessed.

"I even read that horribly long book you gave me—all about the evolution of ferns and the sex life of hydrangeas."

"Oh? How did you find it?"

"Tedious. I prefer Balzac and George Sand."

Julian elevated one eyebrow. "Balzac? George Sand? I see Delia's influence at work. Looks like I'm going to have to start supervising your reading. I didn't spend all that money on tutors so that you can fill your head with the plots of frivolous French novels."

"They're quite educational," I informed him. "I've learned a lot."

"About the wrong subjects," he countered. "Well, ladies, shall we depart for the ball? Unless, of course, youd rather skip it? I'd just as soon start making up that reading list—"

"We'll depart," Delia said firmly.

Julian grinned again, looking positively jovial now. He linked his arm in hers and hooked his other arm around my shoulders and led us out to the waiting carriage, a disapproving Pompey holding the front door open for us. I was very aware of his arm on my bare flesh. It rested heavily, warm, pulling me closer, giving me a delicious feeling of security. He looked down at me, eyes full of warmth, and I wondered how I could ever have harbored nasty thoughts about him. I felt a wonderful glow inside. Affection? Gratitude? Something more? I was disappointed when he removed his arm to help Delia into die carriage. When she was settled in, he took my hand and performed the same service for me, settling me on the seat opposite her. I smoothed my skirts down, and he climbed inside, plopping down beside me and closing the door. He was so large, and although he appeared indolent and low-keyed, he had such great vitality.

"So," he said as the carriage pulled away, "your first ball. How do you feel? "

"Terrified," I admitted. \

"No need for you to be," he said. "They're just a group of silly, boring people who happen to believe they're better than anyone else in the city—or in the country, for that matter.''

"You're being very unfair, Julian," Delia scolded. ''We happen to be part of that group."

"More's the pity."

"It's called reverse snobbery," Delia explained to me. "Julian disdains them and, therefore, feels superior to the people he thinks feel superior to everyone else. ..." She hesitated, frowning. "Does that make sense?"

"None whatsoever," Julian said.

*'rm sure I know what I meant to say, but somehow it— you've confused me, Julian. I intend to ignore you for the rest of the evening."

Juhan chuckled and patted my arm, settling back against the cushions, taking up more than his share of room. The carriage moved slowly through the labyrinth of streets. It was a lovely evening, pleasantly warm, the air perfumed as always by the multitude of flowers growing behind mellow brick walls. The Quarter was cloaked in a hazy violet-black darkness and awash with silver moonlight. We rode on in silence, and I could feel panic rising anew as we slowed down even more, falling into a line of carriages that were entering an enoimous courtyard, stopping in front of a gracious portico.

"Acmally the Lecombs' house isn't any larger than ours," Delia said. "It is similar in layout and design, but they have reception rooms and a huge ballroom where our east wing would be."

The line of carriages creeped forward at a snail's pace. We finally turned through a pair of crumbling stone portals and stopped on the semicircular drive to wait for the three carriages in front of us to unload their passengers. Julian gave a weary sigh and sat up straight, smoothing the lapels of his frock coat and looking very resigned. We inched forward a few more yards. Delia brushed at her pale opal skirt. I felt numb with apprehension. Sensing this, Julian took my hand, squeezing it so tightly I winced. In a matter of moments we had pulled up before the portico and the carriage door was being opened by a Negro footman. Julian scrambled out and helped us alight, and our carriage moved on as we started up the wide steps toward the front door.

"You'll find the Lecombs rather unusual," Delia confided to me. "They're quite charming, but he, alas, is somewhat hard of hearing, and she, poor dear, has never gotten over being part of the French court—she still dresses in the mode of Marie Antoinette, complete with wide paneled skirts and towering, be-feathered headdresses."

"They're both barmy," Julian said.

Delia gave him a warning look as we entered a huge foyer done all in shades of pale blue and white. I could hear music and voices coming from another part of the house. I feh icy cold. I felt my feet would not work. Another Negro footman

greeted us and led us down a long corridor, and my feet were working and I was perfectly poised and I didn't turn and run, I didn't faint. The music and sound of voices grew louder, and then we entered a large, lovely reception room. Gold gilt patterns adorned the white walls. Three huge crystal chandeliers hung from the molded ceiling. The room was filled with gorgeously attired people who chattered and laughed and then suddenly they were no longer chattering, no longer laughing. They were whispering, staring. The music continued to swell, coming from the adjoining ballroom. I heard a loud, shocked gasp and saw Julian's Aunt Lavinia across the room beside her son Raoul and a lovely, haughty young woman I assumed was his sister Magdelon. An eternity seemed to pass, but actually it was only a few seconds, and then people began to talk again, in lower voices, staring more discreetly now, pretending not to. Julian missed not a beat, leading Delia and me over to the bizarre couple who were greeting their guests.

The old man was gray-haired and stooped and held an enormous ear trumpet to his ear. He wore a brown velvet frock coat and a white satin waistcoat embroidered with silver thread. He was nodding happily and seemed about to break into a lively jig. The woman beside him was much taller and had a haunted, withered face heavily coated with powder and paint, a heart-shaped black beauty mark pasted on one cheekbone. She wore a strange silver and white gown with a skirt that spread out a yard on either side of her waist, parting in front to show ofi" the ruffled gold underskirt. Atop her head stood a powdered white wig with a pompadour that towered two feet high, white and gold feathers pinned to one side with a dazzling diamond clasp. Diamonds sparkled at her throat and on her wrists as well, and several strands of pearis adorned the bodice of her peculiar gown.

