Gallant Match (4 page)

The exclamation Sonia made under her breath was so sharp that her partner pulled back a little to gaze into her face. “A thousand apologies if I stepped on your toes.”

“No, no, I only—That is, I saw something that surprised me.”

“I'm relieved. A clumsy oaf I may be, but I usually notice when I crush a lady's slippers.” He turned in the waltz to follow her line of sight, watching as the sword master began to stroll beside the envoy, heading toward Tante Lily. “
Sacre,
but your aunt is setting up a flirtation with Wallace. She knows who he is?”

“You may be sure of it, at least by reputation.”

“She enjoys new people, your tante Lily,” her partner said gallantly.

It was true enough, particularly when they were male. “She also likes tweaking my father's nose.”

“Your mother's sister, I believe.”

“As you say.” Sonia's smile had a wry curl to it.

There had been a time when she had thought her father and Tante Lily might marry. It was not uncommon when a deceased wife's sister joined a household to care for children left without a mother. Not only did it satisfy the conventions that frowned upon an unrelated female living under the same roof as the widower, but it was assumed she would have natural affection for her charges. It hadn't happened. Tante Lily considered her brother-in-law remote and undemonstrative, which was
to say he was not attracted to her. Her father, for his part, thought her aunt lamentably outré in her ideas about child rearing and the place of women in the world, but tolerated her for Sonia's sake. Both disregarded the impropriety of the arrangement from a stubborn refusal to be bound by such nonsense.

Hippolyte sent another quick look toward the alcove. “If annoying your papa is what she's after, making Wallace free of his town house should do it.”

“I doubt she will go that far,” Sonia answered. “Most likely, she's curious. But you know the gentleman?” It didn't seem necessary to say immediately that she had already made the acquaintance of Monsieur Wallace.

“I've marched with him in the Louisiana Legion, even faced him on the fencing strip at his salon once or twice.”

The last was telling information since only the most promising swordsmen dared face a
maître d'armes,
or were allowed the privilege, for that matter. Hippolyte must be an accomplished fencer himself. “Your impression was favorable?”

“Oh, assuredly. He has the strength of a bear, the cunning of a wolf, and his great height makes his reach with blade in hand the very essence of terror.”

Her smile was wry. “An edifying description, I'm sure, but I meant as a person.”

“Ah.” Color rose from under Hippolyte's collar to make his cheeks ruddier than they had been before. “I wouldn't mind having him at my side when walking the streets on a dark night.”

“Praise indeed.”

His shrug was offhand, or pretended to be. “He's a straight one. All agree on that.”

“You don't find him a little uncouth?” She allowed her gaze to rest a bare instant, no more, on the Kentucky sword master who was now bowing over her aunt's hand.

“Pardon?”

“Because of his birth.”

Hippolyte shrugged. “He's not exactly a barbarian, seems to feel just as he ought about most things. A man of affairs, Monsieur Wallace. Though he held off opening a fencing salon until a mere two years ago, he has all the clients he can handle. And I saw him just this morning at Hewlett's Exchange, changing notes. That's the bourse preferred by the Americans, you know.”

“Did you indeed?” she said encouragingly. She might not care for what she was hearing, but it could benefit her to learn as much as possible about the gentleman in question. Not that she was curious in the same way as her aunt. No, far from it.

“They are saying he's resigned from the Legion, and after serving the best part of his four years in the city. Just when things are heating up and war may be declared any day, he's off to Vera Cruz.”

“Is that so strange?”

“It's odd to say the least, as he's always seemed determined to put his sword arm to use in a good cause. A man may be forgiven for suspecting the decision was brought on by some matter of importance.”

“Such as a need to leave New Orleans?” She kept her tone light, impersonal, as they spun gently in the dance.

“Or perhaps to reach Mexico. Since hearing of it, I've been racking my brains for something someone said to me about Wallace. Seems he came to the city on the trail of some scoundrel, a matter of a score to be settled.”

“Most peculiar.”

Hippolyte lifted a shoulder. “Of course, I could have it wrong.”

It seemed best to change the subject for the moment, else her interest might begin to appear too personal. “We have been hearing of war with Mexico forever. Some say it's inevitable. Do you believe it will actually come to pass?”

“Bound to. I mean, only look at what's happened since Texas was added to the Union last fall. First the Mexicans refused to acknowledge Louisiana's own John Slidell as the American envoy, threw his offer of forty million for California and New Mexico back in his face. Now their General Ampudia has invaded the strip between the Rio Grande and Rio Nueces with more than five thousand men, facing off against General Taylor and his battalions after their forced march from Fort Jessup to stop his advance. If they don't get into a scuffle, I'll eat my cravat. Once it starts, Congress will have to come down in favor of war.”

“And the Legion will be in the fight.”

“
Naturellement.
There's to be a rally at Hewlett's to enlist more volunteers and orders to march are expected to come down at any moment. Texas is entirely too near Louisiana, you comprehend. If we don't stop
them there, next thing we know we'll be fighting on our own doorstep.”

“Papa says the skirmishing at the Texas border is mere heroics with both sides flourishing swords and rifles at each other. Nothing will come of it, just as nothing has come of all the talk since Texas won its independence a decade ago.”

Hippolyte shook his head. “It's different this time.”

“But you will have to fight without the
Kaintuck
sword master.” Tante Lily, she saw, was fluttering her lashes at the gentleman as they exchanged greetings. The approval that lay behind that small flirtation brought the sting of betrayal.

“Just so.” Hippolyte paused, then went on with some diffidence. “I am curious, Mademoiselle Sonia. Is it the war that interests you, or is it Monsieur Wallace?”

