Camellia (7 page)

Everyone laughed at her comment, but Camellia was embarrassed for them. Why would Lily expose poor Blake to ridicule? And why did her sister think it was appropriate to speak of such intimate details in a family setting? Lily needed to attend finishing school even worse than Camellia did. Not that she would. She was too busy sailing up and down the river, stopping at every port, and dwelling in the masculine world of shipping as though her gender did not matter.

Besides, if she did agree to attend, Lily would walk out after only a week of instruction. She had never seen a need to stand on ceremony. But speaking of Blake’s dressing preparations went beyond what could be considered acceptable, even in the admittedly lax world of steamship travel.

“Will you be staying in New Orleans for an extended visit?” Camellia’s father asked between bites of his dinner.

Jonah shrugged. “My plans are a bit unsettled at the moment. It depends on what entertainment may be had.” He glanced toward her again, his gaze threatening to burn a hole in Camellia’s face.

This time her blush was so heated that even Jasmine noticed it. “I think Jonah is sweet on you.”

David’s pale eyebrows disappeared into the thatch of white-blond hair on his forehead. Lily sputtered, Papa laughed heartily, and Blake frowned.

Camellia wanted to climb underneath the table. She tossed a scathing look at her younger sister. “You are embarrassing all of us, Jasmine. If you cannot hold your tongue, I hope Lily will send you to your room without your supper.”

That stopped Papa’s laugh and Lily’s sputter.

Blake’s frown disappeared as he reached for his water goblet. “I hope you will forgive Jasmine, Jonah. We are fairly free with our manners when we are
en famille.
”

Camellia kept her gaze locked on her plate. She couldn’t bear to look up at Jonah and see the condemnation in his eyes. The sooner she separated herself from her family the better.

“I don’t mind.” His deep voice sent shivers across her shoulders and down the length of her arms. “I consider it a compliment to be treated as one of the family.”

Gathering her courage, Camellia risked a quick glance at him. Jonah’s head was turned toward Blake, so she let her gaze linger on his profile. His chiseled jaw made him appear strong and capable. He sported a dimple in his chin that she could imagine tapping with her fan. His lips were full—Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt as he turned his head and their gazes clashed. His lazy, knowing smile taunted her. Jonah Thornton was too aware of his own attractiveness. It was a quality she did not appreciate.

Camellia sniffed and turned to engage Lily in conversation. “You don’t have to come to La Belle Demoiselle with me. If you’ll have my trunks delivered, I’m sure I can make my own way.”

Jonah’s arm was close enough to her own that Camellia felt it stiffen at her words. A tiny frown creased her brow before she remembered to smooth out the muscles. What could she have said to cause such a reaction in him?

“I’m not going to drop you off at the docks like a load of cargo, Camellia.” Lily glanced toward Blake for confirmation before continuing. “I was planning on spending a few days with Jonah’s family before returning to the river. Besides, did you think I had forgotten your birthday? We have always celebrated together, and this year will be no different.”

Papa leaned across the table. “I believe the girl is ashamed of us.” His wink included everyone at the table.

Now it was Camellia’s turn to sputter. She thought she’d hidden her feelings better than that. Aunt Dahlia would be disappointed to learn she had been so transparent. “I am nothing of the sort.” Even to her own ears, the words fell flat. She stopped and took a deep, calming breath. “I know how hard all of you work, and I was trying to make things easier. If any of you wish to accompany me to the school, I’m sure you are most welcome.” With those words, she pushed her chair away from the table. “I’ll go help Tamar with the dishes.”

She was determined to show them she could rise above their taunts and accusations. If she was ashamed of certain members of her family, who could blame her? Debutantes, even ones as beautiful as she, had to be very assiduous in protecting their reputations or they would find themselves old maids while other, less objectionable females snatched up the best gentlemen.

C
amellia imagined that her patience was a ball of yarn like the one Mrs. Thornton held in her lap. Blue, of course, to match her eyes. Every now and then, like the roll of wool their hostess held, it threatened to break free, land on the floor, and unravel as it rolled toward the freedom of the front door. She had to concentrate on keeping her emotions in check or she would never be able to knit a future that matched her dream. A dream that was slipping away with each year that passed. She was eighteen today, a fact that had been celebrated during lunch with a festive cake and a song. Soon she would be too old to be considered a debutante. Soon she would be an old maid.

