Gentleman's Trade (13 page)

She looked up as he drew near, a slight tension in the set of her shoulders. Hugh wished he could see her face to read the feelings registered there.

“Miss Mannion,” he said, briefly clasping her hand in both of his, “it is delightful to see you are no longer prone to hiding.”

The laughing lilt to his voice told Vanessa he was thinking of her sojourn under her father’s desk, not the polite excuse given to Wilmot for her absence. A flare of red stained her cheeks, and she was grateful for the face-obscuring veil. It was merely another example of his self-centered arrogance that he could take enjoyment from another’s discomfort, she told herself petulantly.

Then she relented, she was not being fair. Twice now he had saved her from embarrassment at the hands of Mr. Wilmot. All he asked in return was that she laugh with him in the aftermath. It was quite petty of her not to, she decided, and the situation had been humorous. She and her family had laughed over it long after the gentlemen had left.

“Hiding has its own rewards, Mr. Talverton, though it sometimes makes for strange alliances,” she said archly, delighting in his start of surprise followed by a hearty rich laugh.

“Something tells me I am missing the joke,” Trevor complained good-naturedly.

“It was at my expense, my friend, so vanity prohibits me from explanation,” Hugh said ruefully. He smiled down at Vanessa. “I am pleased to see your good humor restored, especially as I was the cause of your unfortunate accident that robbed us of your charming company.”

“Very prettily said,” Vanessa responded dryly, cocking her head to the side. “I shall have to take care that you don’t turn my head by your flattery.”

“Whoa! I should say, Hugh, she has put you decidedly in your place,” Trevor said, laughing.

Hugh shrugged laconically. “It is not a position to which I am unaccustomed,” he said with a smile. “One can only account oneself fortunate when it is done by as beautiful and gracious a lady as Miss Mannion.”

Vanessa started to answer, but Trevor interrupted. “Be done, Miss Mannion. I warn you, you shall only encourage him to become more outrageous. Anymore and he will be near to waxing poetical.”

“Oh? Well, it might be an improvement,” she said teasingly.

Trevor groaned theatrically. “Not when it is his poetry. He sounds as melodious as a cawing crow.”

“Now, Trevor,” admonished Hugh, “I must protest. I fear you’re confusing my singing with my poetry.”

“No I’m not. They’re both awful,” he assured Vanessa, “and something to be avoided ere he has you running for the alligator swamps.”

“Why, Mr. Danielson, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you so ardent,” Vanessa said, laughing freely.

“That’s because you’ve never heard his bleating. I have.”

“Bleating!” protested Hugh.

“Bleating,” affirmed his friend grimly, a pugnacious expression on his face.

Hugh looked at him silently for a moment, then burst out laughing, clapping Trevor on the back as he did so. “You have a decidedly unfortunate memory, my friend.”

“Unfortunate for you, maybe, not for Miss Mannion and me. I would call it provident.”

Vanessa laughed. “I am surprised you two have not seen each other in so many years, you act so close. Why the long absence?”

Hugh’s face wore a melancholy smile. “He married the woman I thought I loved.”

“Oh,” she responded weakly.

“And it was the happiest day of my life when I realized she preferred me to him,” Trevor interjected cheerfully.

Vanessa looked down at her hands resting in her lap, feeling awkward and at a loss for what to say. It pained her to think Mr. Talverton’s life had been blighted by his friend. She remembered Julia Danielson. She had been an elegant and charming woman, full of warmth and sincerity. She fidgeted on her seat and abruptly stood up.

“Adeline and Paulette should be here shortly. They went for a short stroll toward the marketplace.” She turned away from the gentlemen, straining on tiptoe to see down the path. “Oh, look, there they are now, and Charles is with them!” She hopped up and down, waving broadly at them to catch their attention, caring little how undignified she looked.

Hugh touched her arm to halt her antics, wondering what had made her so suddenly skittish. “They see you. Be careful else you fall and bruise another portion of your anatomy.”

“Mr. Talverton!” she said, scandalized, a hot blush flooding her face.

Hugh raised his eyebrows when he noted a telltale sliver of red below the edge of the veil and above the blond lace at her throat. “You have a vivid imagination,” he drawled, causing her to blush anew.

