The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4)

by Amanda Hughes

  How Tristan missed Maxime. By the time Sydnee’s letter had arrived in Venice, he had been dead for months, and when he read her account, he was devastated. Tristan loved Maxime like a father, and he felt empty and alone without him. D’anton tried to comfort him but without success. For weeks he distracted him with outings to fashionable cafés and salons, or with tickets to the opera, but the passage of time seemed to be the only panacea for him. Eventually he started to smile again, and gradually he returned to his favorite pursuits. Nevertheless, his life was fundamentally changed.

  Dressed in a charcoal-colored coat with a black cravat, tall hat, gray vest and pantaloons, Tristan was the picture of fashion strolling down the street. He washed and changed on the packet before going ashore, gladly shedding his dirty ship-board clothing.

  It was curious to be walking on land again, and he was glad he had the use of his cane. Pedestrians stole looks at this attractive young gentleman taking in the sights of the city with a half-smile on his lips. In spite of his growth into manhood, Tristan still had the countenance of an angel. It gave onlookers pause when they beheld him.

  The streets were busy today. It was late fall, and everyone had returned from the north to enjoy the cooler months in New Orleans. Market was in full swing and vendors called out to customers. Tristan lifted his hat to the ladies and greeted the gentlemen cordially as he passed. Turning onto Royal Street he came up behind two men strolling and discussing the gossip of the day.

  “I have never been this close to her. I heard that she is most exceptional,” said one of the gentleman, swinging his cane.

  “Madame Picard has been hiding her all this time,” said the older man. He dropped his voice and said discreetly, “He is foolish to leave her alone this long.”

  Tristan looked across the street at the young woman they were discussing. She was walking with a parasol on her shoulder, dressed in the latest Parisian fashion. Her gown was of soft gold silk, fitted on the upper arms, voluminous at the elbows and tight fitting at the cuffs. Her cinnamon-colored hair was swept up onto her head and tied loosely with ribbons, and she had a basket over her arm.

  Tristan recognized Sydnee immediately by her large, mahogany-colored eyes. Although now a young woman of nineteen, she still had the appearance of a waif. Although a voluptuous body was de rigueur, her chic, gamine look was the perfect frame for fashion, and she wore it well.

  The two gentlemen watched in awe as Tristan dashed across the street, jumping from stepping stone to stepping stone, avoiding carriages and pedestrians. He jumped into her path, swept off his hat and bowed low.

  Sydnee stopped, wide-eyed. When he straightened up, she cried out. Clutching his arms, she was about to embrace him but then remembered she was in public and kissed his cheeks instead.

  “Tristan, Tristan!” she exclaimed. “I had not expected you for several days!”

  “The winds were in our favor, and we arrived this morning,” he said, looking into her eyes and holding her hands. “My dear friend,” he murmured.

  Becoming aware that they were blocking the sidewalk, Sydnee took his arm, hugged it, and started walking. “Where is your carriage?” she asked.

  “I sent it on home. It was such a beautiful day, I thought I would walk.”

  “That is how I felt.”

  Suddenly there was a flapping of wings, and Vivian landed on Tristan’s shoulder. “Vivian! You haven’t forgotten me,” he said, stroking her feathers.

  “Ah, but she was angry with you for a long time.”

  “How is Isabel? Mortimer?”

  “They are well. Is D’anton still returning at the end of the month?” she asked.

  “Yes, he has completed his law studies at Harvard and is ready to start his practice. We have so much to talk about. Can you skip your marketing for today and return to the house?”

  “I certainly cannot. This calls for a celebration. We need oysters, champagne--”

  “I brought some champagne back from France,” Tristan said.

  “We will drink that.”

  After purchasing oysters, fish and fresh produce at market they returned to Sydnee’s townhome. They sat at a small café table in the courtyard and ate their supper in the half light of sunset. Vivian sat nearby, not letting Tristan out of her sight, and the dogs were at his feet, overjoyed at his return.

  “It is wonderful to be back,” he said, sipping his coffee and sitting back. “I have been homesick. It was too long.”

