Jasmine moon, p.13
Jasmine Moon, page 13
"Eulalie, I was but teasing yon. And as for the gown, it is exactly right for tonight. Do not be so embarrassed," he scolded.
She sat in silence while the carriage took them to their destination, to the large Greek Revival house that was lit with party lights.
Eulalie and Robert were late, and it was her fault for sleeping too long. As they arrived and were greeted by the host, dinner was announced and she and Robert were immediately separated.
So many people—and she knew no one except Robert. Seated far down the table from him, Eulalie could not see beyond the second candelabra. Robert would be no help to her tonight. She managed to smile at the older man at her side and to answer his attentive questions as best she could.
"I am pleased that Robert has decided to share you tonight. I was not aware that his…wife was in Columbia for the seating of the assembly."
"I have not been long in Columbia, monsieur," Eulalie answered with a slight accent.
"Charming," the man commented. "You sound charming, Mrs. Tabor. I take it you are French?"
Eulalie nodded. "I lived in New Orleans, monsieur, before coming to Carolina."
"Did you say New Orleans?" The man on her left leaned over to join in the conversation, and at the soothing small talk, Eulalie began to relax.
She listened as the two men became embroiled in the issues before the legislature, and the news of the war with the British on the Canadian border.
"Our apologies, Mrs. Tabor, for speaking of forbidden subjects at the table," the elder man said, stopping the discussion.
"Oh, but I am so interested. Please continue," Eulalie urged.
"I am afraid our hostess will blackball us both from her sumptuous table, if we keep on."
The man on her left concurred. "When a man has the opportunity to enjoy beauty and fine wine at one sitting, he should not waste it in talking of polities."
On through the eight-course meal, the men paid cavalier tribute to Eulalie. And although he made no attempt to speak to her, the young sandy-haired man across the table also watched her every move. Making a half-hearted effort to be civil to the ladies on his left and his right, he incurred the disapproval of both. The two began to pout and glare at Eulalie.
"Mrs. Tabor, have you met Mr. Arthur Metcalfe?" The man on Eulalie's right added, "He and your husband are great friends."
"Then I am delighted to meet a friend of my…husband's," she answered, acknowledging the man across the table from her.
"We have been good friends ever since we were at Mr. Waddell's School for Boys," Arthur Metcalfe offered. "But I am disappointed that Robert chose to keep you a secret from me. May I be so bold as to ask how you met?"
Eulalie nervously fingered the ivory lace on the tablecloth. The conversation was becoming too personal. "My maman was married to Robert's uncle, monsieur. That is, after my own papa died."
"So you are the one who was at Midgard when Robert returned from Paris."
"Yes, monsieur," Eulalie answered, no louder than a whisper.
How much did the man know, if he was Robert's good friend? Had Robert confided in him? Frantically looking down the sea of faces toward Robert and hoping for rescue from the uncomfortable situation, Eulalie received another shock.
Familiar dark pinpoints from colorless gray eyes focused on her and would not cease.
Her face lost color and she gripped the arm of her chair. Alistair Ashe, the overseer. She was seated at the same table with Alistair Ashe, the man who had dragged her to the slave market, the man who had pushed her to the ground and treated her with such indignity.
"And what is your opinion. Mrs. Tabor?" the man beside her asked.
"I'm…I'm sorry. What—was your question?"
Seeing her pale countenance, Arthur Metcalfe bent toward her, his blue eyes and boyish face showing concern.
"Are you all right, Mrs. Tabor?"
She stifled her shivering and replied feebly, "The…the room is…suddenly cold."
The host and hostess stood up. Dinner was over. Eulalie in a daze heard Arthur's voice. "Go to the fire in the drawing room, Mrs. Tabor. It is a cold night for one used to the sultry weather of the Gulf."
The men remained at the table for brandy and cigars while the women excused themselves and followed the hostess into the elaborate drawing room. Eulalie forced herself to walk slowly, although she wanted to run and not stop until she had reached the safety of the white clapboard house with the iron fence.
