Bal Masque (2 page)

She turned from the window, her shoulders hunched forward, her dark hair shadowing her face. A portrait of burdened, wronged, despondent womanhood, she sighed wearily. A single tear dropped into Ninette’s fluffy fur. “I’m not even going to have my wedding in the Cathedral in New Orleans! It will be right here at the house. And Père Jean-Baptiste will do the ceremony.” She sighed, a deep, dramatic note of tragedy. “Not a proper wedding, just a little family thing, because it will be too close to Lent and too much is going on for us to stay in town for the weeks it would take to do it appropriately. A colorless little family wedding with no guests, no ball, and no wonderful dress.” She hunched over her kitten, bravely holding back her tears, the personification of a victim sorely put upon by life.

Marie, though touched by the girl’s genuine despair, thought Lucienne overplayed her part.
I’ve seen victims of Madame Guillotine show less despondency on the scaffold steps.
“So it will be a smaller wedding, then,” she murmured, gratified that the household would not have the complete upheaval she’d feared.

“I won’t even get to wear my wonderful new masquerade ball gown!” Her dark hair tumbling loose, Lucienne threw her hands out in disgust. “Isn’t that just unspeakable of Papa? I’ve waited almost a whole year to wear that gown, ever since Grandmère had the two of them sent from Paris, one for me and one for Cousin Pierrette. It’s the most beautiful, perfect gown in all Louisiana! Now I won’t get to wear it; instead, I’ll just have some ordinary wedding dress run up in a hurry here at home. No style, no charm. Just a tacky, commonplace dress. Beside my ball gown, my wedding dress will be nothing. Everyone will laugh at such a poor show.” She held the kitten up to eye level. “Ninette, how can Papa expect me to give up Philippe and my ball gown, too?”

Marie turned, collecting loose feathers to hide her face. Apparently the girl was as upset at not getting to wear her fabulous ball gown as she was over giving up her attachment to the wastrel Pardue!

“Your papa might arrange a grand ball later in the summer, to greet the newlyweds and make up for some of the informality of the wedding.”

“It won’t be the grand
bal masque
.” Lucienne disentangled the kitten’s tiny claws from her curls. “It wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant. At the
bal masque
, I would be receiving suitors, and wearing my butterfly dress with the fancy mask, and dancing with all the acceptable young men. If Papa waits till summer, I’ll just be another married lady with no one paying court or making pretty speeches.” Lucienne hobbled to the damask chair, mimicking a shrunken, aged crone. “I might as well be as old as Grandmère. I’ll only get to dance with the grandfathers and widowers and half-deaf old soldiers, who will stomp on my feet and smell of tobacco and horses.”

Marie laughed aloud at Lucienne’s theatrics. The girl had a gift for mimicry that often amused and sometimes horrified her family. At sixteen Lucienne had made her debut and cut quite a path through all the suitable young men of the parish. For two years she had enjoyed the attentions of a good many swains, but she often came back from an entertainment with a mocking imitation of the foolish admirers who persisted in their attentions. Marie had scolded her more than once for such performances, then hurried to her own rooms to laugh over Lucienne’s antics in private. She would find it difficult, Marie supposed, to put aside the young people’s balls and diversions to assume wife and hostess responsibilities at the Dupre house in New Orleans. Still, when Lucienne was introduced to society, Marie had heard only of picnics, theater evenings, house parties, and balls from the younger married set. She did not recall the young matrons suffered any great restrictions.

“You will find compensations as the Dupre bride. The opera, the theater—those will be part of your life. You’ll have guests to entertain. And in time, children will fill your home, I think.”

“Children!” Lucienne looked aghast at the word. “I…don’t… I won’t even discuss that. It isn’t decent.”

Marie shrugged. People married, produced children to carry on the family name, to make the future secure. What else was the point of these alliances? Could Lucienne not think in such terms? She had been reared to it.

“I suppose life in New Orleans could have some interest.” Lucienne shook back her hair and drew a resigned breath. “The theater was very gay when we were there in the fall. And I met some amusing people. Armand knows everybody worth knowing. It appears he’s quite popular, though heaven knows why.” Her voice dismissed her future husband. “It could be a pleasant life, if I were married to someone less—less—tedious.”