  “Are you going to see your parents?”

  He sighed. “I don’t want to see them, but to do business, I must see my father. You know that mother is raising Giselle’s child in Natchez?”

  “Yes, there is always talk when they visit Saint-Denis.”

  “They will press me to marry Isabel now that I have returned, you know.”

  Sydnee nodded.

  Tristan continued, “It is a masquerade that is inevitable for all of us. At least Isabel knows and will not expect--or want anything from me.”

  He looked at Sydnee. “And you have changed, my dear friend. You are so poised and well spoken. It is apparent you have continued your education.”

  “I read and study with Madame Picard daily.”

  “You must realize that you are exquisite.”

  Sydnee blushed and shook her head. “Tristan, you embarrass me.”

  “Do you have beaux?”

  “Hardly, I am being kept by a gentleman of property.”

  “Ah yes,” Tristan said wistfully. “We are all trapped in this charade.”

  * * *

  The wedding celebration was set for Christmas day at Saint-Denis. The ceremony would be at St. Louis Cathedral first and then guests would be invited to an intimate wedding breakfast at the house afterward. Madame Picard told Sydnee that weddings in Louisiana were quiet affairs and usually at the home of the bride’s parents, but since Monsieur Trudeau’s health had been poor lately, they decided to entertain at the groom’s plantation. Later in the day Tristan and Isabel would return to New Orleans where they would reside. Tristan purchased a modest home for them in New Orleans on Chartres Street.

  Sydnee had not spoken with Isabel since Tristan returned. The roles they played now as adults did not allow them to see each other publicly. The mistress and the wife would never meet socially. These same constraints made it difficult for her to see Mortimer as well, although on several occasions, when he was in the city to minister to sick horses, he called on Sydnee.

  He would come to the door holding his hat in his hand, but never step inside the door. Mortimer was not comfortable indoors, and Sydnee understood this, so she would call the dogs, and they would walk along the river together.

  Mortimer continued to amaze her with his boundless intellect which encompassed so many subjects. He could speak articulately on everything from world history to folk remedies. His personal feelings were more difficult for him to express though. They had never spoken of Isabel’s marriage to Tristan, but Sydnee knew that it caused him great pain. They would speak instead of books, music or their favorite topic, Hoodoo remedies.

  As her education progressed with Madame Picard, Sydnee’s world became larger too. She had a deeper understanding of politics, philosophy and culture. She loved hearing Madame speak of the famous women of the Parisian salons who hosted gatherings of the greatest minds in all of Europe. She learned that these women had played an integral role in planting the seeds of The Grand Enlightenment which later gave birth to the United States.

  The day of the wedding Sydnee awakened early, well before the sun rose. She made herself some chicory coffee and paced. She was worried about Mortimer and D’anton. The dogs watched her walk back and forth, rubbing her forehead. At last she stopped, looked at them and said, “I have decided. Since none of us are welcome at the wedding, I shall keep Mortimer and D’anton company today.”

  Atlantis and Baloo wagged their tails in acknowledgement.

  Tristan bought Sydnee her own landaulet with instructi
ons to hire Frederick, Madame Picard’s coachman, as needed, so at sunrise Sydnee called on her to ask if she could borrow Frederick, for the day. A few hours later Sydnee was on her way to the wedding celebration at Saint-Denis to be with Mortimer. She stopped for D’anton along the way, but his servant said that he was not receiving anyone today.

  Wearing a plaid gown with a hooded blue cape, Sydnee looked out of the carriage at the rain splashing on the street. The weather seemed to suit the occasion. She had given Frederick instructions to drive around to the back of the house to the stables. When they turned in the driveway, carriages were arriving for the celebration.

  Sydnee pulled up her hood to conceal her face and looked out the window.

  The balconies and doors of the plantation were decorated with evergreen boughs and wreaths but instead of red accents for Christmas, the ribbons, flowers and berries were white for the wedding. Sydnee sat back in her seat and sighed. She was glad that she did not have to witness this wedding. Although Isabel’s gown would be grand and Tristan would look dashing in his suit, she knew their hearts would not be in their vows. It would be for them a sad occasion.

