Lottie smiled, glad that he looked relaxed and relieved. She sank into the silk settee and her skirt billowed around her, the relief of its weight as welcome as Grand-père’s calm demeanor. She chided herself for allowing her stomach to practically loop around itself. She’d rather talk to Grandpère on a bad day than Grand-mère on a good day. Hands clasped in her lap, Lottie waited for her grandfather to mete out whatever consequence her grandmother had decided he should, confident that he would soften it. Should I remind him that I am almost twenty years old? But using her age could well be a disadvantage, if he used it to remind her that she should act more like an adult.
The sun streamed through the shutters, leaving slices of light along the carpet. No sounds drifted through, not this time of day, when the entire city lay drowsy and waiting for even the slightest suggestion of dusk. On the wall behind Charlotte was a painting of her father, the likeness between them obvious to even a stranger. The dark brown eyes beneath the thick, arched eyebrows, the firm set of the chin… Quite often, the portrait of her father was mistaken for that of her grandfather as a young man. Louis glanced at the painting of his son as he loosened his ascot, tugging the knot away from his neck. He straightened against the wingbacked chair and rested his arms on the softly worn manchettes.
Louis leaned toward Lottie. “Are you, my p’tit, such un tonnerre a la voile that I should have you confined to jail for a night?”
Wild and uncontrollable? Does Grand-mère think that of me? Spurs of anxiety rippled through Lottie. She readied herself to protest, but then she saw her grandfather’s lips curl into a smile. “Maybe two nights,” she answered.
“I am making light of this,” he said. He looked over his shoulder for a moment then back at Lottie. She wondered if he feared his wife may have overheard him. “But you know you are to be respectful to your elders, especially in the presence of others.”
“Yes, Grand-père, of course. I will apologize to Grand-mère and ask her to forgive me.” Lottie hated to disappoint her grandfather, and it would be for that reason that she would be especially contrite when she spoke to her grandmother. “But you know how I feel about how Agnes is treated—”
“Stop. We are not going to discuss this further. We have more important business to talk about.”
“But that was all that happened today.” Lottie heard herself whine and winced. That would not go far in supporting her maturity.
“Part of what happened today is because you are a young woman and, in your case, a strong-headed young woman. By now, you should have already had your coming-out party, engaged, married. But the yellow fever, then my unexpected sickness, delayed all that.”
Lottie grasped the arm of the settee. “But, Grand-père, I understood. You know I’ve never complained. We will have time when you are feeling stronger.” Ever since the doctors suggested his need to rest because of his heart, Lottie was careful to not upset him.
“You will soon be twenty. Some might say we have waited too long.”
Too long to make a suitable match? Too long to be told what man would be chosen for her to spend her life with? She could not even make her grandmother happy. How would she ever please a stranger? “Please, PaPa, please.” Lottie reached for his hands. “I am not ready to be a wife. Why do we have to follow someone else’s rules?”
“Oh, my dear Charlotte, you are so much like your father.” He gazed at his son’s portrait then at his granddaughter. “But we are doing this for you. For your future. In a few months when we have your party, you will see.”
“But I do not want to see.”
“I know. I know. And neither did your father.”
Chapter Three
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Gabriel Girod forced a smile when André Toutant strolled into his mother’s café. It wasn’t that he disliked André, but his cousin flaunted his wealth, or at least that of his mother’s protector. If Gabriel had the wealth of his own mother’s protector, he could have joined André in Paris, attending the school the man had promised him.
Both of their mothers lived well as the placées of rich Creole men, white men who provided for them in a system of “left-handed marriages.” As free women of color, they were not allowed by law to marry these men, but they could become their life partners. Care of the women included jewels, gowns, and homes—like the Creole cottages on Rampart Street where both André and Gabriel lived. And for the first ten years of their lives, they both enjoyed the benefits that came with being the sons of rich men. One of those benefits was being sent to Paris for an education. But Rosette Girod changed that when she decided she valued self-respect more than money.