River Queen (6 page)

THE FIREWORKS WERE MAGNIFICENT, and luckily none of them managed to set fire to any steamers, though they were, as always, close-packed at Natchez-Under-the-Hill.

When the crowd returned to the ballroom, Julienne was surprised to see that quite a few men, obviously not of the wealthy planter class, were standing around. Some of them wore evening dress, but in some indefinable way they looked flashier, more vulgar than the men in the highest circles of society. Intently Julienne tried to define the difference and decided that it was for several reasons. Generally they had much more brilliantine on their hair; Julienne noticed that first because in fact the ballroom had that sweetish odor wafting about. Their waistcoats were in garish colors and loud patterns, and she saw with disdain that they wore heavy, ostentatious watch chains. A man of quality didn’t wear a watch and chain with formal evening wear. Their voices were louder and somehow more coarse than the men of her acquaintance.

And there were several other men, too, that were not wearing white tie and tails at all. They wore plain long coats, black, gray, or dark blue, with white shirts and thin black ties. Their trousers were not cut to a perfect fit, and often seemed to be plain wool, which did not retain a knife-crease.

In particular she noticed one of these men, standing in a group of men talking animatedly. He was tall, with very broad shoulders, and a bronzed strong face with longish thick brown hair. He was staring at her with unabashed admiration. Quickly she looked away, but then she sneaked a look back at him, and he was still watching her just as avidly, but now with an expression of slight amusement. She lifted her chin and turned to Archie. “Felicia said they’re going to open with a quadrille. I don’t suppose you want to dance the first dance?” Archie was not a very good dancer, and he continuously complained that learning to dance was a frivolous waste of time and he couldn’t see any enjoyment in it.

“No, I don’t want to, but it is my duty since I escorted you,” he said with ill humor.

They took their place in a square with three other couples, and began the slow ceremonious steps of the ancient quadrille. Archie missed a turn and once took the wrong lady’s hand, and Julienne could barely contain her impatience. He danced as if it were a chore, like chopping wood, and he was never embarrassed when he danced poorly. He truly thought it was beneath him.

At last the first dance ended, and the next two were lively polkas. Acquaintances claimed Julienne for both dances, and as she whirled around the gleaming dance floor she occasionally caught glimpses of the man she had noticed before. He stood alone now and never took his eyes off her. It made her uncomfortable, at the same time she was flattered. His expression, though very intent, just seemed to be one of deep admiration. Instinctively she knew there was nothing threatening about his regard.

The next dance was the varsouvienne, a stately, slow dance with precise steps. To her delight, Etienne Bettencourt appeared and claimed her.

“Alors, cherie, vous semblez magnifique ce soir,”
he said admiringly.

“
Merci
, Etienne,” she replied. “Don’t speak any more French. I seem to have completely lost the language.” Etienne was a Louisiana Creole from one of the first French families to settle in New Orleans.

“Then I must speak to your father and offer my services as a French tutor,” he said, his blue eyes alight. “Ladies of the
haute ton
must always be able to speak the most beautiful language in the world.”

Julienne laughed. “Somehow I can’t see you as a tutor, Etienne.
Non, non, c’est impossible.
”

“There, you still speak French with an impeccable accent, Julienne. You’re just too lazy to practice it as you should.”

“To please you, sir?” she asked merrily. “No more than we see each other you can hardly blame me for dedicating myself to your language.”

“Ah, I see you’re displeased with me,” he said with mock gravity. “I haven’t been to call on you for awhile. But that’s because you have broken my heart,
cherie
. You won’t marry me, and I am
désolé, tres désolé.
”

“You are not desolated. You would be horrified if I took your silly proposals seriously,” Juliette said mischievously. “I happen to know that you talk such foolishness to practically every woman you meet. You’d better watch out, Etienne, someday some innocent little girl will actually think you’re sincere and then you’ll be in big trouble with her family.”

“And then we must fight the duel,” he said with a theatrical sigh.

“You wake up every morning trying to think of someone to duel,” Julienne teased. “I would think that, since you had to leave New Orleans because of that last duel, you wouldn’t be quite so eager for that particular pastime.”

