A Daughter's Inheritance (5 page)

Although a hint of color returned to Aunt Victoria’s cheeks, her displeasure remained evident. Uncle Jonas tapped his water goblet with a spoon until the room turned silent. “My wife does not wish to hear any talk of fighting or war at the dinner table, William.” He shouted loud enough that Fanny was certain anyone within a two-block radius could hear the admonition.

Mr. Snodgrass appeared unperturbed by the comeuppance. “Fine. We can discuss it over a glass of port and a good cigar later in the evening,” he muttered.

Throughout the meal, which progressed at the usual snail’s pace, Fanny did her best to talk with Grayson and Mr. Snodgrass. The extravagant floral centerpiece prohibited much visiting with guests seated across the table, though it mattered little. Fanny doubted she could interest them in discussing fishing at Broadmoor Island.

Several servants returned to the dining room and started to remove the dinner plates. When one of the servers approached Fanny, Mr. Snodgrass shook his head and turned a stern eye on Fanny. “You’ve eaten only a few bites of your food, young lady. Do you realize what food costs nowadays?” Before Fanny could respond, he cast a look of doom at the guests seated around him and proclaimed the country would be hard-pressed to recover from this latest depression. “I’m a banker, you know. I understand economics, and even though you all think this country is on the mend, we’ve a long way to go. Best think about that when you’re agreeing to this war, too.”

Thankfully, the servant ignored the conversation and removed Fanny’s dinner plate while Mr. Snodgrass predicated the country would soon lapse into complete ruination.

Uncle Jonas cleared his throat. “William . . .”

Mr. Snodgrass waved at Jonas with a quivering hand mottled with liver spots. “I know, I know. No talk of war, no talk of financial ruin, no talk of anything other than the weather and the ladies’ gowns.” He dipped his head closer to Fanny. A strand of white hair dropped across his forehead. “Do none of you young ladies have interest in anything other than frippery?”

“William!” Uncle Jonas shook his head. Mr. Snodgrass failed to take into account that his whispers could be heard by everyone in attendance.

“Fine, Jonas!” Mr. Snodgrass turned toward Fanny and cocked an eyebrow. “Tell me, Miss Broadmoor, who fashions your gowns for you? And what color do you call that particular shade of purple? Did you bead the gown yourself?”

The old man’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and several of the other men snickered until their wives disarmed them with icy stares. While one of the servants placed a dish of lemon ice in front of Fanny, she leaned close to Mr. Snodgrass. “The color of my gown is referred to as lilac, Mr. Snodgrass.”

He grinned. “Makes sense. Same shade as Rochester’s famous blooms, right?”

“Yes. My favorite flower, too.”

“Well, I find lilacs quite lovely myself. What about you, Jonas? You prefer roses over lilacs?” The old man winked at Fanny.

Her uncle was clearly annoyed. “Neither. I prefer deep purple irises.”

Mr. Snodgrass swiveled toward Fanny and arched his bushy brows. “Your uncle dislikes the color of your dress, Miss Broadmoor. This bit of news will likely render you unable to digest your supper. I’m certain you’re wishing you had purchased a deeper shade of purple.” Mr. Snodgrass tipped his head back and laughed. “Shall we discuss the beading on your gown, or perhaps I could ask Mrs. Winberg if she prefers lilac over purple.”

Unless Uncle Jonas vehemently objected, Mr. Snodgrass’s name would likely be permanently removed from Aunt Victoria’s guest list. Perhaps he would depart early this evening, for he’d evidently not read his invitation. Dinner guests were expected to retire to the ballroom immediately after the evening meal. For this auspicious annual occasion, Aunt Victoria always invited fifty guests to partake of dinner prior to the dance. However, many more guests had been invited for the ball—a veritable array of New York society. Instead of enjoying a cigar and glass of port, Mr. Snodgrass would be expected to locate a dance partner. Fanny wondered if the man’s legs would support him for an entire waltz.

She’d never been so pleased to conclude the evening repast.