The man was infuriating, Vanessa fumed, caught between embarrassment and chagrin. Just when she was beginning to like him or feel some sympathy toward him, he invariably reminded her he was totally devoid of gentility, whatever his birth!

“Monsieur Talverton!” cried Paulette, releasing her brother’s arm and skipping toward them.
“Je suis
—”

“Paulette,” warned her brother ominously.

She looked back at him and wrinkled her nose distastefully before turning back to Hugh. “I am so happy to see you, for you will never guess what has transpired. Charles, Charles, tell him!” she said excitedly, grabbing her brother by the arm and urging him forward.

Charles rolled his eyes in dismay at his sister’s hoydenish behavior, but he could not totally repress a smile. “Don’t you mean
ask him
rather than
tell him?”
he inquired.

“Oh, Charles, don’t be a gudgeon,” Paulette said petulantly. She looked up at Hugh. “Louisa is planning a party.”

“I’m very pleased for her, but who is Louisa?” Hugh asked caustically.

“My wife,” said Charles.

“My sister,” said Vanessa simultaneously

“My apologies, I did not mean to sound so abrupt.” Charles laughed. “It is Paulette’s fault. She would always start a story from the wrong end. My wife misses the New Orleans social life, so she is planning a small soiree for this weekend. She has invited some of the people from neighboring estates to ours in the country, and has asked me to extend a few invitations in the city. She would be honored if you and Trevor could attend.”

“Well, I. . . .”

“Oh, you will say yes, won’t you? It will be
tres amusant!
We can all go down Saturday morning and return Sunday afternoon. It cannot possibly interfere with your business,” said Paulette.

“Paulette,” said Vanessa, “Mr. Talverton may have other plans.”

“Surely you do not,” exclaimed Paulette.

Hugh laughed and looked over at Trevor, who only smiled and shrugged.

“All right,” he relented. “I should like to visit a Louisiana country estate.”

Paulette clapped her hands. “
Merveilleux!”
she squealed. Vanessa kept quiet, but privately she was pleased with the proposed weekend and the knowledge that Mr. Talverton would join them. She was confident that with his wry sense of humor, he would help enliven the affair.

“Trevor,” Charles said, “Louisa asks that you bring the children, too.”

“Please do, Mr. Danielson,” said Adeline, laying a gentle hand on his arm and smiling warmly up at him. “I should love to see them again, and I am sure they would love the outing.”

He patted her hand, and smiled intently at her, but no one noticed, for Mary Langley bustled up to the group claiming their attention with her chatter, wild gestures, and twinkling brown eyes.

“Vanessa, oh Vanessa!” said Mary, after all the formal greetings were exchanged. She crossed to her side and patted her arm. “I just saw your parents down the way, and your mother told me of your unfortunate accident. I’m glad to see you’re getting about, dear. That veil is charming. You’ll probably start a new fashion for strolling in the park!” She turned toward Hugh standing next to her. “Though the Mannions did not go about in society much before Louisa met this rascal, Charles here,” she said, throwing him a teasing look, “they were always envied and copied for their sense of style. Now, la! There are many who wish they still were hermits in that charming home of theirs.”

Vanessa laughed. “You are too kind, Mrs. Langley.”

“Stuff and nonsense. I’m not kind, I talk too much to be kind. I do like your veil, though. Only, don’t hide behind it too long; I like your pretty face better.” She patted her arm again, then turned to address Adeline.

“I agree with her,” Hugh murmured for her hearing only.

“I beg your pardon?” Vanessa said, feigning incomprehension.

Hugh was not fooled; he saw the telltale blush on her neck. He grinned.

Paulette squealed again, and Vanessa looked toward her with relief. Mr. Talverton caused the strangest feelings to arise within her, feelings she didn’t want to analyze or investigate.

“There is Monsieur Wilmot. Did you not say, Charles, that he is also to be invited?” Paulette enthused.

“Yes. Where is he?”

“Down there, see?” She pointed toward the Rue de St. Louis. “He was just talking to a keelboat man, I think. Yes, see, as he walks away, he has a red turkey feather in his cap.

“Wilmot appears to be headed in our direction. Good,” said Charles.