Why had Robert brought her? Had he known that his former overseer was to be present also? And how much longer would she have to stay before she would be free to leave?
Eulalie, following the rest of the women, did not see Alistair Ashe and his quick conversation with his blond wife. Neither did she see the finger pointed in her direction.
"I believe everyone knows everyone else," Mrs. Kirkland, the hostess, commented, "except for Mrs. Tabor."
She took Eulalie's arm and guided her to the groups of women clustered around the drawing room.
"Mrs. Ashe, may I present Mrs. Robert Tabor? Mrs. Tabor, Mrs. Alistair Ashe—Polly."
Polly Ashe smiled at Eulalie in a cool, insulting manner, and when Eulalie walked on with her hostess, the blonde woman immediately began whispering to her companions.
Somehow, Eulalie got through the introductions, but the room echoed with whispers and titters.
"Mrs. Tabor," one woman asked, "why is it we have not seen you before? Has your husband been hiding you?"
The plump woman seated beside her muffled her laughter with her white lace handkerchief.
"I have been away," Eulalie replied. "And also, our son has been ill."
"New Orleans, was it not?" another guest questioned. "You're a native of New Orleans, I believe?"
"Yes."
"A Creole family?" the same woman continued.
"That is correct."
"Tell me, Mrs. Tabor—is it true that all Creole families have at least a drop or two of Nigra blood?"
Again the smothered laughter pervaded the room.
Before Eulalie could answer, her hostess interrupted. "Come, ladies. You know better than that. Most are fine old aristocratic French families or descendants of Spanish grandees."
Mrs. Kirkland turned to one of the younger women. "Anna, will you play and sing something for us, while we are waiting for the men to join us? The music is on the harpsichord."
"If Mrs. Tabor will turn the pages for me," she replied. Anna smiled in her direction, friendliness and kindness showing in her eyes.
Gratefully, Eulalie sat on the bench beside Anna and listened to her sweet, untrained voice, as she accompanied herself. For a while, at least, the open hostility was over.
Soon the men came into the drawing room, and many gathered close to the ornate harpsichord to listen to Anna, with their eyes wandering to Eulalie as well. Robert stood to the side of the hearth, conscious of the admiring glances in the direction of the two beautiful women—one dark, one fair-haired, suitable foils for each other.
"You…saw him?" Robert asked on the way home.
"Yes," Eulalie replied.
"And you met his wife, Polly?"
"Yes."
"It is not surprising that he quickly married her after his brother, Gregory, died. Now Alistair possesses not only his dead brother's wife, but also his plantation."
Eulalie did not respond to the information Robert supplied.
The look of reprieve on her face had not escaped Robert when he had said his goodbyes. And now as he gazed at the small, still figure beside him, he realized the emotional beating she had taken in seeing his former overseer.
Eulalie bit her lip to still the trembling and clutched tightly the reticule in her lap until her fingers ached. The silence between them was an awkward companion all the way to the white clapboard house.
When the carriage stopped before the iron fence, Eulalie was handed down from the carriage and, without waiting for Robert, she ran into the house, up the stairs and into the safety of the green bedroom.
Robert, walking slowly down the narrow hall, paused and listened at the closed door. Delicate sobs reached his ears. He frowned, taking a step nearer the door, and then stopped. Finally, he walked on to his own bedroom, where he tossed and turned restlessly before dropping off to sleep.
Robert was not the only one troubled by the episode of that evening. The next day, he was met by a concerned Arthur Metcalfe.
Sitting in the library with the glass of brandy in his hand, Arthur broached the subject immediately.
"Robert, there are some ugly rumors around town concerning your wife. If what I hear being planned is the truth, you must take care to protect her."
Surprised at the seriousness in Arthur's voice, Robert asked, "What have you heard, Arthur?"
"Alistair Ashe is telling everyone that the girl is your quadroon mistress—that you were never married to her. I know there is some mystery, that you have a son. Yet, you never mentioned a wife to me. If you do not choose to tell me the entire story, I understand. I just want to make certain. She is the former Eulalie Boisfeulet and she is your wife, isn't she?"
