“Simone, you must know by this time how deeply I care for you. I want to marry you, and I would be honored if you agreed to be my wife.”
Simone could not believe what she was hearing. The marquis had been attracted to her ever since they had first met—that had been easy enough to ascertain. Simone, of course, was accustomed to the admi-ration of men, and that Armand had shown her such attention flat-tered her. Her parents had been even more impressed, and her father had said, “It would make a fine marriage, Simone. He’s a famous man, wealthy, and you could not do better.”
Simone d’Or had formed a habit of doing those things that a woman can do to attract men. It had been a game with her and one at which she had learned to excel. Her natural beauty had been aug-mented with a spirit that was quick and active, and the game of courtship was to her very much like a game of chess or tennis. Men pursued women, women tried to evade them—or at least gave the appearance of it. If the man was persistent enough, and attractive enough, the woman perhaps allowed herself to be captured. Simone had never found a man she loved enough to marry, and she certainly was not in love with the marquis. Still, he was quite a catch, and the society in which she moved, the Creole world of New Orleans, was watching the progress of the courtship avidly.
Simone, however, was taken quite aback when Armand had come on one of his many visits to her home and almost immediately pro-posed to her.
Only rarely had Simone d’Or been at a total loss for words. She was quick-witted, and as a rule, quite able to handle any situation. But the sight of the marquis standing before her and the impact of his words caught her unaware. She had, of course, thought that someday he might come to that point, but obviously he was more enamored of her than she had supposed. She hesitated so long that Armand said, “You do not speak. Is my case hopeless?”
“Oh, no, Armand, certainly not!” Simone said quickly. “It’s just that—well, you’ve taken me off guard. I wasn’t expecting you to say such a thing.”
Armand took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it. “I know,” he said, “that you are highly sought after and that you have refused many suitors. I come without much hope, for I am aware of the difference in our ages. You do not need to marry money, for your family is wealthy. I am aware also of the many dashing young men who are pursuing you even now. Still, I could do nothing else. The affection I feel for you is too strong for me to ignore. I beg you, Simone, do not refuse me.”
As Armand spoke, Simone was able to gather her thoughts and said, “Armand, I have a great admiration for you. You are famous the world over, and there are so many women who would be happy to become your wife.”
“But I am not interested in those other women. Only in you.” Armand shook his head and said, “I can say only this for my own cause. I was married once, as you know, and my wife was the light of my life. We lived together in perfect peace. You remind me so much of her, Simone. She was such a good woman, and I thought I would never find another to put beside her. But in you I have found such a one.”
A slight warning went off in Simone’s spirit; she was wise to the ways of men and women. She knew that she could never be what Armand’s first wife had been. From all reports, coming mostly from him, she had been an excellent woman but totally unlike Simone her-self. He had spoken so often of her gentleness, and Simone was not blind to the fact that she had an impetuous spirit that she had not yet learned to control.
“I am honored by your proposal, Armand, but I must have time to think.”
“That is all I ask.” Armand’s eyes brightened. “I was so afraid that you would refuse me outright. It would be a better match for me than for you, but my dear, you must believe that I am willing to do what-ever will make you happy.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Armand. Just give me some time.”
“Why, of course. In the meantime, I trust I will learn more about you and your family, and perhaps you will learn more about me.”
“Oh, I know a great deal about you, Armand,” Simone said, relieved that the crisis was over, at least for the moment. “But women always know more about men than men do about them.”
Armand laughed. “I think that is probably true. I must go now. Will I see you at the opera tonight?”
“Oh yes. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“What do you think of my protégé?”
“He sings very well. I think he has great potential.”
“I’m very proud of him. If I had had a son, I would have wanted one exactly like Colin. Well, I must go.” He took her hand, kissed it, and took his leave.
As soon as he left, Simone took a deep breath and stared at the door. “Well, it’s too bad he’s not twenty years younger. He would have been irresistible then. But even now it would be quite an honor to be the wife of a famous man such as the Marquis de Cuvier.”
“But you can’t even think of such a thing, Simone!”
Claude Vernay had been fearful of exactly what had come to pass. When he arrived to escort Simone to the opera, she told him almost at once about the marquis’ proposal. Vernay stared at her and exclaimed, “Why, he is an old man!”
