“Were you able to arrange matters for this evening satisfactorily?” she asked softly.
Vanessa, who was a step ahead, faltered, then proceeded slowly, straining to hear her sister’s response.
“Definitely,” she said, and there was a gleeful note to her voice. “And if I know our players right, it shall work out admirably.”
Amanda smiled and nodded.
“Coming, Mrs. Mannion?” Mr. Mannion called back as he stood at the entrance to their room.
“Yes, of course, dear. Louisa and I were merely discussing seeing little Celeste after luncheon.”
Vanessa’s jaw dropped slightly, but she closed it firmly as she looked between her mother and her sister. She knew perfectly well they were not discussing the baby, and she was very curious to know just what they were discussing. Her mind whirling, she dazedly followed Adeline and Paulette into the room they would be sharing.
* * *
“I’m impressed,” Hugh Talverton told Charles Chaumonde later that day as the gentlemen rested their horses under the shade of a large oak tree.
Charles leaned back on his saddle cantle and smiled contentedly. “I am a very fortunate man, sir,” he admitted. He turned to Richard Mannion. “And I account myself the most fortunate to have married Louisa.”
Richard grunted and scratched the side of his nose. “The gal is fortunate herself,” he said self-consciously.
Charles cocked an eye at Trevor, Russell, and Hugh. “Any other man who weds a Mannion will find himself likewise blessed.”
Hugh laughed. “You talk like a marriage broker.”
Unabashed, Charles nodded. “Can I help it? These sisters are very special to me. Ah, but with my own sister, I have a problem. That one is a hoyden and needs a strong hand.”
Trevor grinned at Hugh, but he ignored him and pointed to the field before him. “Is all your acreage planted in indigo?”
“Mostly, to my father-in-law’s everlasting dismay,” he said, casting a teasing look his way. “But I am thinking of switching over to sugarcane. Monsieur Baligny, my neighbor, and I are discussing the merits of sharing the cost of a sugar mill and refining our own sugar and that of other small plantation owners as well. There is talk in the government circles of imposing a three-penny tariff on imported sugar to boost local production and profit. I think it will pass; consequently, this would be a good opportunity for us.”
Behind him he heard Richard Mannion grumbling under his breath. Charles laughed. “Now, Richard, don’t take offense. If everyone grew cotton, we’d flood the market and ruin the land. Besides, you know it is much too wet here, and someone has to grow these other crops, or their scarcity would make their price too dear.”
Hugh looked out across the well-ordered fields and shook his head. “I’m still amazed. You are a lawyer and a plantation owner. What other trades are you involved with?"
"I’ve part ownership in a sailing vessel and am heavily involved with banking,” he said as he gently urged his horse out from under the shade of the tree and led the party back to the house.
Trevor laughed at Hugh’s slightly bemused expression. “Not at all like England, is it?”
Hugh shook his head as he followed the others. “No,” he said slowly, “but I admit I find myself a trifle envious,” he said as he kicked his horse into a loping canter, “for here, it is thegentleman’strade.”
Trevor rode easily beside him. “You should consider staying here. As you said to me last Saturday, there are fortunes to be made.”
He shook his head regretfully. “No, my home is in England.” Then he wondered why he said that, for he’d spent little time there since 1808. Was it the force of habit that called him home, or desire? He didn’t seem to know anymore.
As they approached the stables, they spied Adeline and Vanessa running and playing a form of tag with two small children. On the gallery surrounding the house sat Louisa, Amanda, and a rotund Teresa Rouchardier, Charles’s and Paulette’s aunt. Amanda was cradling a white-swathed form in her arms.
Trevor reined in and sat a moment on his horse as he watched Adeline with his children, a loving smile hovering on his lips. Hugh and Russell Wilmot noted his expression and looked in the same direction to see Vanessa laughingly pretend to miss a towheaded little girl she was supposed to tag.
Vanessa looked up to see the men dismounting, dismayed to feel her heart beating faster and a faint flush creep up her neck. She could not forestall it. She watched Trevor and Hugh approach, followed by her father, Charles and Mr. Wilmot, and her breath clogged in her throat. In wonder, she realized she had never really looked at Mr. Talverton before, so ready was she to condemn his every action. Now her breath was swept away. He was so handsome with the sun glinting off his sandy blond hair and the faint afternoon breeze lifting and gently ruffling its golden waves. His shoulders were broad, and his legs showed well-defined muscles through the tight fit of his buckskin breeches, yet still, he moved with fluid, catlike grace. Suddenly that strange tingling she felt before in his presence rippled through her, and she felt light-headed. To hide her confusion, she pulled Trevor’s daughter, Mary, into her arms and sank on to the greensward. She looked down at the little girl until her cheeks cooled and the tingling subsided.
Unaccountably, Hugh felt his heart sink to the soles of his feet when he saw the look Vanessa gave Trevor. He wanted them to be together, he told himself savagely. But a small voice asked him if that was true, why did he feel an aching emptiness at the thought? Then he realized if he saw that ardent exchange, Wilmot also did. He looked back to see Wilmot scowling darkly, a dangerous gleam in his narrowed eyes that were pinned on Trevor’s back. Hugh took a deep breath. Tonight, he would have to claim Miss Mannion’s attention as best he could, lest Trevor and Wilmot come to blows.
* * *
“I had to see you, to talk to you. This farce is becoming extremely painful.”
Adeline turned with a start, then smiled. She laid her basket down at the edge of her sister’s flowerbeds and extended her hands toward Trevor. “I, too, am finding it grievously difficult,” she admitted softly, her fingers curling into his.
