Gallant Match Read online

  Her smile was wry. “An edifying description, I’m sure, but I meant as a person.”

  “Ah.” Color rose from under Hippolyte’s collar to make his cheeks ruddier than they had been before. “I wouldn’t mind having him at my side when walking the streets on a dark night.”

  “Praise indeed.”

  His shrug was offhand, or pretended to be. “He’s a straight one. All agree on that.”

  “You don’t find him a little uncouth?” She allowed her gaze to rest a bare instant, no more, on the Kentucky sword master who was now bowing over her aunt’s hand.

  “Pardon?”

  “Because of his birth.”

  Hippolyte shrugged. “He’s not exactly a barbarian, seems to feel just as he ought about most things. A man of affairs, Monsieur Wallace. Though he held off opening a fencing salon until a mere two years ago, he has all the clients he can handle. And I saw him just this morning at Hewlett’s Exchange, changing notes. That’s the bourse preferred by the Americans, you know.”

  “Did you indeed?” she said encouragingly. She might not care for what she was hearing, but it could benefit her to learn as much as possible about the gentleman in question. Not that she was curious in the same way as her aunt. No, far from it.

  “They are saying he’s resigned from the Legion, and after serving the best part of his four years in the city. Just when things are heating up and war may be declared any day, he’s off to Vera Cruz.”

  “Is that so strange?”

  “It’s odd to say the least, as he’s always seemed determined to put his sword arm to use in a good cause. A man may be forgiven for suspecting the decision was brought on by some matter of importance.”

  “Such as a need to leave New Orleans?” She kept her tone light, impersonal, as they spun gently in the dance.

  “Or perhaps to reach Mexico. Since hearing of it, I’ve been racking my brains for something someone said to me about Wallace. Seems he came to the city on the trail of some scoundrel, a matter of a score to be settled.”

  “Most peculiar.”

  Hippolyte lifted a shoulder. “Of course, I could have it wrong.”

  It seemed best to change the subject for the moment, else her interest might begin to appear too personal. “We have been hearing of war with Mexico forever. Some say it’s inevitable. Do you believe it will actually come to pass?”

  “Bound to. I mean, only look at what’s happened since Texas was added to the Union last fall. First the Mexicans refused to acknowledge Louisiana’s own John Slidell as the American envoy, threw his offer of forty million for California and New Mexico back in his face. Now their General Ampudia has invaded the strip between the Rio Grande and Rio Nueces with more than five thousand men, facing off against General Taylor and his battalions after their forced march from Fort Jessup to stop his advance. If they don’t get into a scuffle, I’ll eat my cravat. Once it starts, Congress will have to come down in favor of war.”

  “And the Legion will be in the fight.”

  “Naturellement. There’s to be a rally at Hewlett’s to enlist more volunteers and orders to march are expected to come down at any moment. Texas is entirely too near Louisiana, you comprehend. If we don’t stop them there, next thing we know we’ll be fighting on our own doorstep.”

  “Papa says the skirmishing at the Texas border is mere heroics with both sides flourishing swords and rifles at each other. Nothing will come of it, just as nothing has come of all the talk since Texas won its independence a decade ago.”

  Hippolyte shook his head. “It’s different this time.”

  “But you will have to fight without the Kaintuck sword master.” Tante Lily, she saw, was fluttering her lashes at the gentleman as they exchanged greetings. The approval that lay behind that small flirtation brought the sting of betrayal.

  “Just so.” Hippolyte paused, then went on with some diffidence. “I am curious, Mademoiselle Sonia. Is it the war that interests you, or is it Monsieur Wallace?”

  Her smile was wan. “You have caught me out, I fear. What the gentleman might be like has some small bearing as he has been engaged to provide protection during my wedding journey.”

  “Quel dommage! You are to be married?”

  “But, yes, to Jean Pierre Rouillard, by the arrangement of my father. He is presently at Vera Cruz. Our vows will be spoken immediately upon my arrival with Tante Lily.”

  “Your father doesn’t travel with you then? I mean, as you have need of other escort.”

