Patricia Rice (31 page)

"Madame Saint-Just and Madame Dupré!" she cried. Clutching Lucinda's arm for support and donning a brave smile, Eavin advanced upon Jeannette's grandmothers.

"Eavin, how good it is to see you again, I hope you will allow us a peek at our granddaughter before we join the company. Have you met..."
 
Hélène Saint-Just introduced her companions, drawing Eavin in with a proprietary hand.

Amazed at the woman's sudden about-face, Eavin fixed a smile on her lips and attempted to memorize the onslaught of names. Madame Saint-Just's obvious approval of her son's supposed paramour and Madame Dupré's intimate acceptance eased this first stage. Those of their party who spoke only French did so slowly, allowing Eavin to reply in kind. Perhaps it was the mention of the granddaughter that allayed their suspicions so swiftly, for the other women asked to be shown the nursery, too.

Jeannette was sound asleep when they entered, but the grandmothers insisted on holding her. Eavin felt a creeping selfishness that she and Nicholas had kept Jeannette from them so deliberately. Perhaps Madame Saint-Just had learned to accept the circumstances of Jeannette's birth, and the child was all Madame Dupré had left of her daughter. It had been cruel to keep them away.

When the women had all admired the sleepy infant and complimented Eavin on her care, they retreated to Eavin's room to repair their toilettes before descending to the hallway, chattering about the quaintness of Nicholas's living quarters. Madame Dupré insisted on taking them downstairs to show them the intricately inlaid secretary that Nicholas had given Francine, and they all swarmed into the master chamber to ooh and ahh over the new construction. Once they had snooped sufficiently, they prepared to join the others, quite content that everything was as it should be.

Nicholas caught them as they came out of his chamber, and Eavin had to stifle a giggle as she read the lifted eyebrow and glitter in his eye. He sent her an admonishing look that warned her she had better not make him laugh, before bowing over the hand of the eldest lady and moving on to compliment the next with the easy charm of his nature.

Actually feeling almost accepted for the first time since her arrival, Eavin enjoyed the conversation as they returned to the hall. Madame Dupré was murmuring to her about some embroidered dresses she had seen that would suit Jeannette to perfection. Madame Saint-Just regaled one of the other women with her son's plans to improve the house. Nicholas leaned over to hear the whispers of a pale girl whose hand rested on his arm.
 

It felt comfortable and familiar somehow, and Eavin had no resentment for the other girl's proprietary hold, for she knew Nicholas was only exhibiting the politeness he had been taught from an early age.

Eavin heard the galloping hoofbeats first. Over the noise of conversation and music, the sound was more a vibration, and she looked up to see if any other heard. She caught Nicholas's eye, and her hand instinctively reached for his arm. He squeezed it there but made no move to approach the front door as he exchanged some pleasantry with his mother.

The sound of boots clattering up the wooden stairs turned several heads, but no one was prepared for the furious appearance of the large Irishman in the doorway, his angry gaze sweeping the crowd until he located the one head lighter and taller than the rest. With a roar he launched himself through the throng.

"Unhand my sister, you bloody son of a bitch!" Michael's punch landed squarely on Nicholas's jaw.

Chapter 26

"Michael!" Eavin screamed, but both men were already beyond hearing.

As the circle of women scattered, Nicholas returned the punch, and the two were soon rolling on the floor in the kind of battle most Creole gentlemen considered unseemly.

"Fletcher told me what you said, you bastard," Michael ground out as he avoided Nicholas's pinning hold to throw him over. "You'll not make a whore out of my sister. Eavin's the marrying kind."

"I'm going to wring your neck when I get my hands around it," Nicholas growled, dodging Michael's kick and leaping to his feet to feint with his left and strike flesh with his right. "That Irish temper of yours is going to get you killed this time."

The blows grew more vicious as the threats progressed. Blood spurted from a cut above Michael's eye, and Nicholas's lip cracked and split under a well-aimed punch. The crowd in the hallway began to grow and change in mood. Men now filled most of the places where women had stood. No one looked at Eavin.

