Bal Masque (12 page)

The ceremony went beautifully. The bride was as merry, as lovely, as fond parents could expect. Through the evening she danced with delight, smiling and curtseying to the well-wishers who came to offer their congratulations. All in all, though she couldn’t spot Pierrette among the dancers, Marie thought the evening could not have gone better. She sat on a hidden bench near the window and watched as the ball approached midnight, when the company would unmask and promenade into the garden for the wedding feast. Marie pulled her cloak closer and permitted a sigh of relief to escape.

“You came to watch the little girl you’ve known so long become a bride, eh, Marie?”

The whispered words startled Marie, and she spun slightly to regard the speaker. He wore tailored evening dress, not a costume, but his swirling, hooded cloak glowed garnet red and hid his features as well as any mask.

“M’sieu,” she acknowledged, and rose, prepared to walk away.

“No, Marie, don’t go. Stay and see the evening through. I think you’ll be amused, and Lucienne has gone to so much trouble to make this little drama take place.”

“What?” Marie stared and frantically searched her memory to give a name to this tall figure beside her.

A low chuckle answered her. “Lucienne’s heart was not in the marriage, you know. She made other plans.”

“I knew she’d done something! It’s her cousin Pierrette in there, isn’t it? She convinced the girl to take her place. It’s Pierrette who has married Armand Dupre!”

Laughter rumbled softly again. “Is that what you think? Pierrette has taken her cousin’s place?” He laughed again. “But both bride and groom are masked. Perhaps it’s not the bride who is the duplicate, but the groom. Mam’selle Lucienne may have convinced someone to take not her place but his.”

Marie stepped away. “No, she couldn’t do that. M’sieu Dupre wouldn’t be agreeable, surely. He wished this marriage.” Marie peered in vain through the window, trying to see something of the masked and hooded man beside the girl in white.

“She wouldn’t need Armand’s cooperation so much as that of someone else, someone willing to go along with the plan. Do you not agree?” The man in the shadows held up his hand. “Is there not someone else the lady wished to marry, someone who could be persuaded to waylay Armand and take his place?”

Marie recalled the smug, almost catlike air of satisfaction she had seen the girl wear at times during the last two days. “Philippe Pardue!” Yes, it had to be. He would find Lucienne’s trick amusing. Without a thought of the girl’s ruined reputation or any other consequences, he’d join such a plot. How he must have been smirking beneath that mask as he spoke those sacred vows. The Toussaints would be humiliated, the whole family would become the talk of the parish. Somehow this farce must be stopped, the scandal averted. Marie gathered her skirts and turned to storm into the ballroom. An iron hand caught and held her.

“Wait, wait,” the man beside her counseled. “It’s too late to stop the proceedings now. The good father has pronounced the blessing of the union. They are husband and wife. The moment comes for them to unmask. We will see who is married to whom.”

Marie watched, weak and scarcely breathing, as the bride untied the silken strands holding her mask.
Lucienne, it is Lucienne!
Marie breathed easier. With laughter in her eyes, Lucienne held out a hand, inviting her groom to unmask as well. He bowed, acceding to her request, drew back his hood and loosened the ribbons holding his own disguise. Drawing away the black silk band, he held it out to her. Marie could not see his face but she could clearly see Lucienne. The girl went starkly white, her mask and bouquet falling unnoticed to the floor. She stood stiff as a mechanical doll, then seemed near to fainting.

The groom gravely offered her his arm as support as they turned to lead the wedding guests out to supper. Like a broken puppet Lucienne leaned on him and nodded to the applauding audience. Marie gasped as she saw the groom’s face at last.

The man beside her took her arm and turned her toward the garden. “Come, Madame, and I will take you back to the side door. I suspect the bride will shortly require your attention.” He led her along the path carefully. “It will take time, but I think she will see Armand was the better groom for her after all. He’s a good man, and he cares for her a great deal. Her ways amuse him; she will outgrow her tantrums in time.” He swept back the hood of his cloak. “I, on the other hand, would make her a poor husband. While I care for the lady, Armand cares more, and I would shortly run out of patience with her.” Her escort deposited Marie at the door. “Her plan tempted me, I will admit, but honor made other demands. And he is the better man. Will you tell her that for me, Marie? I pray one day she’ll know that I was right.”