“And there’s Mr. and Mrs. Smythe,” rattled on Mary Langley. “Excuse me, I must go say hello and see if I can find out when his new steamboat will be in. I don’t know what got into me, probably just grandmotherly affection, but I promised my grandson a tour.” Trotting off, she lifted her hand in a little wave of farewell.

Vanessa, her shoulders slumping slightly, scarcely noticed her departure. She was not prepared to greet Mr. Wilmot. Hugh placed a supporting hand under her elbow and leaned toward her as Charles hailed the man and extended him the same invitation.

“Do not fret, Miss Mannion. I will see to it that the man has no opportunity to embarrass you further,” he whispered hastily before Paulette claimed his attention.

Vanessa looked at him in blank surprise, but he did not notice because of her veil. She recovered in time to hear Mr. Wilmot smoothly agree to join them, then turn to look at her with an intense, unfathomable expression in his dark, considering eyes.

Saturday morning dawned clear and rain-washed fresh. The Friday night rain, which had been feared would leave the roads a sloppy, muddy morass, lasted only long enough to settle the dry dust and dampen the earth. The very air seemed to sparkle, and the light breezes were redolent with the scent of fruit and flowers from heavily laden trees, bushes, and plants along the Bayou Road.

Vanessa Mannion inhaled deeply and smiled, a wide smile that set her eyes twinkling, brightening her face. She laughed delightedly as she rode her high-stepping chestnut mare between Hugh Talverton and Russell Wilmot. Both gentlemen looked at her in silent inquiry, but she only laughed again and shook her head. She didn’t think she could share her heady feeling of exuberance at the day. Not even Mr. Wilmot’s presence could dampen her spirits, though in truth, this day he was the epitome of gentlemanly regard. She felt gloriously alive and therefore generous with her forgiveness.

The disfiguring bruise, which she had used to such good advantage all week, was now no more than a slight dark spot high on her cheek, almost hidden in the shadow cast by the rakish tilt of her blue riding hat with its gray plumes curling down the side of her face. She was elegantly attired in a pearl-gray cloth riding habit, ornamented and frogged with blue velvet. Though her countenance was not beautiful to a critical objective eye, her vivacity of manner, her delight in the world around her, gave her an aura of comeliness to rival any studied image of female pulchritude.

Hugh Talverton was enchanted with her sprightly manner, her aspect of prim propriety left farther and farther behind in the city with each passing mile. This was a part of Vanessa he knew was always lurking behind her formal mien. He’d love to see her in London. More likely she’d take the city by storm and turn society on its ear, if she allowed herself to follow her natural inclinations. He was amazed that Mannion had been able to keep her heart-whole and retired from society for so long.

He glanced over at Wilmot, nodding to that gentleman, an artificial social smile on his face. Hugh admitted Wilmot was on excellent behavior this morning. He was neither demanding Miss Mannion’s attention, nor scowling when she turned to speak to him. Wilmot was suspiciously mellow, an odd aspect for a man of his dark temperament.

Hugh was thankful Paulette did not ride well, forcing her to journey to the Chaumonde estate in the carriage with Mr. and Mrs. Mannion and Adeline. Trevor had left the night before for his country home to organize the children, Alex and Mary, and their governess for the weekend jaunt. Hugh was curious to meet Julia’s children and wondered if either bore her tranquil beauty.

Hugh trotted contentedly beside Vanessa, his quick eyes darting all about him as he studied the landscape of the area. It was an exotic land, full of tall cypress trees above stygian swamps, wide-spreading oak trees heavy with Spanish moss, pomegranates, bananas, and fig trees, hedges of Spanish dagger, glossy bushes of camellias, crepe myrtle, and oleanders. Set back from the road, among lush settings, stood pristine white mansions with columns, piazzas, and covered galleries. In the fields they rode past, the glistening sweaty bodies of the slaves shone in the clear light of the morning sun. Their dark brown bodies were in marked contrast to the bright bits of clothing they wore, from the turbans twisted around the women’s heads to the loose shifts and the baggy trousers that clothed their nether regions.

Hugh shook his head as he absorbed it all. New Orleans was truly a fascinating city, so fresh and alive, a decidedly far cry from the jaded and stifled atmosphere of London. But England was home, and in all his travels, regardless of where the military sent him, he was always thankful to leave and return to England. This was the first time he had ever returned to a battlefield area, or even wanted to.

