Authors: Moonlight an Memories
"Ah, well now, she's family, and we don't mind what we say among family. Her opinion of me will be less than flattering should you ask. Are you sartin you wish to let the mite loose on society?"
A light suddenly flared in Nicholas's eyes as he strode for the door. "I can't wait."
If Nicholas expected fireworks, he was to be sorely disappointed. Eavin warily accepted the arrival of a gray silk gown as being the proper attire for a child's guardian and not the kind of gift for a mistress. She wore it when Madame Dupré arrived to pay her respects, and sat silently while the two widows politely bared their teeth and neatly began slicing each other into ribbons. The arrival of several more society matrons enlivened the proceedings suitably, particularly when one of them was Mignon Dubois. Since Nicholas wasn't present, the widow entertained the company with tales of rustic life that made Eavin appear the ideal of every bumpkin in the countryside.
If Mignon thought to annoy Eavin, she found the wrong target. With none of the vanity of the rarefied society around her, Eavin found the company of the disparaged Jeremy Howell and Clyde Brown to be more edifying than that of the idle fops who called on the Widow Dubois. She merely smiled at the stories and stabbed her needle into her embroidery. She was having serious doubts whether or not it was worth bringing Jeannette out in this society. Perhaps she ought to leave that to Nicholas's future wife.
That thought didn't help her mood any. Perhaps she ought to consider Jeremy's proposal seriously. Or perhaps she ought to look around for a man who already had children and needed a wife. That was an appealing idea— much better than imagining Nicholas marrying and his new wife taking over the raising of Jeannette. Just the thought of sharing a house with someone like Mignon Dubois curdled her insides.
But when Eavin went downstairs later, after everyone was gone, to find Jeannette laughing and holding her hands out to her, she knew why she had taken this ridiculous position. Because Jeannette needed her.
The child had no one, and she needed the love that Eavin had in quantities to spare. Mignon Dubois would never love her as Eavin did. Whatever the future held, she could not see herself parted from the child who was as much part of her heart as the child who had died.
So when Nicholas sent up orders that she wear one of the evening gowns he had bought her to dinner, Eavin made no protest. Whatever else he was, Nicholas played the part of Jeannette's father well, and she would do whatever was necessary to keep him happy so she could stay.
When she arrived downstairs, she discovered a package set beside her place and his mother's. The men were already at the table discussing the spring planting, but Nicholas turned expectantly when both women arrived almost simultaneously.
Gesturing toward the boxes, he said, "I am making my apologies for my earlier behavior. I would see you in new gowns made up with that. I fancy the ladies of New Orleans will be green with envy shortly."
Eavin opened the lid to a froth of delicate lace and stifled a gasp. Madame Saint-Just opened her box, sniffed, and gave her son a look of loathing.
"Valenciennes," she muttered, as if the one word contained her gratitude.
Having no idea what the word meant, Eavin could only murmur startled thanks and look with bewilderment to her brother, who said nothing. Since he didn't seem to approve or disapprove, she assumed there was no more to the gift than Nicholas had said. Glancing at him, he seemed to have already dismissed the matter and gone back to his earlier discussion.
It wasn't until several days later, after she had sent the lace to the dressmaker and found it returned as a trim on an elegant morning gown of ice-blue kerseymere, that Eavin began to suspect the origin of the gift.
She hated the necessity of wearing the restrictive corset the slender silhouette of the gown demanded, but she thought the lace a lovely touch to disguise the rather low neckline for a morning gown. It wasn't until the very first of their callers to the very last exclaimed over the "Valenciennes" that Eavin understood the rarity of the lace.
"However did you come by it?" Madame Dupré gushed with more boldness than the others as she jealously fingered the fine stitching.
Giving Madame Saint-Just's stony expression a swift look, Eavin defiantly settled for a lie. If this lace was as valuable as their callers seemed to assume, she wasn't about to admit to its source. "It is a family heirloom," she murmured.
A glance at Madame Saint-Just revealed a reluctant gleam of approval from that lady's eyes, and despite the protests of disappointment from the other ladies, Eavin felt satisfied with her leap of this hurdle. Since Nicholas's mother showed no evidence of having followed his orders in having her lace made up, she could only wonder at the source of the acquisition.
The question was resolved to some extent a while later as Nicholas arrived with the departure of the last of their guests. Tall and suavely handsome in his navy frock coat, he made his bows to the departing guests, smiling at Mignon Dubois but resisting her overtures, revealing none of his impatience as the ladies carried their chatter outside and closed the door behind them.
When they were gone, he eyed the froth of lace on Eavin's gown with approval, and she felt as if his gaze saw through it to what she would have concealed. She diverted the sensation by taking the offensive.
"What is this Valenciennes that they so covet it?" she demanded.
Nicholas's lips turned up enigmatically as his mother irately took up the subject before he could reply.
"Smuggled, is what it is! It's from France, and no ship is supposed to deal with France. My son means to see us all in prison."
Nicholas showed no evidence of disapproval but merely smiled at his parent before returning his gaze to the object of their discussion, or to the one wearing it. "You do not object to the goods that smuggling can buy,
ma mère
. Eavin has only advertised the fact that the lace has arrived. No doubt every woman who left here this morning is on her way to the dressmakers to demand that the shipment be located. The law is a foolish one made to be broken. How did you explain your adornment,
ma petite
?"
Madame Saint-Just smiled triumphantly. "She said it was a family heirloom. I do believe Madame Dupré thought Francine's clothes were the contributing source."
Nicholas frowned at his mother, but the smile he gave Eavin was sufficient to melt her bones had she been innocent enough to believe it.
As it was, her heart beat faster, even though she knew his smile never reached his eyes.
"You are a clever liar, Mrs.
