“I am aware of that. I think it is his aristocratic attitude I react to. I cannot tolerate that type of arrogance. It must be the Federalist within me,” she mused.
“No doubt.” Her mother smothered another smile, keeping her attention on her needlework.
Restlessly, Vanessa rose again and walked toward the tall French doors that let out onto the gallery overlooking the courtyard. She didn’t want to talk about Mr. Hugh Talverton, nor think of him for that matter. Maddeningly, he kept invading her thoughts. What she needed to contemplate was how to handle her suitors, how to evaluate their feelings for her, and how to judge her own in return. Those concerns should carry far greater weight than any thoughts of Mr. Talverton. She particularly needed to understand her feelings for Mr. Wilmot. It was unfair that she did not possess her elder sister’s confidence in dealing with emotions. She envied Louisa her fairy-tale courtship.
A deprecating smile hovered on her lips as she looked down into the courtyard. Adeline was there, gathering spring flowers as she seemed to do every day. Her favorite pastime was pressing flowers and afterward creating intricate floral designs under glass. Vanessa’s smile warmed, some of the tension leaving her body as she watched her industrious sister. Once again, the giant tomes in her father’s study would become repositories for fragile blooms nestled between pieces of blotting paper. Father had never come to understand Adeline’s hobby, but he had become resigned to the use of his library. Now, if he took down a heavy book from a shelf to show some business associate and a pressed flower fell out, he would casually replace it among the pages and proceed.
Adeline’s hobby had provided countless presents for relatives and friends. Sometimes virtual strangers, seeing examples of her work hung in the house, ventured to inquire where they might come by like works of art. Invariably, Adeline made the picture a gift to whoever asked, leaving a bare spot on the wall that was replaced with a new creation in time.
Adeline was like the flowers she loved: fragile, floral-scented, and beautiful. And perhaps also naive, fresh, and unspoiled with the hint of dew still on her petals. Nevertheless, flowers often took a severe buffeting from man and nature and survived. Watching her sister, Vanessa knew Paulette was correct; she could not leave Adeline to Mr. Wilmot’s less-than-tender mercies. While a man like him fascinated Vanessa for his financial success and aura of leashed power, he terrified Adeline. Vanessa wanted to understand the source of his power and magnetism. He aroused strange feelings within her, and she wondered if they might not be the precursors to love. If he would quit his possessive nature and strive to acquire empathy and concern for others around him, he might make an ideal husband. She knew she could do worse.
Tonight she needed to spend time in his company. It would not do for him to lose patience with her and disappear out of her life. A young American woman’s options for matrimony in New Orleans were slim, at best, within their social circle.
It was a pity Adeline did not have a suitor; she deserved her own happiness. Truthfully, she was more ready for marriage than Vanessa herself. Vanessa decided that in the future, she would have to account herself matchmaker for Adeline. Tonight, however, she did need her to accompany Mr. Danielson. Luckily, they had for years maintained an easy friendship. In many instances, Adeline talked more with him than with anyone! Of course, it was his children, whom she adored, that drew them to such familiarity.
That was another matter. Children. Vanessa did not know how she felt about the possibility of becoming the stepmother of two rambunctious children. With Adeline, they were like meek lambs, looking up at her with adoration. Adeline would be a favored aunt should she marry Mr. Danielson.
Could the warm, friendly feelings she felt for Mr. Danielson evolve into love? He and Mr. Wilmot were so different, but truthfully, Vanessa didn’t know which of the two she could love. To be quite blunt about it, Vanessa admitted she didn’t even know what love was.
She fiddled restlessly with the fringe on the drapery swag on either side of the French doors. “Mama,” she said over her shoulder, “how will I know when I’m in love?”
Amanda Mannion jabbed her needle into her finger, quickly raising it to her lips to nurse the afflicted member. “I beg your pardon?”
Vanessa came back to the sofa and sat down, her face earnest. “How will I know when I’m in love? I guess what I want to know is:What is love?"
Mrs. Mannion carefully slid her needle into the fabric so as not to lose it, then leaned back in her chair. “That is a difficult question to answer,” she began slowly. “It means different things to different people for it is a very personal feeling.” A dreamy reverie transfigured her face as she paused. She looked at Vanessa who was staring at her intently, anxiously awaiting her answer. A slow smile Graced Amanda’s face, setting her eyes glowing with memories and feelings. “When love comes, you will know.”
Vanessa closed her eyes and heaved an audible sigh. “That is not an answer, Mama.”
“I know, darling, but it’s all I can tell you.”
Her daughter opened her eyes and shook her head ruefully. “I once received much the same answer from Louisa. And her face wore the same vague expression as yours. As I cannot imagine myself in such an amorphous state, perhaps I am not destined to know love.”
Mrs. Mannion laughed. “Give yourself time, my love. You may be closer to it than you think,” she said enigmatically. Vanessa slumped back into the chair and lightly massaged her temples, feeling more confused and unbalanced. She needed to understand. It was one thing to know love intellectually, but it was another to understand it emotionally. She was beginning to realize the vast difference between the two types of comprehension, although that realization was no help in deciphering the puzzle. She would have to study other relationships carefully for clues while maintaining awareness of her own reactions. At the moment, however, her mind was too chaotic for further thought.
She gathered herself together and stood up, smiling wanly at her mother. “I cannot fathom it, but perhaps I am more tired than I thought. I believe I will lie down for a while.”
Her mother pulled her needle loose from the fabric and began plying it with quick, sure little stitches. “Perhaps that would be best,” she agreed, while a small stubborn smile kept playing across her features, refusing to be dimmed.
* * *
Vanessa knocked on the bedroom door to the room shared by Adeline and Paulette with a certain degree of trepidation. It was nearly time to leave for the theater; Mr. Wilmot was already below, and Mr. Danielson and Mr. Talverton were expected momentarily. She hadn’t known how to broach the subject of Mr. Danielson to Adeline, and she still needed to resolve that arrangement for the evening. She hoped her sister wouldn’t mind and go along with the plan. Though Adeline was a shy, quiet woman, she was noted for occasionally revealing a hidden iron determination and strength, like her beloved flowers, bending but not breaking in the wind. It was odd, Vanessa thought. Although she and her sisters were very different, Louisa the sociable one, she the serious one, and Adeline the kind one, they all possessed a stubborn strength. None of them would contemplate falling into a fit of vapors at shocking events, and they had all been among the leaders of the corps of women who aided the soldiers after the Battle of New Orleans.
Adeline opened the door, and so deep was Vanessa in her thoughts, she nearly jumped.
“Come in,” Adeline invited, stepping aside. “Leila is still working with Paulette’s hair, but we shouldn’t be too long.”
“I came to tell you Mr. Wilmot has arrived, and Father desires we make our entrance.”
“Has Mr. Talverton arrived?” Paulette asked, hardly daring to move while Leila coaxed an errant curl into place.
“Not yet.”
“Well, I, for one, will not descend until he does. I shall make a grand entrance on the stairs, and he shall look up and admire me.” She flung her arm out dramatically. “Ouch!” she yelped, feeling a sharp tug on a lock of hair.
Leila placidly waited for Paulette to settle down before continuing to pin her curls in place.
“And what are your plans for us?” Adeline inquired good-naturedly. “Are we to go down before you, or are we to wait until after you’ve made your entrance?”
