over the moon about being able to stay up late. It’s going to be her first Mardi Gras ball.”
“That’s the main reason Mama and I decided to break with tradition and go with the fairy-tale theme.” Charlotte watchedas Daisy moved around the room to tap each of the ferns with her wand. “Daisy has a vivid imagination.”
“She adores those stories you read to her.”
“So did I when I was her age. I’m sure she’ll have a wonderful time.”
Sylvie laughed. “She’ll probably play herself out after the first half hour and sleep through the rest of it.”
“That’s what Melanie did at her first ball. Do you remember?”
“You’re right.” She propped her hands on her hips and looked past Charlotte. “We found her curled up like a kitten on that window seat.”
“It seems like only yesterday.”
“And speaking of first times…” Sylvie lowered her voice. “I heard Jackson Bailey’s back in town.”
Charlotte sighed. She should have realized word of Jackson’s return would have spread. “Yes.”
Sylvie wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I also heard he’s improved with age.”
“Men are lucky that way. Women simply age. How are things at the gallery?” she asked, trying to change the subject. Sylvie had taken over the management of the art gallery that was attached to the hotel. Like her sisters, she was using her own special talents to help keep the hotel afloat.
“Wonderful. I stopped by your office to give you an update earlier, but I didn’t want to intrude.”
“When? You know I always have time for you.”
“From the sound of things, you and the new, improved edition of Jackson the beanpole were going at it already.” Sylvie pursed her generous lips in a moue. “It’s funny… Come to think of it, I haven’t heard you raise your voice like that since he left.”
Charlotte pressed her fingertips to her temples. “You heard?”
“I couldn’t make out the words, but the passion came through loud and clear.”
“It wasn’t passion, it was stress.”
“Mmm. I’d say there’s still something there.”
The denial Charlotte wanted to make didn’t come as readily as she would have liked. She hadn’t been pining for Jackson, yet she hadn’t been able to think about much else all day. And what about that blast of sexual awareness that had taken her by surprise when he’d held her? She decided not to probe at that. Her feelings concerning Jackson were muddled enough already. “Is it true that you had a crush on him?”
Sylvie’s eyes widened. “We were sworn to secrecy. Who told you? Was it Melanie?”
“She said you all did.”
“It was inevitable. You know how we looked up to our big sister. And he was your beau, so he had to be fabulous. With those sensitive blue eyes and his rebel hair and the way he could make us smile…” She clasped her hands to her breasts and sighed theatrically. “He was so romantic.”
“He was, wasn’t he?”
Sylvie chuckled. “And to top it off, the Queen couldn’t abide Jackson, so naturally that made him seem all the more romantic.”
The Queen. Sylvie was referring to their grandmother, Celeste Robichaux, who had made no secret of her disappointment over Charlotte’s interest in “that Bailey boy,” as she’d called him.
It had been an ongoing though subtly waged battle. Celeste was old-guard Creole and she was proud of her family’s history and their position among the cream of New Orleanssociety. She had insisted that, as her oldest granddaughter, Charlotte had a duty to choose someone who came with both old money and an impeccable pedigree.
Jackson had possessed neither. His father had repaired appliances for a living until he’d opened a store of his own. His mother had been the illegitimate product of a scandalous affair between a jazz pianist and Bennett Armstrong, one of the pillars of Celeste’s society. Although Bennett’s legitimate child, William Armstrong, had accepted his half sister and his
“That’s the main reason Mama and I decided to break with tradition and go with the fairy-tale theme.” Charlotte watchedas Daisy moved around the room to tap each of the ferns with her wand. “Daisy has a vivid imagination.”
“She adores those stories you read to her.”
“So did I when I was her age. I’m sure she’ll have a wonderful time.”
Sylvie laughed. “She’ll probably play herself out after the first half hour and sleep through the rest of it.”
“That’s what Melanie did at her first ball. Do you remember?”
“You’re right.” She propped her hands on her hips and looked past Charlotte. “We found her curled up like a kitten on that window seat.”
“It seems like only yesterday.”
“And speaking of first times…” Sylvie lowered her voice. “I heard Jackson Bailey’s back in town.”
Charlotte sighed. She should have realized word of Jackson’s return would have spread. “Yes.”
Sylvie wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I also heard he’s improved with age.”
“Men are lucky that way. Women simply age. How are things at the gallery?” she asked, trying to change the subject. Sylvie had taken over the management of the art gallery that was attached to the hotel. Like her sisters, she was using her own special talents to help keep the hotel afloat.
“Wonderful. I stopped by your office to give you an update earlier, but I didn’t want to intrude.”
“When? You know I always have time for you.”
“From the sound of things, you and the new, improved edition of Jackson the beanpole were going at it already.” Sylvie pursed her generous lips in a moue. “It’s funny… Come to think of it, I haven’t heard you raise your voice like that since he left.”
Charlotte pressed her fingertips to her temples. “You heard?”
“I couldn’t make out the words, but the passion came through loud and clear.”
“It wasn’t passion, it was stress.”
“Mmm. I’d say there’s still something there.”
The denial Charlotte wanted to make didn’t come as readily as she would have liked. She hadn’t been pining for Jackson, yet she hadn’t been able to think about much else all day. And what about that blast of sexual awareness that had taken her by surprise when he’d held her? She decided not to probe at that. Her feelings concerning Jackson were muddled enough already. “Is it true that you had a crush on him?”
Sylvie’s eyes widened. “We were sworn to secrecy. Who told you? Was it Melanie?”
“She said you all did.”
“It was inevitable. You know how we looked up to our big sister. And he was your beau, so he had to be fabulous. With those sensitive blue eyes and his rebel hair and the way he could make us smile…” She clasped her hands to her breasts and sighed theatrically. “He was so romantic.”
“He was, wasn’t he?”
Sylvie chuckled. “And to top it off, the Queen couldn’t abide Jackson, so naturally that made him seem all the more romantic.”
The Queen. Sylvie was referring to their grandmother, Celeste Robichaux, who had made no secret of her disappointment over Charlotte’s interest in “that Bailey boy,” as she’d called him.
It had been an ongoing though subtly waged battle. Celeste was old-guard Creole and she was proud of her family’s history and their position among the cream of New Orleanssociety. She had insisted that, as her oldest granddaughter, Charlotte had a duty to choose someone who came with both old money and an impeccable pedigree.
Jackson had possessed neither. His father had repaired appliances for a living until he’d opened a store of his own. His mother had been the illegitimate product of a scandalous affair between a jazz pianist and Bennett Armstrong, one of the pillars of Celeste’s society. Although Bennett’s legitimate child, William Armstrong, had accepted his half sister and his
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