Trevor Danielson paused, a faintly quizzical expression on his face as he glanced at his host. Then he leaned back in his chair and nodded. “This is the beginning of a new era for New Orleans,” he said slowly. “The city has always been a major trade center, but I think its importance is just beginning to be realized.”
“On what do you base your comments?” Vanessa asked, ignoring how her father’s grizzled gray brows had descended to form a thick iron bar above his eyes. Mr. Danielson was in an expansive mood, and she was going to reap what she could. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted her father was signaling to her mother, and her heart plummeted; nevertheless, she kept her attention centered on Mr. Danielson.
That gentleman failed to note his host’s increasing dissatisfaction with the tenor of the conversation and responded heartily to Vanessa’s question. “Why, on the number of Englishmen present in our city, Miss Mannion! There are also scores more on their way, I understand.”
Adeline Mannion gasped and clutched a napkin to her chest, her clear gray eyes staring wide out of her delicate heart-shaped face. “What? But I thought you said . . . Surely you don’t mean . . . .” she babbled in confusion.
“No, he don’t,” tossed out her father impatiently.
Amanda Mannion leaned toward her youngest daughter and patted her hand reassuringly. “Finish your dessert, Adeline,” she instructed calmly.
Vanessa closed her eyes briefly at her sister’s naiveté. Hers was such a quiet nature; she was often thrown into confusion.
Mr. Danielson, however, smiled gently at Adeline and responded in kind: “Have no fear, Miss Mannion. As I stated, the war is truly over, and I doubt we shall see another for the English are here to trade with us. They badly need our goods, particularly our cotton for their mills.”
Russell Wilmot laughed shortly. “And they’ll pay a pretty price, too,” he rasped, his dark voice like gravel grating against itself, sending an odd ripple of feeling through Vanessa.
“Oo-o-o,” Paulette Chaumonde breathed as she also reacted instinctively to the dangerous menace in his tone. She cocked her head to one side and directed her attention to Mr. Danielson, suppressed excitement evident in her eyes. “These Englishmen, are they aristocrats? I would adore meeting a real English duke or earl!”
“I’m afraid I don’t know of any dukes or earls in New Orleans, Miss Chaumonde,” he said kindly.
Her pretty bow-shaped lips formed a little pout of dissatisfaction.
“But, Miss Chaumonde, surely you don’t expect the aristocracy to dirty their hands in trade?” Mr. Wilmot mocked lightly.
Paulette tilted her chin up at him, her brown eyes flashing. “And why not? There are many here in New Orleans who still bear the titles of their families in France and Spain, and they are among the most successful in the city. They made this city long before youAmericainsarrived!"
"Paulette!” warned Richard Mannion.
“Pardon, Monsieur Mannion, mais il fait un affront."
"English, please, Paulette!”
“He insults the English aristocrats only!” Adeline put in quickly, her voice breathy and anxious, for she hated altercations.
“Actually,” Trevor Danielson drawled, drawing attention back to himself, “Mr. Wilmot’s comment no longer holds steadfast among the ranks of the younger peers. As a matter of fact, a friend of mine recently arrived in the city on business, and he’s the son of a viscount.”
Paulette shrugged philosophically. “I suppose a viscount is better than a mister.”
Vanessa shook her head wryly at her friend. “You are incorrigible, Paulette!”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Miss Chaumonde, but Hugh Talverton is only a mister.”
“But the heir to a title—”
“That goes to his brother and his brother’s sons."
"Phtt!” Paulette muttered dismissively. “Accidents may happen.”
Russell Wilmot gave a shout of laughter. “I hadn’t realized what a bloodthirsty wench you are.”
She shrugged and addressed Mr. Danielson again: “Nevertheless, thisMisterTalverton,” she said, rolling the word “mister” around in her mouth as if it were a distasteful bite of food, “he was to the manor born, no?"
“Well, yes.”
“Bon. Is he married?”
A slight smile appeared, despite Mr. Danielson’s efforts to contain his humor. “No, Miss Chaumonde,” he replied gravely, “he is not.”