  “Business affairs prevent him unfortunately.” She forced another smile. “No doubt it’s this threat of war which makes him think Monsieur Wallace acceptable as an escort.”

  “So his resignation from the Legion is explained. Who would not prefer such pleasant duty?”

  “You are too kind. I’m sure his application for the position has nothing to do with me.”

  Her partner made no reply as a pensive expression rose in his brown eyes. “Rouillard,” he mused aloud. “You know, I do believe…”

  “Yes?”

  “Nothing. It can’t signify, I’m sure.” He gave her a dolorous smile as the music came to an end. “Permit me to extend my felicitations on your marriage and my prayers for your safety during the voyage to Mexico. I should be wary of allowing a lady of my family to embark for Vera Cruz just now, but I’m sure you will be well protected by Monsieur Wallace. And I trust I’ve said nothing to offend concerning the gentleman.”

  An impossibility, Sonia thought; Kerr Wallace offended her to the greatest extent imaginable simply by being alive. She did not say so, however, but only accepted the congratulations and turned toward where her aunt stood with the sword master and his friend. But she was thoughtful, most thoughtful, as her footsteps carried her in that direction.

  “Truly, it’s a sad thing to be married against your will, Monsieur Wallace,” her aunt was saying as Sonia drew closer. “I speak from experience, you must understand. My own papa was so certain he knew best—but there, we won’t speak of that. Ma chère Sonia has conceived a hatred of the idea beyond anything you may imagine. I blame myself, for it was I who introduced her to the romances of Monsieur Scott and his ilk. She will become resigned to the match in time, as most of us do. Meanwhile, she can hardly be blamed for kicking against it, or for sighing over the dream of true love. A little headstrong she may be, but she has the kindest of hearts.”

  The Kentuckian’s answer was a deep and oddly musical murmur of politeness, far less audible than her aunt’s carrying tones. Sonia made no attempt to understand it. “I fear you are wasting your time explaining my feelings to Monsieur Wallace. He can have scant interest in them, and none whatsoever in my heart.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you are mistaken,” her aunt said, reaching out to take Sonia’s arm and draw her close beside her. “He seems a quite reasonable gentleman.”

  “For a Kaintuck,” Kerr said with a flashing smile.

  Sonia stared, disconcerted by the teasing light in his eyes that gave them a silvery sheen, the brightness of white teeth against the sun-burnished hue of his face, the sudden appearance of a slash in the lean plane of his face that just missed being a dimple. The transformation was startling when she had thought him stern and forbidding.

  “Just so,” her aunt replied to his sally, twinkling up at him in blatant flirtation. Nodding toward his companion, she said to Sonia, “Ma chère, permit me to make known to you the friend of Monsieur Wallace, Monsieur Christien Lenoir. His salon is next door to that of Monsieur Wallace in the Passage de la Bourse, if I have that correctly.”

  “Perfectly, madame.”

  The dark-haired sword master took the hand Sonia offered, his bow as brief as her curtsy. The look he turned on her as he stepped back was searching, though his expression gave away nothing of his conclusions. His brows were dark slashes above deep-set black eyes, his features harsh yet noble in some ancient fashion, and his hair, innocent of the pomade that controlled the locks of most gentlemen, had the sheen
of black satin. The curl of his well-formed mouth as he glanced at his friend at the end of his perusal seemed to have an element of pity in it.

  The Kentuckian was not attending. His gaze was on Sonia, she saw, his lips parted as if he would speak. She thought he meant to ask her to dance. The sensation that entered her chest, like the dry fluttering of butterfly wings, was so disquieting that she swung, abruptly, toward her previous partner who had followed to stand just behind her.

  “You know these gentlemen, I believe, Monsieur Ducolet.”

  Tante Lily gave a small laugh. “Mon Dieu, chère, such an introduction. Monsieur Wallace, Monsieur Lenoir, this is Monsieur Hippolyte Ducolet.”

