Gentleman's Trade (8 page)

What worried her was the knowledge it was not Mr. Wilmot’s conduct that caused her blush, or caused the wave of light-headed giddiness that left a tingling awareness in its wake. She shivered slightly and wrapped her arms about her, though indeed, she was not chilled. It was strange, the tingling. She had experienced it the first time on the night of the ball when Hugh Talverton picked her up out of the mud. He had saved her from one embarrassing situation by creating another, as he had this evening. Part of her wanted to believe it was the embarrassment that spawned the tingling. She rubbed her hands along her upper arms as the tingling faded and her cheeks cooled.

The truth, illogical as it seemed, was she was attracted to Mr. Talverton. He roused her emotionally as no man had done before, and there was no comprehending the reasons. She began to realize emotions would neither be ruled nor understood by the mind. She knew herself to be an intelligent woman, but her intelligence left her foundering when emotions held sway. She was not confident she liked that fact. Maybe that was the reason her mother had merely smiled at her and Louisa looked so dreamy-eyed. Love, as the strongest of emotions, did not allow for intellectual definition. If that was the case, she was not altogether certain love could ever be hers.

What piqued her the most was the knowledge that it was Mr. Talverton who should cause her to think in this manner. He was certainly not a man to fall in love with, a man who was alternately arrogant and shamefully teasing. Nonetheless, it was interesting that he should have displayed a ready understanding of her predicament with Mr. Wilmot and chosen to remedy it by bringing embarrassment upon himself rather than upon her. He had never shied from embarrassing her in the past. Perhaps he did understand the depths of her discomfort in this situation. Whatever, his actions were not those of a man totally self-oriented and bereft of compassion. Perhaps she had been too quick in her judgments. She hoped she was intelligent enough to admit and profit by her errors. She determined she would look upon Mr. Talverton more kindly in the future. She owed him that debt.

A raucous burst of laughter from the gallery below drew her attention to the stage. The play was nearly over and the character Arnolphe was receiving the just recompense for his coxcombry. She tried to follow the rapid French. It was unusually difficult. Gnawing at the fringes of her mind was the knowledge she still had yet to deal with Mr. Wilmot. She shuddered. He also roused emotions within her, but they were not emotions she wanted to consider. Feeling cowardly, she shunted the problem aside. No doubt, she told herself, Mr. Wilmot was also thinking better of his behavior and would beg forgiveness later. Actually, she wanted it to be just a bad dream and best forgotten.

Though missing the comic meaning in yet another line, she joined in with the general laughter. Resolutely she turned her mind to the stage.

Hugh Talverton stared contemplatively at the cheroot he held in his hand. He rolled it between his fingers, then raised it to his nose, savoring its aroma, and smiled. He and Trevor were seated in the cozy parlor above the Danielson and Hailey Company offices, drinking port and enjoying a smoke before retiring.

“Do you know,” Hugh said, holding the cigar out before him, “these are still not popular in England.” Shaking his head dolefully, he reached out to grab a lit taper from the table between them.

Trevor puffed on his, slowly releasing a blue cloud to wreath his head. “Mark my words, someday they will be, and snuff will be an anecdote of the past.”

Hugh set the candle down and leaned back, the tip of his cigar glowing red. “Is that Trevor the smoking enthusiast, or Mr. Danielson, the importer/exporter, speaking?”

“Both,” he answered, grinning.

Silent a moment, Hugh puffed on his cigar. Now, Trevor was relaxed and mellowed. No lingering signs of rage or animosity appeared. His friend’s reaction to Wilmot’s actions baffled Hugh. He had not thought Trevor possessed more than friendly feeling for Miss Mannion, preferring the gentleness of Miss Adeline. Could he have misconstrued the object of Trevor’s affections? If he felt more than brother-to-be affection for Vanessa, Hugh realized he was again in trouble.

