Bal Masque (7 page)

“I’ll send Marie along, Grandmère,” Lucienne replied dutifully, and kept her stifled laugh to herself.

Once their grandmother had swept her long skirts up the stairs and strolled into the shaded bedroom at the back of the house, Lucienne held out a hand to her cousin. “Come up to my room and let me show you the things Armand brought me.” She was certain, after the exchange with Madame Thierry, no one could pass up such an opportunity.

“Oh, may I see the pearls?”

“I’ll even take them out so you can touch them,” Lucienne promised. “They feel so warm against your skin. Armand says they carry the warmth of the woman who wears them.”

“Isn’t that poetic?”

The girls whispered and smothered giggles as they scurried along the gallery and into the dimmer bedroom. With as many dramatic flourishes as she could devise, Lucienne showed her cousin the length of lace, fluttered the frivolous fan, and displayed the elegance of her locket and ring.

“Armand spared no expense, did he? The locket alone must have cost the earth, never mind the ring.”

“Papa said he would expect nothing less of a Dupre. The family honor demands it.” Lucienne tidied away the bundles, then drew out the longer box and carried it to the bed. Making a great show of pulling aside the dark velvet cover, she lifted out the brooch, then the bracelet, and put them in her cousin’s lap. Pierrette stroked the brooch against her cheek and wrapped the bracelet around her wrist.

“You’re right, they do feel as warm as my hand.”

“And look at this necklace.” Lucienne let it spill across the pink lawn of Pierrette’s skirt. “Did you ever see anything so elegant?”

“They’re pink, they really are. Oh, Lucienne, he must be so devoted to you to make such a generous gift.”

The thought made Lucienne decidedly uncomfortable. “It’s the traditional gift that his family brings to each bride.” Not wanting to linger over the pain she felt at parting with the pearls, she began to gather up the glowing jewels. “If you had come out first, they might have been yours. I think Papa Dupre would have been as pleased to have you in the family as he is me.”

For a moment Pierrette’s cheeks flushed at the idea, but she quickly waved it away. “Oh, no,
chèrie,
I’m sure he always preferred you. In any case your dowry is larger, because you’re an only child. While I have brothers to share Papa’s holdings, you will be your papa’s only heir.” She reached out to take Lucienne’s hand. “Besides, you are so much prettier than I am.”

Secretly, Lucienne agreed. Pierrette was like a smudged copy of her vibrant cousin. Where Lucienne’s hair was the blue-black of a raven’s wing, Pierrette’s was more like a charcoal cloud. Lucienne’s black eyes sparkled with vivacious wit, but her cousin’s glowed a gentle pansy brown. Though their coloring was similar, Pierrette seemed softer, rounder in feature.

“No young lady of the parish is prettier than you,” Lucienne assured her mendaciously.

“I will remind you of that on your wedding day and see if you don’t disavow that kindly lie, sweet Lucienne.”

“Enough.” Lucienne put the tempting parcel away. “Your own wedding will be coming before too long. Have you cast an eye on any fortunate man yet?” She knew Uncle Gaston had given three or four young swains of the parish leave to call.

“I’m sure Papa will make a wise choice for me. None so handsome as your Armand, of course. But there is only one Armand Dupre, more the pity.”

“Oh, enough of this moon talk.” Lucienne grew weary of having the Dupre virtues paraded. “Let’s go and sit in the gallery. It’s comfortable there, with the afternoon sun warming it. You can tell me about the new gowns you’re ordering for the spring balls, and the gossip down your way. You always know all the interesting news.”

The girls took chairs at the far end of the long gallery, where they could see young colts romping in the paddock beyond the road. René Toussaint and his brother-in-law leaned on the distant rail fence, and past them Price directed three husky black men lifting dressed stone into place for a new well house.

“
Tante
Charlotte told Mama that someone had been filching things from your storehouse.”

“Oh, Mama is always worrying about something. I think she was more upset because some of Papa’s special wine was gone. He’s been raising the very devil with her and everybody else over that. I heard him tell Price to find out who did it or plan to have the cost taken out of his wages.” Lucienne wondered why Pierrette bothered to listen to such day-to-day details.

“When we have households of our own to run, I suppose we’ll have to be just as vigilant as our mothers about such things. It will be our responsibility.” Pierrette looked out toward the workmen. “You don’t think that Tante Charlotte blames the overseer, do you? He’d have the best chance of taking things, since he’d know when the storehouse was unlocked.”

