by Cate Masters
Wendell’s sharp gaze flicked to his wife. “A letter?”
The atmosphere in the room grew to a palpable thickness.
Marianne’s eyelids fluttered the same way they had earlier when Livvie inquired about it. “I merely said he may have seen it, Livvie dearest. Not that he had intercepted it.”
Wording it that way wouldn’t have evoked such a strong response. Livvie forced a pleasant tone. “Have you seen it, Wendell?”
He rolled his tongue inside his cheek. “No, I have not. But I’ll ask Francois. He collects the mail.”
Livvie smiled her thanks and made note to ask Francois herself.
* * * *
Since sailing from Key West, Livvie doubted the oddities of any other place could charm her. To escape her sister-in-law’s dismay, Livvie wandered the streets. Not only did New Orleans charm her, but it seeded her fertile imagination. Who cared for the flowered vines flowing from the wrought iron balconies, sometimes cascading from the third storey to the ground? Stopping to peer through a shadowed, enclosed alleyway leading to a courtyard, she wondered who might meet there on a sultry evening. What seductions took place behind the curtained second story balconies? Penning new stories, Livvie took delight in describing the wrought iron angels atop a gate, metalwork delicate as lace, and the lion’s head gushing water into a half-circle fountain set in a wall.
Having no constant ocean breeze, the heat in New Orleans could be oppressive. Or perhaps it wasn’t the heat so much as the atmosphere within Wendell’s house. Although Marianne graciously welcomed Livvie, she sensed her sister-in-law’s keen awareness of the disruption to her household. Marianne valued order and schedule. Livvie could abide neither.
So she found herself disappearing more frequently. Sometimes she borrowed Wendell’s spare buggy and drove it around the city on the excuse she needed to learn its layout. In truth, she loved to ride to the Mississippi River and pause to watch the vessels skidding past, especially the paddleboats.
She found it ironic she should find herself in yet another port city. What must it be like, she wondered, to live inland? Somewhere out of sight of a departing vessel, away from the temptations of a ship about to set sail?
New Orleans had a definite flair and flavor unique unto itself; she had to admit, though Key West held her heart.
And her heart’s desire.
Livvie poured those thoughts into her writing, which she endeavored to do every night after dinner. She suffered the evening gathering in the parlor for only as long as necessary. When Marianne told her daughters to kiss their father good night, Livvie volunteered to bring them upstairs. The girls giggled as she scooped them up in her arms and whooshed them up the long staircase. After delivering them to their nanny, Livvie retreated to her spacious bedroom. It offered access to the balcony overlooking the lush courtyard, fortuitously situated to capture the light of the moon while it traveled across the night sky. As the first full moon lit her room in a blue haze, Livvie dragged her writing table and chair closer to the French door.
She wrote until her hand cramped and tears stained the pages filled with lush descriptions of the island and its inhabitants—especially one in particular. As the moon crept from view, she crawled into bed. A lovely four-poster bed with fresh sheets, and a soft pillow, yet its comfort paled in comparison to the safety of Sam’s arms. To think she would never again experience such feelings made her weep long into the early hours of morning.
A knock at the door startled her awake. Marianne said, “Olivia. Are you awake? Olivia?”
Livvie pushed the hair from her face. “Just a moment.” She shuffled to the door and opened it.
Marianne made no mention of Livvie’s unkempt state. “Hurry downstairs.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” Fear clutched at Livvie.
Marianne smiled. “You must have breakfast before we can go shopping.”
“Shopping? No, I….” Her mind wouldn’t function properly. She could think of no reasonable argument. Marianne would not understand when she said she had no interest in fashion beyond how she would clothe the characters in her mind.
Marianne took her hand. “Of course! You need new clothes. Especially now we are planning a ball.” She squeezed.
A ball. Of course. She must be properly adorned if she was to be showcased for the local gentry. Held up for public admiration, available to the highest bidder.
“Marianne, it’s not necessary, honestly.”
“Nonsense. Now hurry.” She shoo’d her away.