He thought about that miserable time of the Battle of New Orleans as he looked with awed eyes at his surroundings. Everything seemed so different now from then. He remembered the sheeting rain during the day, the thick mud cleaving to the dead and dying, and that cold, dead-of-night, nine-mile retreat through a quagmire path. His had been one of the last companies to quit the battleground area. For them, the journey was a nightmare, for almost all trace of a path had disappeared. By then the mud, tramped on by hundreds, was knee and thigh-deep. With a shudder, Hugh remembered witnessing one unfortunate wretch sink into the liquid muck until he disappeared from sight.

It was curious, when he thought about it, that he should desire to return to the scene of an ignominious defeat, but it was the very reason England strove for New Orleans; the talk of those he met who knew the city, the sight of the fabulous plantations, they had all pulled upon him to journey back to see the city in her natural state, far away from the threat of war and death. He had been well rewarded by his decision. The cotton he was to purchase would feed the new mill to capacity and earn him a handsome profit. The people he met, and the wonders he saw, would give him pleasant memories to last a lifetime, memories far different from those garnered through seven years of military service. And now, he thought, watching Vanessa guide her horse past a cart loaded with produce for the marketplace and exchange a pleasant word with its driver, if he could deliver the Mannions out of the dark maze of Mr. Wilmot’s making, and happily settle Vanessa and Trevor, he would account himself well satisfied with his New Orleans venture.

His reverie had caused him to fall behind his companions. With a start, he realized Wilmot was drawing near to Vanessa for private conversation, and he remembered his promise to her that he would prevent this occurrence. Pressing his heels into his horse’s flanks, he encouraged the bay gelding to catch up with them.

“Miss Mannion, surely your father has told you of my desire for private conversation,” Wilmot said softly, his grating voice like pebbles underfoot.

Vanessa swung her head toward him, a polite smile on her lips. “Yes, Mr. Wilmot, he has informed me of that request.” Her voice was low and pleasing, but distinctly neutral.

His horse sidled closer and Vanessa’s fingers clenched reflexively tighter on her reins, causing her mare to dance skittishly. She quickly brought the animal under control, once again establishing distance with Mr. Wilmot.

A brief frown of annoyance crossed his lips, but it was immediately replaced with a tight smile as if he were amused by the movements of her mount. He rode closer again. He started to lean down to grasp her bridle but a sidelong glance at her visage forestalled him and he rocked back in his saddle.

Vanessa’s breath came out swiftly when he moved his hand back. If he had touched the rein, she was afraid she would have reacted spontaneously by laying her crop along his broad shoulders. She was more skittish than the mare at his presence, and she was sure it was part of her nervousness, transmitted to her horse, that caused the animal to dance away.

She had always detected a certain rough-and-tumble masculine power in Mr. Wilmot. It was part of his attraction with the ladies. This power emitted an aura of danger and excitement, and it had led her and other women to dream of harnessing that power for themselves alone. The truth was he was not a man to consider a woman’s gentler nature, nor allow his own dark nature to be brightened by a woman. Vanessa feared any woman marrying him would descend into his darkness rather than pull him to the light.

The amusement he’d had at her feeble struggles to pull her hand free from his taught her much about him and power. Her knowledge was refined when he came to confess his misdeed to her parent and somehow persuade her father to let him continue in his courtship. The true cap to her understanding came, however, when he returned to her house on Wednesday, after being told she was indisposed, and then demanded to see her. The mere thought of his audacity shook her to the soles of her calfskin riding boots. The man frightened her, and she wished she knew how to turn his attentions elsewhere; nonetheless, she was determined to hide her fear, with brash bravado if necessary.

The sound of pounding hooves at her left drew her attention from Mr. Wilmot. With sudden, staggering relief, she saw Mr. Talverton rein in beside her and she smiled brightly at him, her eyes glittering with an unnatural feverish light.

“Hello! I’m sorry, I’m afraid my mind was wandering as I observed the countryside,” he confided ingeniously while his intelligent eyes noted her heightened color and shimmering nervousness. He slid a glance in Wilmot’s direction and found the gentleman regarding him with a disquieting glint in his eye. Hugh decided it was time for more of the sad rattle guise.