“He’s not old, Claude.”
“Of course he’s old! He must be fifty.”
“He’s not. He’s only forty-eight.”
“Even if it weren’t for the age difference, he’s not the sort of man who can make you happy.”
Simone laughed and teased Claude. “Are you an expert in what sort of man would make me happy?”
“I should be,” Vernay grinned. “I’ve studied you enough. I know what you are, Simone.” He reached over and took her hand, and she made no attempt to prevent him. He stroked it and thought for a moment, studying her intently. He was impressed, as always, by the ripe, self-possessed curves of her mouth. She had the richest lips a woman could possess, and now her smile illuminated her face. Her skin was fair and smooth and rose-colored, and her hair was the same color as a very clear honey, a rich yellow that gleamed whenever the light caught it. He was also aware of the shape of her body within her dress, and not for the first time thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—and he had seen a great many.
“You’re a woman of fire, and the marquis’ fires have burned low.
You need excitement and a man who will challenge you.”
“Can you recommend one, Claude?”
Vernay knew that she was laughing at him, but it didn’t trouble him. The thought that she might marry the marquis did. She was an impulsive woman, he knew, and he said, “If you gave it time, you wouldn’t marry him, but you are always jumping into something, Simone. Marriage is something you can’t jump out of easily.”
“Still, the wife of the marquis would have a lot. You would have to call me Lady Beaufort.”
Claude pulled her to him and kissed her. She did not struggle, and when he released her, he said, “You’ll not marry that old man!”
“Don’t be too sure. I would be part of the nobility in France as well as in this country. I’m sure he has a castle, too, and everywhere I went, people would look at me.”
“That would please you for a while, but not for long. You’ll never marry him.”
Simone gave Vernay a curious glance. “You seem very sure of that.”
“I am sure. You know I want to marry you myself. The time’s not right yet, but no other man can have you.”
“You’re very possessive, and I don’t want to be a possession.”
“Yes, you do. You want to belong to a man, and you want the man to belong to you.”
The astute quality of Claude Vernay’s mind impressed Simone. He was the most dashing of the Creole gentry, and he stirred her physi-cally in a way that no other man had. Still, he demanded a great deal more than she was willing to give. Quickly she said, “Let’s not talk about marriage. Let’s talk about the opera.”
“Very well. But remember what I said.”
During the intermission, Claude Vernay encountered his friend Byron Mayhew. Mayhew was a small young man, no more than five foot six, with fair hair and gray eyes. His family was prominent, and Mayhew himself was a much more steady individual than his friend Vernay. The two of them made a strange pair, but both were pas-sionately devoted to fencing, and both had engaged in duels. Mayhew was not as enamored of the practice as was Vernay, but still the two were close.
“I’ve heard rumors that Simone might marry Lord Beaufort, Claude.”
Claude shot a glance at his friend. “That will never happen, Byron.”
“I don’t see why not. The old man is panting after her in full chase, and she must be flattered to have a world celebrity after her.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve already talked to her about it and warned her.”
Byron laughed. “You know Simone better than that. The surest way I can think of to make her do something is to tell her she can’t.”
An angry light burned in Claude Vernay’s eyes. He was a man of unstable emotions, at times perfectly amiable, but at the slightest provocation his temper could explode. “I’ll call him out if she agrees to marry him.”
Byron stared at his friend. “Why, you can’t do that!”
“Why can’t I? There’s always some way to provoke a man into an insult.”
“Now, wait a minute, Claude,” Byron said with alarm. “It’s one thing to have a duel and pink some unmannerly puppy in the shoul-der, but this is no puppy. This is a marquis, and you can’t treat him as you would an ordinary man.”
Vernay did not answer, but the fixed expression on his face told Byron that he was wasting his time. Still, Byron repeated, “Mind what I say. You can’t challenge this man to a duel.”
“You’re right, I can’t. But if he challenges me, I can certainly accept.”
At the same time these two were talking, Rosa and Colin stood waiting for the opera to begin. The two had become close friends despite their differences. Rosa admired the steadfastness and the hon-esty in Colin that she herself lacked, while Colin admired the peppery qualities of the diva. He did not admire her morals, but he knew that she was a faithful friend when there was no amour involved. Rosa asked, “Did you see the marquis sitting beside Simone d’Or?”