Clyde Brown was the first to arrive at her side. She had seen Jeremy lead his mother and sister into another room, and excused his absence. Alphonso had yet to put in an appearance. She knew next to nothing of any of the other men calmly watching the two men tear each other to pieces along with her reputation. She looked up at the lawman with relief. Before he could speak, she jerked out the gun hidden in the pocket of his coat.

A general gasp circled the room as Eavin took the stairs and pointed the pistol in the direction of the brawling men on the floor. The sudden silence marked only with the crack of bone against flesh did not catch the attention of the combatants, but Eavin's voice brought their heads up.

"My aim is good enough to know I'll hit one of you, and at this minute I don't give a damn which one it is."

Nicholas deflected Michael's blow with his hand, shoving him off and forcing him to look up at Eavin.

"I'm almost sorry that you stopped," she said maliciously. "I would have enjoyed shooting both of you. Michael, I wish you would go to your room and wash your mouth out with soap before you return to the company."
 

Eavin stalked down the stairs and slapped the pistol into Clyde's palm. She sent Nicholas a scathing glare. "And you, I'm ashamed to know." With a furious flounce of silk ruffles, she sailed out of the hallway and into the grand
salle
, where the musicians had stopped playing at the sudden exodus of male occupants.

Guests were preparing to leave. Eavin could see them signaling to the servants or their escorts, gathering up fans and shawls. Grimly refusing to allow the evening to be destroyed by Michael's misplaced grand gesture, she grabbed the arm of the pale young girl who had arrived with Madame Saint-Just. Guiding her toward the gallery doorway, she murmured confidentially, "Nicholas will kill me if I reveal his surprise for the evening, but you will not get the best place unless you find it early. Let us leave the men to their play."

Eyes wide with fear and excitement, the girl glanced over her shoulder toward the rumble of male voices in the hall, then up at Eavin. "Do you mean fireworks? I have never seen fireworks," she answered in a voice heavily accented with Spanish.

Excitement overcame her fear as she hurriedly followed her hostess. Much to Eavin's satisfaction, the girl's evident pleasure turned questioning glances their way. Nicholas's mother hurried in their direction, with her nemesis not far in her wake.

"Go on and find a place while I speak with Madame Saint-Just," Eavin whispered. The dangerous calm she felt overtake her as the girl hurried off to whisper to another of her friends was not natural, but Nicholas's mother would not know the source of the bitter gleam in her eye.

"This is a disgrace."
 
Hélène caught Eavin's arm and tried to lead her toward an exit. "We must get you out of here. Fetch Jeannette and I will call for a carriage."

Smiling, Eavin watched over the other woman's shoulder as a group of young girls began tugging protestingly at the arms of their parents, eager to follow their peers out onto the gallery. She turned a determined gaze on her former mother-in-law and waited until both women had stopped talking to reply.

"Retreat will only verify this idiocy. If you have any feelings for Nicholas whatsoever, you will help me set his ball to rights again. It is still a little early yet for fireworks, but I will send someone to begin them. The musicians must play something patriotic, I think. It had best be American first, then perhaps French. Let the men fight as they wish, but I would prefer it if the ladies would keep them calm. Are you with me or against me?"

Both women looked stricken at her audacity, but when it became obvious that Eavin would do it on her own, they quickly caved in, Madame Saint-Just first.

"For Nicholas, I will do this," she hissed, "not for you, and not for the child, do you understand?"

"I understand quite well," Eavin replied with the same unnatural calm of earlier. "I would do the same in your place."

That piece of ambivalent information did not necessarily appease her, but
 
Hélène sailed off into the crowd, catching an aristocratic old lady before she could leave the room, whispering something cajoling in her ear, causing the woman to turn expectantly toward the wide bank of glass.

