"I can see that. What's wrong with wearing black? The aunts wear it all the time. I'll wear a white chemise underneath, and I'll poke a single red camellia—here, help me put it on." I tore off my muslin dress and slipped the wisp of a garment over my head. Only two narrow black ribbons held up the bodice, which was cut square and very low. My breasts billowed over the top of the gown, the white flesh providing a stunning contrast to the dark fabric. The skirt hung in soft folds over my hips and thighs, and when I whirled around the millions of tiny pleats opened and the dress fanned around me like a black cloud.
"Yes," I said grimly, "that's the effect I want, all right. We'll tear off this lace—there!—and sew on some black velvet ribbons for trim and for a sash, and we'll let the ends trail down in back. Hurry, Savannah, I don't want to be late. I have slippers and gloves to match somewhere. And look, here are some black stockings! Yes, I remember, Garth liked those. No jewelry, though. Just a simple black velvet ribbon at my throat. I certainly don't want to spoil the simplicity of the gown."
"You is goin' to look like the Debil's sister," Savannah declared. "Those aunts ain't goin' to like this at all!"
"Good," I said with deep satisfaction. "They're going to be sorry they started it, Savannah."
I wore a black velvet cloak over my gown during the drive to Highlands. I saw that Maman was watching me attentively, with just the slightest suggestion of a smirk on her lips. I sat back in the carriage and smiled benignly at all of them, biding my time.
Highlands wasn't at all what I had expected. Instead of the usual sprawling home that betrayed Spanish or French influences, the house was a masterpiece of Georgian symmetry. It was red brick, an unusual choice for that part of the country where lumber was so plentiful, and it reminded me of the English country homes I had visited as a child. In the gathering darkness I could glimpse formal gardens with marble statuary, a sweeping driveway that circled around a gorgeous marble fountain, and a gazebo perched on a knoll that overlooked the river. Highlands was the home of a wealthy, aristocratic man who had a solid belief in his own tastes. I wished it had been otherwise: I wished I didn't have to envy Georgette her home as well as her husband.
We ladies were shown immediately to an upstairs bedroom where we could divest ourselves of our wraps and make any adjustments to our costumes that were necessary. A maid helped me off with my cloak and I heard a horrified gasp behind me.
"What's the matter, Maman?" I asked without even turning my head. "Don't you care for my gown?"
"It's indecent, girl! Wicked!" she said in a voice choked with anger. "I cannot allow you to appear in front of our hosts dressed like some kind of—of siren!"
"Then you should have left your scissors in your sewing basket. My gown needed no alteration, thank you."
"That's a lie," she sputtered. "You can't—"
"Don't be a fool. Of course I can." I swept passed her, out of the room. Colette ran after me.
"Oh, Elise, I'm sorry," she said. "I saw her going into your room, but I never dreamed—"
"It's all right, Colette. I'm rather glad it happened. It might teach them a lesson. But forget about me and have a good time. I rather think I'm going to enjoy myself tonight."
Jacques and Garth were standing together at the foot of the broad center staircase. Jacques saw me first and he went white. I descended slowly, my skirts billowing softly around my legs. Garth looked up, and when our eyes met I could feel a rush of warmth passing through me. The hallway was jammed with guests. A gradual hush fell over the assembly, and then scattered murmurs rattled through the chamber like dry leaves on an autumn day. I paused in the middle of the staircase and smiled triumphantly. They had all treated me like a thief, a pirate, a siren. And now they could see for themselves that I was everything they had expected—and more.
"Madame Fournier?" Garth offered his hand. I rested my gloved hand on his. "Your husband has been telling me about your plans for La Rêve. Remember, any time you're willing to sell, I'm willing to buy."
"I'm sure you are, Senator," I said. "I'm eager to buy, too. How much are you asking for that swamp land at the southwest corner of your property?"
"Why?" He smiled. "Are you going to turn it into a rice field?"
"I might. Will you sell?"
"I'll consider it. It hasn't taken you long to become an expert planter, I see."
