Louisiana History Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  It crossed Elene’s mind to wonder who could have spread the news of her removal to the same house, unless Durant had happened to let it fall. She had told no one herself, had scarcely seen anyone to tell. She did not accuse him, however; the possibility that the tale had been spread through the servant grapevine was just as good.

  Elene had little inclination for gaiety. She was never ill in the mornings as were most in her condition, but late afternoons and early evenings had become times of trial of late, when any stray odor could bring a wave of sickness. To concoct perfume had become so wearing that she had almost ceased to try, hoping it would be better in a week or two.

  It was just dusk when she began to dress for the party. She sat in her wrapper at her dressing table, braiding her hair before putting it up, while waiting for Devota, who would be on hand for the evening, to come and help her into her gown. When there came a soft scratching on the door behind her, she called out for the maid to enter. The door opened and closed. Intent on what she was doing, Elene did not look up until something in the quality of the silence drew her attention.

  Reflected in the surface of the dressing table mirror was Durant. He was already dressed in a black swallow-tail coat with gray breeches and a blindingly white shirt. She swung to face him.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his voice strained. “I only came to tell you that your maid has been delayed by an accident in the kitchen at Bayard’s house, and to offer my services instead.”

  “I can manage, I think. Thank you.”

  His gaze was not on her face, but rested instead on the opening of her wrapper that she had not bothered to close since she was alone, and on the curves of her breasts that had grown fuller in the past week. As she gathered the wrapper edges together in a defensive gesture, he stepped forward. “Do you feel well?”

  “Yes, of course.” It was not quite true, but the lie might send him away.

  “I’ve noticed lately that you are rather quiet in the evenings, and not too anxious for your dinner.”

  “Am I?”

  “One would almost say you were ill.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “Nor do I. Serephine was like that when she was enceinte.”

  She forced a laugh. “What an extraordinary thing to say.”

  “Oh, it’s perfectly ordinary, for a young and healthy woman who has been sharing a man’s bed. I have been wondering how long it would be before the symptoms appeared.”

  Elene was tired, suddenly, of the pretense. She said in hard tones, “Now you know.”

  He smiled. “Yes, I do. How soon can we be married?”

  “Married!” She did not know what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. She would have said Durant had too much pride to take another man’s child as his own.

  “Don’t sound so surprised. It’s only what would have happened months ago, if not for the revolt and Bayard’s interference.”

  “Things have changed.”

  “We can put them back the way they were.”

  He had said as much before, as if taking her as his wife would bring back the position he had once held, the wealth and power. She shook her head. “They can never be the same.”

  “They can be close enough for me.”

  Was that true? She was not the only one who would be affected by her decision; there was her child to think of also. What kind of father would Durant be to it? Was he accepting its presence for her sake, or was his offer simply to be revenged on Ryan for taking what he considered to be his?

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked softly, almost to herself. “You never pretended to be overflowing with devotion for me on the island.”

  “It will grow, just as it would have grown if we had wed as our fathers wished on Saint-Domingue. You are my chosen bride. Whatever else changes, that remains.”

  He had not said he loved her. In one way she was grateful, in another, sad. “It won’t work, you know. I’m different now, and so are you.”

  Annoyance crossed his handsome face and was gone. “I think you might try to make it work, for your child’s sake.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “That’s one of the differences.”

  “If I don’t mind, why should you?”

  It was a point she should, perhaps, consider. She said at last, “I will have to think about it.”

  “There isn’t much time, if we are to avoid scandal.”

  What he meant was, there was not much time if he was to claim the baby as his own. Could she permit him to do that, to deny Ryan all knowledge that he had fathered a child? The answer was no. She would wait, at least until Ryan returned. If Durant had any concern for her at all, he would allow her that much.

  “There is time enough,” she said.

  The thing that brought Durant’s New Orleans friends to his rooms, Elene thought two hours later, was the promise of cards, food, wine, and stronger drink. What brought the refugees from the island was primarily curiosity. They had heard of her change of abode, and suspected a change of protector, and could not wait to see how she and Durant would behave, what they would say. The only thing that would have made it better for them was if Ryan had been there so they could see his behavior also.

  Devota presided in the dining room, seeing to it that everything was ready, from the polish of the crystal to the centerpiece of nougat shaped like a fleur-de-lis nestled in golden autumn leaves, and also that the service was smooth and timely. Germaine, arriving with Flora Mazent, set herself to help Devota, and their voices in low murmurs could be heard at intervals.

  Flora had bloomed, there could be no other word for it. She still wore black, but her gown had style in its cut and drape, and in its rolled collar of ecru lace that rose in the back to frame her face and neck. Her hair was nicely dressed with curls about her forehead, and her cheeks and lips delicately reddened with carmine. More than that, she smiled and laughed in a fashion that bordered on the coquettish. If the reinstatement of her betrothal was the cause, however, she gave no indication of it.

