The old-timers declared it the hottest July on record and the steady influx of city dwellers in search of country comfort seemed to bear that opinion out. The small town of East Hampton teemed with summer residents and Evangeline Ames vowed she would need new eyeglasses before Labor Day rolled around for the volume of mail had suddenly tripled.
Handsome men in pale pink jackets and straw hats escorted lovely ladies in gowns of violet and canary and mint down Main Street and Alexandra was reminded of Paris and the daily promenade.
Heat blanketed the East End and fishermen in Shinnecock Bay worried that the oystering in September would be damaged beyond repair. The lush flower beds that were part of the landscaping of every self-respecting summer house wilted sadly and only the sweet honeysuckle lawns seemed to fare well at all.
As July melted into August, life at Sea View slowed almost to a crawl. Andrew worked an hour or two each morning on the portrait of Alexandra, but more often than not they spent that time talking about painting techniques.
When the sun rose high in the sky so did the mercury and the carriage house attic became an inferno. Regretfully, Alexandra heeded her father's advice and put off work on the collected paintings until after the heat wave broke. Janine and the other servants seemed to move through the house in slow motion and Alexandra pitied them the heavy black uniforms propriety dictated they wear.
There were mornings when she found it required Herculean effort on her part to simply lift her head from her pillow and drag herself from the huge feather bed. The heat seemed to creep inside her pores, driving her temperature up each morning the way Matthew's nearness did each night.
As August wore on she grew short-tempered and shockingly impatient, snapping at Janine and Andrew and even her beloved Matthew. It was too hot to eat and she took to spending the dinner hour beneath the shade of a huge oak tree, sipping lemonade and trying to stay awake. At times the unrelenting heat won out and she fell into a deep, drugged sleep from which she was loath to stir.
Two more letters with San Francisco postmarks arrived and both times Matthew's mood changed dramatically upon receipt and he spent long hours alone in the library or talking with Andrew behind closed doors. His drinking had abated since the night of the musicale in early May but in the past few weeks she'd tasted whiskey on his lips and fear on her own.
They shared so much, so many wonderful things that she felt almost ashamed to admit that still she wanted more.
She wanted to hear the words, "I love you." She wanted him to talk of the future, of a church wedding, of growing old together. She tried to pretend it didn't bother her, that surely he was on the verge of offering for her hand at any moment but, truth to tell, his omission was beginning to frighten her.
It was because of Andrew. She knew it in her very bones. Matthew was obviously not a man of wealth and the fact that she was Andrew Lowell's daughter made Matthew uncomfortably aware of the difference between his station and her father's.
Yes, she was Andrew's daughter but she most definitely was not his heir and therein lay the most important difference. She wanted nothing from her father but the opportunity to know him and, God willing, to love him. She did not want his fortune or even his name and there had to be some way to communicate this to Matthew without treading upon his pride.
But, she simply did not have the energy to think.
Toward the end of the summer, the Maidstone Club opened and a flurry of parties were held around town to celebrate the event. The official gala, however, was held the weekend before Labor Day at the Club and all of East Hampton's elite were expected to attend. Andrew, of course, would be unable to attend, but he made it known that Matthew and Alexandra were to represent Sea View for him.
Once again Janine proved a godsend. Each night for a week before the gala, Alexandra and the young maid pored over the latest Godey's Ladies Book for ideas and labored to turn Alexandra's cream silk gown into the height of fashion.
"Mr. Matthew's eyes will be popping out of his head tonight, miss," Janine said as Alexandra twirled before the cheval mirror on the evening of the gala. "You could be one of Mr. Gibson's girls."
"You are a miracle worker!"
Janine blushed prettily and bent down to touch the gold trim about the hem. "Ma taught me to hold a needle before I could walk."
"I shall be the envy of every woman there." The gold trim at the hem and bodice added a touch of opulence to the simple dress and somehow Janine had played with Alexandra's convent-lace petticoats and created the illusion of a double skirt that was just short enough to show off her delicate slippers. Her earbobs were paste but it seemed to Alexandra as if they sparkled same as the real thing. Her neckline was bare for the so-called Glenn pearls were now just tumbled loosely in a velvet pouch tucked away in her armoire.
Janine had also assisted in arranging her hair in a simple but lovely upsweep held in place with rhinestone clips and a few sprigs of white babies' breath that looked wonderful tucked within her shiny black curls.
The only problem was the fact that her miraculously revamped gown was snug around the bodice and waistline. She had tightened her stays to compensate for this development but made a vow to exercise some self-control the next time she and Matthew went to Mrs. Lawrence's parlor in town for strawberry ice cream.
There was a knock upon her door and Matthew, devastatingly handsome in his dove grey frock coat, entered her room. Janine winked conspiratorially at Alexandra, and then slipped out.
"You're exquisite, Alex," he said, standing behind her and watching their reflection in the cheval mirror.
She leaned back against him, resting the back of her head against his shoulder. "You are just accustomed to seeing me in my faded pink dress."
"There is one thing your costume lacks." He dipped into his pocket and withdrew a long, flat box.
Her eyes filled with foolish tears. "Oh, Matthew!"
"Open it," he said gruffly. "We must be leaving for the ball."