"Dipped," Delia confided in a whisper, "and the gems are paste."

' 'Julian!'' Monsieur Lecomb shouted in a hoarse croak. ' 'You look more like your father every time I see you."

"Thank you, sir. I take that as a compliment. You know my Aunt Delia, of course, and allow me to present my ward. Mademoiselle Dana O'Malley."

"Card?" he shouted. "Card, you say?" He adjusted his ear trumpet. "Present your card if you like, but I'd much rather meet this ravishing creature you brought with you."

Julian presented me again and Monsieur Lecomb cackled and said I was indeed a card and asked if I was a relation of some kind and Julian gave up and said he was happy to be here and left Delia to deal with our host. From across the room Lavinia was giving us outraged looks while whispering furiously to her daughter. Julian presented me to Madame Lecomb who smiled a sweet, tremulous smile and examined me with misty blue eyes that were kind and sad. I had the feeling Madame Lecomb lived in a vague, hazy worid neither past nor present. A delicate frown creased her brow as she continued to examine me.

"It's so pleasant to see you again—but, no—you remind me of—I must be thinking about—please forgive me."

She looked both pained and embarrassed. There was something very touching about this outlandishly dressed old woman with her heavily painted face and tremulous smile.

"I'm delighted to be here tonight, Madame Lecomb," I said quietly.

"It's been much too long," she said. "I haven't seen your parents for a while, either. Are they here tonight?"

"I—I'm afraid not," I told her.

"Do give them my best. Enjoy yourself, child."

Julian took my elbow and led me aside, explaining that our hostess was frequently confused. People were still staring, still whispering, and, with a mischievous gleam in his eye, Julian took me over to where the outraged Lavinia was standing with her two children. The color drained from her face. She was wearing a black silk gown and a ruby necklace. Her daughter wore peach-colored satin. With her lustrous black hair and large brown eyes, Magdelon was lovely indeed, if glacial at the moment. In his formal attire, her brother was as sleek and handsome as I remembered, an amused smile on his lips as we approached.

"Aunt Lavinia!" Julian said cheerily. "Fancy seeing you first thing! Let me introduce my ward, Dana O'Malley. Dana, this is my Aunt Lavinia, of whom you have heard so much, and her children Raoul and Magdelon."

"How dare you!" Lavinia whispered hoarsely. "How dare you humiliate the family this way!"

She gave him a venomous look that would have reduced a lesser man to ashes. Julian merely smiled. Magdelon might have been carved from ice. She stared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. I remembered what Regina had said about her and Reg-

inald Vandercamp, and I suspected that she knew I knew about those trysts in his aunt's gazebo. Her nostrils flared. She longed to scratch my eyes out. Spoiled, petulant, sexually promiscuous, this haughty young woman certainly wasn't my superior. I smiled and gave her a polite nod that caused her nostrils to flare even more. Livid, she turned to her mother.

"Let's leave at once, Mother," she said frostily. "I will not be in the same house as this trollop. I told you what she said to Bertha and Regina. I'm not going to—"

"Hold on, Magdelon," Raoul said mildly.

"I would love to leave," Lavinia said, "but we must remember who we are, Magdelon. We must maintain a front. I hope you're satisfied, Julian. I hope you realize you've aff"ronted everyone in the Quarter with this—this outrage to decency.''

"Lavinia, dear," said Delia, who, having stopped to speak to a friend, had just joined us. "How lovely to see you."

"You're in this, too! I'll never forgive either of you!"

Lavinia took her daughter's arm and the two of them marched away toward the ballroom, chins atilt, skirts arustle. The amused smile still played on Raoul's beautifully chiseled lips. He shook his head and explained that his mother had been under considerable strain recently, apologizing for her conduct. It was in his best interest to stay on Julian's good side, I thought. He kissed Delia on the cheek, shook Julian's hand and then gazed at me with velvety brown eyes that could easily make many women grow weak at the knees. Tall, lean, glossy, he was undeniably handsome, spectacularly so, with tremendous allure. I could feel the pull of that allure, even if I failed to respond to it.

"We meet at last," he said in that husky, melodious voice. "I've heard an awful lot about you."

"I feel sure you have," I replied.

Raoul chuckled softly. It was a very sensual sound. "She's enchanting, Julian," he said "and not at all what I expected."

And what did you expect? I asked silently. He turned to me, another smile curving on those full lips that seemed even pinker because of his deep tan. His brown eyes seemed to glow, seemed to promise future delights. Oh yes, he was a womanizer. He exuded sensuality and animal magnetism, and I could see why women vied for his attention.

"I suppose I should call you 'Cousin,' " he said.

"Cousin?"

"You're Julian's ward. He is my cousin. So, in a sense, you're my cousin, too. Once or twice removed. What shall I call you?"

"Mademoiselle O'Malley will do nicely," I said.

That amused him. He chuckled again and turned back to Julian.