"I had to learn quickly," I said. "I made a bad bargain with some property once, and I don't want to be cheated again."
He laughed heartily, and that seemed to dissolve the tension in the room. Garth excused himself momentarily to attend to his other guests. I casually looped my hand under Jacques' arm and we went into the ballroom.
"This is a disgrace, an outrage," he muttered under his breath.
"It is indeed," I agreed. "He has no use for that land. I don't know why he won't sell."
"I'm not talking about the land. I'm sick of land, sick of La Rêve, and I'm sick of you. I'm talking about that obscene thing you're wearing. Have you no shame?"
"Not very much," I said placidly. "But then, neither have you, dear husband. You've been sneaking out of the house to meet your lover, haven't you? Why be so furtive? Why not invite him to move in?"
"You—you've been spying on me," he hissed. "I'll never forgive you for that. I could kill you, Elise!"
Garth and Georgette led the ball with the first dance, a cotillion, and he claimed me for the waltz that followed.
"I wouldn't want you to be a wallflower," he said with a little grin. "All the wives and sweethearts in this room have given strict orders to their men to leave you alone."
"Perhaps the gentlemen will follow your bad example," I said. "Did your wife give you strict orders?"
"Do you think I would have paid any attention to her if she had?"
His arm tightened around my waist and we went spinning around the room. "Every time I see you I'm always surprised and delighted all over again at how beautiful you are, Elise," he said. "When we're apart I'm too busy fuming over your insults and your loose behavior and your mad schemes to give much thought to your beauty. Take this marriage, for instance. Fournier, of all people! I hope he treats you well, although I don't think he's man enough for you. I'm sure you're working yourself so hard during the day so you'll be too exhausted at night to think about what you're missing."
This was so close to the truth that I stopped dancing abruptly and faced him angrily. Another swirling couple barged into us, and we all nearly went sprawling in a heap.
"How dare you talk to me that way!" My eyes flashed fire. "I—I'm a married woman now—"
He laughed sharply. "Hah! And you think that marriage automatically makes you immune to assault from me, right? I'm no great defender of marriage vows, Elise. I have never respected my own, and I'm certainly not going to respect yours."
"I won't dance with you. Let me go at once."
He picked me up and whirled me around. My feet never touched the floor. "Don't kick so, Elise," he scolded. "They are all watching; they'll think I'm trying to carry you off to bed. If we fight like lovers they'll assume you're willing, and they would be right."
"For Heaven's sake, put me down," I implored in a whisper. He obeyed and once again we circled the floor sedately.
"Do you remember that night at the opera? I knew you had come in even before I saw you." His lips were very close to my ear. I closed my eyes and let myself drift in his arms. "I could feel you, smell you, sense you. I knew then that I had to have you, Elise. And when Lafitte loudly informed the entire audience that he was taking you home to bed, I wanted to run him through then and there. Sheer animal envy, I suppose. He was right—a quarrel as old as mankind. You bring out the worst in me, Elise. You always have. And I bring out the best in you."
"You are still as arrogant as ever." I tried to keep my voice calm.
"I certainly hope so. Why don't you fan yourself briskly and ask me to take you out for some fresh air?"
"I'll do no such thing. I don't
take orders from you!"
"Still the same, stubborn Elise," he chuckled. "Do as I say or I swear I'll take you right here in the middle of the ballroom floor."
I smiled up at him. "Your ancestors will be shocked, Monsieur."
"They will be delighted. My grandfather was a stable-boy, as was his father before him. There are no heroes, no crusaders in the McClelland family, and no honor to uphold. Come."
We made our way through the crowd and went out through open French doors to a small garden. The cool of the December evening was refreshing after the warmth and stuffiness of the ballroom. Garth led me to a marble bench in a secluded corner of the garden.
"Ah, this is delightful," I exclaimed. "Will you bring me some champagne, Monsieur?" I asked coyly.
"No." He took me in his arms and crushed me to his chest. He buried his face in my neck and kneaded my flesh roughly. I whimpered softly. "I've missed you, Elise," he said. "God knows I've missed you."