  During the exchange of bows and acknowledgments of past fencing bouts, the next waltz began and the moment passed for joining the dancers. The Kentuckian seemed to forget the impulse, though his gaze that traveled over Sonia was dark before he turned back to Tante Lily. “Call me Kerr, if you please, madame. To stand on ceremony seems foolish when we will be thrown together in close quarters within mere hours.”

  “I fear my friend considers any formality absurd,” Christien Lenoir said in dry tones.

  “And so it is. People might as well not have first names here. A man and woman may share a bed for forty years, have a dozen children together, comfort each other in sickness and grief, and still call each other monsieur and madame when one of them lies at death’s door. What could be more ridiculous?”

  “Monsieur!”

  Kerr looked at Tante Lily with a raised brow. “What did I say? Oh, the part about a bed and children. You’ll forgive me, I hope, but surely that’s the most telling point of all. Only consider if in the throes of—”

  “We will not consider it, if you please!” Tante Lily tapped him on the arm, the words censorious though her eyes sparkled. “This politeness you so despise makes possible a pleasant life, n’est-ce pas, particularly in marriage. Where would we be if everyone said exactly what they thought and felt with no manners, no reserve or regard for the consequences? Why, men and women could never live together without quarreling. If they were not at each other’s throats a week after the wedding, I should be very surprised.”

  Kerr’s bow was courteous, but lacked the depth of true humility. “I stand corrected, madame. I’m sure your experience in such matters goes beyond mine.”

  “Impudent scoundrel.” She gave him a darkling look. “But you mentioned imminent close quarters just now. Pray, what did you mean?”

  That was a question Sonia wanted very much to hear answered herself.

  “Nothing scandalous, I promise. I only intended to convey that the steamer for Vera Cruz has completed her unloading, taken on new cargo and now awaits only her orders for departure.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “You’re certain?” Sonia could not keep the sharpness from her voice.

  “Oh, quite,” the gentleman from Kentucky said at his most urbane. “All things being equal, we will board tomorrow afternoon and she’ll sail with the following dawn.”

  “How kind of you to keep us informed.” She thought he relished being the bearer of the news, no doubt because he knew her reluctance to hear it. Not that he was crass enough to make an overt show of it; she would allow him that much. Still, there was something in the expression that played about his firm, well-formed mouth that set her teeth on edge.

  “Since I have heard nothing to the contrary from your father, I will be on the Lime Rock at the appointed time. If I may be of any help with your baggage, I trust you will let me know.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

  “As you please. Embarkation will mark the beginning of my duties then. I’ll present myself when we get under way.”

  His voice was calm, without emphasis, yet she had the distinct idea that he was gratified her father had not dismissed him. She would not give him the satisfaction of realizing she knew it, so said nothing.

  “We look forward to seeing you there,” her aunt answered for her in tones a great deal more cordial than necessary. “No doubt the voyage will be as boringly uneventful as anyone could wish. But if not, we will rest easier knowing you are close at hand.”

  “I’ll make every effort to be worthy of your trust, madame.”

  The bow Kerr Wallace made lacked true grace but was still gallant and self-deprecating. The look in his eyes was none of these things. It appeared sardonic yet alight with anticipation, from where Sonia stood. And disturbing, most disturbing.

  For an instant, she was reminded of her pose as a virago a few days before, also the ruin of her carefully applied face paint by the rain. How embarrassing it had been to catch sight of herself in the mirror when she had returned from accosting Monsieur Wallace in the street. She looked nothing like that this evening. Surely the impression made in her ball gown would wipe the other from his mind.

  Not that it mattered. She would not be on the Lime Rock when it sailed, would not require Monsieur Wallace’s escort, had no cause to consider what he might think of her.

  She would be elsewhere when the steamer for Vera Cruz left port and headed down the river to the gulf. Let the Kentuckian find gratification in that, if he could.

