five

Francesca tried not to clutch Victoria’s hand too tightly. The entry hall of the Vanderbilts’ cottage, Marble House, glowed in all its resplendence and made Seaside look pretentious in comparison. In the glow of the Tiffany glass, the marble seemed more like liquid stone than that of a hard surface. The sun had at long last gone down, and a breeze blew from the bay. Dances did not start until well after sundown, and Francesca knew their driver would return to the Vanderbilts’ residence shortly after daybreak and an early breakfast.

“Ladies, I shall rejoin you when the dancing begins.” James took Victoria’s free hand and kissed it. “We men have business to tend to, but you can be sure we will arrive promptly at supper.”

“Of course, my love, you always do.” Victoria smiled at him and the women continued their walk to the ballroom, following the crowd.

“You really love my brother, don’t you?” Francesca asked.

“That I do, although I didn’t at first.” She glanced at Francesca. “Does that surprise you?”

“No, I can’t say that it does. In our position, we have few choices of whom to marry. Those of us who have a choice, that is.” Francesca glimpsed another pair of young women, who like herself, were experiencing their first summer out in society.

“You needn’t worry, I’m sure.” Victoria nodded to another acquaintance of the family’s. “Your parents have your best interests in mind. Was that Mrs. Copley or Mrs. Hamilton? I can never remember. The one whose husband owns the steel company.”

“I don’t know. I am good with faces but names sometimes escape me.” Francesca pondered Victoria’s words. “But what you said about my parents. Do you know of anything that they have planned?”

Victoria drew her toward the wall of the great gilded ballroom they’d just entered. She leaned closer. “I dare not say, because I have heard nothing certain. Now, mind you, I despise eavesdropping.”

“As do I, but sometimes it can’t be helped.”

“One morning, I was in the library, searching for a book of poetry I’d left on the window seat in the gallery. Your mother and father were there. They only passed through. I don’t know if your father was searching for his cigars or his glasses, but they were only present for a brief moment.”

Francesca wanted to drag the words out of her sister-in-law one by one. “All right. So what you are telling me is only part of the story. I understand.”

Victoria took a deep breath and said, “I heard your father say something like, ‘Unlike you, I believe the idea has merit. Financially we shall not gain anything by the connection. But our daughter will be happy.’

“And then your mother said, ‘If her future is secure, then I know she will be happy. Our grandchildren will have more than she even has now. Thankfully she does not remember those early days of hardship.’

“Then your father roared and said something like, ‘What he owns far exceeds money and stature. I will not bend to this idea of yours.’

“And then the two of them thundered from the room and I heard nothing more of the conversation. You know this can only mean one thing.”

“They were trying to select a husband for me, worthy of my trust fund.” Francesca’s heart pounded. “I can only guess who they argued about, but I’d rather not say.”

“You should make your own intentions known now, if you prefer someone, before it is too late,” Victoria said. “I did so about James. He was as kind and intelligent and handsome as any I’d seen. While I did not love him at first, I knew love would come. And it has. Oh, it surely has.”

“Do you mean—?” Francesca grasped Victoria’s hand.

Her sister-in-law whispered in her ear. “By this time next summer you shall be an aunt.”

Francesca clamped her hand over her mouth, then calmed herself before anyone else noticed her delighted reaction. No, they were too busy examining Mrs. Vanderbilt’s embellishments to the room. Not that it needed any embellishing.

“I am so happy for both of you.”

“Thank you. We plan to announce it at family supper, tomorrow night.” Victoria glowed as if happy to share her secret with someone.

Another friend wearing a sparkling tiara glided up to them. “Victoria, how are you this evening? Is James here?”

“I’m quite well, Millicent,” Victoria replied. “James is here, too.”

“We need your opinion over there about a particular matter, if you don’t mind joining us for a moment.”

“Of course not. Fran, I’ll be back shortly.” Victoria nodded at Francesca.

“I’ll see you then.” The orchestra members were assembling at their seats for the first dancing to begin. Supper would not be until midnight, but Francesca’s stomach already growled. A familiar figure in a gown of sapphire blue approached her and stopped. Her cousin, Lillian.

