"I've heard so much about you," he said. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Laurel."
There was something almost intimate in his tone. His voice was a warm, well-schooled, well-modulated baritone that vibrated with the ring of old Southern money.
"Stephen is from New Orleans," Vivian said brightly, raising her voice a fraction as thunder rumbled overhead. "I met his mother years ago-though no one will get me to confess how many years," she added coyly, lashes fluttering. "Back when I spent summers with my cousin, Tallant Jordan Hill. You remember Cousin Talli, don't you Laurel? Her father was in oil, and his brother was the one who made such a fortune in the silver market and then lost it all on the New York Stock Exchange? It was such a scandal!
" Laurel was a junior bridesmaid in Cousin Talli's second wedding," she explained. Glory Trahern hung on every word. Everyone else's eyes had begun to glaze over. "Her first husband was crushed to death, you know. Lord, it was a horrible thing! But Talli bounced back and remarried well.
"A remarkable woman, Talli. She introduced me to Stephen's mother at a soiree. A lovely woman, just a precious, lovely woman! As it turns out, we had both attended Sacred Heart, but she was several years older than I, and we ran in different circles.
"The Danjermonds have been in shipping for years," she said in conclusion, the mention of business making the men tune in once again.
"Shipping and politics," Danjermond said. To his credit, he had managed to smile all the way through Vivian's monologue. "My elder brother, Simon, went into the shipping business. That left politics for me."
The rest of the cast cooed and bobbed their heads approvingly. Laurel bristled. He still held her hand, and she couldn't pull it loose without creating a scene. She brought her chin up a notch and looked him hard in the eye.
"I've always been of the belief that a prosecuting attorney's first loyalty is the pursuit of justice, not public office."
Glory Trahern sucked in a little gasp and put a hand to the bow at her throat as if it were choking her. The rest of the party stood staring at Laurel with owl eyes, except Vivian, whose stare more resembled a she-wolf's. Only Danjermond himself seemed unoffended. His smile curled a little deeper at the corners of his mouth.
"I'd heard you were quite the champion for Lady Justice."
"That was my job," she said flatly, refusing to be charmed. "And yours."
He tipped his head, conceding the point. "So it is, and my record speaks for itself. The good people of Partout Parish can attest to that."
"We certainly can, Stephen," Vivian chirped.
Beaming a smile at him, she stepped to his side and slipped her arm through his, as if she had decided Laurel wasn't worthy of him so she was taking him back. Laurel pulled her hand free and crossed her arms, thinking she might have been amused if she hadn't been so damn angry with her mother to begin with.
"Your record is impeccable," Vivian went on, glowing proudly at him, as if she were somehow responsible for this paragon of manhood. "I declare, I don't know how we'd get along without you. While all around us crime is running rampant throughout Acadiana, Partout Parish has become a virtual haven for the law-abiding."
"I swear," Glory Trahern gushed, leaning over to touch Danjermond's arm as if he were a lucky charm. "I hardly dare to set foot across the parish line, what with all these murders going on around us."
Danjermond's green eyes glowed with amusement as he met Laurel 's skeptical stare. "You see, Laurel, the advantage of having a politically ambitious district attorney? I have to do my job well, or no one will vote for me when I run for office."
The comment drew chuckles all around. Vivian patted his sleeve, pleased with his benevolent good humor. Laurel managed a smile. Stephen Danjermond was hardly the first politician to train for the job in the district attorney's office. She was hardly up to arguing philosophy with him at any rate. She had come here to put in her required appearance, that was all. By the looks Vivian was sliding her, she figured she would do well to stick to that plan.
Be a good girl, Laurel. Don't rock the boat, Laurel. Always say the right thing, Laurel.
Olive slunk into the room, looking almost apologetic, and announced in a meek monotone that dinner was ready, flinching like a whipped dog as lightning flashed outside the tall French doors.
"Well, I certainly have an appetite!" Ross announced with a blazing smile. He slapped Reverend Stipple on the shoulder. "How about you, Reverend?"
The minister bobbed his head like a window ornament in the back of a hopped-up Chevy. "I surely do."
Everyone moved on toward the dining room, Vivian leading Danjermond ahead, then returning without him to herd the rest of her guests out of the parlor. She snagged Laurel by the arm and held her back as the others continued down the hall, chatting amicably.
Laurel closed her eyes briefly and bit down on a sigh.
"Laurel Leanne! How dare you be rude to a guest in this house!" Vivian snapped, her voice a harsh whisper, her bony fingers biting into Laurel 's arm. "Stephen Danjermond is an extremely important man. There's no telling how far he will go in politics."
"That doesn't mean I have to agree with him, Mama," Laurel pointed out, knowing it wouldn't do her any good. Her mother's code demanded that ladies be agreeable regardless. It wouldn't have mattered if Stephen Danjermond's politics had rivaled Adolf Hitler's for extremism.
Vivian pinched her lips together and narrowed her eyes. "Be civil to him, Laurel. I raised you to be a lady and won't tolerate less in this house. Stephen is educated, powerful, from a very good family."
Translation: Stephen Danjermond was a prize catch. No doubt every debutante in the parish had her sights set on him. Laurel wanted to tell her mother that she wasn't fishing, but she kept the comment to herself. Somehow it had never occurred to Vivian that she might need time to heal in the wake of all that had happened to her.
"I'm sorry, Mama," she murmured, not wanting to prolong the argument.
"Oh, well," Vivian said with a sigh, her temper cooling as abruptly as it had flared up. "You've always had your headstrong moments. You're just like your father that way."
She reached up to brush lightly at Laurel 's bangs, her expression softening into one of her rare, truly motherly looks. "You do look pretty today, darlin'. This shade of pink becomes you."
Laurel said thank you, hating herself for letting the compliment mean anything to her. She never seemed able to escape that childish need for her mother's approval.
A weakness. One of many.
She glanced at her watch as Vivian took her by the arm and led her out of the room, wondering how soon she could leave. This emotional tug-of-war wasn't what she needed to get herself back on track.
It's just a dinner, just a couple of hours. Get through it and go home.
The dining room was as elegant as the parlor, as filled with heirlooms and oil portaits of Chandlers dead and gone. The Hepplewhite table and shield-back chairs shone from two centuries of hand-polishing. Footfalls sounded against the cypress floor and bounded up to the twelve-foot ceiling. Glory Trahern stared up as if she were trying to see them rather than calculating the worth of the blown glass chandelier. Her husband snatched her arm and herded her toward a chair.
Not surprisingly, Laurel found herself seated directly across from Stephen Danjermond, who had the place of honor-at the right hand of Vivian, who sat at one end of the table, opposite Ross. Laurel slid into her chair and focused on her Wedgwood plate, uncomfortably aware of the handsome, elegant, articulate man across from her, wishing she had worn her glasses. She didn't want to attract his attention any more than she had wanted to attract the attention of her stepfather two decades ago. There was no room in her life for a man right now.