Dupr
é
,
but your story will fool no one. Come, let us see how Jeannette fares." Nicholas held out his arm for Eavin to take.
She took it reluctantly, all too aware that once they went down the stairs there was no one to come between them but a child and her nurse, and they were no protection at all. Still, she had no reason to believe that she needed protection from Nicholas, and she followed him obediently out of his mother's sight and hearing.
"I have had a letter from Jeremy saying he wishes to talk to me about you. Do you have any knowledge of what this is about?"
His voice was smooth, without any edge to indicate his feelings. Eavin cursed the sophistication that allowed Nicholas to hide his thoughts while all she felt appeared instantaneously to the astute observer. She prayed he didn't know her breasts still tingled where his gaze had rested or that his masculine proximity in the narrow landing aroused unwarranted emotions. Damn the man, but where any other man's touch left her cold, just his look made her hot.
"I do," she stated flatly, not meeting his eyes but attempting to continue down the stairs.
Nicholas's hold on her arm didn't permit it. When he said nothing, Eavin was forced to look up. The muscle over his cheek was pulled tight, and she would swear that the amber of his eyes glowed in the dark, but she felt none of the menace or alarm that this same situation would have caused had he been another man. He had very effectively disarmed all her defenses.
"He wishes to marry me." Eavin didn't try to interpret the slight flaring of his nostrils at this news. "I have told him he would do better to talk with you before addressing me." She lowered her eyes, unable to face him with her plea. "I would ask that you explain to him the circumstances. I'm not certain that I can."
Nicholas's grip on her arm relaxed. "Jeremy is a good friend. I would not see him hurt. He is a cherished only son, and his family expects him to marry well and produce many heirs to their property. I will speak with him."
"Thank you." Annoyed at the gratitude in her voice, Eavin started for the stairs again. She had just flung away her only chance of ever leaving this arrogant man; why in heaven's name she should be grateful was beyond her capacity to understand.
Nicholas pulled her back to his side. "That does not mean you must never marry." Her startled gaze whipped up to him and he smiled grimly. "If it is a husband you wish, I will introduce you to several good men who already have children. It is not always easy for a man to find a good mother for his children. Most women prefer their own, and this causes dissension when there is wealth to be divided."
Her heart was pounding erratically again, but Eavin couldn't place the blame anywhere in particular. The intensity in Nicholas's eyes wasn't unusual and had no meaning. The stair was narrow and she had to stand close. The hated corset pushed her overlarge breasts upward too prominently, and she felt as if she were rubbing against his waistcoat as they stood there. There was no reason she should feel the tension mounting between them. He had just made a generous offer, and she was about to refuse him. Why should that send her heart to pounding like a jungle drum?
"Your kindness is appreciated," she replied stiffly, "but I have no intention of marrying ever again."
With that, she shoved past him and proceeded down the stairs, the back of her narrow gown swaying.
Chapter 13
The damp wind blew Eavin's curls loose as she straightened her new bonnet and tried to keep the straying strands contained. She loved the elegant velvet of the spencer and only wished it could be that daring wine color she had seen in the shop window instead of the more modest dark green. But in a city where married women seemed to adopt black for the rest of their lives, she felt exotic enough in green.
The bells of the cathedral tolled overhead, and she relished the sound as she took Michael's arm and followed his lead. As a city, New Orleans might seem foreign, but mass had the same familiar sound as home, and she felt better for having gone. Making confession to a French- speaking priest had been awkward, but the familiar Latin phrases had served her well, and she had survived the ordeal better than she had expected. Perhaps the priest had not understood her admission of sins of lust. Her penance had been extraordinarily light.
Michael apparently had other plans besides lingering among the well-dressed crowd to greet acquaintances and gossip. He led her through the Place d'Armes to avoid the congestion, and Eavin turned her admiration toward the parade of people along the levee.
It was Sunday, and even the slaves had earned a day of rest. Elegant gentlemen in beaver hats and frock coats walked side by side with Africans in homespun and riverboat men in earrings and braided hair. Elegant ladies with parasols contrasted with free women of color in their bright
tignons
. In the distance she could hear the pounding of drums, and she ached to follow the sound, The music of New Orleans was a constant source of delight, almost as exhilarating as the improbable combinations of people.
Eavin's grip on Michael's arm tightened as she thought she saw the sun strike against the glitter of golden hair as a gentleman doffed his hat in greeting to one of the women of color. Few in this city had hair the color of Nicholas, and only he would be eccentric enough to doff his hat to a woman not considered to be a lady. Curiosity fastened her gaze on the sight as Michael unknowingly led her closer.
The woman had the graceful posture of a queen as she tapped her fan on the gentleman's coat. The
tignon
, meant to make her less attractive than the ladies in their beribboned and feathered hats, had the opposite effect, emphasizing her high cheekbones and accenting her creamy complexion. The hair covering with its exotic colors matched her fashionable gown. When the gentleman turned to take her arm, Eavin could see for certain that it was Nicholas.
Eavin's grip on his arm made Michael look ahead, and with a growl of irritation he immediately swung his sister down the next street.
"Is that his mistress?" she asked as they entered the shadowed street between three-story buildings.
Michael turned his irritation toward her. "You're not supposed to know about such things."
"Don't be ridiculous. What else do you think the ladies talk about when they're together? I know all about a certain newlywed gentleman who refuses to give up his mistress on Rampart Street. It is an enormous scandal and has produced any number of fascinating stories. Apparently it is considered quite acceptable for an unmarried man to keep a woman of color. I suppose that makes them think their precious daughters are safer if men have other outlets."
Michael's brotherly scowl had no effect on his sister's serene demeanor. "I ought to send you back home. This whole damned city is an immoral woman, and you're becoming too much like her. I hold Nicholas to blame. He's too free in his speech with you."