Livvie stifled a groan. “I’ll be down soon. I must change first.”
Marianne’s eyes shone in victory. “I’ll be waiting.”
Livvie closed the door and leaned against it. “And so it begins.”
Perhaps she could feign an illness. Some sort of food poisoning. Or perhaps she could act the part of a giddy know-nothing. No, such behavior would only attract more would-be suitors. Her best chance at avoiding marriage appeared to be acting as herself.
* * * *
Livvie enjoyed shopping with Marianne only because her nieces exuded excitement. Claire had taken to Livvie within days and now ran to her as she came in sight, arms wide, begging to be held. In the carriage, Claire rode on Livvie’s lap.
“Really, you will spoil her,” Marianne chided. “She must learn to hold herself, like a lady.”
Livvie had no intention of releasing her. “Claire has many years until she’s a lady. She’s not even three.”
“Next month she will turn three. Amelia knew how to act like a lady at her age.”
“She’s a baby.” Livvie placed her cheek against Claire’s and rocked.
Marianne pursed her lips. “Perhaps you should marry and have your own babies. Wouldn’t it be lovely, girls? Cousins for playmates?”
Amelia inched closer to Livvie, prompting Marianne to cluck her tongue. “You’re a terrible influence on my daughters.”
Livvie didn’t want to be the cause of punishment for her nieces. “Sorry. We’ll all behave while we’re shopping. Won’t we, girls? And when we get home, we’ll have a tea party in your room to entertain Mademoiselle Annette and Monsieur Julian.”
Marianne rolled her eyes. “You indulge their fantasies too much.”
“Every girl’s fantasies should be indulged once in a while,” Livvie said.
They arrived at the boutique, and as promised, Livvie, Amelia, and Claire were perfect ladies while Marianne ordered three dresses made for Livvie for everyday, and a beautiful indigo silk gown for the ball. “The color complements you so well. You’ll be the most beautiful belle at the ball.”
“Your generosity is excessive, especially regarding my looks.” Some women stared at Livvie’s tanned skin, the mark of a commoner. Their haughty glances made Livvie hold herself taller and speak with more conviction. No wife of a banker or lawyer would define her by her appearance. Livvie intended to define herself in her own right.
On the ride home, Marianne prattled on about the guests. “All of society will be there. Plenty of handsome men, Olivia, who will instantly be smitten.” Her smile waned. “Of course, you must be careful not to believe everything a man—even a gentleman—tells you.”
“What do you mean?” Livvie stifled a smirk. If Marianne thought her innocent of worldly ways, Livvie wouldn’t shatter the image. She did, however, envy her nieces, sound asleep on the seat, their heads in hers and Marianne’s laps.
“I don’t mean to intrude, dear. Wendell has said many times he’d wished your father had sent you to boarding school after your mother’s passing. Without her womanly knowledge, you had only your father to guide you. I’m sure he meant well. Wendell has secretly worried that being headstrong might tarnish your innocence.”
Wendell should have kept his thoughts to himself. “I appreciate Wendell’s concern, but you really shouldn’t worry about me.”
Her sister-in-law was well-meaning enough; perhaps she even liked the terrible politeness of society Livvie found so constraining:
the smiling women who made a blood sport of back-handed comments, the leering men who believed they could escape any punishment if they had enough money. Key West had shown her a freedom she’d never guessed at, people living their lives without restraint, their days joyful.
“Of course we worry because we love you. I promised to speak to you. Certain delicate matters should be discussed among women.”
If her sister-in-law could not be dissuaded, Livvie would pretend to listen. “Such as?”
Arching a brow, Marianne’s eyes brightened. “It’s absolutely vital not to let any man have his way with you before your wedding night. Not only will it sully your reputation, the man will then abandon you.”
“I quite understand.” More than her dear sister-in-law would care to know.
“Men will say anything, act desperate to love you and only you. Don’t doubt that they say the same thing to every woman they see. Men are insatiable beasts. Even Wendell. Every other night, mon Dieu.” Marianne fanned herself.