Marie suspected she knew the girl’s thoughts. The Dupres, father and son, lived in a quiet quarter of the city, comfortable but somewhat sedate. The Pardues, however, not only had a stylish house, the home of Philippe’s older brother Etienne, in a fashionable area of the city. Their father also had a fine plantation along the river, permitting his son Philippe to amuse himself by circling between the two centers. Etienne cared for the financial affairs of the whole family, entertaining often and holding open house to a host of sophisticated business associates. If Etienne’s diversions in the city palled, Philippe could always escape to country life and its leisurely pace of house visits, courtship, horses, and cards. Marie could see life in the Pardue family held far more appeal for Lucienne than becoming mistress of the staid house of Dupre.

“You’ll find matters to interest you, wherever you live. You and your husband will find common grounds as your life together develops.”

“Papa is the one enamored with Armand and the Dupres’ plans.” Lucienne shrugged. “I wish it were his life someone else was arranging. How long would he put up with anyone else making choices for him?”

“It’s the way of things. The gentlemen make the rules. Ladies make themselves agreeable.” Marie busied herself tidying the chamber. Lucienne roamed the room, finally settling Ninette in her lap and again staring, a bit sullenly, out into the landscape. The silence between the two women lengthened. Jasmine from the broken bottles still permeated the air, though Marie had wiped the dampness from the pine floor and swept shards of glass and feathers out of the crevices.

As Marie removed the last trace of Lucienne’s outburst, she considered the girl’s intense expression. She knew such silent concentration suggested a plot in the making. Was Lucienne still thinking she could convince her papa to consider another suitor? Or was she still angry that she couldn’t wear the lavish ball gown or attend the grand
bal masque
? Lucienne was very still, thoughtfully stroking the cat, a shaft of slanting light outlining her against the window. She twitched the curtains together but continued to cast a lingering look through them.

“Perhaps Papa will do something for me, a little thing to make all this less obnoxious.” She spoke softly as if voicing random thoughts.

“What is that
, chèrie
?” Marie glanced back, unsettled by the disingenuous look on Lucienne’s face.

“Perhaps Papa might be willing to arrange something so I can wear my wonderful masquerade gown. Haven’t I been very good about agreeing to his arrangements? He should be willing to humor my one little whim.”

Marie could almost hear the whir of plans. Lucienne continued to look through the sheer curtains. “Lucienne, what are you thinking? You said yourself the time of the wedding is for the convenience of the Dupres. Since he’s willing to concede to their time requirements by reducing the usual Mardi Gras celebrations, I am certain he will not change the date. He does not back away easily from something once he has decided.”
Very much like his daughter, I think,
she added to herself
.

Lucienne walked from the windows to put the kitten on the white counterpane. She cast Marie a sideways look, her elfin eyes bright as black diamonds. “Oh, no, he most certainly won’t do that. But he does like to get his money’s worth out of any purchase—a horse, a piece of land, whatever. And he paid for the butterfly dress even though Grandmère ordered it. He won’t like for his money to be spent for nothing. And I will need yet another
expensive
gown for the wedding—one that will probably cost even more since it will have to be made in a rush—so he might see value in letting me wear the butterfly dress.”

“But,
p’tite
, the butterfly dress, a beautiful dress to be sure, is not suitable for a bride. It is a—a
costume,
not bridal wear, at all.”

Lucienne laughed, a brittle edge in her tone. “Oh, it certainly is not. Not the usual bride’s dress, at least. But if I remind Papa that the whole parish will be disappointed if Mille Fleur doesn’t have the annual masquerade ball—and if I point out the wasteful extravagance of having paid for a gown I can’t wear—I might get his attention. Then I’ll suggest we combine the wedding and the ball.” A smothered chuckle colored her words. Marie glanced at her charge with doubled suspicion. “I can wear my wonderful gown, his money will be spent with a purpose, and he will be saved the cost of a second dress.” With eyes as wide as Ninette’s, she continued, “All our friends and family will be
so pleased
if the ball goes on as usual. It will be less work for Mama and the servants this way.” She added in a measured, reasonable voice, “The wedding will be unique, and that will appeal to Papa. He loves to be the first with a new fashion. This may be unconventional, but it’s far less trouble than what he plans.” Lucienne bent down and buried her face in Ninette’s dark fur with a soft chuckle.