“In matters of honor a gentleman cannot be denied his right to a fair and just settlement,” he said grandly. “It just seems that somehow I have always been involved in quite a few matters that had to be settled that way.”

“Yes, so I hear,” Julienne said. “It’s a wonder you can afford that many bullets.”

His fine face brightened. “If you would just marry me,
cherie
, I would have plenty of money for bullets.”

Julienne was still laughing when the dance ended. Etienne was taking her back to Archie, when suddenly the man who had been watching her stepped between them, put one arm around Julienne’s waist, took her right hand in a dance position, and positively swept her off in a stately waltz. The waltz was definitely the favorite dance of the time, so the floor filled up so quickly that she immediately lost sight of Etienne.

Julienne danced automatically, so surprised that for long moments she was speechless. She had placed her left hand on his shoulder, and now she became aware of the hard muscling of his arms and chest, and the strength in his hands. She stared up at him. He had strange eyes, a hazel color that had deep brown-green depths. He stared back.

Finally he said, “Hello, ma’am. My name is Dallas Bronte. I think you’re the most beautiful woman in this room. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Th-thank you, but-but, you’re very forward, sir,” she said, managing to dredge up some indignation. “I don’t dance with men when we haven’t been properly introduced.”

“But you are,” he said, grinning. He had a crooked smile, with perfect white even teeth. Julienne now noticed a long red scar that ran from his right jaw down his neck. He was roughly handsome, his deeply tanned features masculine and hard. His cheekbones were high and jutting, and he had a strong jawline.

“I didn’t exactly mean to,” she finally answered. “But since I obviously am dancing with you, I suppose I’ll have to introduce myself. My name is Julienne Ashby.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ashby. And it’s a pleasure to dance with you too.”

“You’re a very good dancer, Mr. Bronte,” Julienne said with surprise.

“I like to waltz. But I don’t know any of those other fancy assembly dances. I had to wait a long time before I could waltz with you.”

Again, he stared down at her with such an intensity that Julienne was uncomfortable. “If you can waltz, you can polka, sir. There have been two polkas.”

“No, for you only a slow waltz,” he said in a deep voice.

They danced in silence for a few moments. Dallas Bronte seemed to be drinking her in, looking at her hair, deep into her eyes, searching her face. Julienne’s awkwardness increased, and she blurted out, “Bronte, I don’t believe I’ve heard the name before. Who are your people, Mr. Bronte?”

“I don’t have any family. My parents are dead, and I never had any brothers or sisters,” he said bluntly. “But I know what it means when a lady like you asks about my ‘people.’ My family were poor farmers in Tennessee, that’s all. I’m a nobody.”

Julienne was embarrassed, and it made her speak sharply. “Obviously you’re not a nobody, Mr. Bronte. You’re here, and nobodies don’t generally attend Moak parties.”

“Oh, really? Have you seen that bunch of nobodies down on the main deck? It’s a bunch of river men, which is the only reason they’re at this party. Just like me. It’s because Mr. Moak is selling the
Columbia Lady
, and he knows that when the river men see her, they’ll be able to tell the buyers the truth about her.”

“Yes, of course. So you’re a river man?” Julienne hinted.

“I’m a pilot,” he said shortly.

She brightened. Pilots were the kingpins of the men who worked the river. They were considered, in the river’s particular hierarchy, even more important than captains. But that was about the extent of her knowledge of the workings of a steamer. “A pilot, that’s a very difficult job, I understand. Knowing how to guide a boat on the Mississippi River. What boat, or ship, or whatever you call it, are you on now, Mr. Bronte?”

“We call them boats. And I’m between jobs right now. Can we talk about something else? Tell me about yourself,” he demanded.

“What? What do you mean?” Julienne asked, mystified.

“I mean, tell me about yourself,” he repeated slowly, as if she were an inattentive child. “How do you spend your days? What do you like to do? What’s your favorite pastime? Things like that.”

Julienne was nonplussed. In her experience with men, she had found that they liked very much to talk about themselves and had very little interest in anything she might have to say, or the things that she was interested in. She was confused, and to her consternation she found that her mind had gone blank. “Well, I and my mother receive visitors in the early afternoon. Sometimes I go shopping. In the evenings there are balls, cotillions, dinners given by friends, sometimes the theater. My family has a very active social life.”

