Paulette pranced forward, her hands clasped childlike before her chest. “You areMonsieurTalverton,no?"
“The same. And you must be Miss Chaumonde.”
Paulette cocked her head coquettishly, her dark lashes descending slowly to brush her pale cheeks, then opening wide as she stared invitingly up at him. “I am flattered you know of me.”
“Excuse me, I have been frightfully remiss,” broke in Mr. Danielson. “I should have introduced Hugh straight off. I’d like you to meet Mr. Hugh Talverton of Bedfordshire, England. Hugh, this is . . .”
Vanessa only half heard the rest of the formal introductions he made and was barely aware of her mechanical response, for her mind was in a turmoil. Hugh Talverton! How could she have failed to discern his identity? Easily, she thought with chagrin, remembering her image of an aristocrat. This gentleman almost entirely defied her mental description. The only aspect she appeared to have correct was his arrogance. She glanced over at Trevor Danielson, a stricken expression in her eyes. Could he forgive her rudeness to his friend?
She glanced back to where Mr. Talverton was talking with her mother, and her heart hardened. The man was arrogant and conceited. No true gentleman would dare to laugh at a lady’s distress. He was trading upon his aristocratic birth for absolution for his sins. Well, this was the United States, not England, and he’d learn soon enough his birth was not worth a tinker’s pot in this country! The faint trace of a smile curled her lips as she contemplated his probable downfall.
An errant cool breeze suddenly reminded Vanessa of her bedraggled state, and she knew she had more immediate concerns than the looked-for just deserts of one arrogant Englishman. She glanced down at her mud-streaked gown. With a sigh, she realized it was ruined. She could not possibly account herself a leader of fashion in such attire, she thought wryly.
When Paulette, talking animatedly, again captured Talverton’s attentions, Vanessa drew her mother aside.
“Mama, I must return home to change, but I do not wish to delay the others’ enjoyment of the ball. May I take Jonas to escort me?”
“Oh, my love, I did not think . . . . Here, let me look at you. Yes, you are right, it will never do,” she said, squeezing Vanessa’s hand in understanding. “But I do not know . . . . Let me think a moment.”
“But . . .”
“Shush,” her mother offhandedly said while tapping her chin in thought.
“You two are as close as inkle-weavers. What are you nattering on about?” Mr. Mannion was in bluff good humor, for he had discovered during his brief conversation with Hugh Talverton the magnitude of cotton he was authorized to purchase should the quality of this year’s harvest prove satisfactory. He felt he had stolen a march on the other cotton factors in the city and was extremely satisfied with himself and his new potential client. Financially, it couldn’t have come at a better time.
“Vanessa must change her gown, for this one is ruined,” explained Mrs. Mannion.
“Nonsense, dirt and mud are facts of life in this city.”
Vanessa opened her mouth to protest, but her mother forestalled her. “Mr. Mannion, though you are correct,” she said patiently, “we must consider your prestige. It would hardly stand in your favor for one of your daughters to appear at a ball as dirty as a street waif.”
“I suppose not,” he said reluctantly.
“Vanessa wishes to return home to change, but I don’t believe that will be necessary. If this were one of the subscription balls, that might be our only recourse, but as we are going to the Langleys’, I propose we send Jonas to fetch another gown and bring Leila back to help dress her. Mary Langley is such an understanding soul. I’m confident she will provide Vanessa with a place to clean up and change.”
Mr. Mannion nodded. “Sounds like a capital idea. Jonas!”
“Yes, sir?”
“Mrs. Mannion has an errand for you. Now, Vanessa,” he said, drawing her aside while her mother gave instructions to their butler. “I want you to be polite to Mr. Talverton and make amends for your inconsiderate behavior.”
“What? But Father . . .”
He turned away from her, approaching the rest of the company with his arms outstretched as if to encompass them all. “Let’s not stand on this damp street corner all evening. Mr. Talverton, would you be good enough to give my daughter Vanessa your arm? We don't need any more accidents.”
“I would be delighted,” he returned smoothly, his mouth kicking up in an amused smile as he noted Vanessa’s open-mouthed shock at her father’s audacity.
“And may I take your other, Mr. Talverton?” Paulette asked, tucking her hand in the fold of his arm. “Me, I am certain that a man of your, ah,” She paused, her eyes ranging over his broad frame. “. . . substance, could easily support two women.”
Vanessa blushed hotly at Paulette’s blatant perusal of Mr. Talverton’s form. He merely laughed and gave his consent. Mr. Danielson offered Adeline his arm, and in short order, the company was off again.
Vanessa walked stiffly, silently seething at her father’s machinations, for it was apparent he was blind to all matters save business ones. Mr. Talverton’s business must be substantial to elicit such cheerfulness from her father. She glanced up at Mr. Danielson’s friend, a pensive gleam in her eyes. He sensed her gaze and turned to look down into her face, and for a moment, their gazes locked. Vanessa felt a flash of that same tingling she’d experienced earlier. He must have seen something of it in her face, for a faint, quizzical look crossed his features. She abruptly looked away, training her eyes to the ground as if she were studiously watching her steps. She was relieved when Paulette, fairly hanging on to his other arm, reclaimed his attention, and he turned those unfathomable leonine eyes away from her.
Chapter 3
“This is our destination?” Hugh Talverton asked incredulously.
Vanessa stiffened at his arrogant tone and was forming a properly cutting return when Paulette answered.
