Unconvinced, Vanessa glared down at the gown. “How could I have chosen so poorly?”
“Vanessa, Vanessa, you are a silly goose,” teased her mother. “That is hardly like you. As Paulette said, that reseda color is all the fashion this year. I anticipate seeing several parlors and drawing rooms in the city redone in just such a color. You might account yourself a fashion leader."
"Please, Mama,” her daughter protested, closing her eyes briefly.
Adeline chuckled. “It is not as bad as you despair. You will still turn heads.” She turned to ring the bell sitting on a table by her quilting frame. It was answered almost immediately by theirgens de couleur libresbutler, a freeman servant. “Jonas, have Leila fetch my pearl choker, please.” She turned back to her daughter, straightening and fluffing one short puffed sleeve on Vanessa’s dress. “Your problem, my dear, is you have discovered how well you look in your French blue gown, so now, though you desire to wear other colors, you are forever making comparisons."
"I suppose you are correct. This is perhaps why I despise the ritual of displaying my attire before leaving for some social function. It gives me time for second thoughts."
"Bah! You think too much,” offered Paulette derisively.
“Falling to vanity, love?” her mother queried humorously.
Vanessa grinned. “My sins appear to be increasing with my age.”
“Then, for a certainty, you must marry lest they become worse!” Paulette declared.
Adeline and her mother laughed.
“Paulette!” Vanessa admonished indignantly, though she laughed, too.
“I say, what’s this?” Richard Mannion laid his newspaper aside and rose from his chair. “Such a cackle’s hardly proper for a ball.”
“Pardon, Father, yes, of course,” Vanessa managed, clamping her lips tight to stifle another laugh. She glanced at her mother, amazed at how quickly she regained her serene demeanor. Her mother caught her eye and slowly winked, nearly sending Vanessa into another paroxysm of laughter.
Richard Mannion crossed the room and opened the door just as Jonas arrived with the pearl necklace. He stood impatiently while his wife fastened the necklace around Vanessa’s neck and the others stood back to admire the effect.
“Well, let’s be off-then. We’re wasting a good portion of the evening, and I’ve promised to talk with McKnight. I want to meet this Talverton fellow, too,” he said.
“So should I!” cooed Paulette.
Mr. Mannion frowned, but Mrs. Mannion and her daughters bubbled with quiet laughter.
“But not for the same reasons as Father,” said Adeline with a giggle.
“You were right last night, Paulette,” Mrs. Mannion ruefully said as she ushered them out of the room. “Social engagements are bound to business. I fear I shall be lucky to have him stand up with me for even one dance this evening.”
Behind her, Mr. Mannion harrumphed.
* * *
The night was dark, but in the deeply rutted muddy streets, silver pools of water glistened in the light cast from lanterns held by the Mannion servants. The family picked their way carefully along the wood plank banquette made from old keelboats, patches of mud on the wood making slippery footing. Though fashion now decreed ladies’ dresses be above their ankles, the women still held their skirts a little higher to avoid marring their gowns. Their dancing slippers and stockings were carried wrapped in shawls, ready to be donned at their destination; on their feet, the sturdy boots they wore added an odd counterpoint to the elegant attire.
Vanessa followed behind her father, her eyes trained on the wood planks before her, though her mind was distracted. Last night her dreams had been fraught with confusion, and the first rays of dawn brought no welcoming resolution for those feelings. Before the dinner party, she had accepted Mr. Wilmot as her only suitor, their courtship proceeding at a steady if lackluster pace. She accepted the situation, her experience with men severely limited by the restrictions placed upon her by her father.
Until her sister Louisa contrived to meet Charles Chaumonde, the family had rarely socialized. They might as well have been living on the most remote bayou than in New Orleans. Thankfully, her elder sibling had been successful in prodding their father into entering the social milieu. Unfortunately, her whirlwind courtship and marriage left little time for the gregarious Louisa to educate her younger sisters on society's niceties and the New Orleans matrimonial mart.
Vanessa smiled to herself as she carefully skirted a large clump of mud on the walkway. Mr. Danielson spoke of the year as being prosperous for trade. In truth, it augured well to being prosperous for society as a whole. The city was growing, its entertainment delights increasing, and a new excitement was in the air. Just look at the type of people New Orleans was attracting-- English aristocrats! She couldn’t help but wonder about this friend of Mr. Danielson. Her image of an English aristocrat was of a florid-faced, paunchy, arrogant gentleman whose pastimes consisted of innumerable parties, gaming, and riding to the hounds, she thought with a smile.
After the Battle of New Orleans, she had met some Englishmen: young soldiers whose wounds she bound and who were for a time prisoners of war. But they were not aristocrats. The one aristocrat she met, a young officer with the veriest scratch upon his arm, had been an overfed obnoxious boor.
Vanessa looked up briefly when they reached the first of two streets they needed to cross. Her father extended his hand to help her and the others down the slick wooden steps, while Jonas hurried forward with his lantern to cast more light across their path. Vanessa perfunctorily thanked them and carefully picked her way through the muddy morass, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of Englishmen.
What would this Hugh Talverton be like? She owned she could not imagine a friend of Mr. Danielson being other than gentlemanly, but it had been a long while since they’d last spent time together. Wasn’t it something like eight years, when they were both still callow young men? A lot happens between planting the cottonseed and the cloth coming off the loom, and so it is with people when time, an ocean, and a different way of life separate them, she mused.
She studied a particularly wet and sloppy section of the street, cautiously choosing her steps.
"Richard!”Trevor Danielson’s voice halted them at close range.