“I saw it,” Colin said grimly. “I didn’t like it.”
“Why should it bother you?”
“She’s not the kind of woman to make my master happy.”
“She’s beautiful and rich and young.”
“She’s also selfish and arrogant and filled up with pride.”
Rosa shook her head. “I suppose she is, but that doesn’t seem to bother the marquis.”
“He’s trying to regain something that was lost forever.”
“And what is that?”
“He loved his first wife more than I ever saw a man love a woman. Simone looks like her, in a way; she’s more beautiful but has the same features and hair. But she’s different. Jeanne de Cuvier was a gentle, sweet woman always ready to show a kindness. I see none of this in Miss d’Or.”
Rosa was silent for a moment, studying her young friend’s face. “I’ve seen something that you haven’t.”
“What’s that, Rosa?”
“For a long time Claude Vernay has been pursing Simone. Do you know him?”
“I met him briefly.”
“He’s a volatile man, always looking for a fight. He’s had more duels than you can count, and he’s killed men. He won’t see another man take Simone d’Or. He’ll kill him first.”
“Why, that’s impossible!”
“No, it’s not. These youngbloods know how to provoke fights. They get someone to insult and challenge them, then they take them out to the oaks and kill them.”
“I can’t believe this. He wouldn’t dare!”
“He was my lover for a short time. I know him. He’s as deadly as a snake. If you have any influence with the marquis, be certain that he never has anything to do with this man.”
“Miss Simone, you have a visitor.”
Simone looked up from her dressing table. Her maid, Lucy, had gone to answer the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s the young man from the opera. The student of the marquis— Mr. Seymour.”
“All right. I’ll see him in the drawing room.” Simone rose from the dressing table, left her bedroom, and went downstairs. She found Colin waiting, and he said at once, “I’m sorry to come without an invitation, Miss d’Or, but I felt I had to see you.”
Simone studied the young man coldly. Since she had found out about his humble origins, she had been unable to show anything other than cool civility. “Would you care to sit down?”
“This will take only a moment, but I had to speak with you privately.”
Simone saw that Colin Seymour was nervous. She also noticed that his dress was not the current style of the young men of New Orleans. He was wearing a pair of fawn-colored trousers, a white shirt, and a rust-colored jacket. He seemed to care little for dress, but she had to admit that there was a rugged handsomeness about the man. His auburn hair caught the sun as it came through the window with just a trace of gold, and he had the bluest, most direct eyes of any man she had ever seen. “What is it, Mr. Seymour?”
“I know this will seem strange, but I wanted to talk to you about the marquis.”
“The marquis? What about him?”
“I think you need to understand him better. You see, he was very much in love with his first wife.”
“He has already told me that, and I must say I cannot see your concern.”
“He has been a friend to me more than any other man. I can’t stand by and watch him make a mistake.”
Simone stared at Seymour, her eyes fixed on his face. “What mis-take is that, sir?”
“He tells me he wants to marry you, and I think—I know that would be a sad mistake.”
Anger touched Simone then, as it often did when she was crossed. “It’s very impertinent of you to interfere in my personal affairs!”
“Please don’t be angry with me, Miss d’Or. The marquis would be ruined if—”
“If he married me?”
“Well, yes. You see, his first wife was a very gentle woman with a sweetness of spirit. You resemble her a great deal physically, but—”
“But I am not sweet and gentle.”
Colin met her gaze evenly. “No, Miss d’Or, you are not sweet, and you are not gentle. You are a woman who has to have a great deal of attention and would not be happy at all leading the life a marchioness leads.”
“I think you may leave, sir!”
“But I haven’t—”
“You have finished. Now, get out of the house!”
Colin walked toward the door. He turned long enough to say, “If you marry him, you will make two people very unhappy. You are not suited.”
“Leave the house, sir, or do I have to call the servants to help you out?”
“No, I can find my way.”
As soon as she heard the door slam, Simone began muttering and pacing. She walked over to the window and saw the tall young man leave. “He’s a boor, an uneducated boor of a fisherman! Who does he think he is, to tell me what to do?”