Years rolled back in his mind as he remembered when he and Trevor had both courted Julia Branholm. It nearly cost them their friendship. Julia, though choosing to wed Trevor, was quite demanding that they forget their differences. She’d possessed a rare grace and understanding; one could do no less than accede to her wishes. Hugh remembered how stalwart he’d stood as best man at their wedding, offering congratulations and support. Afterward, he purchased his commission and was off to war, claiming army life a proper occupation for a younger son. It was only much later, after enduring the heat of battle, the triumph of winning and the agony of defeat that he understood his feelings for Julia. He had not really loved her with the depth she deserved. She was a trophy he sought to win for winning’s sake. She had recognized the shallowness of his affection while he could not.

Eight years later, it appeared he played the same games with himself. He was attracted to Vanessa Mannion because she was an object to win. He certainly was not in the market for an American wife, yet inexplicably, he wished she’d look favorably upon him. What particularly galled was the knowledge he would have gone on deceiving everyone as to his intentions, including himself. But with Trevor somewhere in the maze, as he’d been those many years ago, Hugh realized he could again be playing with mirrors. He had to determine Trevor’s degree of emotional involvement. He also vowed, no matter what he learned, he would support Trevor in his quest. His friend was a damned fine gentleman, and Hugh was confident Julia would wish her husband to remarry, for he deserved happiness.

Hugh set his cigar down to reach for his port glass, his mind wandering to the events of the evening. He shook his head slightly at the memory of Trevor’s expression when Wilmot refused to relinquish Vanessa’s hand. That was when he’d first begun to feel as if he’d stumbled into a new, unknown maze, and he had vowed to tread carefully through the remainder of the evening with the Mannions. By virtue of some adept maneuvering, reminiscent of his peninsular days, he mused, he’d altered the seating arrangements for the return trip to the Mannions’ home. He and Miss Chaumonde shared the carriage with Vanessa Mannion and Mr. Wilmot. And bless Miss Chaumonde’s naiveté, she prattled incessantly with virtually a scene-by-scene review of the play. Fortunately, her chatter did not allow for response from anyone. It also precluded her falling across him on the pretext of a rough carriage ride, but under the circumstances Hugh would have even welcomed that, for certainly it would have created another form of diversion.

Upon her arrival at home, Vanessa retired immediately to her room, claiming a headache from the effort of understanding the rapid French dialogue throughout the play. After she left, there remained a curious tension in the air among the company that even Paulette’s gaiety could not overcome. Mr. Wilmot quickly made his exit. He and Trevor soon followed.

Hugh picked up his cigar and looked over at his companion who sat quietly smoking, a faint smile on his face. He wondered what the man was thinking. No, more than that, he needed to know what Trevor was feeling, particularly toward one Miss Vanessa Mannion.

He flicked an ash off his cigar, and stared at its glowing tip. “This Wilmot fellow, where is he from?” Hugh casually asked.

“No one really knows, but speculators say he’s from Kentucky, since he gets on with the keelboat men. Why?”

“Curiosity. I wondered how he became a favorite in society.”

“So you feel it, too.” Trevor shifted uneasily in his chair and took a sip of port.

Hugh raised a questioning eyebrow.

“That feeling of something criminal,” Trevor explained, setting the glass on the table.

“I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say criminal; however, the gentleman is a creature of both crude and polished airs. I do not trust that duality. I take it others do not see the split?”

“Oh, I think they do, but first they don’t recognize it as anything sinister. It’s more an indication of the man’s worth, that he’s been able to build a business and thereby raise himself above his birth. For many who come to this country, it is the American dream. Wilmot embodies that dream. He has looks, intelligence, and great strength. And that was almost all he had when he came to New Orleans three years ago. In that time he’s been able to parlay himself into more deals and schemes than you can imagine. And they’ve paid off.” Trevor paused and shook his head ruefully.

“Oh, there have been rumors about what his real business was. Most believe he was one of Lafitte’s legitimate fronts and might still be. Others connect him with the revolutionary filibustering that goes on over at Maspero’s, though few agree on the subject of the revolution. I’ve heard the Texas territory, Mexico, and South American locations named.”

“Egad!”

“Precisely,” Trevor drawled.