“Oh, nobody would suspect Price. He pays no attention to small matters. Papa says he’s too busy running from here to there and back again. He has bigger things to care about. Getting the cane planted and seeing to the crop and the cutting takes all his time. He’s too busy to steal. And why would he? He and Dorcas have a good life here.” Lucienne brushed a lazy fly away. “I know Mama worries about all those bits and pieces of housekeeping, but I think I’d just scream if I had to do it.”

“Armand will expect a wife to be vigilant and take good care of his home.”

“Surely he doesn’t think I’ll count bags of flour and bolts of calico. I’m no shopkeeper.” A soon as she said it, she knew that was exactly what Armand would expect.
I won’t waste my life on such deadly chores.
I want more in my life than the kitchen and pantry of some man’s house.
Lucienne recognized another fine reason to marry elsewhere.

The men watching the colts turned and started for the house. Lucienne saw her father wave and a moment later two women, the girls’ mothers, so alike at this distance one could not be distinguished from the other, came from the far side of the house.

“Our parents are coming in. It must be about time to wake Grandmère.” Lucienne felt relief at having a reason to change the subject. “We’ll be dressing for dinner pretty soon. I’ll call Marie.”

Lucienne debated with herself all through dinner how she would induce her cousin to take part in the elopement scheme. One idea after another flitted through her brain, only to be discarded. Not until the two girls were settled in Lucienne’s wide bed, with the long sheer netting dropped to keep out inquisitive insects, could she seriously approach the topic.

“Pierrette, is there any particular young man among the ones Uncle Gaston approved who takes your fancy?”

“Oh, they all seem much the same to me,” Pierrette admitted. “None of them are reprehensible or repulsive to look at. All of them are very courteous and gallant. Maybe one is richer than another, but I wouldn’t know about that. Papa takes care of those things. Not one is as charming or well-featured as your Armand, of that I am sure.”

Lucienne drew a breath. “And you would be far happier if Armand were among the ones your papa was considering.”

“Oh, it would be unseemly for me to even comment on that.” Pierrette turned away.

Lucienne clasped the linen-covered shoulder beside her. “Pierrette, I’m in such awful despair, and I have no one I can talk to. Can you help me, please? At least listen to my plight.”

Spilling over with sympathy and concern, Pierrette sat up among the pillows. “What has you so disturbed, Lucienne? How can I help?”

“I can’t marry Armand, Pierrette, I simply can’t.” Lucienne let a soft sob fill her throat. Along with a gift for mimicry, she had the ability to shed a tear or two when tears were called for. “I’ve loved Philippe Pardue for as long as I can remember. And he loves me. If Papa hadn’t rushed to accept Armand, Philippe would have asked for my hand. But the decision was made too quickly; I couldn't persuade Papa to wait.”

“And you really don’t care for Armand at all?” Pierrette sounded amazed at the thought.

“No, no, not at all. I’ve tried every way I can think of to end the engagement, but Papa won’t listen.” She clasped Pierrette’s soothing hand. “But you can save me from this horrible nightmare, sweet cousin.”

“I? How could I do what you can’t?”

Lucienne wadded her pillow so she could sit higher in the bed. “You could marry him instead.”

Pierrette sat bolt upright. “I…I could…could marry Armand?”

“Yes, it would be so simple. At the wedding, in your butterfly costume, with the mask and everything, you could take my place. We’d send word down to the family that you weren’t feeling well sometime early in the day. Then, instead of me coming down to the parlor, you’d take my place. The dresses are so similar that no one would ever suspect, not even Grandmère, because she hasn’t seen either gown in almost a year. You’d stand in my place, Père Jean-Baptiste would read the vows, and at midnight, when you took off the mask, you’d be married to Armand. See how very easily these things might arrange themselves?”

“But where would you be, Lucienne? Where could you hide? You couldn’t get away with pretending to be me.”

“Oh, no, no, no, Pierrette. As soon as Marie goes to tell Papa I’m ready, you will slip out into the gallery. In the dark no one, not even Marie, will see the difference in the dresses. Once you’re out of the room, I’ll go down the back stairs and meet Philippe and we’ll elope. By the time you unmask, Philippe and I will be hours away and married.”

“Lucienne, what a daring plan! But I don’t think I’m brave enough to try it. I’d be sure to say something to create suspicions, and you’d be stopped.”

