A Song Across the Sea (27 page)

But what was a little money lost when he’d a chance to play poker in a private cabin with some of the country’s most powerful men? This very evening, Jay Marchland, the hotelier, sat to his right. Now there was a potential customer for du Louvois’ whiskey. Just imagine the profits, if he could persuade the man to allow him to supply his many hotels with fine whiskey! And across the table from him was Richard Tyler, the railroad magnate. Sir Edward Windingham was also present. He played badly but lost gallantly, so no one really minded his participation. And rounding out the five-some was, unexpectedly, Noah Waldron.

If Julian had thought about it, he would have wondered at the coincidence. He had never met up with Waldron before on his gambling excursions. Yet now, just a scant few weeks after their horse dealing, Waldron appeared as if by magic on the selfsame riverboat as Julian.

The tall westerner seemed perfectly at home with these illustrious gentlemen, never once raising an eyebrow as the stakes grew higher and higher and the game more intense.

Another round of whiskeys was brought to the table. The woman serving them leaned over unnecessarily far, so that Julian could clearly see the creamy luscious globes of her breasts just below the plunging neckline of her tight, form-fitting gown. She saw that he saw and laughed bawdily, the magenta plume in her hair shaking along with her head. Julian flushed, his cheeks the same scarlet as the velvet flocked wallpaper on the walls of the cabin. He would never dishonor his wife, but there was no harm in looking, was there?

He sipped his whiskey faster than he’d intended to, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. How had he lost so much money so quickly? His currency gone, he’d resorted to markers. No one objected to taking them; he was known and respected as a man who kept his word. A gentleman did not welch on his debts, and du Louvois was, most assuredly, a gentleman.

The whiskey-fueled buzzing in his head
did
make it difficult to keep an accurate accounting of his losses…

Through a bleary haze, he realized that Sir Edward had dropped out of the game. The easy air of camaraderie that had dominated earlier in the evening had vanished. The fresh, reedy odor of the Mississippi wafted in through an open window, driving out the whiskey fumes and cigar smoke but failing to dispel the deadly serious mood that now descended on the table.

Waldron, as usual, said little, but Julian noticed with growing bitterness the pile of winnings accumulating in the Oklahoman’s corner of the table—many of them Julian’s own markers. How was this possible? He’d played poker with Waldron before, was certain he was the better player. Very soon, he’d be forced to drop out of the game himself. If only he could get one good hand…

And then he had it! He looked at the cards just dealt him, trying not to betray his excitement. He must keep his hands from shaking. By God! This was a wonderful turn of events. He shuffled the cards eagerly into order, to convince himself that he had it right. Yes…an 8, 9, 10, Jack and Queen—all diamonds. A straight flush. He composed himself, took a pull on his cigar, and arranged his features in a neutral expression, waiting anxiously for the hand to be played out.

“A thousand dollars,” Waldron said, in the same tone he might say, “two bits.”

Marchland looked disgusted, then tossed his cards on the table. “Too much for me, with this hand. I’m out.”

Tyler followed suit. The game came down to Waldron and himself. Julian was aware of the others, hovering in the background, watching intently.

How good could Waldron’s hand be? Julian felt as if he were standing at the edge of a dangerous yet exciting precipice. The glow of whiskey retreated from his brain and he realized, with biting clarity, that he stood a very good chance of financially destroying himself and his family in this moment.

How had he let things get so out of hand?

But he had a straight flush! Surely that was the good Lord’s way of telling him it was finally his turn to win. It was Divine Providence, nothing less, and he’d be foolish to turn his back on it.

“I’ll see you and raise you another thousand,” he heard himself say. There. It was done.

Waldron looked at him quizzically. “Why don’t we make things more interesting? Anyone can play for money.”

What could Waldron be hinting at? Playing for a horse? For Julian’s entire stables?

“Tell you what,” Waldron continued. “I propose that I give you back your markers, all of them, and you bet one single object against my money.”

“To what object do you refer, Mr. Waldron?”

“Your daughter, Adrienne.”

Julian was startled, then furious.

“How dare you suggest such a thing, sir! This is a gentlemen’s game. You have no doubt mistaken this riverboat for some…some lowdown bawdy house in your lawless Oklahoma territory.”

