Love Finds You in New Orleans(74)
Lottie wanted to say that not every animal in a house was four-legged but settled instead for, “I see.” She heard a rustling of skirts and knew that her grandparents, entering from the dining room, would only see Paul and the waterfall of curls Agnes had arranged at the back of Lottie’s head.
The polite greetings ended, and Lottie prepared her brain to imprint her grandmother’s expression when she saw Henri in her lap, who was now amusing himself by batting the lace on Lottie’s cuffs when she moved her hands.
She was horrified. Loud gasp, hand over mouth, wide-eyed horrified. And episodes of chalk-white and strawberry-red flushing from her neck to her forehead.
“Charlotte, what is that creature… You must dispose of it immediately.” Grand-mère turned to Paul and covered him with effusive apologies before turning back to Lottie. “How did it—never mind. Please.” She waved her closed fan toward the back of the house. “Deliver it outside. Then have Agnes bring you fresh water for your hands.”
Grand-père guided her to a chair. “You look flushed. Calm yourself.”
“I waited for you so as not to be rude to Monsieur Bastion by leaving him solitary in the parlor. Of course I never intended for Henri to join us this afternoon,” said Lottie. She gently untangled her lace from Henri’s claws, else Grand-mère would need a fainting couch. Cradling Henri in her arms, she excused herself and walked to the gallery. “Thank you for making this more bearable,” she whispered, gently setting him down outside.
Agnes came from the kitchen, looked at Henri, then at Lottie, and said just low enough for Lottie to hear, “Now, you got to tell me that story later. Your grandmother done passed out?”
Lottie laughed. “No, unless she did after I left.”
“Come on. Let Agnes get all those Henri hairs off this gown. Then I’ll bring in the tea and coffee.”
“Take care of everything else,” Lottie said, sweeping her palms over the lap of her skirt. “Perfect.” She actually appreciated learning that Paul cared more about their land than he did about her. It freed her from attempting to win his favor. She knew what he thought of her. Nothing.
* * * * *
Justine and Lottie browsed through a collection of summer gloves in Maison’s while waiting for Isabelle and Madame Dumas to finish their impassioned discussion of damask versus cotton table napkins at the imported linens shop.
“Why didn’t you ask about Paul’s placée? I thought that would be most important,” Justine said as she held up a pair of delicate white-lace gloves.
“Lovely.” Lottie slipped her hand into one. It would have fit had her fingers been one knuckle shorter. She handed the glove back to Justine. “I almost asked. But Grand-mère has taught me well. If they do know, then what cause do they have for not revealing it?” Lottie shrugged her shoulders. “So I will hold it. I don’t doubt the time will come when it might be useful.”
“Red gloves, Justine? You will terrify your nieces and nephew, who will think your hands are bleeding.” Isabelle and her mother appeared, with Ruthie’s husband Laurent following and holding an assortment of boxes.
“In that case, I may indeed want to have a pair,” Justine said, turning her hands as if waving. “What do you think, Mother?”
“I think you and your sister behave like children, those red gloves are dreadful, people will think you a classless American wearing them, and Laurent is taking these packages home. Do you have any?”
“No. Lottie and I have nothing to add to your burden, Laurent.”
Tall and muscular, Laurent’s dark-honey skin, Romanesque nose, and square chin were not what people reacted to the first time they met him. His eyes were undeniably blue and an untold story. He never explained, and no one ever asked.
Laurent, probably not much older than Justine, responded, “Why, thank you, Miz Justine.”
“Why do you always speak that way to her?” Isabelle asked.
“Because she expects me to. I daresay it makes her more comfortable than my white voice.”
“You’re probably right,” Isabelle said. “Mother and I want to take the girls to Antoine’s for lunch. Would you pick us up from there in about two hours?”
“Certainly. And please forgive me, Mademoiselle LeClerc, for not greeting you sooner. I will see you ladies in two hours.”
As they left Maison’s, Justine said to Lottie, “And that’s exactly why you and Gabriel Girod need to abandon this idea that you could have a life together. Goodness, in whose world would you expect your children to live? He seems to spend more time with Nathalie. That’s the talk the two of you need to have. You just need to let him go.”