"Yes, Arthur. Eulalie was my uncle's stepdaughter and she is now legally my wife. But go on."
"Ashe has gotten the ladies incensed with his vicious lies. They feel insulted that you would bring your mistress to dine with them. I'd rather fall into a nest of water moccasins than be within a mile of those women when they think they've been insulted."
"And what has been planned?"
"The wives say she should be run out of town. If I were you, I would send the girl back to Midgard immediately."
"No, Arthur. She will remain here. But I will see that she comes to no harm."
"You weren't in the drawing room last night to protect her," Arthur argued. "Anna deLong said she had never heard the women so catty before. And with Ashe behind this, it will get even worse. You realize, of course, that he will do anything to see you discredited and shamed."
"His personal vendetta is with me, Arthur—not with Eulalie."
Abruptly setting his brandy down, the sandy-haired man, vexed with Robert's answer, replied, "Well, don't say I didn't warn you, Robert."
CHAPTER 15
FOR two days a subdued Eulalie remained in the house with Jason. It was raining anyway—a good excuse not to venture outside. And now that the child was almost well, he needed a different type of attention, a constant watching to make sure he did not get too tired. Eulalie had seen it happen—the complications that could strike later, more devastating than the initial disease.
Eulalie could tell that Florilla did not like this concern that she showed for her child. But she was not usurping Florilla's place. She had nothing to fear. Eulalie was merely taking her rightful place as Jason's mother. Her rightful place? As a mother, yes. But not as a wife.
Eulalie sighed. Robert did not want her as a wife; yet he was providing her with all the luxuries that a wife could expect.
She stood and gazed at the elaborate ballgown that Maggie had finished and delivered to her that very morning, now waiting to be put on. Of shimmering white, with silver leaves embroidered down the center for the skirt and silver lace tiers of ruching stiff at each side, the dress lay regally across the bed, barely touching the deep forest-green coverlet. And the silver slippers at the foot of the bed gleamed and waited for her feet.
Gazing down at her hands, Eulalie saw the result of Effie's labors to turn her work-worn hands into the hands of a lady. She reached up and felt the coiffure that she had been so proud of earlier. And then a sense of guilt overcame her. How easy it was to be seduced by material things, to forget that she had no right to them.
A need to atone grew larger as she counted her sins. She had succumbed to the sensual feel of silk undergarments against her skin, forgetting the coarse, scratchy material of the nun's habit. She had dismissed the lessons of service she had learned at the convent, taking too much pleasure in the improvement of her hands; and worst of all, she had forgotten to pray for Jacques Binet, as she had promised.
Eulalie made up her mind. She would not go to the ball. She would not masquerade as Robert's wife, in the finery he had provided for her. He could return the dress to Maggie and send back the jeweled chain of sapphires and diamonds that had arrived that morning.
And at home, she would be safe from the humiliation she had suffered two evenings previously.
Robert had not even been aware of her shame at the dinner, of how the women had treated her. Only Anna with her kindness had made the evening bearable, after those colorless gray eyes had found her and precipitated her humiliation. Anna was the only one who had shown her any sympathy at all.
Walking to the wardrobe, Eulalie took out one of the nun's habits, slipped it over her head, and then knelt upon the floor.
Robert did not knock. She heard his footsteps and sensed his presence even before she opened her brown eyes.
"I did not realize, Eulalie, that you took your devotions so seriously as to risk making us late again." His face was set and his eyes projected dangerous glints of anger.
Still on her knees, Eulalie looked up into his face. "I am not going, Robert." Her voice was soft but firm.
"Were you not taught at the convent, Eulalie, that a wife's first duty is to her husband?"
"I am not your wife, Robert. At least, not—"
His face, red with anger, stopped her words. In horror, she saw him as he leaned down, as his hand went out swiftly. In one crushing motion, he wrapped his arms about her, to lift her from the floor and to set her firmly on the bed. Her teeth chattered at the sudden jolt, at his rough handling.