"Why?" I demanded, gasping. "Are there no women in Washington?"
"None like you." He ravished my mouth with his tongue, and I felt my legs turning to water.
I caressed his cheeks and combed my fingers through his hair. Arching my back, I pressed close to him, so close that I could hear the firm thudding of his heart and feel the hardness of him pushing insistently against me. I had never known that desire could be so agonizing, so painful. I craved him with every ounce of my being, with all my heart and soul. I knew he was only toying with me, playing with me. I hated him for it and I hated myself, but I was powerless to fight the passion that held me in its grip.
From a long way away I heard a footstep crunch on the gravel and a sneering voice. "I beg your pardon. I seem to have interrupted something."
Garth cursed under his breath and I looked up. Arnold stood on the path, his arms crossed over his chest and an expression of mild amusement on his face. Georgette was standing a few paces behind him. I slid off the bench and turned my back on them. I was still shaking with frustrated desire, and now with shame and fury. I hated Garth for compromising me like this. I hated all of them.
"Really, Garth." Georgette's voice was heavy with loathing. "Couldn't you even wait five minutes before you and your trollop ran off to the bushes?"
"Apparently not," he said lightly. He put his hand on my arm. "Come, Elise, shall we go back in? It seems that Georgette and Arnold are also looking for a private place."
"You filthy liar!" Georgette hissed. "How dare you insinuate that I am like—like this little slut. Oh, I could murder you, Garth McClelland. Murder you!"
I walked swiftly towards the house. Garth caught up with me. "We're a fine pair," I said bitterly. "Jacques has already wished me dead, and now your wife—"
"They're just jealous," he said lightly. "Would you care for some of that champagne now?"
"No, thank you. I'm going home. I have no wish to be sniggered at for the rest of the evening. At least let them do it after I'm gone."
"I'll drive you."
"Don't bother. I'll send the carriage back for the others. Why spoil their evening? Oh, why did I come here? I should have known it would be like this!"
"Elise, I want to see you again."
I stopped on the path outside the ballroom and looked at him. "No, Garth, you'll have to get yourself another plaything," I said dully. "This is wrong, and sad. I don't want to cause the Fourniers any more embarrassment. No one calls on us as it is, and it's all because of me. Do you think I enjoy being the scandalous, wicked Madame Fournier? I don't. I just want to make some kind of life for myself, but every time I see you my plans fall apart because I fall apart. You've had your fun with me, Garth, but it has to end. Whatever you might think of me, I am not like those horses you spoke about: you have trained and broken and ridden me, but I will not come when you whistle. I have my own life to lead. Good night, Garth."
I passed through the ballroom and into the hallway. As I ascended the stairs to the dressing room I could hear Garth asking his butler to call the Fournier carriage. When I came down I saw that Jacques was there, too, wearing his usual worried expression.
"What's the matter, Elise?" he asked anxiously. "Are you ill?"
"No, Jacques, I am not ill. I am never ill. There isn't any time for illness. I am going home because I want to go, that's all."
"At least let me—"
"No, don't come with me. I'll send the carriage back. You'll need to attend to your mother. She'll be hearing some things that will probably make her faint."
Without another word to either of them, I walked down the front steps and stepped into the waiting carriage.
Chapter 13
The Plot
I rode alone every day after breakfast. There was less to do on the plantation between harvest and planting time than at any other time of the year, and in order to avoid being confined all day in the house with people who hated the sight of me, I would don my riding habit, choose a fast horse and then ride until I was exhausted and the furious gnawing desire within me was quelled, at least for a short time.
I hated my life at La Rêve. Not a day went by that I didn't consider riding out of their lives forever. Nothing was holding me to the plantation but my own stupid pride: I wanted to show them all that I could turn La Rêve into a paying operation, and I wanted Garth McClelland to see that I could exist very well without him.
Jacques and Arnold were growing bolder. Arnold was a frequent visitor, and if Maman or the aunts ever suspected what was going on they gave no sign. I was worried that Colette was falling in love with him. I knew the elder Fourniers would welcome the match: the Charpentiers were an old, respected Creole family. Never mind that Arnold reeked of degeneracy and evil. He was a Charpentier, and therefore he could do no wrong.
