Bal Masque by Fleeta Cunningham Read Free Book Online Page A

horserace? Lucienne strained to hear more, but the men had fallen silent. She waited, but nothing further was said. Had Bowie and that unpleasant man fought a duel? Which one was injured? Had honor been satisfied, or would there be another challenge? She wanted to know more, but it was hardly a suitable topic for dinner. The men were unlikely to continue the discussion in the presence of ladies.
    Armand lingered after dessert, then left in time to board the riverboat that toiled its way overnight toward the city. Lucienne told herself it was a relief to see the back of him, but she developed a restlessness after his departure. She attributed her inability to settle to her unsatisfied curiosity. As the household relaxed at the end of the evening, she flitted from her chair to the window, from her needlework to the writing desk.
    “Chou-Chou, I believe you were very sorry to see M’sieu Armand leave us this evening,” Charlotte commented. “It was a most pleasant visit, and I’m sure he’ll be back as soon as he is able to come.”
    “Oh, no, Mama, I understood he needed to return to town.” Lucienne felt exasperation mingled with amusement that her feelings were so misunderstood. Her parents obviously thought she’d enjoyed the tiresome man’s company. “I have a bit of a headache.” She saw the smile her parents exchanged and held back the denial leaping to her lips. She couldn’t tell her parents the evening with Armand and his tedious, conventional courtship left her on the verge of throwing her slippers at him. The snatch of conversation she’d overheard before dinner, of a duel in the parish, had not been continued. The men steadfastly avoided all such gossip, giving her no opportunity to get details. Papa would tell his wife, of course, but not as long as Lucienne was in the room. Frustrated and unable to give her mind to any diversion, she at last excused herself and went to her room. Perhaps she could eavesdrop from the landing when her parents headed for their bedroom.
    The rosewood casque sat on the vanity. Its carved vines and blossoms caught the lamplight and glowed with a polished patina she couldn’t resist. Its satiny finish was warm to her touch. A spicy scent of wood and oil hovered around it, offering the distraction she craved. She opened it, pushed aside the beribboned parcels to lift out the jewelry box. The wide bed creaked as she sat. Pearls, those beautiful pearls. She held the long rope to her face, letting shimmering droplets trickle through her fingers. It would almost be worth marrying Armand just to get to wear them… but my heart is promised to Philippe. She supposed she’d have to give the pearls back after she and Philippe eloped. Well, Armand claimed they’d never look as well on any other woman as they would on her. Like the butterfly dress, the cascade of pearls was the sacrifice her love required. She sighed dramatically for the burdens men put on the women who loved them.
    Lucienne heard footsteps coming along the hallway. Her parents were on their way to their room at the far end of the house. She scooped the pearls up, tucked them back into their velvet niche, and hastily put out the lamp. Perhaps Papa would still say something about that duel, and she could find out what had happened. Papa certainly would speak with Mama when they were alone.
    “I am quite certain no less than three sides of bacon are gone,” Charlotte was saying. “There’s a barrel of taffia that I can’t account for, as well. And I don’t think I’ve given out as many bolts of calico as seem to be missing, though I’m going to have to check my accounts on that before I’m sure.”
    “And that’s all, just the bacon and taffia and some dress goods?” René didn’t sound concerned.
    “Well, two bottles of whiskey that I keep for medicinal use.” She paused. “How many bottles of that Amontillado did you have?”
    “The Amontillado? I should have fourteen left. But it’s well locked