“And you
, chèrie
? Will you be delighted to have such a wedding?” Marie knew Lucienne’s change of heart signified more than the desire to wear the butterfly gown, but she couldn’t imagine what Lucienne was planning. Sparing a look out the window, the older woman sought something on the grounds that offered a clue to Lucienne’s thoughts. All she saw was the overseer Price and his daughter Dorcas walking along the path to their cottage.

“Delighted?” Lucienne echoed Marie’s word choice with wonder. She shook her head. “Well, perhaps not delighted, but I will certainly be more agreeable.”

Chapter Two:

Masquerade

“What do you think, Ninette? Papa has guests, so he’ll invite the gentlemen into his office to sample this year’s taffia. He should be in a good mood, good enough to grant his little Chou-Chou a small request, shouldn’t he?” Giddy with plans for a way out of Papa’s unacceptable arrangements, Lucienne swirled her embroidered skirts and curtseyed to the wide-eyed kitten on the bed. “If I give him a few hints, maybe Papa will come around to my idea all by himself. He loves to surprise his friends with something a bit unconventional, doesn’t he?” The kitten polished one black paw and tidied her ears. She seemed to agree with her young mistress that winning any campaign started with perfect grooming.

René Toussaint expected his wife and daughter to be charming and ornamental at all times, but especially so when he had guests for dinner. Though Lucienne dressed with her usual care, tonight her demurely flirtatious dinner dress was also the first step in a delicate ambush, and she had designed her appearance accordingly. The white gown framed her pretty shoulders with a lace pelerine. A fresh camellia tucked into her shining curls helped create a portrait of transparent sweetness. Delicate embroidered scallops edged her hem and brushed the toes of her slippers as she skipped down the gallery steps and into the long dim hallway below.

From the end of the passage she heard the faint rumble of voices. Her father was speaking to someone else in the small plantation office, a room half hidden by an elaborate étagère.
One of the guests talking horses with Papa.
Assured that her earlier expectations appeared correct, she slipped silently into the front parlor, where a window put the outside office door in view. She wouldn’t have to eavesdrop, and risk getting caught, to know when the business day was concluded. She could see her father’s guest depart.

In less time than she expected the door opened, with a force that made it spring outward. Price the overseer marched out, popping his Panama hat against his palm and clearing the veranda with long steps. His sunburned face turned neither left nor right as he charged away from the house and into the gardens beyond. That didn’t bode well for Lucienne’s plans. Price appeared to be in a rage.
Perhaps he and Papa quarreled.
But Price is always in a hurry, and his red face always looks angry
. Lucienne shrugged as he disappeared into the late evening shadow.
Maybe that’s the way it is up north where he lived before.
Everybody
always fussing and fuming. Hope he hasn’t upset Papa. I might have a harder time if Papa’s in a temper.

Lucienne strolled through the shadowy hall once more, making her way to her father’s office. A faint murmur reached her again, but this time she was sure the voices were only her parents. Mama would be going to the dining room to make a final check on the table settings shortly. Then Lucienne would have her chance. She slipped back into the shadows to wait once more. In a minute or so she heard the rustle of skirts and the quick tap of slippers on the painted wood floor as her mother continued her pre-dinner errands.

Lucienne assumed an anxious pose in the doorway of the office. A heady scent of cigars, taffia, and leather met her. René Toussaint bent over an open ledger, a finger knotting the loose end of his cravat. He inked a note in the long, narrow book.

“Could you put those boring old accounts away? Or would I be distracting you?”

“I’m always ready to be distracted by your sweet smile.” Her father pushed his chair away from the long table and the account books it held. “Come and brighten this dull room before your mama calls us to dinner. Is something worrying my Chou-Chou? Tell Papa.”

Lucienne hugged him, took the chair he offered, and spread her embroidered skirts over her lap. “Papa?” She put a wistful note in her voice. “Papa, are you sure marrying Armand Dupre is the right thing for me to do?” She twisted one end of her ribbon sash as if thinking through a troublesome subject. “I know you’ve considered it, but I’m just concerned what people might think, the Dupres being in trade and not planters like us.” In the social strata of Lucienne’s world, only planter families mattered, all others being distinctly lower in caste. “You don’t think our friends might look down on us for marrying into a trade family, or possibly shun any child I might have, do you?” As an argument, it was the strongest one she’d been able to devise as she schemed in her room all afternoon.