Marie nodded gravely at her caped escort. “You’re a better man than I realized, Philippe Pardue. I thank you for your decision. Perhaps Lucienne someday will thank you as well.
Au revoir
, m’sieu.”

Chapter Eight:

Girl in the Mirror

“You are as lovely as any bride could hope to be, Chou-Chou.” Lucienne barely heard her mother’s words. Her heart beat so loudly it muffled all other sound. She stared into the glass as Marie smoothed black curls into a shining cascade held by a blue satin bow. The white face looking back at her with eyes too wide and staring couldn’t be her own. Not that pinched, colorless ghost of a girl swathed in yards of lace and linen; she wasn’t anyone Lucienne knew.

“Of course you are a little nervous,
chèrie
, but don’t fret. Your groom will be along in a little bit. He’ll wait till you are all settled before he joins you. He can’t leave his own party too soon, so be patient,” Charlotte counseled.

Patient!
Lucienne almost spat at the word. She’d be patient through eternity if Armand would just disappear into the night. Her heart had all but stopped the moment he removed his mask. She’d been so sure it was Philippe, so confident that all her plans had worked as they were supposed to. Then to see that hood drop and the mask fall to reveal Armand’s bland face across from her—it was more than she could bear. She didn’t know how she’d made it through the rest of the evening. The ball was a merciful blur. She must have said the right things, not revealed the turmoil in her mind.

“Just go, Mama, please, you and Marie,” she pleaded, scooping Ninette into her lap. “I need a little time to myself.”

“Of course,
chèrie,
of course you do,” Charlotte agreed, wiping away a surreptitious tear. “You’ll want a few moments alone after all the excitement. I thought it was almost too much for you for a bit, you were so white and silent. But you were fine and everything went splendidly.”

Lucienne flinched at the word. Nothing had gone
splendidly
from the day the marriage contract was signed. If Mama and Marie didn’t go soon, Lucienne knew she’d lose what little composure she had left. They had to go before she ran shrieking from this wretched room, this flower-decked prison that threatened to suffocate her. With many last kisses and hugs and encouraging words the two women finally left. Holding the kitten close, Lucienne crept to the frilled bed.

“What are we to do, Ninette? How did it all go so horribly wrong? And where is Philippe? Why didn’t he come as we planned?” Bewildered, shaken beyond reason, Lucienne couldn’t make sense of it all. She was to marry Philippe, her true love. No other course was possible. How could he fail her? He loved her, and nothing should have kept him away.

A soft tap at the door froze her.
Philippe!
He’d been held up, but he’d come. It had only been a minute or two since Mama and Marie closed the door and left her alone. She prayed they hadn’t lingered in the hallway. Lucienne shook her nightrail loose and smoothed her hair. The tap was more insistent the second time. She flew to the door.

“Lucienne, please, let me in before someone comes.”

Pierrette?
Lucienne drew her wrapper closer and opened the door a crack. “I thought you were Philippe.”

Her cousin shoved the door open, slipped through, and leaned against it, breathing as if she’d run the miles between the two plantations. “He’s not coming, Lucienne. I tried, I really tried to get here in time to tell you. As soon as I could get away from Mama, I slipped out and took the pony trap.” She put her arms around Lucienne, weeping in despair. “I came as fast as I could.”

Lucienne shook off the embrace. “What do you mean, he isn’t coming? Of course he’ll come. Something just held him up.” She turned to the vanity and stuffed a handkerchief into Pierrette’s clinging hand. “After Uncle Gaston said you couldn’t come, I found another way. Philippe was to intercept Armand and take his place. He’s been delayed, but he’ll come.”

Pierrette dabbed at her eyes, avoiding the spectacular green-and-yellow bruise that circled one. “No, he won’t, sweet cousin. I know about your plans. Price sent Dorcas over our way this afternoon with something he’d picked up in town for our overseer. I was sitting on the veranda feeling sorry for myself and for you and went down to say hello. We talked about the wedding, and I said how much I’d like to be standing in your shoes. I said I guessed you’d finally given up on trying to stop the wedding, but Dorcas said not so. Philippe came to see you, she said, and she’d heard part of your talk. She told me he was going to take Armand’s place at the wedding.”

“He was supposed to, but something went wrong. I almost died when I saw Armand remove his mask.” She fought back a wave of panic at the memory. “But Philippe will be here any moment. You should go before he comes.”