Claude Vernay was a brooding sort of individual, one who worried over a thought constantly until he could take some sort of action. When he had first heard of the possibility of Simone’s marrying the marquis, he had shrugged it off, but finally he saw that she was becoming more and more attached to the idea, and they had quar-reled over the matter more than once, the most serious being on a muggy July evening. In reality, Simone had grown tired of Claude’s interference and had been influenced by Seymour’s visit. She had disliked the young man intensely before he had come to warn her off from the marriage, and now, without realizing it, she was more receptive to the idea of the marriage because of his visit. She had told Claude Vernay that she probably would marry Armand, and he had grown terribly angry.
He slept little that night and started to drink early the next morning. At two o’clock he stepped into a salon where he saw the Marquis de Cuvier sitting with Enoch Herzhaft, the owner of the opera house. A recklessness came over Vernay, and he walked over and greeted the two men. Herzhaft knew him well and invited him to join them. He sat down and listened as the two men talked of music. Finally the liquor that he had consumed already that morning made him say, “So, Marquis, you are courting my friend Miss d’Or?”
Surprised, Armand stared at the man across from him. He hardly knew him. “I have been seeing Miss d’Or, yes.”
“I think it would be an unfortunate match.”
Armand had a temper of his own, and the man’s words insulted him. “It’s hardly a matter for discussion in public.”
“I suppose it isn’t,” Vernay said. “But I’ve often seen such things turn out badly. A young girl marrying an older man—it never works out.”
“Claude,” Enoch said hastily, “I don’t think—”
“I hardly think it is any of your affair, sir,” the marquis said. “And I would appreciate it if you would leave the table.”
“I’m not good enough to sit with you?”
“You are a boor.”
Claude continued taunting the marquis: “If you weren’t an older man, I would demand satisfaction from you.”
Enoch Herzhaft was alarmed. He knew Vernay’s reputation. “Claude,” he said, “you’re drunk.”
“No, I’m not drunk, but I know when a foreigner comes over with his European ways and tries to take advantage of a young woman.”
The marquis stood and said, “I will not listen to this!”
Vernay stood also. “You’re after her money, and everyone knows you’re making a fool of yourself.”
The marquis was not accustomed to such talk. He had received respect most of his adult life, and the insult inflamed him. His arm seemed to fly out on its own accord, and he slapped Vernay on the cheek. He said coldly, “There will be no more mention of Miss d’Or in this public place.”
Vernay stared at the marquis. “You have struck me, sir. You can’t take refuge behind your name and your age.”
“I take refuge behind nothing. I challenge you, sir.”
“I’ve never refused a challenge. My man will call on you.”
Vernay turned away, a slight smile on his face. As soon as he left, Enoch Herzhaft jumped to his feet and said, “My lord, you must not fight this man! He is deadly with either a pistol or a sword.”
“My honor demands it.”
“Don’t be foolish! These young men make a game out of it.”
“It’s a matter of honor.”
Herzhaft threw his hands up. “Honor! I’m sick of that word! All that word means to these youngbloods is an excuse to destroy a man of lesser ability.”
“My mind is set. I will ask you to act for me.”
New Orleans had very few secrets, and the story of the proposed duel between the two men aroused everyone’s interest. Whispers were exchanged, bets were made, and Simone, of course, heard of it almost at once. Unfortunately she heard of it from Colin, who again visited her home. He burst into her house, saying, “I beg your pardon, but I must speak to you.”
“I told the servant that I wouldn’t see you.”
“You must see me. The marquis has challenged Vernay to a duel.”
“I know about that.”
“Please, Miss d’Or, you must see now what a dangerous thing this is. You must talk to the marquis.”
Simone shrugged her shoulders. “I cannot interfere in such things.”
“You must!” Colin said loudly. He walked over and took her by the shoulders. “You brought this on, and now it’s up to you to break it off. Vernay is your friend, and the marquis is a man you profess to have some affection for. You must cause them to be reconciled.”
Simone struggled to free herself, but his grip was like iron. “Let me go!” she said. When he did, she glared at him. “I wouldn’t marry a man who would accept an insult. Now get out of my house!”
Colin stared at her. “You’re worse than I thought,” he said quietly. “You’d see a good man butchered because of your pride. I despise you.” Quickly he turned and left the house.
Immediately Simone sent for Vernay, who came within the hour. She said at once, “Claude, you must not fight the marquis.”
