The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (12 page)

Just as they began their meal, there were gun shots in the distance which startled Sydnee.

“Don't be alarmed, dear,” said Cousin Agnes, looking toward the window. “They are shooting off firecrackers and guns at the Trudeau plantation. Many families do this on Christmas Eve.”

Tristan jumped up and pulled back the drape to see out.

“Do come and sit down Tristan. Your food will grow cold. You did not ask to be excused.”

Tristan returned to the table and sat down. “I apologize, Cousin Agnes,” he mumbled.

They dined on oyster soup, shrimp remoulade, okra and rich brioche. When they finished, they moved to the parlor for rum cake and chocolate to drink.

Sydnee's eyebrows shot up when she saw one of her long stockings hanging by the hearth. 

“Don't forget to put holly in your stockings for
Pere Noel
,” said Cousin Agnes with a wry smile.

“I am guessing she has gifts for us,” Tristan murmured to Sydnee.

Although Margarite explained the tradition of gift giving at Christmas, Sydnee had never experienced it. There had never been the money or the time for gifts at The Devil's Backbone.

The next morning, when they returned from Mass, there was indeed a gift in each stocking. Cousin Agnes put a shiny new jack knife in Tristan's stocking, and Sydnee received a tiny maple music box which played a Chopin mazurka. Sydnee was entranced. Listening to the delicate notes drift up from the tiny box seemed like a miracle. She held it in her lap with reverence.

Cousin Agnes watched her and said, “Well I declare, child. You act as if you have never received a gift.”

Sydnee said with a shaky voice, “Thank you, Cousin Agnes. Thank you for all your kindnesses.”

The woman stared at her.

Fearful that she may suspect something about Sydnee's identity, Tristan jumped up and announced, “Come it's time to get ready for the fox hunt.”

They excused themselves and rushed up to their rooms to change clothes. Sydnee put on her new dark blue riding habit and looked in the mirror. Even though she was not participating in the fox hunt, she would be riding horseback to the Trudeau plantation with Tristan. Running her hands over the fine fabric, Sydnee turned from side to side. She adored her new clothes and vowed to learn as much as possible about fashion from Madame Picard.  Slowly her figure was filling out, and she was glad to have a waist and a bosom at last.

Tristan looked dashing in his mustard-colored jacket, dark breeches and tall black boots. Sydnee studied him as he walked down the stairs. He was indeed a handsome and poised young man. She was glad that her feelings for him did not go beyond friendship. She knew that females held no appeal for him and that any young woman who desired him would be sorely disappointed.

It was a short ride to the Trudeau plantation. The sky was clear, and the morning air was cool. Mortimer greeted them when they arrived, taking their horses. “They are ready Master Tristan. I have saddled Serendipity for you.”

Tristan put on his hunting cap, mounted Serendipity and joined the others. Sydnee dismounted and stepped out of the way to watch the men assemble for the hunt. She saw Mortimer and the stable hands adjusting saddles and checking shoes. Many of the horses were dancing around nervously. They were eager to be off, but their riders kept them reined in, laughing and shouting greetings to each other as they assembled. Everyone was in crisp new riding attire. Sydnee was amazed to see so many wealthy well-bred residents in one place.

A slave wound his way through the horses holding up a tray up so the riders could take brandy before departure. Fox hounds circled the area with their tails wagging. They were filled with anticipation for the chase.

At last a bugle sounded, signaling that the fox had been released, and the hounds started to bay loudly. There was a huge commotion, the clatter of hooves on flagstones, and they were off. Sydnee strained to see Tristan, but he was lost in the chaos as the group raced up and over the hill.

With a sigh, she turned and headed for the house to look for Isabel. The Trudeau plantation house was similar to
Saint-Denis,
built in the Greek revival style, and set near the river. The main house was brown brick with a white two-story gallery in front. The stables and kitchen were brick as well, but the slave quarters and out buildings were constructed of white-washed wood.