If only everyone would stop sitting about and help her get her belongings to La Belle Demoiselle. But here they remained, stationed in the front parlor of Mr. and Mrs. Thornton’s town house, drinking tea and chatting without the least degree of urgency.

Mr. Thornton was reading his newspaper, Blake sat next to Lily on the sofa, and Jasmine was standing next to the window, looking out at the street. The only one missing was Jonah. She had not seen him since they arrived at his parents’ home the day before. She couldn’t really blame him, though, since his father had been less than enthusiastic about his return to New Orleans.

“You shouldn’t worry about your sister. The war is not likely here.” Mrs. Thornton’s fingers worked nimbly as she spoke, her yarn turning into a lacy doily like the one covering the back of the chair in which Camellia sat. “Things are not as dire in New Orleans as you may have heard farther up the river.”

Camellia glanced at Lily to see if she would accept Mrs. Thornton’s reassurance. Her mauve day dress was Lily’s nicest, but it was not as new or as fashionable as Camellia’s pink one. Typical. Lily couldn’t care less about fashions. All she wanted was something serviceable and modest.

“I know you’re right, but leaving her here seems so risky.” Lily tapped her spoon against the rim of her teacup before laying it on her saucer. “We know the Federal navy is eager to take this city. They have vowed to cut off trade between Europe and the South.”

Mr. Thornton, sitting in a corner of the parlor, looked up. “Two forts lie between New Orleans and the Gulf of Mexico. They will defend us.”

Blake shared a glance with Lily. “My wife cannot help herself. She’s like a mother hen when it comes to her younger sisters.”

“Sarah’s here.” Jasmine turned from the window, her excitement plain to see as she announced the arrival of the Thorntons’ only daughter, Sarah Cartier.

Camellia shared her younger sister’s enthusiasm. Now perhaps the others would be infused with some energy.

After a moment, the door to the parlor opened, and Sarah floated into the room. Camellia approved of her ensemble, a wool skirt and jacket of muted orange plaid befitting the winter season. “I was so excited to open Mama’s note this morning. I hope you have not planned too many activities for your visit. I have dozens of ideas for things we can do.”

Sarah dropped a quick kiss on her mother’s cheek and waved a greeting at her father before turning to Lily. “Please tell me you will be here for a few days. I am having a little dinner party.” She glanced toward Camellia, her dark eyes bright. “Nothing elaborate, but we plan to have musicians in case any of the younger people wish to dance.”

Lily’s gaze followed Sarah’s. “I don’t know. We are only here to see Camellia settled at her school.”

Sarah clapped her hands. “La Belle Demoiselle,
n’est-ce pas
?”

Camellia nodded. She hoped to increase her understanding of French at the school. Of course she could translate simple phrases like the ones Sarah and Mrs. Thornton were always dropping into their conversations. By employing some herself, Camellia hoped to present a more continental persona.

“It is a very good school.” Sarah kissed her fingers for emphasis and perched on the arm of Camellia’s chair, giving her a quick hug. “But we must make sure you have sufficient clothes for the term, non?”

“You should see the number of trunks we off-loaded for her clothing.” Blake’s voice held a hint of mischief. “If she purchases anything else, she will have to store it in a separate room.”

“Men.” Sarah laughed. “They don’t understand the things a female needs.”

Camellia returned her smile. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“I want to go shopping, too.” Jasmine crossed the room to stand near them.

Lily groaned. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been infected with Camellia’s fever to become a fashion plate. I’ve always hoped you would be a bit more down-to-earth.”

Although Camellia could sympathize with Jasmine’s desire to shop, she was also surprised by her younger sister’s uncharacteristic statement. Perhaps she was reaching maturity. Jasmine could do worse than to follow her lead. In fact, as soon as she had secured her own future, Camellia would have to turn her attention to finding a worthy candidate to marry Jasmine. “You’ll have to stop spending all your spare time with your nose in a book.”

Jasmine tossed her dark hair over one shoulder in a gesture fit for a prima donna. “I enjoy reading.”