He looked puzzled. “But what do you like? What do you do when you’re not receiving callers or shopping or at a party?”

She stared at him, and again noticed the deep green-brown depths of his eyes. “I–I–don’t—”

At that moment the dance ended, and Etienne Bettencourt popped up in front of Dallas Bronte like a toy jack-in-the-box. “You, sir, how dare you snatch Miss Ashby and waylay her in this insufferable manner.”

Dallas Bronte looked down at Bettencourt, for he was a full half a foot taller than the hot-tempered Creole. “I didn’t snatch or waylay Miss Ashby. I waltzed with her. And who are you, anyway?”

“I am a friend of Miss Ashby’s, and I am a gentleman, and so I must protest this callous manner of yours. I find it insulting to the lady, and that I cannot, and will not, excuse.”

The merest hint of amusement twisted Dallas Bronte’s mouth. “I don’t think the lady was insulted, and I think that she has excused me for my manners, and so you should, too, little man.”

Etienne Bettencourt drew himself up to his full five feet, eight inches, and his blue eyes sparked hotly. “I am not a little man, how dare you, sir? I demand satisfaction for this offense!”

“Etienne—” Julienne began.

Dallas Bronte ignored her. “Oh, you want satisfaction, little man? I’ll shoot you at dawn any place you decide!”

“Mr. Bronte—” Julienne tried.

“I will have my second contact your man!” Etienne shouted.

Archie Leggett, who had been lurking about on the edges of the crowd that was steadily growing around the three, timidly tapped Etienne on the shoulder. “Mr. Bettencourt, perhaps you should think this over. I happen to know that Mr. Bronte is nothing but a roughneck. He is certainly not a gentleman.”

Etienne’s eyebrows shot up. “What?
C’est ça?
You’re just a common laborer?
Non, non,
I wouldn’t lower myself to duel with you, Bronte. Julienne, come with me. I’ll keep the riffraff from bothering you for the rest of the evening.” He grabbed her arm and hauled her off much more roughly than Dallas Bronte had swept her away in the waltz.

She turned around to look at Bronte, who was staring after them darkly. She met his eyes and saw none of the warmth that had been so plain when he had looked at her before. Turning on his heel, he stalked to the nearest door and disappeared out on the promenade.

Somehow Julienne had lost the sense of excitement she had during the party. Though Etienne gave a highly colorful and dramatic description of the events to Felicia, Lucky, and Susanna, and they laughed heartily, Julienne didn’t feel that it was very funny. Surreptitiously she kept looking for Dallas Bronte, but she didn’t see him again.

Finally Archie sidled up to her and asked her if she was ready to go home. It was only a few minutes after midnight, and the dance floor was still full. Normally Julienne wanted to stay until the dancing was over, as Archie was content to talk endlessly with his cronies, and she never lacked for partners. But now she answered dully, “I believe I would like to go home, Archie. I admit I’m tired.”

He took her out to the main deck stairway, and to Archie’s horror, and Julienne’s amusement, they saw that some of the roustabouts had lifted one of the great planked landing stages, and three women were astride it, shrieking with laughter. They were coarse-looking women, and one of them had such a loose bodice that it was about to slide completely off one shoulder. Archie averted his eyes and hurried Julienne so much that they almost ran to the carriage.

After they tumbled in Archie said breathlessly, “What a disgraceful display. I knew something like this would happen. No ladies should have been attending that rout.”

“That’s just silly, Archie. Ladies see those kind of men and women on the streets down here all the time. We’re not ignorant little kittens, you know.”

Archie replied in a lecturing tone, “Real ladies of quality take no notice of such things, through a desirable sense of propriety and modesty. Sometimes you are wanting in those qualities, Julienne.”

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

“Well, for example, you laughed out loud when that ignorant, drunken piece of river trash came stumbling into the ballroom with a lit cigar. Imagine! A man actually smoking a cigar in the presence of ladies! It’s an outrage. And you laughed, Julienne!”

“I was laughing at that silly goose of a girl who pretended to have the vapors. I suppose when she sees those women riding the landing stages with their clothes falling off she’ll just drop dead of shock,” Julienne said brazenly.