Alfred looked out the window as the train traveled from New York to Newport. After the week’s efforts, he looked forward to seeing Mother again and gaining a measure of peace from being by the ocean. He opened the latest telegram from Reverend Stone. True to his word, O’Neal had wired funds to the minister to assist the man in helping vouch for Alfred’s innocence—on paper.
Attorney preparing papers. No such mine. No such dealings. Mitchell Hamm is wrong. Praying. He knew vindication was within his grasp, and the thought filled him with relief. He already knew he could do nothing about the rumors except present the evidence to those interested in his foundation and leave the rest to God.
Perhaps he’d have to wait for a time until he could launch the Finley Humanitarian Foundation, but the foundation would make a difference in young people’s lives. If not right away, eventually. Patience and self-control were not easy lessons to learn, but he hoped Father would have been proud of him, had he known.
When the train trudged to a stop in Newport, Alfred saw Mother waiting for him on the platform. The heat had bothered her lately, and he wondered why she ventured out instead of sending the carriage to bring him to Tranquility.
“There you are,” Mother said as he reached her. “I’m glad you have returned.”
“This week, I have lived a nightmare.”
“I know, I know. Which is why I decided to meet you at the station. We have much to discuss which cannot wait.”
He held his leather satchel in one hand and offered Mother his free arm. “I know you have not been feeling well. You could have waited.”
“I know, I know. But I am your mother, and I needed to do something.”
Minutes later, he had Mother comfortably situated in the carriage. “Do tell, Mother. What have you been up to?”
“Planning a dinner party for tomorrow night. Short notice, I know.”
“I am not in the mood to entertain.” He nodded at an acquaintance passing by in another carriage.
“This is exactly why we should entertain. I have taken the liberty, in your name, of inviting Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Wallingford, Mr. and Mrs. James Wallingford, Miss Francesca Wallingford, plus Mrs. Chalmers and her daughter Lillian for supper.” Her eyes gleamed.
“I understand the count has arrived from New York also, and as he is the betrothed of Miss Wallingford, we shall include him as well.”
“Why would any of them dine with me, besides James and Francesca?”
“Exclusivity. Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt will be present at supper, and the idea of a small affair including them likely proved irresistible to Mrs. Wallingford and Mrs. Chalmers.”
“Just supper?”
“And a healthy helping of the truth.” Mother patted his hand.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Yesterday morning, Miss Elizabeth McGovern, that sweet young woman who serves at Seaside, stole away to speak with me. Evidently Miss Wallingford had wanted to run away, and her mother locked her in her room.”
“As if she were an animal.” Alfred tightened his grip on his satchel, then forced himself to release it.
“I also had a very interesting luncheon with Mrs. Chalmers and her daughter. Evidently she has had her sights set on the count for some time.”
“What do you hope to accomplish by this supper?”
Mother beamed. “As I said, everyone needs a healthy dose of the truth. Because ‘ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.’ ”
For two nights and one day, Francesca had been locked in her room. She ate in her room and only was permitted to leave to tend to her personal needs.
Father had not come to her room, and she wondered what kept him. Mother notified her that, despite her extreme reluctance, they would all be attending a private supper at Tranquility, and Francesca must prepare herself right away.
“The only reason is that Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt will be there. I can see no other reason why. My dear friend Catherine Finley has become too eccentric for my tastes.” Mother went to Francesca’s wardrobe. “You shall wear the gown you wore the night you and the count became engaged. He’s in Newport, you know, and will accompany us tonight. It will not do for you to appear without him.” Mother sounded as if she cared more for her appearance in front of Mrs. Vanderbilt.
“Of course, Mother, it would not.” She only hoped Alfred wouldn’t be at Tranquility. Mother had not mentioned him in days, so perhaps he remained in New York.
“Here is the dress. We leave at seven o’clock.”
Promptly at five minutes until seven, the carriages lined up in front of Seaside, and Francesca inhaled deeply. Not that she hadn’t been able to go onto her balcony during her confinement, but being free of her room made the air feel fresher.
Of course, she took the carriage with Philippe, who bowed low and kissed her hand before helping her onto the seat. She did not expect any proclamation of affection, especially not since the incident with the sewing needles.
“You look well tonight,” was the first thing he said to her.
“Thank you.” Francesca wondered if he knew about her enforced confinement. But she regarded him with an even gaze. He met her eyes briefly, then focused on the scenery passing by them.
She remained silent for the rest of the journey, and she found it curious that Philippe did as well.
Once Francesca endured the gauntlet of greetings at Tranquility—she could not bring herself to look at Alfred, who stood there as evidence of what she could never have—she docilely followed Philippe to the Finley dining room.
This was a grand room, but a room for a family to enjoy a meal, not the staged propriety played out in front of her. Mrs. Finley, though, greeted her like a long-lost friend.
“My dear, you and the count must sit near Alfred and myself.” Once she organized everyone around the table, there were vacant seats.
“My guests, thank you for attending this evening. While it is a warm summer night, I trust that the cool refreshment accompanying the meal will stave off effects of the heat.” She smiled at them in turn. “Mrs. Vanderbilt sends her regrets that she could not attend tonight, so I believe this is everyone.”
Francesca couldn’t give the atmosphere in the room a name. She ate a spoonful of the chilled asparagus soup and surveyed the group. Lillian looked particularly resplendent this evening, and kept darting glances toward where Philippe and Francesca sat. Philippe kept tugging at his collar and clearing his throat.
“Something to drink, Count de la Croix?” asked Mrs. Finley. “I apologize if the soup does not agree with you.”
“I am fine, Madame Finley.” He focused on his soup.