“I’m surprised Richard Mannion countenances his presence around his daughters.”

“He invites him. Look, Hugh,” Trevor explained, “Wilmot is rich and powerful. He’s slowly been taking over all the warehousing on the wharf. That’s a key business in this city. New Orleans wouldn’t be the rich city she is without trade, for, frankly, the products of this area alone cannot support her.” He took another sip of port, then set down his glass and leaned forward.

“Right now, Mannion needs a new cotton press facility, but he has no place for it, nor the capital to purchase one for he’s made substantial loans this year to cotton growers in order to insure a big crop. Because of this, he’s hoping to strike a deal with Wilmot for warehouse leasing. Though if I know Wilmot, I suspect he’s negotiating for a partnership deal, using Vanessa.”

“And her father’s agreeable to this?” Hugh inquired.

“Hardly. Richard Mannion’s a wily old goat on his own, even if he does have a blind spot where his own daughters are concerned.” Trevor picked up his cigar, frowned at the dead tip, and leaned forward to relight it in the candle flame. He drew in deeply before looking back toward Hugh. “Adeline tells me Richard’s strongly encouraging Vanessa to be nice to you.”

“To me!”

“Ostensibly to help cement his cotton deal with you. Personally, I think it’s to throw off Wilmot.”

Hugh’s eyes narrowed as he considered this information. “But what about you, Trevor? Where do you fit in?”

Trevor sighed ruefully. “Now that is a good question. Less than a week ago, I would have confidently stated I was one of Vanessa Mannion’s suitors. Now I’m not sure what I am.” He ran his hand through his hair.

“I have never seen you possessed with rage to the extent you were at the theater,” Hugh said slowly.

“Yes, I don’t know what came over me. It was as if I was seeing her as some pawn in a big chess game. I cannot fathom any genteel woman being treated in such a fashion, or any gentleman so forgetting himself as to treat a lady like a lightskirt.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “Miss Mannion is one of the most intelligent, entrancing women of my acquaintance, and to see her treated in that manner . . .”

“Easy, Trevor, easy. I’m sure this little mistake of his will turn Miss Mannion’s attention elsewhere. Though the man is powerful, he is not so powerful that he can make a woman marry him. Perhaps if his background is as crude as you suggest, he is not at ease in society and is ignorant of proper behavior. This may well prove to be a salutary lesson for him. No, I doubt you will have to worry about socializing with Wilmot in the Mannions’ company.”

“Perhaps you’re right. And truthfully, I, like Richard, cannot afford enmity with the man. Danielson and Hailey Company is a frequent client of his. Our warehouses are just not sufficient to handle all our merchandise, and we’re not intending to build more here. With the advent of the steamboat for hauling, we’re building further upriver, land’s already too dear around here, and, like I said, Wilmot’s got a lock locally. It is hoped that our new warehouses will be completed in a few months.”

“We need a battle plan,” Hugh mused.

“What?”

“Tactics,” he murmured. “The problem, as I see it, is to divert Wilmot from his pursuit of Miss Mannion without ruffling his tail feathers.”

“That is, perhaps, a bit simplistic; however, I’ll accept that.”

“Good. Then, to create our diversion, I propose we use me for cannon fodder.”

“What?”

“I believe that is what Richard Mannion is doing without my knowledge, so it’s a small matter to become a willing participant. Safer, too.”

Trevor looked unconvinced but willing to listen. Hugh plowed on: “Look, I don’t have to live here and work with the gentleman. In a few months I will merely be a memory.”

“So what do you propose to do?”

“Publicly, I shall continue to court Miss Chaumonde, for to do otherwise would cause comment.”

Trevor nodded his understanding and begged him to continue.

“Heretofore, Miss Mannion and I have maintained, at best, a guarded relationship. I shall continue to tease, slightly challenge, and otherwise upset the equanimity of Miss Mannion while playing upon Richard’s juncture that she be friendly to me. Under these circumstances, I anticipate she will spend more time contemplating my comeuppance than she will be thinking of Mr. Wilmot and the trouble he might be planning.”