“You’ve heard the news, haven’t you?” Lillian asked. “Consuelo and Winthrop Rutherford had a secret engage-ment. And her mother learned of it. They locked her in her room.”

“Why? Did she threaten to run away?”

“I’m not quite certain, but it is a known fact that he is not the one her family considers suitable for her to marry.”

“How awful for her.” Francesca scanned the room for the diminutive young woman with large dark eyes. And how devastating, to be denied one’s true love. And how sad that she felt she must be engaged secretly to someone not of her mother’s choosing. “Have you seen her tonight?”

“Not yet.” Lillian nudged her. “Look. There is your Mr. Finley.”

Alfred was shaking James’s hand, and gesturing to another gentleman in a fine suit nearby. “He’s not my Mr. Finley.”

“Ah, but I hear he is yet unattached, and he has known our family for years.” She leaned closer. “Do you think your mother will hear of a union between the two of you?”

“I. . .I think that is doubtful, as you know quite well.”

“Well, I also have heard that the Duke of Marlborough has been seen about. He is deemed to be an acceptable match for Consuelo. She is worth twenty million, after all.”

“Mrs. Vanderbilt probably wants her daughter to be a duchess.” Francesca shook her head. “A title.”

Lillian’s eyes took on a curious light. “Yes, with a title there is not just money. But influence. Could you imagine? The respect one would have with a title.”

“I have to admit, when I first met the count in Paris, he quite turned my head.” Francesca glanced toward Victoria, who had greeted one of her friends and was no doubt catching up on news.

“He turns every woman’s head. I wonder how much he’s worth?” Lillian linked her arm through Francesca’s.

The sisterly gesture made Francesca pause. The younger of the two by six months, Lillian should have been the kind of cousin to have for a friend while growing up, but for some curious reason her cousin always wanted to compete with Francesca. When Francesca had received a pony when she turned eight years old, Lillian had demanded one, too. Painting lessons, which Lillian promptly gave up but where Francesca excelled. Although, Lillian could sing, and no doubt if someone played the pianoforte tonight, Lillian would somehow manage a turn to stand and sing beside the instrument.

“I certainly have no idea. He does seem wealthy enough.”

“A New York estate, and a place in London, besides his Paris residence.” Lillian nodded and smiled at another young woman passing by them.

“You seem to know quite a lot about the man,” Francesca observed.

“Dear cousin, we must know as much as we can about the people in our circle. It will only be to our advantage. Surely you understand that.”

“I am tired of the posturing I see and the pretentiousness.”

“Surely it is but a phase of melancholy you are going through. Perhaps your mother should send for a doctor. There must be a remedy.” Lillian paused, and Francesca had to stop short.

“Beatrice, darling, how are you?” Lillian said to a young woman they encountered in the ballroom.

Francesca took in the sight of the golden room. What a birthday present from Mr. Vanderbilt to his wife, but even Francesca had heard the murmuring that their marriage had troubles. The gilded mirrors and marble walls glowed in the light of the chandeliers. And the fireplace, imported from Italy with its bronze sculpted figures. The ceiling, too, reminded everyone that this was no ordinary ballroom.

The orchestra in the corner was tuning up, the sound a pleasant cacophony. The others in attendance clustered around the perimeter of the dance floor.

“You will save me at least one dance, won’t you?”

Francesca did not have to turn to know the owner of the voice. Since that day of sailing, she had longed for the chance to see Alfred again. Aside from glimpsing him at church one Sunday in town, she had not had the pleasure. Could he glimpse the eagerness in her face?

“But of course. And more than one, even.” Practically brazen, Mother would say, but Francesca did not care at the moment. “Have you been busy? I haven’t seen you since that day we went out on the Gull.”

“Yes, I have been busy. One of the reasons I am here tonight is because William Vanderbilt has learned of my plans for the foundation. As he is engaged in philanthropy himself, I know there is much that I can learn from him. We are planning to meet and confer more in New York, but as his wife wanted a balanced list for the ball, my name was added.”