“You don’t enjoy it also?”
Marianne smiled slyly. “Of course I do. It’s very important not to let him see your desires. Act like it’s your wifely duty. And it is, but it’s much more than that.”
“What?”
“It’s power. And you must keep that power in your control. If the man thinks you enjoy it, he will do whatever he pleases. You’ll have no hold whatsoever on him. However, if you make him beg and plead, you retain the power. Do you see, ma chère?”
Livvie did see. She’d gone about it all wrong. She’d gone to Sam instead of waiting for him to come to her. Yet if she’d waited, she knew in her heart he’d never have come.
Oh, of course. He wouldn’t have come because he could go elsewhere. To Millie. Such a fool! She’d taken an enormous chance and had been lucky not to have conceived a child. Emotionally, Sam was little more than a child himself; he would close his door on her if she showed up bearing a baby. He’d claim she seduced him and must have seduced any number of other men, so therefore the chance was so slim as to be nonexistent that he’d fathered the babe. Sam loved to argue, and he had every weapon in his arsenal on this account. Oh, how foolish she’d been. Never, never again.
To disguise her despair, she forced a pleasant tone. “Marianne, if I can aid you in any way….”
Marianne knit her brow. “No, no, Olivia. The servants shall take care of everything. Your only task is to wear your new dress and make the men swoon.”
Not exactly the challenge she wanted. “I make no promises regarding the swooning.”
Marianne tilted her head. “Dearest, I assure you. There will be swooning.” She sighed. “And now you can burn that old blue dress of yours. You must be terribly sick of it.”
“No,” Livvie said too hastily. Burn her blue dress? Every time she buttoned its buttons, she imagined Sam’s fingers alongside her own. “I want to keep it.”
“Whatever for?” Marianne appeared truly puzzled.
“A keepsake of the journey.” And of her past life, which had slipped through her fingers like grains of sand.
* * * *
Guests overflowed through the Collins household. A string quartet played in the main hall.
Descending the staircase, Livvie’s stomach churned. So many people crowded the great hall, and the air closed in on her when she entered. Her breathing grew shallow while Wendell introduced her to too many people to remember. Her dance partners consisted of a long succession of men whose close inspection made her long to flee. Talk of their successes made her mind wander from boredom. Each competed for her approval.
Wendell’s stern looks cautioned her to be polite, so she imagined herself dancing in Sam’s arms, him sweeping her along in a jig, calling the gentleman from the captain’s ball an old goat. The memory brought her pleasure until she recalled their bodies swaying together in the waltz. His strong embrace, keeping her safe, exciting a fire within her she’d never known.
Oh, what had she done? What might have happened if they’d had more time? Tears threatened, and she excused herself, feigning a headache. She went up to her room, stood on her balcony, as distant from the party-goers as one of the stars blazing brightly overhead.
“Sam, you’ve wrecked me too. I will always remember the way you made me feel.” The woman she’d become in his company: strong, confident, intelligent, unafraid to speak her mind. “From now on, your memory shall help me to be that woman.” She whispered her fervent oath like a prayer to the stars.
* * * *
At breakfast the following morning, Livvie hardly listened to Marianne’s nonstop chatter about the ball. The event had galvanized Livvie’s resolve. She had to act now on her predicament, or she would end up wed to one of the goats, old or young, paraded before her.
Marianne prattled on in between sips of tea. “So many of our guests were quite taken by you, Olivia. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a few gentleman callers very soon.”
Despair overtook her. “Oh, no. Do you think so?” She realized too late her sorrowful tone.
Marianne steeled her gaze, but otherwise didn’t change her pleasant expression. “Why, yes. You object to the idea?”
Livvie stammered, “I’ve only just come here. I need some time to adjust to New Orleans, get to know its rhythms and styles. It’s very different from New York, you know.”
Marianne’s smile brightened. “Why, any of the gentlemen would be happy to escort you around the city so you could experience its charms. Once you become familiar, I’m sure you’ll find New Orleans most agreeable.”