Camellia thought of the tears Jasmine had shed when she finished the novel she’d been reading on their way to New Orleans. “Well, at least you might limit your reading to more uplifting material.”

“
Uncle Tom’s Cabin
was a very uplifting story.”

Mr. and Mrs. Thornton gasped in unison, and Sarah slid off the arm of Camellia’s chair to look at Lily and Blake. “You let her read such things?”

What was all the fuss about? It was only a novel, after all.

Mr. Thornton folded his newspaper and laid it on the table at his elbow. “False tales designed to demonize our way of life. It’s written by a woman, after all, a liberal abolitionist with a political agenda.”

Jasmine looked to Lily for support, but it was Blake who answered. “I’ve read the book myself. It has merit.”

“I’ve never mistreated a slave in my life.” Mr. Thornton’s face reddened as he spat out the words. “I clothe and feed them, make sure all of their needs are met. And I daresay most men who own slaves are like me. It makes no more sense to whip a slave than to lame a horse.”

“But you are an exception to the rule.” Jonah’s deep voice sent Camellia’s heart bounding. When had he appeared? Leaning against the door frame, he looked more intense—and much more romantic—than he had seemed while they were aboard the
Water Lily.

At least this time she had her fan. Camellia used it to cool her cheeks as she watched him straighten and saunter into the parlor. His green gaze ignored her to scan the room, stopping for a moment when he looked toward Blake but resting only when he met his father’s angry stare.

“Do you think me a fool?” Mr. Thornton jumped to his feet. “I suppose you believe your travels have made you more knowledgeable than your father.”

Jonah swept a low bow before him. “Who am I to argue with your opinion?”

The older man spluttered.

Camellia hid a smile behind her fan. Jonah’s travels had made him more adept in social situations.

Mr. Thornton took a step toward his son, his demeanor threatening. “I don’t know how I raised such an ardent abolitionist. It’s about time you saw the world as it really is.”

Jonah opened his mouth, and Camellia cringed at the anger she saw in his expression. Would the two men come to blows in front of them? She had heard about hot-blooded people who lived in New Orleans, but the Thorntons had never seemed quite so volatile. Not until now.

Sarah stepped between father and son, a warning look in her dark eyes. “This is not the time to air your personal differences. Think of your guests.” She swept a hand around the room. “Do not make them more uncomfortable than you already have.”

The tense moment stretched out until Camellia thought it would never end. Then Jonah nodded at his sister. “You’re right. I apologize, Father. My passion for those who cannot protect themselves overcame my good sense.”

As apologies went, it left a lot to be desired, but it seemed to appease Mr. Thornton. Without another word, he brushed past Jonah and left the parlor.

For a moment, Jonah’s troubled gaze followed his father’s exit. When Sarah threaded her arm through his, however, he smiled down at her. “One of these days, he will have to realize he cannot control me.”

“No matter how old you get, Jonah, he will always be your father.” She glanced around the room.

Mrs. Thornton resumed her needlework. “Weren’t you planning a shopping excursion?” Her practical question gave everyone a new focus.

Sarah separated herself from her brother and shooed Camellia and her sisters out of the parlor.

For the first time she could ever remember, Camellia didn’t want to go shopping. It wasn’t because she already had the necessary items for beginning the school term, nor did her eagerness to get to La Belle Demoiselle play into her reluctance. She wanted to spend more time with Jonah, regain the admiring attention he had showered on her during the trip from Memphis. He was so intense, so exciting to be around. Even when his eyes seemed filled with green lightning, she found herself drawn to the man.

Of course nothing could ever develop between them beyond a light flirtation. She had her sights set on a much bigger prize than Jonah Thornton. He had neither job nor military rank, proving his lack of ambition. She adopted a pleasant smile even while scolding herself for her reluctance.

As she and her sisters donned their cloaks and gloves, Camellia made a mental list of the reasons she could not be attracted to him. Jonah had no plantation and no prospects other than running his parents’ shipping business. She wanted someone of deep conviction who believed in a cause and was ready to risk everything for it. Not someone who stood on the sidelines and pointed a finger of blame at the men who were fighting for their beliefs.