“Don’t be a goose, Pierrette. Think. We’re very much the same size. In almost duplicate dresses, after dark, no one will see through the disguise. You keep your voice low, as a nervous bride should, talk as little as possible, and it will be fine.” Lucienne brought up her most telling argument. “And you should have the man you care for. I know you love Armand far more than I ever would. We’d be doing it for the happiness of all concerned.”

“I don’t know, Lucienne. It seems a little dishonorable, an underhanded way to go about things.”

Lucienne bit back her irritation. She was offering the girl what her heart desired. Why did the little fool hesitate? Lucienne added one more bit of sugar, regardless of how much it pained her to mention it. “Just think, as Madame Dupre, Armand’s wife, those wonderful pearls will be yours. You’ll be wearing them at your own wedding, not watching me wear them.” Steeling herself to make the sacrifice she added, “They’ll look much better on you. I could see that when you held them this afternoon.”

“I do care for Armand.” Pierrette’s words were so low Lucienne strained to hear them. “I would never have said so as long as I thought he had your affections. But if you truly think Philippe Pardue will make you happy, I’ll do it. I’ll take your place and try to make Armand glad of the trick we played on him.”

“My good cousin, you’re better than a sister.” Lucienne kissed her cousin’s cheek in gratitude. Now things would work out the way she wanted.

“But I do hope Grandmère isn’t correct about the Blanchards dragging all the Bowie kith and kin into the feud. Duels are so dreadful.”

The jump in subject barely touched Lucienne’s mind. She was far too caught up in her own plans. Now that she knew that it was only that man Bowie involved, she’d lost interest.

“You don’t think Philippe will challenge Blanchard, do you? To a duel?”

Something in Pierrette’s tone caught her attention. Lucienne rolled over to look at her cousin in the pale moonlight that filled the room. “Philippe? A duel? Why on earth would he challenge Blanchard?”

“The Pardues are cousins of the Bowies. Surely you know that?”

Lucienne shook her head. If she had known that, she’d forgotten. Involved, extended family trees were too tiresome to remember.

Pierrette drew closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “That was what Grandmère didn’t say this afternoon, what I was trying to mention when she went back to talking about your wedding plans. Till she told the story, I didn’t know who was involved in the duel in town. Once she explained, I could see why Uncle René and Papa were trying to keep it from us. The Bowies and the Pardues are second cousins, but they’ve been close as brothers for dog’s years. That horse race, the one Grandmère mentioned, it was Philippe’s horse that Bowie rode. As host, Philippe couldn’t race, so they traded. They had a huge wager on it, and Blanchard knew it. He cost them a fortune with his cheating, but they can’t say anything because they were doing a fiddle with the betting.” She gripped Lucienne’s hand under the coverlet. “I hope your Philippe can stay out of it with honor, but with his cousin wounded, he may think he must challenge.”

Philippe dueling? Over that foolishness at the horse race? Surely he had more sense.
Mon Dieu
, if he fought, he might be maimed for life, or even killed on the spot. Philippe dead?
No, it would not happen.
She’d demand he apologize, make amends, admit he was wrong to try the stunt. He’d do what she asked, for love of her. Of course, he would.

Chapter Five:

Moonlight Confidences

Lilting strains of a waltz swirled around the dancers. For the small masquerade, the louvered doors had been left open so the veranda became part of the parlors and the dining room. A dozen couples, masked but wearing evening dress, paused as the last note faded into the rising chatter.

“It’s a lovely party, isn’t it, m’sieu?” Lucienne lowered her beaded mask and flipped her fan open. “And just warm enough to open the house, so we have enough room for dancing.”

“Most perfect, mam’selle.” Armand put his own mask aside. “We can hope for such excellent weather about three weeks hence.”

His reminder of the rapidly approaching date stopped her breath for a moment. “I don’t suppose it would dare rain on such an occasion.”

“Rain would never be so bold as to mar the event.” He gestured to a quiet corner. “Would you like to sit out the next set? Two cotillions should come before the next waltz, which you kindly promised to me.”

Armand was an excellent partner on the dance floor. He’d led her through the set with flawless grace. A betrothal did have a use, she told herself. It made it possible to dance with one very good partner somewhat longer, instead of a number of bad ones, without incurring the wrath of the matrons along the wall. As if summoned by her thought of bad partners, Lucienne saw her Uncle Gaston coming their way. He loved the cotillion, though he could never keep the dance figures straight. Sitting out a dance to wait for another waltz with Armand was preferable to keeping her toes out of Gaston’s way. “I would be most happy for a breath of air.”