  Four

  Kerr lounged on a bench in the barrelhouse a few doors down from his salon with one long leg thrust out before him and a glass of beer at his elbow. Morose, disinclined to talk, he drummed on the scarred tabletop with the fingers of one hand. Christien straddled a chair across the table from him, while men of all stripes sat drinking, talking, filling the stale air with the smoke of cheroots and hand-rolled cigarettes. Kerr hardly noticed. He frowned, all too aware of the faint strains of a waltz from the hotel where the ball they had left an hour ago continued, and would until dawn. Something, some niggling doubt or presentiment, lingered at the back of his mind. He worried at it like a kid with a loose tooth.

  Mademoiselle Bonneval had been too quiet, too self-possessed this evening. Her eyes were too veiled, her smiles too practiced. The aversion she had displayed at their first meeting had been set aside, or so it seemed. Yet she was certainly not resigned, he thought, not by a long shot.

  The lady was up to something. He would swear to it.

  He had almost asked her to dance. To take her in his arms, to hold her for a few short minutes as they whirled around the floor in the intimate contact of a waltz, had been a virulent impulse. What prevented him was the implacable set of her features. She would have turned him down flat, and he had no taste for public humiliation.

  “You’re all packed? Everything is arranged for this jaunt down to Mexico?”

  Christien squinted at him through the smoke as he spoke, Kerr saw, his gaze assessing. A good friend but a bad enemy, was the half-breed. In the manner of those raised in the woods, he missed little of what went on around him, was damnably sensitive to the way the wind was blowing. It seemed he might have picked up his disturbance of mind. It would be as well to deflect him from it.

  “All except the last bits,” he allowed with a nod. “Have I thanked you for looking after the salon while I’m away?”

  “At least a half-dozen times. Think no more of it. Just make sure you return.”

  “My fullest intention, I promise you.”

  “And I’ll hold you to it. I’ve better things to occupy my time than disposing of your pitiful belongings to cover your rent.”

  “Shouldn’t come to that, but if it does…” Kerr’s shrug was fatalistic.

  “It’s a killing matter then.”

  “You might say so.”

  Kerr was not one to talk about himself or his business. The fewer who knew what he was about, the better. It was a family trait, that taciturn attitude; his father had been the same, and his father before him, all the way back to the Clan Wallace in the Highlands of Scotland. Stiff-necked pride and the need to keep a firm hand on the reins, his mother had always called it. She may have been right.

  “The lady didn’t look overjoyed at the news of the
Lime Rock’s departure.” The light from soot-dulled lanterns slid over the black waves of Christien’s hair as he tipped his head.

  “Not particularly.”

  “Can’t say I envy you the voyage with her under your wing.”

  Kerr gave his friend a skeptical look. “If you think I believe that…”

  “God’s truth, I swear it. I prefer my women softer and more biddable.”

  “Careful, my friend. The old gods enjoy serving up a man’s past words with trouble as a sauce.”

  “You’re learning that, are you?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Aren’t you the man who has dodged and ducked for years to avoid the matchmaking of his friends’ wives? The staunch frontier gent with no use for a pampered Creole belle, no time for hanging on the sleeve of one? Now look at you.”

  “I signed on to deliver the lady to her wedding, and nothing else.”

  “But you’ll be looking after her, keeping close watch, making sure nothing happens to her. First thing you know, you’ll be trailing after her like a sick pup.”

  Kerr gave him a straight look. “I wouldn’t put money on it.”

  Christien went on as if he had not spoken. “Yes, or running up and down, swearing a blue streak and wondering where she’s got off to while your back was turned. Mademoiselle Bonneval has the look of a lady with a mind of her own. She’s not likely to stay put like a horse you can ground tie and expect to find when you come back.”

  “For that gem of wisdom I thank you, not being able to figure it out for myself.”

  “Oh, you’re up to every trick, I don’t doubt. The thing is, so is the lady, and she doesn’t look happy with her lot. You and that papa of hers don’t look out, she’ll bolt on you.”

  The back of Kerr’s neck tingled and alarm slid down his spine. Christien had just put into words the feeling that had him blue-deviled. It was what had bothered him about Sonia Bonneval’s mood this evening, her composure, the unruffled way she had taken the news of the Lime Rock’s sailing date after her first start of surprise.