Amanda stood on tiptoe and waved her fan in the air until she captured Fanny’s attention. Weaving her way through the crowd would take a bit of effort on Fanny’s part. Within moments, Amanda lost sight of her cousin amidst the throng of guests. She had hoped to visit with Fanny before the promenade, but it didn’t appear that would occur.

The musicians had gathered in their appointed places. The grand promenade was a tradition that had begun years ago at the very first Summer’s Eve Ball. At least that’s what Amanda’s mother insisted when anyone suggested eliminating the ritual.

Instead of Fanny, Sophie arrived at Amanda’s side, her entourage in tow. “Is your mother angry that Father didn’t make an appearance this evening? Or has she even missed him?”

“Of course she misses him, Sophie. We all miss him. Mother mentioned last week that he hadn’t responded to his invitation.” She shrugged. “You know Mother. She detests any breach of etiquette. Uncle Quincy will be in for one of her lectures the next time they see each other.”

“He’s so consumed with expanding his charity shelter that he thinks of nothing else.” She jutted her chin in the air. “He doesn’t consider that his own children consider themselves parentless.”

Amanda offered her cousin a sympathetic smile. Sophie tended to exaggerate from time to time, but her cousin’s feelings of abandonment were genuine. Ever since the death of Sophie’s mother’s last year, her father had been consumed by his work with the homeless. “Well, I doubt you can speak for your brother and sisters, Sophie.”

Sophie shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. They all have their own lives now. I’m the one who deserves at least a bit of my father’s time and attention.”

That much was certainly true. Sophie’s eldest sister, Louisa Clermont, who had been widowed five months ago, lived in Cincinnati with her three children. Nadine, who had been the youngest sister until Sophie’s birth, lived in Rochester with her husband, Willard Snyder. They had welcomed their first child, Alfred, only a few days ago, and no one had expected them to attend tonight’s festivities. Nor did anyone expect Dorian, Sophie’s only brother, to be in attendance. Dorian had departed Rochester three years ago to explore Canada. He’d written only once since he left, and none of them had the vaguest idea how to contact him. He didn’t even know his mother had died a year ago. Of course Beatrice and her husband, Andrew Winberg, were in attendance this evening. Beatrice might not be enjoying herself tonight, but she would never breach social etiquette or disappoint her relatives—especially those of higher social standing. Beatrice had married a Winberg—a Rochester family but certainly not of the same social standing as that of the Broadmoors, not by any stretch of the imagination.

Not that Amanda cared a whit about making the “proper” marriage. Personally, she wasn’t interested in marriage at all. At least not now. Jonas and Victoria Broadmoor desired proper marriages for all of their children, but they had conceded to the choices made by both of their sons. Grayson and William had each married a young lady of lower social standing. The Broadmoor social status had, of course, assured that their wives would be accepted into all of the proper circles. Neither Jefferson nor George, Amanda’s two other brothers, had chosen a wife. They were no more interested in marriage than was their sister. Yet when the time came for Amanda to choose a husband, her parents would expect a wise choice. For when a daughter married beneath herself socially, remaining a member of the higher class wasn’t guaranteed.

The musicians struck the first chords of the promenade march while Amanda’s parents took their places at the far end of the ballroom, the guests’ signal to find their partners and position themselves in line.

Sophie grasped the arm of one of her many admirers, leaving each of the others to locate an unescorted young lady. “Come on, Amanda. We need to get in line.” Sophie glanced over her shoulder while her escort preened like a peacock.

Before one of Sophie’s rejected suitors had an opportunity to ask Amanda, her brother Jefferson swooped her into his arms. “I’ve decided to escort my beautiful sister in the promenade,” he said.

She grinned and grasped his arm, thankful he’d saved her from a member of Sophie’s entourage. “All the unmarried young ladies will be wondering why you chose your sister instead of favoring one of them with your attention.”

His boisterous laugh caused several couples to turn and stare at them. “I would tell them that I chose my sister because she is the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“And would you also tell them that dancing with your sister prevents any expectations from your dance partner?” She leaned into his arm. “An invitation to escort one of those girls onto the dance floor is not tantamount to a marriage proposal, Jefferson.”