Madame Dupré, not to be outdone, repeated the same maneuver with two other women on the point of leaving. Assured that the competition between the two women would work in Nicholas's favor for a change, Eavin hurried across the floor toward the musicians while signaling to one of the servants. It was almost dark enough for fireworks. Who said one had to end a ball with them instead of beginning one? Perhaps she would start a new rage.

But it was an old rage burning in her breast while she ordered the musicians to a resounding "Yankee Doodle" and watched the crowd hesitate. The men returned from outside, finding their ladies, and scowling or smiling as the American music echoed through the grand room. The sound of the first explosion of gunpowder directed their attention outside.

The young people on the gallery cheered at the display of colored light against the night sky. The music soared louder, and drawn by the cheering, more people edged toward the windows. More gunpowder exploded and the cheers went wild.
 

The musicians broke into the "Marseillaise," and even the crowd inside yelled their approval. An American, provoked by the French anthem or strong drink, crashed a chair against a wall. A Frenchman with sword drawn responded. But miraculously, a woman's soft voice cajoled one while the companions of the other pulled the combatants apart. The musicians, swelled with their success, attempted a Spanish theme.

The exploding reds and blues and golds lit the interior, fragmenting off the crystal chandeliers and captured in gilded mirrors. Almost a mystical atmosphere settled over the guests, and Eavin was certain it was Francine's gentle ghost prompting the musicians to play an elegant waltz. Few of the Americans knew the dance, but the Creoles seemed to know it by osmosis. The wealthy Monsieur Marigny led his partner onto the floor, followed by several of the more cosmopolitan residents of New Orleans. Before long, the grand
salle
filled with floating figures in silks and satins, and the crisis was ended.

Eavin knew the instant that Nicholas returned to the room. She knew he had to return, just as she had been forced to continue the ball. Appearance was everything to this society. She had done her part. Now let him do his.

Finding Clyde Brown, Eavin persuaded him to join her for the next dance. The fireworks ended and the young people filtered back into the room, providing a satisfactory crush. She didn't even have to look at Nicholas if she didn't want to. And she was too furious to want to. She was ready to explode with fury. It was much better that she keep moving and hold the anger in.

Nicholas watched as Eavin turned her back on him as soon as he entered the room and knew he had made a major tactical error. He had known it when he was doing it, but he had allowed too many insults to slide by in these last months of domestic life, and this one had set the rage inside him loose. He wasn't in the least bit sorry for breaking Michael's nose, the ass had deserved that, but Nicholas was genuinely sorry for what he had done to Eavin.

There was little he could do to make it up to her now, or possibly ever. Watching as she gaily slipped from Clyde Brown to Jeremy, not once looking in his direction, he realized how far she had come in this past year and how far she could have gone if tonight hadn't destroyed all her chances. But after tonight she would join the ranks of Mignon Dubois or worse, for Eavin didn't have the advantage of prestigious family or Creole ancestry to support her.

Avoiding the conflicting emotions that thought produced, Nicholas bowed over the hand of the nearest wallflower and proceeded to join the throng of dancers. Odd, that no matter how badly he behaved, it was no reflection on his reputation. Society excused men almost any indiscretion, but a woman had to be without flaw. Perhaps that was a way of admitting that men were weak and without character, Nicholas mused wryly. And he had a feeling that he wasn't going to prove anything different in these next few hours. The further Eavin moved away from him, the more determined he became to bring her back.

The gathering didn't break up until the wee hours of the morning. Nicholas stood in the doorway alone to see his guests off. Eavin had disappeared earlier, making it obvious that she was not hostess here. With the help of the servants he saw that the more drunken gentlemen were settled into the
garçonnière
for the night while the others were properly escorted to carriages and boats. He adamantly refused his mother's and mother-in-law's offer to stay for "appearances." They held their noses up and sniffed in disapproval and went off arm in arm for the first time in their lives.

When the last guest departed, Nicholas sighed in relief and shut the door. There was still one task left undone before he could seek the company of the one person he wished to see. With deliberation he headed for the small study and the man he had left pouring his sorrow into a whiskey glass.