Love Finds You in New Orleans(80)

But it matters not now. My grandparents need me to do what generations have done before me. Why did I ever think I could escape what was expected of me as the daughter of a wealthy Creole family whose name and status mattered in the city?

Oh, what I would give to be poor.

My love and affection,

Genevieve Charlotte



* * * * *


Lottie tolerated Paul’s third visit. As validation of his utter disregard for her he displayed not a whit of consternation observing the shell of the woman soon to be his wife. If he noted that the dull-eyed, slack-faced young woman who arranged herself in the upholstered chair seemed to be different, it was not obvious in the careful examination of his fingernails or the continued straightening of his ascot.

Before his sentence with her expired, he invited her and her grandparents to attend the opera with the Bastion family, who had a box at the opulent St. Charles theatre. The invitation was quite a coup for her grandmother, who was among the last of her friends to claim having viewed the lavishly appointed theatre. Grand-mère prated on about the chandelier, which even enticed Lottie to divert her attention long enough to hear its description. Made of over twenty-three thousand crystal prisms, the twelve-foot-high, thirty-foot-wide chandelier was lit by almost two hundred gas jets. Little wonder why the St. Charles cost over 350,000 dollars to construct.

The discussion of Paul’s placée or her being with child no longer held any significance. Being a protector made him like most rich Creole men his age, so his having a left-handed marriage shocked no one. With Gabriel out of her life, Lottie now hoped that he wouldn’t dismiss his placée, when she did become Paul’s wife. It would relieve her of the burden of expecting or providing an emotional attachment. And perhaps a physical one as well.

After Paul finally escaped, Lottie picked up Mansfield Park, opened the French doors of her bedroom, and sat outside to read. The same marchande who’d asked her to purchase a nosegay passed on the street, except this afternoon her tray held food, perhaps figs or nougats or the popcorn made with brown sugar. Only a few people traipsed back and forth. Most were probably napping or recovering from their afternoon meal. The Carnival days were approaching, though, and revelers leaving early, coming home late, and in all manner of inebriation and exhaustion would litter the streets.

Lottie opened her novel to read about the loathsome Henry Crawford’s relentless pursuit of Fanny and was vexed by the arrogance of a man who sought to entertain himself by manipulating a woman’s affection and pretending to care about her. Was Paul’s one admirable quality his honesty in not pretending to care for Lottie? Or, perhaps, was that more evidence of his selfishness? She commended Fanny for refusing Mr. Crawford, as incomprehensible as the choice was to Fanny’s relations, and choosing instead to marry for love. Lottie closed the book with a sigh, wishing her own story could turn out as happily as Fanny’s.

In the coming weeks, after Paul’s father and her grandfather negotiated the marriage contract, the formal engagement would be announced, which meant Paul could visit whenever he wanted. Lottie didn’t expect that to be often.

She didn’t want to think about anything or anyone beyond that.



* * * * *


“I will absolutely die of boredom if you will not entertain me this evening,” said Nathalie as they closed the café. “Besides, like your mother, I am perplexed by this person who has inhabited your body all day. Though I do understand, because it is a perfectly hospitable one.” She grinned and then pouted when he didn’t respond. “Do you see what a problem you are?”

Nathalie almost always amused Gabriel, as she did now, but she required a great deal of attention. She was not the person anyone would think to invite for a quiet stroll. A woman unafraid to express and sometimes demand what she wanted both terrified and outraged most men and even some women. Having known her since they were both too young to realize they straddled the world they lived in, Gabriel found her harmless. And he admired her determination, though she loved her mother, not to subject herself to quadroon balls, where she would be ogled by men and ultimately signed over to one who promised to care for her. Nathalie was her father’s daughter from his placée. His wife gave him sons. He refused to allow his only daughter to be parceled out on a dance floor. Fortunately for him and his daughter, he made money in the sugar industry faster than she could spend it. And that wealth enabled her to flaunt the conventions of society that expected so much and yet so little from women.

“Can you postpone your death by one day?” He asked for no other reason than to put more time between his pain and the person he hoped he could be: the person who had learned to live without Lottie. Gabriel didn’t want Nathalie knocking down new walls.