Her smile was wan. “You have caught me out, I fear. What the gentleman might be like has some small bearing as he has been engaged to provide protection during my wedding journey.”

“
Quel dommage!
You are to be married?”

“But, yes, to Jean Pierre Rouillard, by the arrangement of my father. He is presently at Vera Cruz. Our vows will be spoken immediately upon my arrival with Tante Lily.”

“Your father doesn't travel with you then? I mean, as you have need of other escort.”

“Business affairs prevent him unfortunately.” She forced another smile. “No doubt it's this threat of war which makes him think Monsieur Wallace acceptable as an escort.”

“So his resignation from the Legion is explained. Who would not prefer such pleasant duty?”

“You are too kind. I'm sure his application for the position has nothing to do with me.”

Her partner made no reply as a pensive expression rose in his brown eyes. “Rouillard,” he mused aloud. “You know, I do believe…”

“Yes?”

“Nothing. It can't signify, I'm sure.” He gave her a dolorous smile as the music came to an end. “Permit me to extend my felicitations on your marriage and my prayers for your safety during the voyage to Mexico. I should be wary of allowing a lady of my family to embark for Vera Cruz just now, but I'm sure you will be well protected by Monsieur Wallace. And I trust I've said nothing to offend concerning the gentleman.”

An impossibility, Sonia thought; Kerr Wallace offended her to the greatest extent imaginable simply by being alive. She did not say so, however, but only accepted the congratulations and turned toward where her aunt stood with the sword master and his friend. But she was thoughtful, most thoughtful, as her footsteps carried her in that direction.

“Truly, it's a sad thing to be married against your will, Monsieur Wallace,” her aunt was saying as Sonia drew closer. “I speak from experience, you must understand. My own papa was so certain he knew best—but there, we won't speak of that.
Ma chère
Sonia has conceived a hatred of the idea beyond anything you may imagine. I blame myself, for it was I who introduced her to the
romances of Monsieur Scott and his ilk. She will become resigned to the match in time, as most of us do. Meanwhile, she can hardly be blamed for kicking against it, or for sighing over the dream of true love. A little headstrong she may be, but she has the kindest of hearts.”

The Kentuckian's answer was a deep and oddly musical murmur of politeness, far less audible than her aunt's carrying tones. Sonia made no attempt to understand it. “I fear you are wasting your time explaining my feelings to Monsieur Wallace. He can have scant interest in them, and none whatsoever in my heart.”

“Oh, I'm sure you are mistaken,” her aunt said, reaching out to take Sonia's arm and draw her close beside her. “He seems a quite reasonable gentleman.”

“For a
Kaintuck,
” Kerr said with a flashing smile.

Sonia stared, disconcerted by the teasing light in his eyes that gave them a silvery sheen, the brightness of white teeth against the sun-burnished hue of his face, the sudden appearance of a slash in the lean plane of his face that just missed being a dimple. The transformation was startling when she had thought him stern and forbidding.

“Just so,” her aunt replied to his sally, twinkling up at him in blatant flirtation. Nodding toward his companion, she said to Sonia, “
Ma chère,
permit me to make known to you the friend of Monsieur Wallace, Monsieur Christien Lenoir. His salon is next door to that of Monsieur Wallace in the Passage de la Bourse, if I have that correctly.”

“Perfectly,
madame.
”

The dark-haired sword master took the hand Sonia
offered, his bow as brief as her curtsy. The look he turned on her as he stepped back was searching, though his expression gave away nothing of his conclusions. His brows were dark slashes above deep-set black eyes, his features harsh yet noble in some ancient fashion, and his hair, innocent of the pomade that controlled the locks of most gentlemen, had the sheen of black satin. The curl of his well-formed mouth as he glanced at his friend at the end of his perusal seemed to have an element of pity in it.

The Kentuckian was not attending. His gaze was on Sonia, she saw, his lips parted as if he would speak. She thought he meant to ask her to dance. The sensation that entered her chest, like the dry fluttering of butterfly wings, was so disquieting that she swung, abruptly, toward her previous partner who had followed to stand just behind her.

“You know these gentlemen, I believe, Monsieur Ducolet.”

Tante Lily gave a small laugh. “
Mon Dieu, chère,
such an introduction. Monsieur Wallace, Monsieur Lenoir, this is Monsieur Hippolyte Ducolet.”

During the exchange of bows and acknowledgments of past fencing bouts, the next waltz began and the moment passed for joining the dancers. The Kentuckian seemed to forget the impulse, though his gaze that traveled over Sonia was dark before he turned back to Tante Lily. “Call me Kerr, if you please,
madame.
To stand on ceremony seems foolish when we will be thrown together in close quarters within mere hours.”

“I fear my friend considers any formality absurd,” Christien Lenoir said in dry tones.

“And so it is. People might as well not have first names here. A man and woman may share a bed for forty years, have a dozen children together, comfort each other in sickness and grief, and still call each other
monsieur
and
madame
when one of them lies at death's door. What could be more ridiculous?”

“Monsieur!”

Kerr looked at Tante Lily with a raised brow. “What did I say? Oh, the part about a bed and children. You'll forgive me, I hope, but surely that's the most telling point of all. Only consider if in the throes of—”

“We will not consider it, if you please!” Tante Lily tapped him on the arm, the words censorious though her eyes sparkled. “This politeness you so despise makes possible a pleasant life,
n'est-ce pas,
particularly in marriage. Where would we be if everyone said exactly what they thought and felt with no manners, no reserve or regard for the consequences? Why, men and women could never live together without quarreling. If they were not at each other's throats a week after the wedding, I should be very surprised.”