“Come in, Sydnee,” Isabel called from a side door. “I want you to meet Mother.”

As the girls walked down the hall, a woman came down the stairs holding a garland. It was Isabel’s mother, Madame Trudeau. The first thing Sydnee noticed was that she was an older version of Isabel. Although her hair had darkened into a sandy brown and her face was careworn, the resemblance was obvious.

“Thank you for coming, Mademoiselle Sauveterre,” she said to Sydnee. “Isabel told me that you are kind enough to help us with the Christmas festivities today.”

Sydnee curtsied and said, “With pleasure, Madame Trudeau.”

She followed Isabel into the dining room to arrange decorations while Madame Trudeau went outside to the kitchen to supervise meal preparation. The layout of the home was identical to
Saint-Denis.
The rooms had floor to ceiling windows for ventilation and were lined up and down on either side of a long hall.

The dining room table was set for dinner, so all that was left was dressing the windows with garlands and decorating the mantel with fruit, myrtle and holly. When they were done, Isabel looked over her shoulder and whispered to Sydnee, “Let's go to the stable to see Mortimer before everyone gets back from the hunt.”

When they arrived at the stable, they found Mortimer already busy. He was examining one of the horses and looked worried. Tristan was there too, helping a young man sit down on a bench. The youth had his arm over Tristan's shoulder and hopped on one foot. When he sat down, he took his hat off and ran his hand through his black hair in a gesture of frustration and pain.

“What happened?” Isabel asked.

Tristan looked up, “His mount stumbled and threw him.”

Tristan bent down to ease the young man's boot off. The youth put his head back and held his breath. He had fine aristocratic features and pale skin which grew whiter as Tristan eased off the boot. He winced and drew up his shoulders.

“I'm sorry, D'anton,” Tristan said, setting the boot aside. “I know it hurts.” He stood up and looked at Isabel, “Would you ask your mother to come down here please?”

“Of course,” Isabel replied. She picked up her skirts and ran toward the house.

D'anton sat back with his eyes closed. Tristan took out his handkerchief and dabbed the perspiration from the young man's forehead.

Madame Trudeau came down to the stable immediately and examined his ankle. She dressed it with eucalyptus salve, wrapped it tightly and had the young man taken up to the house to rest.

“There is no question, he will be staying with us until the swelling subsides,” Madame Trudeau said to Tristan later in the house. He could see D'anton over her shoulder in the library. He was propped up in a chair with his foot on a stool. “There will be no walking and definitely no riding.”

Suddenly the front and rear doors of the house burst open and riders began to flood into the hall. Madame Trudeau smiled and swept down the hall to attend to her guests. The hunt was over, and it had been a great success.

There was a flurry of activity as everyone began to dress for the midday Christmas feast. People were running up and down the stairs, laughing and greeting each other, discussing the hunt and asking about D'anton. Those who did not participate in the hunt began to arrive in carriages, including Cousin Agnes who brought dinner attire for Sydnee and Tristan.

Sydnee went up to Isabel's room and put on her best gown again. She fixed her hair up on her head with a matching ribbon and started downstairs. Isabel met her on the landing. She looked stunning, dressed in a dark pink gown trimmed in white lace. Her gigot sleeves were fashionably enlarged with sleeve plumpers. “Mother has excused us from dinner so we can take our meal with D'anton,” she announced. “Tristan is in the library with him right now.”

Sydnee was relieved. She was not ready to attend a formal meal yet, even though she had been practicing her manners in class.

When the girls walked into the room, the boys had their heads together, looking at a book. D'anton was sitting in a leather chair with this foot on a stool. Tristan was on a corner of the stool. D'anton looked more at ease now, his foot bandaged and elevated. He had changed out of his torn riding breeches and jacket into a dark frock coat and trousers. The suit was set off by a waistcoat of burgundy brocade. Tristan was in evening dress too, wearing a dark blue frock coat and trousers with a gold waistcoat.