“Lucienne, listen to me!” Pierrette caught her arm.

“I haven’t time, not now. I have to make some plans before Philippe arrives. I can’t elope in my nightgown.”

Pierrette wouldn’t release her hold. “No, no, you must hear me. Late this evening someone came by asking directions to Belle Mer. It was just after Dorcas left, and I was having a quiet laugh by myself over your clever scheme. This man, a rough sort, came right up and asked me how to find Belle Mer. He said M’sieu Blanchard sent him to call, he was M’sieu Blanchard’s second. He had to find Philippe to finalize the details for tomorrow morning.”

“Philippe is going to meet Blanchard? He’s given the challenge? That fool! He could be killed!” She turned away, pulling open drawers and tumbling undergarments onto the floor.

“That’s why I got into the costume and came here as fast as I could. I had to harness the pony cart myself, and it took forever. I’d thought I would be in time to trade places with you. My eye is better, and I thought it wouldn’t show under the mask. If I got here in time, you and Philippe could get away. It was the best plan I could make. I’m sorry I was too late.”

Lucienne waved her cousin’s explanation aside. She had no time to listen. Philippe was on his way to New Orleans. That was why he’d not been able to change places with Armand. Philippe! That insane duel! She must stop him! Clothes, she had to change clothes. Most of her trousseau had been packed and awaited transport to New Orleans. A few dresses, the ones deemed suitable for the newlyweds’ first days of seclusion, were tucked into the wardrobe. She jerked the door open and pulled at the first thing she found. The blue-and-white gown she’d worn for the picnic, it would do. Lucienne took it from the hook and tossed it on the bed. And she’d need things for a day or two, as well, a change of linen and a nightgown, and— Oh, there was no time for this. She pushed the garments into a careless heap.

“That infernal duel? Of course. Philippe wouldn’t leave it alone. I begged him to apologize, end the affair. Knowing how I feel about those things, he wouldn’t consider sending me word he was meeting the man. He knows I’ll make my way to him in spite of my feelings about his silly code of honor.” Lucienne thrust away her cousin’s clinging hands. “He could be killed, Pierrette. I have to go to him. There’s no telling what may happen with the Blanchards waiting for him. I have to get to town!” She tore off her wrapper, shedding buttons like broken blossoms as the nightgown followed. “Help me get dressed.”

Pierrette caught the gown and petticoat Lucienne tossed her. “Stop and think what you’re doing. How will you get to New Orleans?”

“I’ll ride. The River Road is dry. I can be in town by morning.”

“And the moment the family finds you’ve gone, they’ll be on the road behind you.” Pierrette caught Lucienne’s hand, her grip insistent. “Your papa would never let you ride off without following you. And Armand will swallow his pride and go after you; otherwise the scandal will ruin him and your papa.”

Lucienne stopped at her cousin’s words. She knew they were true. “Then you’ll go home tonight, and I’ll hide in your pony cart. I can take a horse and ride from there.”

Pierrette shook her head. “No,
cousine
, you can’t. Papa is very angry with me for coming alone. He said I must spend the night, and tomorrow he’ll drive home with me. He’s sending his horse back with my brothers. He says it’s not safe for me to travel alone.”

Lucienne shook off her cousin’s grasp and pulled her petticoat over her head. “Well, I’ll do something.” Her words were muffled by the folds of linen. “I have to get out of this house now. Do up my corset strings for me.” With agonizing slowness her cousin’s fingers threaded the cords. Lucienne tugged the blue-and-white gown over her head and turned her back to Pierrette impatiently. The girl took excruciating minutes to finish up the back.

“You’ll need these. You can’t dash off without a change of linen at least,” she said as she turned her attention to the heap of garments Lucienne had tossed aside.

Lucienne buttoned up her boots, pausing to glance at the garments Pierrette folded. How would she carry even a spare chemise? All her luggage was downstairs. She spied the Turkey-red bag at the door of the wardrobe. Well, that would do! She dumped the masculine contents unceremoniously onto the bed. Flinging her own garments into the purloined valise, Lucienne closed the bag.

“You’ll need a plainer dress, something not so noticeable, if you’re going to the Oaks,” practical Pierrette insisted. She found a dark cotton housedress and tucked it in, then closed the bag and fastened the strap Lucienne had ignored.