Hands trembling, she lifted the top and gasped. A single diamond, flashing fire in the candlelight, lay suspended upon a fragile golden chain. Matthew took it from her and she watched in the mirror as those huge hands of his manipulated the tiny clasp. The look of tenderness upon his handsome face moved her beyond all reason as the gem nestled in the hollow at the base of her throat.
"It's magnificent, Matthew," she breathed. "How did you... I mean, I didn't think you could..."
He silenced her with a kiss. "I can," he said, as he led her toward the door. "And I will again."
She stopped and cradled his beloved face between her hands. "Why?" she asked, kissing the dimple in his chin. "I already have everything I could ever long for."
A home.
A family.
A man she loved more than life itself.
And if he had yet to speak of love and marriage, so be it. Nothing could change the truth: She would belong to him until the day she died.
#
The Maidstone Club was every wonderful thing Alexandra had imagined it would be. A large, graceful structure it boasted a pool, clubhouse, billiards room, bowling alley, and all manner of luxuries important to the upper classes. The club house was lighted with electric lights powered by a small generator located near the pond and Alexandra marveled at the clean, bright light it produced.
In a spacious library off the main dining room, a tall black man played popular music on a massive grand piano situated before the open French doors.
Scores of formally clad waiters quietly circulated throughout the many rooms, making certain the guests were well provided for. French champagne and Napoleon brandy, Spanish sherry and perfectly aged Scotch whiskey—only the finest could be found at Maidstone.
As magnificent as the club house and surrounding grounds were, the ballroom far surpassed them. Enameled walls the color of heavy cream were overlaid with panels trimmed with pastel molding and papered with watered silk of the palest mauve and dove grey. Crystal chandeliers twinkled from the domed ceiling and a full orchestra barely made a dent on the enormous dance floor.
Matthew introduced her to one well-known East Hamptonite after another: The Gallatins and the Bownes, the Hunttings and their friend Mrs. Harris, the entire Social Register paraded before her and before the first half hour was over, names and faces began to swirl together in a dazzling blend of silks and satins and fine perfumes.
The waltz was the favored dance and Matthew possessively refused to yield her company to any of the other men who attempted to cut in upon them.
"How cruel," she teased as he whirled her across the polished floor. "You selfishly prevent me from stepping on any toes but your own."
"I want all of you, Alex," he said, dancing her close to the patio. "The good and the bad."
They were whirling so fast she could scarcely catch her breath and she missed a dance step. "Matthew, I—"
The dance floor somehow became the ceiling and she feared she would step upon the chandelier.
"Alex?" His voice was hazy, indistinct. "Are you all right?"
Her mouth formed the words yet nothing came out. Dear God, it was so hot in the ballroom. If only she could get some air. If only—
#
"I am so embarrassed," Alexandra moaned as Matthew drove the carriage back to Sea View an hour later. "Are you sure no one saw me faint?"
"I am positive, Alex." Matthew glanced at her as they turned into the drive that led up to the main house. "I danced you out onto the terrace then carried you to the coach myself. No one saw."
"The champagne," she said knowingly. "Champagne on an empty stomach will do it every time."
"You will not feel particularly fine come morning," he warned. "Champagne has some nasty after-effects."
"Why do people drink? It simply isn't worth it if it makes one feel so wretched afterwards."
But Matthew said nothing and Alexandra could only wonder what his own reasons had been.
#
Unfortunately, Matthew's prediction had been all-too-right and come morning, Alexandra did indeed feel wretched. Matthew was already out exercising the horses with Johnny when she awoke and she was thoroughly pleased he was not there to witness her humiliation.
A thousand tiny hammers pounded behind her eyes while the slightest movement brought great distress to her beleaguered stomach. She lay there motionless in the feather bed for a long while, praying for a miraculous recovery, but none was in the offing. She had to get up—why, she could tell by the angle of the sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows that it was near to ten in the morning and she had not so much as combed her hair yet.
Gingerly she sat upright, wincing as a vicious throbbing commenced at the base of her skull. She eased her legs out of the bed then stood up on shaky legs.
There. That wasn't so terrible. She was standing up and nothing dreadful had happened to her. More confident, she headed toward her chest of drawers when a storm of nausea swooped down upon her and she barely made it to the washstand before she retched violently again and again.
A cold sweat broke out on her forehead and she leaned over the washstand, gasping for breath, wondering if she could live through another assault such as that.
She lived through a second assault and a third before she sank to the floor and leaned against the bed.
There was a knock at her door and she closed her eyes and groaned silently.
"Go away, Janine!" she called out, her voice weak and trembling. "I never want to see breakfast again."
Again, a knock at the door.
"I am quite serious, Janine! You cannot make me change my mind."
"It is not Janine," Dayla said softly. "May I see you?"
Alexandra pulled herself up until she was perched on the very edge of the feather bed. "Come in," she managed.
As always, Dayla looked fresh and serene in an immaculate white dress of gauzy cotton. Her straight black hair was carefully plaited and the long braid hung nearly to her narrow waist.
"You are unwell," she said, looking at Alexandra. "I wondered when it would begin."
"Champagne should be outlawed," she said, massaging her temples. "What a devious people the French are to invent such a wicked indulgence."
Dayla smiled and shook her head. "Your problem, Alexandra, is that you are with child."