  Morven, Josie, and Madame Pitot presented themselves together, the last to appear. Morven left the two women to find their own pleasures the moment they all came through the door. As handsome as ever, and as raffishly charming, he made his way around the room in a shower of compliments given and received, until he came to a halt beside Elene’s chair.

  He bowed over her hand, told her she looked incandescent, then under the buzz of conversation said with a mocking smile, “Are you sure this is an improvement over Ryan?”

  The words were not meant to sting, she thought, but they did. She could not be surprised the actor thought the worst, but since he did, pride forbade that she attempt to set him straight. She lifted a brow. “As much as the widow was an improvement over Hermine.”

  “Ah, I see. A financial arrangement.”

  “You might say so.”

  “I thought Ryan merely out of town, not bankrupt. What a pity that his service to the colonial prefect should be so costly.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t you? It was always his practice in the past to avoid grand gestures. I wonder what made him do it this time.”

  “Grand gestures?”

  “Such as this tiresome journey. It can benefit him nothing except saddle sores.”

  “And the thanks of his country?”

  “Now there’s an object. Do you mean Spain, France, or the United States?”

  “France, of course!” she answered, annoyed by the repeated flick of his irony.

  “For gratitude alone, no doubt. Who can have persuaded him it would be worth the risk of his neck?”

  Elene stared at Morven. She had persuaded Ryan of France’s importance. In which case, if anything happened to him, it would be her fault. Or would it? She had been certain Ryan had his own reasons for his wilderness trek to Washington City, reasons that had nothing to do with her. She could, of course, be wrong.

  “Would you car
e,” she said with extreme politeness, “for a glass of wine?”

  Morven laughed in quick understanding. “Very well, I’ll change the subject. Slightly. I was hoping you weren’t happy. I have an opening again in my troupe.”

  “An opening? For an actress?”

  “Our ingénue has left us. She and Josie didn’t get along.”

  “While you got along with her perfectly?”

  He smiled down at her with febrile charisma. “I get along with most women.”

  “So I’ve noticed!”

  “Have you?” he asked in lazy appreciation for the flash of tartness. “Then you won’t be surprised to know that I was enchanted to hear you have left Ryan. I don’t poach on my friends’ preserves, but Gambier is no friend of mine.”

  His casual declaration, coupled with the assumption that she would be pleased, took her breath away. Her tone abrupt, she said, “I have no talent as an actress.”

  “I can teach you the craft, among other things.”

  “Thank you, no. I am also no ingénue.”

  “Then you shall have the lead part. You will make a magnificent tragedienne.”

  “Over Josie? She will hardly permit that!”

  “She won’t have a choice,” he said with a shrug. “In truth, she isn’t equipped for the roles, and she is becoming too plump.”

  “I couldn’t displace her. Besides, there is Durant.”

  “Loyalty is a lovely trait, but are you sure that with Gambier it isn’t misplaced?”

  Elene gave him a straight look without appreciation for the slow smile he permitted to curve his mouth. “Tell me,” she said, “do you ever feel any responsibility for Hermine’s death?”

  “Should I?” he asked, his insouciance intact, though there was a shadow in his dark eyes.

  “It seems possible she died for love of you, whether by her own hand or some other.”

  His face hardened. “I withdraw my offer of an acting stint. I fear that in the death scenes between us you might use a real dagger.”

  He inclined his head and moved away. Elene watched him go, watched him join Josie who was laughing in a corner with Durant.

  Josie was indeed more embonpoint, though not yet to excess. Her face, her shoulders and breasts and arms were rounded, the skin pink and white and firm, just as some men liked them. One day she would become blowsy and fat, with petulant features, but for now she was a comfortable female, with just enough vivaciousness to make her interesting to those who did not expect wit. Was it possible for such a woman to kill Hermine in order to take her place?

  Madame Tusard and her Claude were sitting alone. Elene moved to join them, and they exchanged a few banalities about the weather and the various guests. Madame looked once at Josie and gave an audible sniff, but said nothing. She did not release her hand from her husband’s arm, however. For his part, M’sieur Tusard studiously ignored the actress. It was enough to make Elene wonder if he had come to his senses, or if Josie had found another paramour. A moment later, she had to laugh at herself. If she wasn’t careful, she would become as prone to conjecture as Françoise Tusard herself.

  The woman’s rampant curiosity was exposed as she began to drop broad hints concerning Elene’s living arrangements. Since Madame Tusard was eyeing the door of Durant’s extra bedchamber at the time, Elene thought it prudent to lead the way down to the second floor to show her own Spartan quarters. To her surprise, the two of them were joined by several of the other ladies. They professed an interest in seeing where her perfume experiments were being conducted, though it soon became apparent that most were merely inquisitive and the rest in search of a private place to adjust their clothing and attend to the needs of nature.