“Very well. The beef will be served shortly.” Mrs. Finley nodded at him.
Other quiet conversations took place around the table, but Francesca kept her focus on her meal. She did not want her words to betray her, nor give her parents cause for alarm.
“Is this your last event of the season?” asked Mother from her place farther down the table.
“Yes, it is.” Mrs. Finley dabbed at her forehead with her napkin. “I’m not planning to try to impress anyone again. My Alfred didn’t care to have supper tonight—”
“Now, Mother,” Alfred began, “I have had a very busy week—”
“My Alfred didn’t care to have supper tonight, so it must be understood that he has nothing to do with this supper. I didn’t tell him of supper until he returned from New York last evening.”
Francesca wondered if he’d found any answers, or if James had been able to help him. So many questions, and with him nearby, without a way to ask. No one else said anything about Mrs. Finley’s remarks about Alfred.
Philippe gave Francesca a stern look, and she stared right back at him.
“So, Miss Wallingford, how have your wedding plans come along?” asked Mrs. Finley.
“Mother has been planning and kept very busy. My dress will be finished at the end of September. We have selected the menu.” And that was all she knew, after spending the last two and a half days in her room.
“What a wondrous life you shall have.”
Truly, the woman was cruel to speak so in front of her own son and speculate on Francesca’s life after marrying Philippe. “I’m sure it shall be quite grand. Count de la Croix, please tell me again how many homes we shall divide our time in.”
“Paris, of course. And a home in the country. I have a flat in London when I must stay there, mostly for business. And New York as well.” Philippe took the last sip of his soup. “But I have told my Francesca that I shall build her a home here in Newport if she so wishes.”
Mrs. Finley smiled. “Miss Wallingford, how wonderful for you. And you shall have a chance to pursue your painting.”
“I suppose I shall. Although supervising four different residences may take a great deal of time.” Francesca set down her spoon.
A muffled noise from the other side of the table made Francesca look. Lillian had made a sort of strangled sound into her napkin. Her mother patted her shoulder.
“Miss Chalmers, are you all right?” asked Mrs. Finley.
Lillian nodded. “I’m fine.”
“She has been in the sun too long today, I’m afraid,” said Aunt Beatrice.
“Yes, the summer sun is quite draining,” admitted Victoria. “James makes sure that I do not overdo things. In fact, we’ve been in New York at the doctor. Pardon me.” At this, she blushed. “I should not speak of such things at the supper table, and as a guest.”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Finley waved her soupspoon at Victoria. “We are all practically family here. I’m glad you are well. We shall pray for a healthy child.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Finley.” Victoria’s color gradually returned to normal.
Francesca smiled, but the idea of bearing Philippe’s children made her appetite flee, despite the tantalizing menu this evening.
“And one day, you shall have a family as well.” Mrs. Finley touched Francesca’s hand.
A sob made them all look in the direction of the sound. Lillian hiccupped. “I’m so sorry.”
“What on earth is wrong?” asked Aunt Beatrice. “You’ve been looking forward to this supper all day long. This is most unladylike, Lillian.”
“I don’t care anymore!” Lillian flung her napkin onto the table and stood, knocking her chair backwards.
“Young lady, do tell us.” Mrs. Finley glanced at Francesca, then back to Lillian.
“I, for one, no longer wish to live a lie.” Lillian marched to the head of the table and stood near Philippe’s chair. He looked ready to bolt.
“Miss Chalmers …” Philippe began.
“One thing I like about Mrs. Finley is that she tells the truth. No pretenses. Where is the endearing ‘my Lily’ that you call me? Philippe, I have had enough of hiding.”
Francesca heard Mother gasp. “Beatrice, control your daughter, as I have controlled mine.”
Francesca stood. “Mother, please. Let Lillian speak.”
Fresh tears streamed down Lillian’s face. “You cannot and must not marry Francesca.”
Mother made a gurgling noise.
Now Philippe stood. “Miss Chalmers, it is, as you say, complicated. It is more beneficial for me to marry Miss Wallingford.”
“Philippe, don’t marry me out of a business obligation.” Francesca loved voicing the words before everyone. Mother and Aunt Beatrice were exchanging words across the table. Father was trying to quiet Mother.
“You.” Philippe pointed at Francesca. “Do not tell me what I should and should not do. I am so tired of you—you—acting as if you are my equal, or worse, more important than me. I am a count. I deserve respect. And Lillian always respected me.”
“I will not bend to you merely because of your title.” Francesca held onto the table edge.
“The more you pushed me, the harder I resisted. And I am sorry if you thought I considered myself more important than you.”
“Please, Philippe.” Lillian tugged at his sleeve. “I don’t have the financial means that my cousin possesses, but I love you. I adore you. I would do anything for you. Haven’t I shown you that already?”
More uproar from the end of the table. In spite of the clamor, Francesca felt a peace steal over her. A sudden movement made her look to Mrs. Finley. The woman’s face had taken on a gray pallor.
“Oh dear. Alfred—” Mrs. Finley grabbed a fistful of Alfred’s sleeve. Then she slumped over onto her table setting.
“O’Neal!” Alfred stood and pulled his mother to a seated position. “Send for the doctor!”
The next few minutes were a blur to Francesca, with Lillian and Philippe begging their leave of the family; James running to Alfred’s aid; Mother and Aunt Beatrice murmuring about what might be wrong.
The last thing she recalled before Mother and Father whisked her from the dining room was Alfred taking one of her hands in his and saying, “Pray for Mother. And have faith.” The strong squeeze he gave her made fresh hope bloom in her heart.