Claude said only, “He struck me. You know the answer to that.”
“But he’s an older man, and a powerful one.”
“That’s no excuse. He should have kept his temper. Don’t worry. I won’t kill him. I’ll just teach him a lesson.”
“This is madness, sir! You must not do it!”
“This is no time for you to talk like that, Colin.”
The dawn was beginning to break, and the two men stood on a field in the vicinity of a large oak tree. News of the duel had spread, and many had gathered there. They stood silently, watching the drama unfold before them. Enoch Herzhaft was speaking with Byron Mayhew, who was acting for Vernay. Vernay himself stood off to one side, saying nothing. Beside him stood a tall man with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Colin learned later this was another cohort of Vernay’s, a man named Leon Manville.
Colin shivered in the coolness of the morning and could not con-tain himself. “This man has a lifetime of practice. Have you ever even fired a gun?”
“Of course I have,” the marquis replied. “I’ve never had a duel, but I have practiced often enough.”
“What if you kill him? Could you live with that?”
“I will not kill him, I assure you. I’m a better shot than that.”
“But he may kill you.”
“I do not think so. He usually shoots only to bring blood.”
“He has killed,” Colin said. But he had no time to argue further, for a short man in a black suit had moved forward and said, “My lord, if you’re ready.”
Colin watched the marquis march steadfastly to where the tall man stood. Herzhaft moved to stand beside him. His teeth were chat-tering. Neither of the men would budge. “God grant it may not be fatal,” he said quietly.
Colin was silent as he watched as the two men heard the instruc-tions from the duel master and then turn their backs to each another. He watched them as they stepped off ten paces, then turned, and the marquis fired first. He missed, and a coldness clamped around Colin’s heart. Vernay laughed. He leveled his pistol and fired. At the same instant the marquis had turned so that his back was toward the man. The shot caught him in the back and drove him forward, then he collapsed.
“Armand!” Colin cried out, using the marquis’ first name for the first time. He ran to his master and saw the blood spreading on the white shirt. The shot had caught the marquis just above the lower back.
Vernay walked over and asked, “Why did he turn? I intended only to pink him.”
He was shouldered aside by a burly man in a snuff-colored coat. He knelt down and said, “I do not think it is fatal. Can you hear me, Monsieur?”
“I—can’t move my legs.”
A chill ran through Colin, and he said, “It will be all right, won’t it, Doctor?”
The doctor turned and said evenly, “I trust so, but no one is sure of these things. I must have the bullet out. Some of you help me get him inside.”
As they moved the wounded man inside, Colin turned to Vernay. Rage filled him, and he ran at the man and with all of his might struck out. His blow caught Vernay squarely on the chin and knocked him down. At once Mayhew and others of Vernay’s friends seized Colin.
“Don’t make a fool of yourself, sir,” Mayhew said.
“If my master dies, I’ll kill him!”
“Don’t be a fool,” Mayhew whispered. “Go see to your master.”
The men released Colin, and he ran to catch up with the doctor. He had never felt such an icy anger in his life. There had been some-thing inhumanely cruel about what had taken place, and he followed the wounded man with a feeling of helplessness.
“I can’t believe it!” Simone exclaimed. “How could he have done such a thing?”
Leon Manville had gone to Simone with the news of the duel, and although he had tried to be gentle, he could see that the young woman was shaken. “I know it’s a terrible shock, Miss d’Or, but it’s not all bad.”
“How can there be anything good in such a thing?”
“The gentleman will not die,” Manville said quickly. “I under-stand that the wound was serious, but not fatal.”
“Well, thank God for that!” Simone said. “Did you see it, Leon?”
“Yes, and I wish I hadn’t. It was not at all a thing that Vernay should be proud of.” Manville had heard that Simone d’Or had some sort of an attachment to the marquis and was as curious as to its nature as the rest of the city. “I trust that you will not let this influence your plans with the marquis.”
Simone hated gossip, and glaring at Leon, she said, “Don’t con-cern yourself with such things. Now, thank you for coming, but I must ask you to leave me.”
Manville made a hasty retreat, and Simone walked nervously around the house, troubled by the news. She was grieved at the inci-dent, but in her heart she knew that she did not love Armand. I wish him well, and a speedy recovery, she thought, but I would never have married him.