“Really?” Charles said, grinning.
Vanessa blushed. “Paulette exaggerates, but it does seem both Mr. Danielson and Mr. Wilmot have been attentive.”
An indelicate snort came from the direction of the doors.
“Paulette!” Charles admonished.
“You would laugh, too, if you had seen her maneuverings. I did better when I was fifteen!”
“Eighteen is not much beyond that,” drawled Charles.
“It is compared to Vanessa,” exclaimed Paulette matter-of-factly. “Oh! Oh, look!” she cried from her post by the door. “It is Mr. Talverton!” She pointed eagerly to the tall, broad-shouldered figure coming down the street.
“Richard stopped by the other day and mentioned the gentleman. I should like to meet him.”
Paulette didn’t need any further encouragement. She opened the door, setting the entrance bell tinkling again. “Mr. Talverton!”
Hugh raised his head and turned to see Paulette Chaumonde exuberantly waving at him.
“Mr. Talverton,a moi, s’il vous plait!’ She urgently motioned him toward her.
Charles laughed and joined her at the doorway. Vanessa sighed and followed.
Hugh cocked an eyebrow in inquiry, though a smile curved his lips.
“Miss Chaumonde, what a pleasant surprise! What are you about today? I had not anticipated the pleasure of your company until this evening.” He drew her hand to his lips for a feather-light salute across her fingertips, then straightened, noting Vanessa’s presence.
“Miss Mannion, you also? This is a delight.”
Vanessa compressed her lips tighter, striving for a neutral visage. A broader smile split his lips as he noted her endeavor. She was not aware of how her features were a canvas for her emotions. He liked watching her shifting moods and unguarded moments, endlessly fascinated by the beauty they created on a pleasing, but not otherwise noteworthy, visage. He bowed low before her, his lips lingering longer on her hand. She pulled it peremptorily away, whipping it behind her, eliciting a chuckle from Hugh.
“Mr. Talverton,” she said primly, and Hugh immediately knew she was in her “propriety” mood. “I’d like you to meet someone. This is my brother-in-law, Charles Chaumonde. Charles, Mr. Hugh Talverton.”
“Brother-in-law, you say?”
“I had the good fortune to marry Vanessa’s older sister,” Charles said amiably, shaking Hugh’s hand. “Richard told me about you. He said you were here to buy cotton for a mill in England you have interest in.”
“Yes, there have been some intriguing innovations developed in the past few years that a few of my friends and I decided to invest in. Most mills are archaic and depend upon long working hours and child labor to provide profits. We’re hoping these innovations, coupled with better working conditions, will lead to a revolution in the mill industry by increasing productivity from the machines and the workers."
"An aristocrat with a social conscience?” sneered Vanessa. Instantly she regretted her ill-considered words, but it was too late to recall them. With dismay, she noted shocked expressions on Charles’s and Paulette’s faces at her rudeness, while a dark scowl turned Mr. Talverton’s face into a stony mask. She bit her lip, wishing she could be anywhere but standing before him. Her only recourse, she decided, was to brazen the situation out. She tossed her head up to look him straight in the eye, an eyebrow arching quizzically and a determinedly neutral expression sliding over the rest of her features.
Hugh almost burst out laughing. He saw chagrin sweep over her swiftly and recognized the moment the impudent wench decided to meet his ire boldly, though she knew herself to be impertinent. The woman was enchantingly transparent.
“What opinions you Americans have of us,” he drawled. “They are almost as ludicrous as our opinion that all Americans are ill-mannered, uneducated, bumptious louts.”
Vanessa blushed, and she swallowed the hot retort that rose in her throat.
Paulette laughed. “That is an opinion shared by numerous Creoles, Mr. Talverton. Before there were manyAmericainshere, all were calledKaintocks,and when children were naughty, our mothers and nurses would say:Tois, tu n’es qu'un mauvais Kaintocks!"
“Kaintocks?I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with the word,” admitted Hugh.
“Kentuckians,” reluctantly explained Vanessa. “Many of the keelboats coming to New Orleans start in Kentucky, and those keelboat men lead a rough life, so perforce they’re rough men.”
“Now we are much more democratic in our prejudice,” Charles said dryly. “There is a new song sung by children in the street. It goes:
’Méricain coquin,
'Billé en nanquin,