Jacques was like a stranger to me. We avoided each other and only spoke when it was necessary. He gladly left the running of the plantation to me, for he had no real head for business. Except for complaining about the smallness of the amount I permitted him to have for spending money, he never conferred with me or seriously challenged any of my decisions.
I had never felt so lonely, or so sad. As I rode out of the stable yard one gray morning I saw that huge black thunderheads were gathering on the eastern horizon. I felt suddenly wretched and oppressed, as though black clouds were gathering around me as well.
The storm broke when I was crossing one of the eastern cane fields, not far from the line that divided La Rêve from the McClelland lands. Almost instantly, it seemed, the field became a sea of mud. I urged my mount, an energetic young stallion named Beelzebub, towards a distant rise that promised dryer ground and surer footing. I was soaking wet, and my heavy woolen habit hung on me like a leaden shroud. A biting wind of hurricane strength tore over the fields, drenching us both thoroughly. Beelzebub plodded gallantly through the muck with his head lowered against the elements. When the ground felt harder under his feet he picked up speed and made a mad dash up the slope. I made no attempt to check him, but let him gallop furiously into the wind.
Ahead of me I saw a cane cutter's cottage nestled back among some pine trees. Beelzebub saw it, too, and we careened towards the shelter, slipping and slithering in the mud. When we reached the cottage I led my mount to the lee side, where at least he would be protected from the full fury of the driving wind and rain. I ran up on the front porch and squeezed some of the water out of my skirts. The porch roof was as leaky as a sieve, and after dodging rivulets for a few minutes I decided I might as well see if the interior of the cabin was any dryer.
I pushed open the door, which hung from its frame on one hinge. Then I heard a scraping noise that sent chills up and down my spine. When my eyes became accustomed to the gloom I could make out a figure squatting in front of the fireplace. It was Garth, and he was trying vainly to light a fire with a flint and some damp straw.
I stood rooted to the spot. He stood up when he saw me. The rain was drumming on the roof and the wind roared in the pines. The storm was
right on top of us, and the rolling thunder shook the little cottage. We didn't even try to speak. He came slowly towards me and took my hand. His touch was tingling, magical. With a little moan, I fell into his arms and let his kisses sear through me.
He peeled off my sodden clothing, pulled off my boots and let my hair down. Then he rubbed me all over with a dry woolen cloak until my flesh was glowing. He spread the cloak on the floor and we lay down on it. He entered me at once, and I welcomed him with a joyous sob. We were vicious, hungry, and impatient. Down and around we plummeted into love's black bottomless maelstrom. I didn't want to come into the light ever again. I wanted the darkness, the heat, the power of love that had been denied me for so long to go on and on.
When it was over I wept softly. Garth didn't laugh at me, but held me in his arms and stroked my hair. We loved again, and then we lay quietly for a long time wrapped in his cloak, listening to the fury of the wind and rain outside the cottage.
He stirred. "I'll try and light the fire again."
"It will smoke," I protested. "We'll suffocate."
"We'll lie close to the floor where the air is pure," he said. His flint worked now, and soon the fire was blazing merrily. The golden light shone on his lean haunches and strong back.
"You look like you've been cast in bronze," I said softly.
He grinned at me over his shoulder. He picked up my riding habit and draped it over the back of a rickety chair in front of the fire to dry.
"It will take hours before it's fit to put on," I said.
"That's all right. We have hours." He lay down beside me and enfolded me in his arms once again.
"Why are you here?" I asked him.
"I'm taking shelter from the storm, the same as you. At least I had sense enough to get under cover before it broke. Didn't you look at the sky before you came out this morning?"
"Yes, but I didn't care. I liked the way the storm made me feel free and brave." I gazed at the glowing embers in the fireplace. "And then I fell into your hands like an overripe plum. How you must have rejoiced to see me standing there, so soon after I'd made a grand speech about living without you."
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