“Imagine. I’ll have to tell Mother that. Surely that should raise you in her estimation.” She laughed.

❧

Alfred could listen to Francesca’s laughter all evening. She no longer possessed the giggle of a young girl, but the warm, rich laugh of a woman. He ought to have retreated with the small group of men heading to Mr. Vanderbilt’s study, but as the evening went on, he realized he would regret not spending as much time with Francesca as he could.

The orchestra then struck up a lively tune and dancers paired up. Alfred offered his arm to Francesca. “First dance? Then we will not be disappointed if the opportunity does not come our way again.”

“Of course.”

She was light on her feet, and her smile remained bright. Alfred didn’t care if he never had the chance to speak with Mr. Vanderbilt that evening.

“Please forgive my mother. She’s been unconscionable this summer,” Francesca said halfway through the dance.

“I understand. She is not the first.” He led her to the turn, released her hand, and then took her other one. “I am well aware of how the game is played.”

“But our parents were friends, and I don’t see how she can put on airs like she has.” Her brow furrowed.

“It happens. We feel we must put forth an image, be the example. God’s chosen elite.” He caught her around the waist.

“Well, I am tired of the image,” Francesca admitted. “Surely you are not serious about being the elite?”

“Of course not.” He loved seeing the pretty frown on her face. “I only say what I see in the philosophy of some.”

“But I see that what only makes us different from those without is our money, and perhaps our education. Look at the ball in Paris. My sweet maid Elizabeth wore an old gown of mine, and I passed her off—if not completely—as one who moved in society’s upper circles.” The music ended, and the couples applauded as they headed to the edges of the ballroom.

“It was quite convincing at first. Small details clued me in, but those were superficial,” Alfred said over the noise of clapping hands.

“My point exactly.” Francesca remained by his side and they watched another group of dancers take the floor. “Deep down, we are all alike. We want security, love, and we want to belong. God Himself is no respecter of persons, as the Bible says.”

“My, my. Serious thoughts for a beautiful evening.” What Alfred wouldn’t give so that Francesca could be by his side always. Her compassionate nature and not just her beauty appealed to him. Which meant he needed to speak to Mr. Wallingford. James’s cautionary words came back to him. He had no idea if any plans had been set in motion, but if Alfred could prevent heartbreak for Francesca, he would.

“I’m sorry.” The worry left her face with a smile. “Just seeing the grandeur of this house amazes me, and it makes me wonder why we must all have so. . .much. What we spend on dinner could feed families for months. It almost makes me want to move to a simple house and bake bread.”

“But you enjoy the parties and such?”

She nodded. “Part of me does, and I feel guilty sometimes about that. I know I’d probably be miserable were I to exchange places with Elizabeth for a time. I like being comfortable and doted upon.”

“You want a happy medium.”

“I do. And I also want to make a difference.” Francesca placed one of her gloved hands on his arm. “This is why you must succeed. To make a difference. And to encourage the others in this room tonight to do the same with what God has given them.”

He saw another gentleman nod at him, one of Mr. Vanderbilt’s associates with whom he wished to speak. Time for the retreat before supper. “For your sake, and those who will one day benefit, I’ll do my best.” He gave a slight bow. “I must go for now, but I hope to see you at supper.”

“I hope so, too.”

Alfred straightened his tie and tugged on his cuffs as he left the ballroom. The sounds of male laughter drifted from an open door. He had never entered William Vanderbilt’s lounge at Marble House and felt as if he were going to appear before royalty. But like Francesca said, people were alike, deep down.

He believed that most in the room would want to make a difference. Perhaps he should start a discussion about educational reform and increased accessibility.

Instead, the first person he spoke to brought up the subject of his unmarried state. Reginald Avery with his graying handlebar moustache had but one wife, yet the portly man was known to have dalliances on the side with much younger women. Alfred wasn’t sure the man would want to lend his support to Alfred’s idea. But he saw no harm in speaking to Reginald.

“You’re wound up tighter than piano string, young Finley.” Reginald clapped him on the back. “You either didn’t sow enough wild oats out on that frontier, or you need to get married. Or both.” He punctuated the air with throaty laughter that made a few heads turn in their direction.

