Bal Masque Read Free Page B

and leather met her. René Toussaint bent over an open ledger, a finger knotting the loose end of his cravat. He inked a note in the long, narrow book.
    “Could you put those boring old accounts away? Or would I be distracting you?”
    “I’m always ready to be distracted by your sweet smile.” Her father pushed his chair away from the long table and the account books it held. “Come and brighten this dull room before your mama calls us to dinner. Is something worrying my Chou-Chou? Tell Papa.”
    Lucienne hugged him, took the chair he offered, and spread her embroidered skirts over her lap. “Papa?” She put a wistful note in her voice. “Papa, are you sure marrying Armand Dupre is the right thing for me to do?” She twisted one end of her ribbon sash as if thinking through a troublesome subject. “I know you’ve considered it, but I’m just concerned what people might think, the Dupres being in trade and not planters like us.” In the social strata of Lucienne’s world, only planter families mattered, all others being distinctly lower in caste. “You don’t think our friends might look down on us for marrying into a trade family, or possibly shun any child I might have, do you?” As an argument, it was the strongest one she’d been able to devise as she schemed in her room all afternoon.
    René Toussaint sat back in his chair, the faint wrinkle of concern fading from his brow. “Is that worrying you, p’tite ?” He put a reassuring hand over hers. “No, I don’t think you should be concerned for your children’s place in the order of things. The Dupres are a fine, honorable family. They were planters, cotton planters, before the sugar cane trade became so big here along the river. They saw a need for agents who could transport the rock sugar and build the market. Old Raoul Dupre has a fine head for business, and he and his son have helped us all get better transportation and prices for our sugar.” He smiled in some amusement. “After all, my papa was only a small farmer when he started out in Saint Domingue. If he hadn’t brought the ribbon cane plant here and succeeded where others gave up, we might still just be small farmers, not one of the big plantations. You mustn’t worry yourself with such trifles.”
    Lucienne drew a long breath as if relieved of a major burden. “I’m sure you know best.” Silence filled the room. She put a note of regret in her voice and hesitantly brought up her real point. “Do you think our friends and family are going to be put out at us for canceling the grand ball, Papa? Everybody looks forward to the masquerade; it’s even more important than the Christmas parties. People may feel grieved when they don’t get to come this year. And we’re not even inviting them to a proper wedding instead.” She sighed heavily. “I know Pierrette is going to be disappointed, especially after Grandmère ordered those dresses for her and me, all the way from Paris.”
    René Toussaint flinched a little at the mention of his formidable mother-in-law. Lucienne knew perfectly well Madame Thierry would not be pleased that the butterfly costumes she’d ordered for her granddaughters received no showing. She would, with great delicacy, let everyone know how she’d been inconvenienced, and mention the exorbitant price of the gowns, though in fact she’d sent the bills to her sons-in-law for payment. She would bemoan the waste for at least the coming year.
    “I know you and your cousin planned a grand entrance and a fine evening bedazzling your beaus with those butterfly things. And your grandmère will have my head for making other arrangements, but what could I do? The Dupres, father and son, have business obligations for months ahead. Unfortunately, when one is in the city, the other is away. I would love to give you the fine cathedral wedding you deserve, Chou-Chou, but we would be waiting a year, perhaps two, before such a thing could happen. The Dupres are not to be put