“I’ll favor several of them with my attention later in the evening. But you know how everyone watches to see the couples in the promenade. They all make assumptions. You know that is true, dear sister.”

“Oh, dear me, I hope not.” She stopped and clasped her hand to her bodice. “Do look at who is escorting Fanny. If people make assumptions, our Fanny is doomed.”

Standing near the middle of the line, old Mr. Snodgrass was clinging to Fanny’s arm.

Fanny turned away and hoped her cousins wouldn’t notice she was now standing beside Mr. Snodgrass. If she had possessed more gumption, she would have loudly refused when he clasped her arm and insisted upon escorting her in the promenade. Instead, she’d mumbled a polite rebuff that he’d misinterpreted as an acceptance.

“Fanny! This is my first opportunity to visit with you this evening.” Jefferson’s eyes twinkled as he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “How are you, dear girl? And welcome to you, Mr. Snodgrass.” Jefferson extended his hand to the older man. The hearty handshake was enough to cause Mr. Snodgrass to wobble even closer to Fanny’s side.

She cringed and took a sideways step. She longed to wipe the grin from Jefferson’s face. “I am fine. Thank you for your concern, Jefferson.” She stabbed him with an icy glare. “I’m certain we’ll have time for a chat later this evening.”

“I’d be delighted, but I certainly don’t want Mr. Snodgrass to think I’m attempting to steal his girl.” Jefferson’s lips curved into a devilish grin. “Are you planning to keep Fanny all to yourself this evening, Mr. Snodgrass? I’ve never been one to come between a happy couple.”

Mr. Snodgrass scratched the white fluff of hair that barely covered his balding pate. “Couple? Oh, we’re not married yet,” he shouted.

Silence reigned. All eyes turned on Fanny. At least that’s what she felt. There may have been one or two folks near the back of the room who weren’t staring at her, but she couldn’t imagine why not. Mr. Snodgrass had shouted his remark loudly enough for everyone in town to hear him. If she could have found a hole, she’d have crawled inside and pulled it in after her.

“Nor will we ever be—married, that is.” Everyone continued to watch. Why had she bothered to justify the old man’s remark with a response? Coupled with Mr. Snodgrass’s statement, her response appeared to affirm they were romantically involved yet not planning to wed. Forevermore! How did she get herself into these situations? She should have screamed her refusal. Well, it was too late now.

The orchestra began to play the promenade music while Jefferson and Amanda retreated to the rear of the line. Fanny lifted her chin and continued to step forward, with Mr. Snodgrass resting heavily on her arm. Could the man even dance? she wondered.

Jefferson had thoroughly enjoyed her embarrassment. Well, turnabout was fair play. She’d have her chance to return the favor once they were at the island. Fanny grinned, relishing the thought. But her smile soon vanished. Instead of spending her summer at the island playing jokes on her cousin, she’d be caring for Grandfather in Rochester.

When the final chords of the promenade waltz finished, Fanny freed herself of Mr. Snodgrass. She helped him to a chair, fetched him a glass of punch, and promptly escaped to the other side of the room before he could shout a marriage proposal in her direction. Kindness was one thing, but dealing with Mr. Snodgrass for the remainder of the evening went above and beyond what she could endure. The waltz itself had been sufficient torment. Dancing with Mr. Snodgrass had been comparable to attempting a waltz with one of her young nephews, only worse. Much worse.

Fanny didn’t need to concern herself with Mr. Snodgrass throughout the remainder of the evening. As soon as he’d consumed his liquid refreshment, he fell asleep in his chair. Once some of their guests began departing, Uncle Jonas called for the old man’s carriage. After a final shouted warning about the war in Cuba and the state of the economy, Mr. Snodgrass bade the remaining guests farewell.

Jefferson stepped to Fanny’s side. “I think you should have accompanied Mr. Snodgrass to his carriage, Cousin. He obviously is smitten with you.”

Fanny jutted her chin. “I believe I’ll ignore your silly remark.”