“By Jove, but this is a magnificent ride. Wouldn’t want to be cooped up in a carriage if I knew all this was about,” he said, making a grand sweeping gesture with his arm. He rested his hand on his thigh and looked past Vanessa over to Wilmot. “Do you also have a country place?”

“No,” Wilmot responded shortly, then seeing Vanessa’s arched eyebrow he relented, his voice nearly a growl: “My business precludes too much time away from the city, but I have plans for a mansion on the other side of Canal Street.”

“I have heard, though I can’t recall where, that many prominent Americans are moving in that direction,” he returned conversationally.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” interrupted Vanessa, “but if you’re going to converse, please allow me to get out of your way.” She spurred her horse forward before the last words were out of her mouth, then reined back to settle on the far side of Hugh Talverton.

“Excellent idea, thank you!” said Hugh, before turning back to Wilmot. He was pleased with Vanessa’s quick thinking, and wondered if she was even aware of his hand in manipulating the situation. His lips twitched and his eyelids drooped, nearly covering his eyes, but he was obliged to keep his expression one of keen interest directed toward Mr. Wilmot. Now with that gentleman a veritable captive audience by his side, Hugh began a campaign of small talk as countermeasures to Wilmot’s claiming Vanessa’s attention. Wilmot fidgeted restlessly for a few moments; however, he did not know how to break free from Hugh’s steady dialogue politely. His answers became shorter and shorter, but Hugh never seemed to notice. His equanimity unruffled, he continued to smile benignly. Wilmot finally reconciled himself to foregoing a private conversation, when both he and Talverton were hailed by Vanessa.

“We’re here, gentlemen,” she said breezily, rising up in her saddle and pointing.

Hugh turned his head to follow the path of the finger and saw one of the most beautiful homes he had ever seen.

“My sisters’ raised cottage,” stated Vanessa whimsically.

“Cottage?” Hugh asked.

“Yes, cottage,” she said, laughing at his puzzled expression. “Houses built raised off the ground to deter unwelcome visits from snakes and other animals are called raised cottages, regardless of size.”

He studied the structure. It did appear to be raised, probably some six feet from the ground. It was a massive, square building with a hipped roof overhanging the house and supported by turned wood columns. Large dormers jutted from the roof on all sides and a curious little cupola with wrought-iron railings surmounted the roof. The wide, covered gallery, created by the overhanging roof, ran completely around the house and was also fronted by wrought-iron railings. The steep steps leading up to the gallery were edged with wrought iron as well. Two wide windows stood on either side of the massive entrance to the house with its elaborate Georgian-style moldings framing the doorway.

Four young men ran from the side of the house to take the horses and assist those in the carriage just now coming up the drive. The front door opened and a willowy figure in white dimity picked up her skirts and ran down the steps, mindless of the flash of slender calf she displayed.

“Louisa!” called Vanessa in obvious delight. She kicked free of her stirrups and, gathering her skirts about her, slid off her horse before either of the gentlemen with her could move to assist.

Smiling at the two women similar in height and facial features, Hugh ruefully acknowledged Vanessa’s precipitous action of dismounting unattended probably saved them all from an embarrassing confrontation. He handed the reins of his horse to one of the young men and stood off to the side as the carriage drew up and the Mannion family descended. The family was quickly engulfed in hugs and kisses, oblivious to Mr. Wilmot and himself. Curious to see how Mr. Wilmot accepted this occurrence, Hugh glanced in his direction. The man stood leaning on the step railing, his expression one of boredom. Hugh grinned, realizing an opportunity to further the play and Wilmot’s discomfort. Sauntering over to him, he gave him a hearty clap on the back.

“Reminds me of my family, it almost makes me homesick. If a member has not been seen in a while, it always was family first and hang the guests,” he said chuckling as they watched the Mannions. “How about your family, Wilmot?”

Wilmot sneered slightly at Hugh but could not refuse to answer under Hugh’s steady regard. “We’re not that close,” he said simply, pushing away from the railings as the Mannions appeared to be recollecting their surroundings and about to approach the house.