  Mortimer was unhitching horses when she arrived. With her hood up, she dashed into the stable. He walked in after her, carrying a saddle. Sydnee pulled off her hood, and his jaw dropped. Mortimer looked at the young stable hand standing next to him and then back at Sydnee, saying formally so he did not give her identity away, “How may I help you?”

  Sydnee hesitated a moment, looking at the boy. The young man walked away to leave them alone.

  “I thought I would pay you a visit today since we are in similar situations,” Sydnee murmured.

  Mortimer swallowed hard and dropped his eyes, not replying. When Sydnee walked over to sit on a bale of hay, he barked, “No!” and dashed into his quarters, returning with a desk chair. “You are a lady now.”

  Sydnee sat down. “I am still the same old Sydnee to you.”

  He nodded, took a brush off the wall and started to groom one of the horses.

  She untied her cape and let it drop back onto the chair. “I stopped by to see D’anton, but he was still in bed.”

  “He will be in bed all day, I suspect,” he added.

  Sydnee nodded and looked around the dark stable. “I see you have unhitched some of the teams. Are there overnight guests?”

  “Yes,” he replied, offering no more information.

  After a long silence, Mortimer stopped brushing the mare and looked at her. “Don’t you think you should keep your hood up in case someone recognizes you?”

  Sydnee looked perplexed. “There are only a handful of people who know who I am.”

  “You are wrong. Everyone knows who Mademoiselle Sauveterre is.”

  Reluctantly, she drew up the hood over her head.

  They spent the rest of the morning discussing everything except the wedding. He updated her on all the animals in his care, and she told him how Vivian had injured her wing recently and how well it had healed. He showed her the books he was reading, and she shared recent news from Europe.

  Their conversation helped pass the time, and at last it was time for guests to leave. The cold drizzle soaked Mortimer to the skin as he prepared the horses and carriages for departure, adding to his already miserable state of mind. The worst task was preparing the wedding carriage. Tristan and Isabel would be leaving in a few moments for their first night together in their home in New Orleans.

  Like the big house, the wedding carriage was decorated in evergreen boughs, white flowers and ribbons. Nevertheless it too looked miserable. The flowers drooped in the rain and the ribbons sagged to the ground as the driver pulled up to the front door of the big house. Mortimer and Sydnee could hear cheers as the newlyweds left for their new home.

  It was early in the evening when the last of the guests departed. Sydnee sighed. “I am glad this day is over. I shall be leaving now too.”

  “Wait,” said Mortimer, looking up at her through his stringy hair. “Stay and eat something with me.”

  Sydnee knew that he was feeling lonely, and she too felt a nagging emptiness that wasn’t just hunger. Mortimer took her back to his quarters. Sydnee looked around as she pulled off her gloves. His rooms were comfortable, spacious and warm. Although he was not supposed to have female guests, they both knew that the family would have no reason to come to the stable tonight. Mortimer bustled around the fire making them gumbo and fresh biscuits.

  Just as they were finishing their meal, they heard a carriage pull up. Mortimer grabbed Sydnee’s wrist, and they dashed out of his quarters. She ducked into a corner behind one of the horses as he went to the stable door.

  She heard voices and then Tristan called, “Sydnee, I know you are in here! I see the landaulet.”

  She stepped out of the shadows. He was standing by the wedding carriage dressed in his finest blue suit, and Isabel was leaning out the window. She was dressed in a voluminous white gown, and on her head was a wreath of flowers. A white veil was attached to the back of the wreath, and it draped down her back. “Well, hurry up. Get in!” she called to them.

  Blinking in disbelief, Sydnee approached the carriage. Isabel laughed and started pulling the muddy ribbons and flowers off the side of coach. “Foolishness!” she said.

  Suddenly, everything was different. Joy and laughter had returned.

  “Look! We have picked up D’anton,” Tristan announced. The young man leaned forward and waved to them with a huge smile.

  “You are done for the night, are you not, Mortimer?” Isabel asked.