“Oh, yes. I’m intrigued by so many aspects of the city. I’m sure you can understand how unsettled I am, after all I’ve been through. It’s all so overwhelming, you know.” If Mrs. Locke had taught her anything, it was how to play the part of a weak female. To pretend so was against Livvie’s nature, but if it were her only defense, she would use it.
Marianne reached for her hand. “My poor dear. You have had a time of it. First your father’s death, and then having to endure a terrible shipwreck.” Her eyes widened. “Oh! And the ruffians in Key West. I can’t bear to think of you in their hands. Thank goodness for civilized people like Mr. and Mrs. Crowell.”
“Yes, the Crowells have a lovely boarding house. And their cook is excellent.” She couldn’t hold back from adding, “The wreckers aren’t ruffians. They’re hardworking and honest.”
Marianne withdrew her hand and dabbed a napkin to her lips. “Olivia, you’re such a generous soul. You never speak ill of anyone.”
“It’s the truth, Marianne. I never met more generous souls, so willing to risk themselves for others.” Coolness met her impassioned plea.
“As Wendell says, my dear, there is good reason the wreckers are who they are. If they didn’t live in Key West, they would labor elsewhere. The world is in need of laborers.”
Wendell says. Marianne no longer offered her own perspective. Before marrying her brother, she had, but women deferred to their husbands’ opinions as though they had none of their own.
Livvie had no husband—and no intention of obtaining one. Since leaving Key West, she’d often imagined Sam as her husband. She could abide no one else.
She calmed her voice. “They are more than laborers. They are guided by their consciences.”
Marianne arched her brows and straightened her shoulders. “Why, Olivia, I hardly know what to say. You have had quite a shock, and your gratitude is well-founded. For your own good, it’s time for you to think of your future and forget the awful experiences of your past.” The personification of propriety.
No use arguing further. “I apologize. The remnants of last night’s headache caused me to over speak.”
Marianne’s expression softened. “No need to apologize.” She rose from her chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go ensure Josephine has dressed the children properly.” She swept from the room, leaving Livvie alone at the oversized dining table.
Awful experiences—if Marianne only k
new how Livvie had cavorted with the so-called riffraff in Key West, she would surely faint. Perhaps Livvie should recount the town hall celebration, which had led her to Sam’s bed.
Her breath came ragged at the thought of his hands on her, his sweet lips on hers. Tears welled, remembering how The Florida had raced after her. Why had he ruined everything by spending the night with Millie? Of course Livvie had rebuffed him after what she’d witnessed. She’d never be able to trust him again.
Now, Livvie was left with only dread for what was to come.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Christmas approached rapidly. Marianne planned a holiday ball and insisted on ordering a new gown for Livvie once again. Off to the dressmaker’s they went, without the girls, to Livvie’s dismay. Her nieces would have provided a welcome diversion. Marianne’s conversation centered on society gossip and fashion, subjects of which Livvie knew little, and cared less.
The coach approached the dressmaker’s shop, where a crimson silk gown hung in the window.
Grasping Livvie’s hand, Marianne beamed. “You must let me buy it for you—you will be stunning in it. Men cannot resist a woman in red, especially one so beautiful.” She rushed her from the carriage into the store.
“Marianne, I cannot impose on your generosity any further.” Resistance had proven a problem only for herself, not for men, no matter what color she wore.
“Nonsense. It brings me great pleasure. It’s like dressing my grown daughter; you are such a dear sister-in-law. And I know you won’t spill milk on your dress like Amelia or Claire.” She turned to the clerk. “Excuse me. The gown in the window, my sister-in-law will try it on now.”
The girl nodded and scampered to fetch it. Bonneted heads turned in Livvie’s direction, and the women made no disguise of appraising her. Since she’d arrived, Livvie’s skin had paled, though not to the extent of Marianne’s luminous porcelain complexion. A blush crawled across her cheeks when other customers inclined their heads together, whispering.