kiss on the cheek before she hurried upstairs to dress.
On those evenings when Lord Enfield wasn’t taking Lady Madeleine out to dinner or to the theater, he dined with her and her uncle at the Royal Street town house. Or else he invited them to join him for the evening meal at his own Dumaine Street home.
Whether at the Sumner town house or his own home, the earl, ever the caring consort, was careful not to keep either of them up too late. He insisted that the countess should continue to get plenty of rest. Colfax readily concurred, pleased that Lord Enfield was such a thoughtful man.
Madeleine, too, was grateful that Desmond was concerned for her welfare. A true blue-blooded gentleman, he expected nothing more from her than brief good-night kisses in the flower-filled courtyard. Which made her feel terribly guilty. What would he think if he knew how wantonly she had behaved with a total stranger?
One such evening, Madeleine returned to the parlor after kissing Desmond good-night beneath the porte cochere. When she came into the room, Avalina looked at her, then looked at the French clock on the white marble mantel. Nine-thirty. Avalina pursed her lips.
“What? What is it?” Madeleine asked, puzzled.
The black woman shrugged. “Nothing.”
“I know better,” said Madeleine. “Something’s on your mind. What is it?”
Avalina made a face. “Seems to me it’s mighty early for a lovestruck gentleman to be leaving his fiancée.”
“For heaven’s sake, Desmond’s only being considerate,” Madeleine promptly defended him. “And I appreciate it.”
Avalina rolled her eyes heavenward and said, “Will you need me anymore this evening?”
“No. No, I can undress without you.”
“Then, good night, my lady.” Avalina turned and left the room.
Madeleine stared after her. She had the distinct impression that Avalina did not like Lord Enfield. But why? Desmond was unfailingly cordial to Avalina and even brought her little presents on occasion. Which she accepted almost grudgingly.
Madeleine sighed and climbed the stairs to her room. It was too early for bed. She wasn’t sleepy. She was hot and she was restless. The latitude and climate of New Orleans had a disturbingly potent effect on her. The tropical heat of the sultry summer days made her feel lazy and content.
But the long languorous nights had the opposite effect. The New Orleans nights were powerfully provocative. The humid, heavy air. The moonlight on the Mississippi. The sweet scent of jasmine and gardenias. The faint sound of music from a street musician’s banjo.
Madeleine wandered out onto the streetside iron lace balcony and inhaled deeply of the warm moist air. Almost wistfully, she looked out over the sprawling city.
Under a beguiling tropic sky, carriages noisily rolled down the streets and laughing people crowded the banquettes. At 10:00 p.m., the Crescent City was alive with merrymakers hurrying to the restaurants and theaters and gaming palaces.
Many were just now leaving their homes to go out for the evening. Avalina was right. It was early for Desmond to have gone. He could have stayed a while longer.
She frowned and went back inside.
Madeleine began to undress in the darkness, knowing that she would not sleep. It would be another of those nights when, tormented by the heat and the buzzing of mosquitoes and a shameful yearning for a dead, dark lover, she would toss and turn and sigh.
Feeling edgy and irritated, Madeleine finished undressing. She picked up the fresh nightgown Avalina had laid out for her, then shook her head and tossed the gown across the back of a chair. Naked, her russet hair pinned atop her head for coolness, she climbed into the big four-poster bed. She lowered the mosquito baire, punched the feather pillows and lay down on her back.
Her eyes on the cream satin bed hangings above, she exhaled heavily and stretched her long, slender legs, wiggling her toes, ordering herself to think only of Desmond and their wonderful future together.
She assumed that her fiancé was home by now. He lived only a few short blocks away. He was probably having a nightcap before bed.
The weather finally turned.
The damp, sticky heat of summer gave way to clear, brisk autumn air. The mosquitoes subsided and a cool breeze blew in off the river.
On a chilly evening in early October, Lady Madeleine was extraordinarily excited. She was to attend, with her tall blond earl, the first masked ball of the season. She was in high spirits. Memories and regrets had begun to fade. The dark, handsome face that had haunted her dreams was less clear. It blurred. She couldn’t recall exactly what Armand de Chevalier looked like.
And she vowed to herself that she would be a faithful, loving wife to Lord Enfield and never look at another man for as long as she lived.
Now as she finished dressing for the momentous occasion, Madeleine smiled as she gazed at herself in the mirror. She had kept her choice of costumes a secret, except from Avalina, who was helping her dress. She was going to the ball as Shakespeare’s tragic heroine, Juliet. Biting her lips to give them color, Madeleine idly wondered, would the earl guess and show up dressed as her Romeo?
At shortly after 8:00 p.m., a cortege of carriages rolled up before the French Quarter’s grand St. Louis Hotel. The hotel’s façade boasted no outthrust portico, but instead a line of six graceful columns. In the New Orleans tradition, intricate iron-work galleries opened before the outer rooms. The structure was impressive in every way, but a large domed rotunda was the hotel’s real marvel.
The imposing Creole hotel was the center of the city’s French business, entertainment and cultural district. It was here that throngs attended the bals de société, subscription affairs given by the aristocratic Creoles.
On this evening, gorgeously costumed ladies and gentlemen alighted from gleaming coaches and hurried inside and through the rotunda. Beautiful milky-skinned, dark-eyed Creole belles clung to the arms of the city’s gay handsome blades.
This glittering gala in the hotel’s opulent ballroom was one of the season’s major affairs, attended by the city’s elite. Bowers of fresh-cut flowers sweetened the air. French champagne flowed freely. An orchestra, in full evening dress, played waltzes.
And Lady Madeleine, in a flowing gown of virginal white chiffon, her russet hair hidden beneath the long conical hennan headdress with shimmering white silk streamers trailing from its tip, wore an elaborate mask adorned with semiprecious jewels. She fairly glowed as she turned about on the dance floor in Lord Enfield’s arms. Her fiancé was dressed as Robin Hood.
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