  There were twenty seated for dinner. The cook of the mulatto landlady had excelled herself, presenting a deliciously light oyster stew followed by squabs in wine sauce, which in turn were superseded by grillades of beef served with herb rice and a cabbage soufflé. The meal was topped off by a dessert of crepes filled with pecans and cream and flamed in cognac. It was a menu Durant had chosen himself in consultation with the cook. That his guests were enjoying his choices was attested by the relative quiet.

  Elene sat at Durant’s right hand, valiantly sampling the dishes placed before her. She caught Durant’s gaze upon her once or twice, and managed a wan smile for him, but she was glad that M’sieur Tusard, on her right, was concentrating on his food, for she was not at all inclined toward conversation.

  It was as the dessert plates were being taken away and the cheese and nuts brought out that Durant got to his feet. He rapped on the table for quiet, then lifted his wine glass.

  “My friends,” he said, “it is with pleasure that I see you gathered around my table. Happiness should be shared, and I invite you to join with me this evening in my happiness at the coming nuptials uniting the lady at my side and myself as man and wife. Ladies and gentlemen, a toast to the woman who was once my bride-to-be and now holds that title again. To the lovely Elene!”

  19

  THE THUNDER OF HARD KNUCKLES on the door of her room brought Elene surging to her feet with her heart pounding in her ears. The hour was late. Durant, she thought, was out for the evening. On the other side of the door could be some ruffian who had stumbled upon the rooming house. There was also one other person it could be.

  She swallowed hard, then moved forward. “Who is it?”

  The voice that answered was rough with anger, but achingly familiar. “Open this door, or I’ll kick it down!”

  Ryan.

  She stepped to turn the key, then had to move quickly back out of the way as he strode into the room. The harsh look on his face, the sight of his clenched hands at his sides, brought the rise of her own temper.

  Pushing the door shut, she turned to face him. Her voice acid with irony, she said, “Do come in!”

  Ryan swung to glare at her, and felt the sheer rage that had gripped him as he made his way here begin to fade. Her face was slightly fuller than when he had left, but the features more refined. Her eyes were fathomless gray pools, and her skin had the color and sheen of mother-of-pearl. She had been getting ready for bed, for her hair lay across her shoulders in a thick swath, shimmering with the light of a branch of candles beside the bed.

  He looked away deliberately, his gaze sweeping about the room. Turning, he crossed to the door to the small cubicle and pushed it open. That it was empty could be seen at a glance. “Where is Gambier?”

  “Not here, nor will he be. These are my rooms, mine and no one else’s.”

  There was no relenting in his face as he wheeled back to face her. “What in the name of heaven are you doing here?”

  “I had to have somewhere to go.” She clasped her hands before her, keeping her words steady by hard concentration.

  “Did you? What was wrong with where you were?”

  “I couldn’t stay there forever. I have my own way to make, and there was no point in putting it off any longer.”

  “Going with Gambier is making your own way?”

  Elene heard the contempt in his voice and responded to it. “I didn’t go with him, not as you mean. He had paid for this room—”

  “Oh, you admit that?”

  “I admit nothing! It’s just a place to stay until—”

  “Until you are married.”

  “We aren’t going to be married!”

  He flung away from her. “Oh, come on, the rumor is all over town. I was told of it twice before I could tie up my horse before Laussat’s house this afternoon, and twice more after I stepped through the city gates.”

  “Durant made an announcement. That doesn’t mean I agreed.”

  “One thing usually follows the other.”

  “He thought to force my hand.”

  Ryan felt relief move over him in a sudden wave of heat. He frowned to keep it from showing. “Then there will be no wedding?”

  “I didn’t say that,” she corrected him.

  “I don’t unders
tand you.”

  That was fair enough; she hardly understood herself. She had been incensed at Durant’s high-handed attempt to use her condition against her. She had told him plainly she would not be coerced, though it had failed to dent his self-assurance. In truth, she felt trapped between unpalatable choices, between marrying a man she didn’t love and raising her child alone. If she told the man before her he was going to be a father, he might renew his offer of his name, but did she want to marry him for that reason?

  She lifted a shoulder. “I have told Durant I will not be married except under French law. Spaniards have too much power over their wives.”

  “You can set the date then. The transfer of the colony from Spain to France will be made on the thirtieth of this month.”

  Her excuse had been facetious, purely for Ryan’s benefit. On an indrawn breath she said, “So soon?”

  “Laussat has reason for haste. The plans have been made for weeks.”

  His wife’s pregnancy was the reason. Was it her imagination, or was Ryan’s gaze assessing as it moved over her? She turned away. “I’m not sure it matters. I may yet decide I prefer my independence. You will be interested to know that I have made up my mind once more to be a perfumer.”

  “With Gambier’s backing,” he said in flat tones.

  Her eyes flashed as she swung to face him. “By no means! With my own.”

  Ryan stood listening to the tale of the earrings. When she had finished, he stared at her a long moment. He had meant to snatch her up and carry her back to his house by main strength. His muscles ached with the need to do just that. She faced him with such resolution, such dignity, that he could not bring himself to destroy it. Abruptly he said, “You would have more room to work with me.”