"There is no need to remind me that you are not a wife to me. But I will not have anyone else knowing it, to pity me because my wife is not a wife. I will be back in five minutes, Eulalie. If you have not made a start toward removing that ugly crow's dress and putting on the gown I have chosen for you, I will dress you myself. Five minutes, Eulalie. That is all the time you have."
The door slammed and, hastily, Eulalie hopped off the bed. She dropped the nun's habit to the floor and, taking the ballgown from the bed, she struggled into it.
How could she get it on by herself in five minutes? The fastenings were too intricate for her to handle alone. But her pride stood in the way of calling for help from Effie.
The door opened again. Hands touched her from behind. The deep voice taunted, "The time is up, Eulalie. I see I shall have to help you."
Whirling around to face him, Eulalie spat out the words. "You didn't wait five minutes, Robert. You didn't give me even the small amount of time you promised."
"Did I not?" His voice, suddenly losing its anger, held an amused nuance, and the change maddened Eulalie even more.
"Kindly leave my bedroom, Robert. I do not need your help."
"No?" Robert's eyes held hers. "That may be so. I am not used to being a lady's maid. But since I do not wholly trust you, Eulalie, I will remain until you are ready." And his hands continued their action until the fastening was complete. Then he let her go.
Eulalie felt his all-seeing tawny eyes on her, and it made her clumsy. She dropped the hairbrush, but before she could retrieve it, he picked it up and held it out to her. Her hand touched his and she quickly drew back from the contact. Smiling at her reaction, Robert laid the brush before her on the table.
It did not take her long to repair the several curls that had gotten out of place. When she had finished, she stood up, saying, "I am ready, Robert." The haughtiness was apparent in her voice.
"I think not."
Eulalie swiftly turned to the mirror. What had she forgotten? Frowning, she scrutinized her appearance in the cheval glass.
"The necklace, Eulalie. You have forgotten the necklace I had the boy deliver to you this morning. Where is it, Eulalie?"
"On the chair…next to the door."
In a swift movement, Robert crossed the distance, took the chain from the box and, before Eulalie could demur, fastened the jeweled necklace around her long white neck.
"Turn around, Eulalie," Robert ordered in a gruff voice. "So that I may see if you are presentable."
The imperious command to submit to his inspection angered Eulalie further. Dangerous sparks flashed from the dark-brown eyes, and Robert felt her smoldering resentment.
"Yes, master," she said, making a mock obeisance to him.
Two steps and she was caught, his hands gripping her arms in a painful grasp. "Don't ever do that again, Eulalie."
His reaction shocked her, even more than her own behavior. Too ashamed to meet his eyes, she cast her own eyes downward and waited for the giant hands to release her. His uneven breathing matched hers, as the seconds became an eternity.
Taking their time, the hands loosened and trailed sensuously down her arms. Eulalie shivered and stepped back.
"One day, Eulalie, you will learn not to be so impulsive. You can only get into trouble this way, as you should know by now."
The blush slowly blossomed over her face at his words. And subdued, Eulalie followed him out of the room—going where she had had no intention of going, following meekly her husband—in name only.
The capitol was brilliant with a thousand candles. Vast urns of red camellias filled the senate chamber, and garlanded festoons of holly and ivy hung on the walls. In jeweled splendor the women came, escorted by elegant, distinguished partners, and an air of gaiety pervaded the staid, formal senate chamber.
But Eulalie, hesitant to enter, hung back, her eyes searching the room for Alistair Ashe. Thankfully, she did not see him anywhere. In relief, she began to view the room with interest, getting her first glimpse of the governor and his wife, Theodosia Alston. Maggie had been right. She was the most beautiful lady in the room.
With amusement, Eulalie recalled Maggie's words—"You and Theodosia Alston will be the two prettiest ladies at the ball." How reckless of Maggie to include her in the same breath as the governor's lady.
Robert, standing at Eulalie's side, watched her, noticing the gradual change in expression from aversion to delight in the scene of pomp and glitter before her.