  “I am,” he mumbled, stealing a quick look at her.

  Tristan explained, “Isabel and I went to our new house on Chartres Street, had a glass of champagne and realized we were lonely. We discussed things and decided that nothing has to change. We are all still best friends, are we not?”

  Sydnee and Mortimer nodded.

  “Well, then we carry on as before,” Tristan stated.

  “Get in!” Isabel demanded.

  Standing up straight and holding the door as if he was a footman, Tristan demanded, “We shall go to Sydnee’s town house for a celebration of friendship.”

  With a shy smile, Mortimer stepped over to the other side of the door and held out his hand for Sydnee to step into the carriage. She stepped up into the coach followed by Tristan.

  Mortimer shut the door behind them, pulled up his collar and climbed up beside the driver.

  Tristan leaned toward the window to tell him to ride inside.

  “No,” laughed Isabel. “He is happiest out there.”

  * * *

  A few months later, Sydnee sat in the open carriage on her way to the opera with Madame Picard. She felt like a queen dressed in her finest gown, white silk with lavender stripes and short puffed sleeves. The low neckline was bordered in lace and draped over her bare shoulders was a delicate white lace shawl. Her hair was dressed high upon her head and a string of faux pearls was woven through her coiffure.

  Madame Picard sat next to her, her back straight and her head held high. She was dressed in a burgundy evening gown and around her neck was a string of garnets. Even Frederick was dressed for the occasion, in his finest livery trimmed with gold braid.

  The opera was Robert le diable and at last Sydnee was attending the performance, not watching from afar.

  “When Georges died, he left me his private box,” Madame Picard informed her. “Even so we will go to the opera house early, before everyone else arrives.”

  When Sydnee asked why, Madame’s reply was, “Although they endure us, polite society does not want to mix publicly with the inamorata.”

  Arriving early gave Sydnee a chance to admire the elaborate interior of the Theatre d’Orleans. It was the grandest building she had ever seen. The ceiling of the lobby was covered with colorful murals depicting classical mythology and stories from the Bible. There were angels doing battle with demons, beautiful goddesses lounging on divans and handsome Greek warriors br
andishing swords astride muscular horses. All of the pictorials were bordered with intricately carved flourishes painted in gold. Marble pillars and chandeliers lined the hall, and at either end of the lobby were circular divans upholstered in red velvet.

  Madame Picard swept across the granite floor like a queen. “Good evening, Sebastien,” she said to a tall dignified man in a white jacket standing behind the counter. He was polishing a silver spoon. “How is your wife?”

  “She is well, Madame Picard. Thank you.”

  “Mademoiselle and I will have absinthe if you please, lightly prepared.”

  He nodded and Sydnee watched the man pour an emerald green liquid into a glass and rest a perforated spoon over the rim. With a pair of tongs he placed a cube of sugar onto the spoon and put the goblet under the spout of an elaborate glass fountain with a silver spigot. Sydnee noticed that the base of the fountain was a slim silver fairy holding a glass tower filled with ice water. The man turned the spigot slightly, allowing the water to drip through the sugar cube into the green liquid below. Gradually the drink was transformed into a light green cloud.

  With their drinks, Madame Picard and Sydnee sat down on one of the divans. “This is a special occasion,” Madame said. “Tonight is your graduation.”

  Sydnee stared at her a moment. She had felt this coming for some time. Her conversations with Madame Picard had been changing lately. They had become less tutorial and more of a thoughtful exchange between two adults. The spirits had been restless the past weeks as well. Sydnee knew that she was at a turning point in her life, but instead of being excited, she felt unsettled.

  “There will be no more school with you?” she asked uncertainly.

  Madame Picard sipped her drink and shook her head. “No more formal schooling, but I will always be at your side. You are ready to take your place in society. There is no question now that you are suitable to be Monsieur Tristan’s courtesan. But more than that, I wanted to educate you so you could survive in this world if something unexpected happens. Planning for the future is why I am secure today.”

  Sydnee nodded her head. “But, Madame—is this all there is? Just being someone’s inamorata?”