Paulette nodded. “Ah-h-h.” Her eyes were contemplative as she reached for her lemonade.
Vanessa delicately hid a smile behind her hand while her esteem for Mr. Danielson rose at his handling of Paulette’s enthusiasm without snubbing her for an obvious infatuation with aristocrats. Vanessa did not share her young friend’s awe of aristocrats. She had no respect for what she considered a parasitic society claiming veneration for an empty title versus a man’s deeds. She did admit Paulette probably came by her attitude fairly, for it was true that remnants of French and Spanish aristocratic families still lived in New Orleans, hanging on to their tattered emblems of glory.
Vanessa had long considered the Creole population of New Orleans to be frivolous and had often found herself condemning those she did not understand. With her older sister Louisa’s marriage to Charles Chaumonde, however, and now with Charles’s sister Paulette’s stay with them, while her father was away in Washington, she had been forced to revise her thinking. She had begun to develop a more sympathetic attitude toward Creole ways. Still, their preoccupation with social position and frivolity was daunting.
Amanda Mannion moved to rise from her seat at the table. “I think, ladies . . .”
Paulette interrupted her. “You will, of course, bring this Mr. Talverton to the Langley ball tomorrow evening.”
“Miss Chaumonde, he is in town to do business. I hardly think . . .”
“Mr. Danielson, if a gentleman wishes to do business in New Orleans, he must socialize in New Orleans,” Paulette chided gently, with a calm assurance and regal manner far beyond her eighteen years that drew reluctant smiles from the rest of the company.
Richard Mannion cleared his throat. “As much as it goes against the grain, I admit the child’s right, Trevor. Damn nuisance, but true. But let’s allow these ladies to withdraw. We’ve pounded their poor pretty heads with enough business for one evening.”
Vanessa raised her eyebrows in supercilious disbelief when her father glanced over in her direction but took his cue with good grace, rising smoothly to her feet.
“Over a glass you can tell us about this Talverton fellow’s business,” he went on, turning his head briefly to smile benignly at her.
She smiled sweetly in return and followed her mother, sister, and Paulette Chaumonde to the parlor.
“You were clever this evening, Vanessa.” Amanda Mannion straightened her russet silk skirts and settled herself next to Adeline at their quilting frame. “But I’m afraid your father is now so sensitive to your machinations that nothing gets by him.”
“Why does he wish to keep us wrapped in lamb’s wool? It is not as if I wish to enter his business. I just want toknow.” Vanessa paced in front of the quilting frame, her hands gesturing emphatically. “He never used to be this way when we were younger, but in the last three or four years he’s positively become a bear at the idea of our possessing any thoughts of our own.”
Her mother sighed. “I know, dear. I believe his attitude comes from growing up on a plantation.” She looked over at Paulette seated on a cream-colored jacquard sofa, painstakingly embroidering an initial on a small lace-edged handkerchief. “Do you have enough light, Paulette?”
"Oui, Madame.”
Amanda closed her eyes for a moment to deal with her exasperation. “English, speak in English.”
A mutinous expression passed briefly over Paulette’s face. “Yes, ma’am.”
Vanessa halted her pacing, her head tilted as she contemplated her mother’s last comment to her. “Mama, that doesn’t make any sense. He hated the plantation and couldn’t wait to leave.”
“Your stitches are a little large, Adeline. Look at mine.” She watched Adeline for a moment, nodded approval at her new efforts, then turned back to Vanessa. “I know that, but it was howhewas raised that he disliked, not how his sisters were raised.”
“Can’t you talk to him, Mama, convince him his attitude just doesn’t make sense?”
Amanda smiled ruefully. “I can try, but I don’t foresee success. Something drastic would have to occur before your father would allow his thinking to be modified.”
“Me, I think you are complaining unnecessarily,” proposed Paulette. “Here, I have much more freedom than other Creole girls. Most all are convent bred, and oh-so-strictly chaperoned.”
Vanessa crossed the room and sat down next to her. “Strictly chaperoned until they are at a ball, play, or some other social event,” she said ironically.
Paulette’s shrug was typically French. “One must still find a husband.”
The Mannion women laughed.
“Is that why you are so interested in Mr. Talverton? Is he a possible husband?” Vanessa absently picked up a tangled strand of embroidery silk, working it free of its knots.
“Certainement. One may not discount his eligibility. He has birth, we know from Mr. Danielson.”
“But no title,” reminded Vanessa.
“Ah, this is true; however, he has been raised to the manor born.”
“And that's enough?”
