Figaro
! Apparently over the centuries we've managed to evolve some form of communal government and profit sharing for the farms and workers. I believe the Utopian principles of my great-greatgrandfather are to blame."
"And you disagree." Her tone was very much the advocate, although like his it was one of practiced politesse.
"On the contrary—" he smiled, wishing he could kiss away her small frown. "I commend his foresight. My estates are extremely profitable. You no doubt are instrumental in the welfare of your—" He paused, not wanting to offend her with the wrong word.
"Tribe is the word, Monsieur le Duc."
A new touchiness infused her tone as though she'd spent a lifetime explaining herself to the world outside her race. "Yes, of course," he said, cautious of ruffling any cultural icons. "I understand from Empress your band is well situated. Your country is enviable."
She almost smiled, he noted, immediately recognizing the direction most conducive to conversation with the beautiful Mademoiselle Black from America. Her heart was very much back in Montana.
"I was raised in the mountains," she said, almost defiantly. He wondered how many times she'd endured the slurs and slanders; enough apparently to take a militant stance when questioned about her Absarokee background. "I had the good fortune to travel with a hunting party in the territory years ago and found the experience extraordinary."
Daisy knew what the Duc's kind of hunting party entailed; she'd seen them on many occasions: a dozen guides; three dozen horses; at least six wagons to carry all the provisions necessary to approximate a country manor out in the wild; and of course, the arsenal required for the requisite enormous slaughter of animals needed to bring pleasure to the wealthy hunters.
"I grew up in one of those small villages hunting parties like yours passed by. I lived in a lodge." Most of the rich hunters preferred keeping their distance from the villages, seeing the Indians as accoutrements to the landscape, picturesque noble savages or simply savages, but essentially nothing more than scenic details. She was surprised the disparaging indifference still annoyed her, having considered herself long ago immune to those senseless irritations.
"We were granted the pleasure of sleeping in a lodge, Mademoiselle," the Duc calmly said, ignoring her jibe, sincerely fond of his experiences out West. "There's nothing more beautiful than starlight above you when you sleep or the softness of fur bedding—"
His words brought pleasant memories pouring back. "Or the translucence of the sun through the lodge walls in the morning," she said.
Hearing the animation in her voice for the first time, he found himself curiously elated at his accomplishment. How trivial it was and yet how moving to bring a small sparkle to her eyes. Almost immediately he chastised himself, as she had earlier, to be less touched by her spirit and nearness.
While Daisy wished not to be affected by a charming seducer like the Duc, he too preferred the pattern of events follow a predictable course. He was interested only in amusement. He had no intention of involving his emotions.
They were both certain; faithful logic would prevail as it always had in their past.
So that night, two people conversed over a sumptuous dinner and through several of Valentin's best vintages, feeling very much in control of their lives.
The Duc was slowly mitigating the Mademoiselle's most blatant prejudices toward himself and his class.
Daisy felt more assured as the time passed. The Duc was simply an ordinary man—granted, more dazzling in looks than most men, and undeniably charming. But she'd mastered her earlier inexplicable urges and sensual attraction. She was feeling very smug.
The Duc was feeling equally smug. He hadn't concealed all semblance of sexuality since adolescence. The masquerade was itself a curiously erotic experience, playing the celibate monk, the androgynous companion,
! Apparently over the centuries we've managed to evolve some form of communal government and profit sharing for the farms and workers. I believe the Utopian principles of my great-greatgrandfather are to blame."
"And you disagree." Her tone was very much the advocate, although like his it was one of practiced politesse.
"On the contrary—" he smiled, wishing he could kiss away her small frown. "I commend his foresight. My estates are extremely profitable. You no doubt are instrumental in the welfare of your—" He paused, not wanting to offend her with the wrong word.
"Tribe is the word, Monsieur le Duc."
A new touchiness infused her tone as though she'd spent a lifetime explaining herself to the world outside her race. "Yes, of course," he said, cautious of ruffling any cultural icons. "I understand from Empress your band is well situated. Your country is enviable."
She almost smiled, he noted, immediately recognizing the direction most conducive to conversation with the beautiful Mademoiselle Black from America. Her heart was very much back in Montana.
"I was raised in the mountains," she said, almost defiantly. He wondered how many times she'd endured the slurs and slanders; enough apparently to take a militant stance when questioned about her Absarokee background. "I had the good fortune to travel with a hunting party in the territory years ago and found the experience extraordinary."
Daisy knew what the Duc's kind of hunting party entailed; she'd seen them on many occasions: a dozen guides; three dozen horses; at least six wagons to carry all the provisions necessary to approximate a country manor out in the wild; and of course, the arsenal required for the requisite enormous slaughter of animals needed to bring pleasure to the wealthy hunters.
"I grew up in one of those small villages hunting parties like yours passed by. I lived in a lodge." Most of the rich hunters preferred keeping their distance from the villages, seeing the Indians as accoutrements to the landscape, picturesque noble savages or simply savages, but essentially nothing more than scenic details. She was surprised the disparaging indifference still annoyed her, having considered herself long ago immune to those senseless irritations.
"We were granted the pleasure of sleeping in a lodge, Mademoiselle," the Duc calmly said, ignoring her jibe, sincerely fond of his experiences out West. "There's nothing more beautiful than starlight above you when you sleep or the softness of fur bedding—"
His words brought pleasant memories pouring back. "Or the translucence of the sun through the lodge walls in the morning," she said.
Hearing the animation in her voice for the first time, he found himself curiously elated at his accomplishment. How trivial it was and yet how moving to bring a small sparkle to her eyes. Almost immediately he chastised himself, as she had earlier, to be less touched by her spirit and nearness.
While Daisy wished not to be affected by a charming seducer like the Duc, he too preferred the pattern of events follow a predictable course. He was interested only in amusement. He had no intention of involving his emotions.
They were both certain; faithful logic would prevail as it always had in their past.
So that night, two people conversed over a sumptuous dinner and through several of Valentin's best vintages, feeling very much in control of their lives.
The Duc was slowly mitigating the Mademoiselle's most blatant prejudices toward himself and his class.
Daisy felt more assured as the time passed. The Duc was simply an ordinary man—granted, more dazzling in looks than most men, and undeniably charming. But she'd mastered her earlier inexplicable urges and sensual attraction. She was feeling very smug.
The Duc was feeling equally smug. He hadn't concealed all semblance of sexuality since adolescence. The masquerade was itself a curiously erotic experience, playing the celibate monk, the androgynous companion,
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