Blue by You by Rachel Gibson Read Free Book Online Page A

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    She quickly undressed and stepped into a hoop skirt. The replica dress was lighter, had less fabric than the original, and not as many layers beneath. The costume was much more functional and zipped up the back. A dark green sash circled the waist, while a matching ribbon tied beneath her chin to keep the flat straw hat on her head.
    Blue looked in the full-length mirror one last time, adjusted her breasts in the tight bodice, and headed toward the front of the house. Right on time, she opened the big double doors, and said, “Welcome to Dahlia Hall,” with a big smile on her face.
    A cluster of about fifteen tourists stood on the white gallery. Gathered was a church group in matching T-shirts, several women Blue assumed were traveling together, a few couples in shorts and flip-flops, and one man who stood apart. Tall, dark, his hair touched the tops of his ears and back of his thick neck. Fine lines creased the corners of his dark eyes.
    Kasper Pennington. What did he want?
    Blue pushed up the corners of her mouth even higher. “I’m Miss Blue, and we’ll be spending the next hour together. If you have a question, just ask.”
    “Is Blue your real name?” someone wanted to know.
    “Yes. I’m named after one of my aunts.” She glanced at Kasper, then stepped out onto the gallery. A slight smile curved his mouth. Last night, she hadn’t known how she felt about seeing him again. Today, she was more confused than anything. Why was he at Dahlia Hall? In the last group of the day? What could he possibly want?
    Blue began the tour with a history of the land and family and original house. “When Garrard Toussaint brought his bride home, she was not impressed with the original Creole architecture and began renovations that lasted ten years and resulted in the current Creole, Greek Revival style.” As she spoke, she was very aware of Kasper’s rapt attention. On the columns and fanlight windows, but not really on her. “In 1820, the original mistress, Dahlia Toussaint, added the belvedere on the roof, so she could always have a clear view of the river.” Several times, Blue stumbled over her well-rehearsed script, and he smiled even as he ran the tip of his fingers across the shutters.
    The tour moved into the house, and Blue waited in the doorway for the last straggler to enter. Of course, it was Kasper.
    “What are you doing here?” she asked just above a whisper.
    “Apparently, I’m touring your home.” He pointed to the group in the entry. “Imagine that.”
    Yeah. Imagine that. She turned, and continued, “Like most Creole floor plans of the era, there are no hallways at Dahlia Hall. Just suite after suite. The parlors were designed with large pocket doors that could be opened to connect them all to the big foyer for special occasions, like balls or funerals,” she said, and took a glance at Kasper, who stood in the gentlemen’s parlor, studying the intricate details of the restored murals on the walls.
    They moved into the dining room, where family portraits hung on the walls. “This porcelain was brought to the house from Paris as part of Laura Blanchard’s dowry in 1850,” Blue said as she pointed to a Sheraton sideboard. She lifted her hand to a portrait hanging above the porcelain. “This is Laura.”
    A deep voice spoke from the back of the room. “Was she a first cousin?”
    Blue didn’t even have to look at Kasper to know who asked the question. “She was not.” She bit her lip to keep from smiling, recalling that time many years ago when she and Kasper had stood at a backyard barbecue arguing over whose family was more inbred. If she recalled, the answer was hers.
    For the next hour, she turned up her Southern belle charm and showed the group the big house, grounds, and slave quarters of Dahlia Hall. Usually, she enjoyed showing tourists her home. She was proud of her heritage, but this was by no means a typical group. A former lover stood in the small crowd. Her first lover. The