“I’m actually starting a philanthropic foundation.”

“Foundation, shmoundation, m’boy.” He blew a puff on his cigar. “What do you plan to do?”

Alfred explained about the foundation and the need for educational reform as a means to better all young people, not a select few, and thus improve the quality of life for everyone. “And that’s why I’m determined to use my assets for the common good.”

“With a speech like that, you ought to run for office and not be holed up knocking elbows with us stuffed shirts.” The man had a glint in his eye. “Tell you what. You start finding some of those young people who need a hand, and I’ll talk to my banker about a contribution.”

“You will?” Alfred hadn’t expected this. His original target had been Octavius Millstone, a manufacturing giant who was now debating something with Mr. Vanderbilt by the fireplace—judging by the way he gestured, nearly striking someone’s head with his waving arms.

“ ’Course I will.” Reginald’s face took on a more serious expression. “I had a hardworking father who brought us here when we were wee ones. He always wanted us to do better than what he did. I was the only one who did. Don’t want you giving money to any slackers, though.”

“You can be sure these students will be hard workers and ambitious.” Alfred shook Reginald’s hand. “You’ll hear from me again about this matter. Thank you, thank you very much.”

❧

The supper hour arrived at last, and to Francesca’s delight she had a seat across from Alfred. The gentleman to his left kept him engaged in conversation, but Alfred would glance in her direction from time to time. The woman to his right wore a resplendent headdress that made her look quite like rooster’s plumes sprung from the crown of her head. The sight must have amused Alfred as well, for his eyes danced with merriment.

The empty seat beside her became occupied, but Francesca merely sensed someone settling onto the large chair. She wondered if they’d required assistance, as she had, to push the massive piece of furniture up to the table.

The man wore a fine suit, and Francesca appreciated that as her gaze moved from his arm to his face.

Count Philippe de la Croix.

“Mademoiselle Wallingford, I was hoping to see you this evening.” The rich tones of his voice made her want to lean closer to listen, but she stopped herself.

“It is good to see you, Count de la Croix. And thank you again, for the kind gift of the paint set. I’m afraid I haven’t had the opportunity to use them yet.” Francesca remembered how she’d exclaimed over the store that carried artists’ supplies while strolling Paris streets with the count. Was it barely two months ago? It seemed a lot longer than two months. But then, she hadn’t become quite as reacquainted with Alfred as she had now. Much more than reacquainted. Alfred was talking to the gentleman beside him, but she caught his eye and he smiled at her.

Then Alfred’s gaze traveled to the count and his smile faded almost imperceptibly.

The count was laughing at something someone had said, and Francesca tried to see who occupied the seat on the other side of him. She caught a flash of sapphire blue silk and glimpsed ebony curls against alabaster skin.

“Francesca, dear cousin.” Lillian leaned forward in her chair. “It appears we have the best two seats at supper tonight.” She looked up at Philippe through her long eyelashes.

Before Francesca could reply, Philippe said, “No, it is I who occupy a coveted chair. The two most beautiful debutantes in the room, and both from the same family.”

A trilling giggle from Lillian.

“Thank you, Count de la Croix.” Francesca refused to further contribute to the man losing his hearing, as Lillian just had.

“Please, it is Philippe. As it was in Paris, Francesca.”

Somehow his hand had grown closer in proximity to Francesca’s left hand that rested on the table beside her salad fork. His little finger touched hers, and she wanted to draw her hand to her lap.

“Very well. Philippe it is.”

“Pardon, Francesca. Un moment.” He turned to listen to something Lillian had said.

When Francesca glanced toward Alfred, his chair was vacant.

“Mr. Finley was called away,” said the woman wearing the rooster plume headdress.

“Oh, I hope nothing is wrong.” Francesca thought he might have let her know he was leaving, and not departed like this, without a word. But they had not come together and he was not bound to inform her of his actions. Had he noticed Philippe’s attentions? She did not return them, and she chided herself on being a silly girl to think that Alfred cared at all. In that manner, anyway.