He jumped up and introduced the girls to D'anton Delacroix. The young man greeted them in a heavy French accent. Sydnee noticed that he was indeed a dashing young man with bright green eyes, a slim physique and curly dark hair.

“D'anton has moved here recently from Paris,” Tristan explained. “He now lives in New Orleans on Chartres Street.”

“And for Christmas, are you staying in the River Country?” Isabel asked him in French.

“
Oui
, I stay at the Aurora Plantation,” he replied.

“Not anymore,” Tristan interrupted, looking at Isabel. “Now he stays with you.”

Sydnee watched the young men as they conversed with Isabel. Even though they spoke with her, they were only aware of each other. Tristan's face was flushed with excitement, and he continually stole glances at D’anton when he was not looking. 

D'anton seemed taken with Tristan as well, laughing at his jokes and teasing him. His eyes seemed to sparkle whenever he looked at Tristan, and on one occasion he pushed him flirtatiously.

At last, Isabel said to Sydnee, “Come, we must bring Christmas dinner back to these lazy boys.” As they walked down the hall, she said, “It seems Tristan has received
his
gift from
Pere Noel
today,” and they giggled.

Dinner was underway, and the aroma of turkey drifted out to them. They could hear guests talking and the tinkling of silver and crystal.

They turned into the serving room where the cooks made up plates for them. There was turtle soup, roast mutton and duck, turkey with oyster dressing, corn pudding and green beans with pecans. For dessert there was gingerbread and sweet potato pie. There was so much food, the cooks had to help them carry it into the library.

Sydnee had never seen such bounty. Margarite had not exaggerated when she described the wealth of the planters, in fact, it was more than she had ever imagined.

Even though the group had to balance their dinner plates on their laps, they were greatly relieved they did not have to attend the stuffy gathering in the dining room.

“Why did your family move here from Paris, D'anton?” Isabel asked before taking a bite of turkey.

“My father has business here. I will live in New Orleans only a short time and then return to Paris to complete my education and take the Grand Tour.”

“You will be on your Grand Tour soon too,” Isabel said to Tristan.

He nodded and shrugged. “It is expected.” Suddenly, he looked up. “Has anyone taken dinner to Mortimer?”

“Sydnee and I will take him something,” Isabel said. “I have a gift to give him anyway.”

The boys went back to talking, and Isabel looked at Sydnee, rolling her eyes. “They have forgotten about us already. Let's go.”

“Do you suppose the kitchen will have any leftovers for the dogs?” Sydnee asked, brushing off her skirt.

“Without a doubt. We will send a package home with you.”

The girls took a plate of food down to Mortimer who was getting ready to return to
Saint-Denis.
“You cannot leave yet,” Isabel said. She handed him a plate with a napkin over it. “We have dinner for you.”

“Thank you,” he said, stealing a look up at her through his hair. He took the plate and fork and sat down on some hay in a corner.

In spite of her fine gown, Isabel sat down next to him. Sydnee was unsure whether she should sit in the hay, but she followed Isabel's example.

“How is D'anton's mare?” Sydnee asked.

“She is unhurt, but I applied some liniment to her leg just in case.”

“You must be hungry, the way you gobble your food,” Isabel observed.

Mortimer nodded with his mouth full. He swallowed, picked up a turkey drumstick and asked, “Where is Tristan? I haven't seen him all day,” asked Mortimer.

The girls looked at each other and laughed. “Oh, he is smitten with D'anton,” Isabel said. “The boy who was thrown from his horse today. He is up at the house with him now.”

Mortimer looked from one girl to the other and mumbled, “Oh.”

He took a last bite, sighed and leaned back on the stable wall. He had cleaned his plate. “It was good.”

“You're not done yet,” Isabel said, reaching behind her back. She pulled out a brown paper package. “This is for you.
Joyeux Noel
!”

Mortimer looked at the gift, and a smile flickered on his lips. Sydnee noticed his face flush.