Waldron appeared unruffled. “You misunderstand me. I mean this wager in the most honorable terms possible. If I win, I intend to marry your daughter.”

“Adrienne would never agree to such a thing!”

Waldron looked around him, exchanging knowing expressions with the other men. Julian realized that they were following the conversation closely. This was possibly the most interesting bet they’d ever heard of.

“You have no control over your own daughter?”

Julian realized he’d been maneuvered into a corner. He tried to think of a way out. What sort of vile man would bet his daughter in a poker game? Adrienne’s angry face rose up before him, but he willed it away. She need never hear of this evening’s events. He had a straight flush. With this one hand, he could recoup all of his losses to Waldron and walk away a winner, his finances intact.

He took a deep breath. “Of course I do. I accept your terms, Mr. Waldron.”

He laid his cards down on the table and heard murmurs of approval from the other men. His stature would rise tonight. He had shown himself to be a man who could take risks and come out on top. Word would get around.

Then Waldron laid out his hand. Julian looked at the red hearts winking insolently up at him from the corners of the cards and felt nausea well up in his stomach.

Waldron had a royal flush.

•  •  •

The wedding was held in the drawing room on the main floor, according to du Louvois family custom. The mahogany balustrades and doors had been meticulously polished. Rhododendrons and roses brought in from the gardens graced the mantels and wisteria vines festooned the scrolled banisters of the flying staircase that swept from the third floor to the first.

Adrienne’s anger had been as fierce as Julian expected. She’d insisted on hearing the entire story and he told it truthfully, leaving out none of the self-incriminating details of strong drink and foolish delusions. His shame was great, but he decided he would not compound it by forcing her to marry Waldron.

However, even Adrienne knew the seriousness of living up to one’s agreements in their milieu. If she did not go through with it, the du Louvois family name would be sullied. Disgraced. The story of that night’s extraordinary poker game had spread far beyond the banks of the Mississippi. Charleston high society waited in lurid anticipation to see what she would do. Were she to refuse to go through with the wedding, her entire family would suffer the social repercussions of her father’s rashness. She could not allow that to happen. When her outrage subsided, she acquiesced, but on one condition: her father would never again gamble. Never. Julian agreed instantly, which surprised his close friends, who knew it to be a favorite pastime of his. They did not realize that his recent experiences left him with no taste for gambling anymore. He was cured of the need for it.

So word was sent to Waldron that the wedding would, indeed, take place. Arrangements proceeded at a rapid pace.

Julian struggled to live with his guilt. As vexing as Adrienne could be, he nonetheless held a deep affection for his third-born. He could only hope that Waldron would be a good husband to her.

When she joined Waldron in front of the minister, Julian felt tears gathering in his eyes. He didn’t care if anyone saw them. Adrienne looked so beautiful in the gently yellowed satin gown her own mother had worn years earlier, at her wedding. A harpist stroking the strings of her instrument to produce magical ripples of music ceased playing. As the last shimmery notes ebbed into silence and the minister prepared to begin the service, Waldron leaned over and murmured something to Adrienne. Julian was just close enough to hear it.

“About that poker game,” Waldron whispered. “I cheated.”

Adrienne looked at him, astonished, but made no reply.

“Do you want to back out of this?”

She said nothing. Julian watched a faint blush stain her cheeks, the hint of a smile play over her lips. He smiled to himself.

It was going to be all right.

•  •  •

It was the beginning of a strange and blissful union, a mismatch of the best kind. He was as rootless as she, with her family history and aristocratic pedigree, was rooted in the past. She was voluble and quick-tempered but also loving and affectionate. He was taciturn. Slow to anger. Deliberate in his decision-making and cautious when revealing his feelings, but in private, like her, passionate and affectionate. As husband and wife they quickly found common ground—an extraordinary meeting place of tender feelings and physical passion.

The first year of the marriage was spent in a whirlwind of travel. Adrienne, who’d never ventured far beyond the comfortable confines of the Carolinas, felt herself transformed into a new person daily as she explored the world with her husband. Noah’s idea of travel was anything but conventional. They stayed in fine hotels in London and dined at the best restaurants of Paris, but they also rode camels in Egypt, explored the Andes, roamed the continent of Africa. She came to know her own country, too, in a way that transcended what she’d learned from books. With Noah by her side, New England hamlets and dusty, hardscrabble western towns were as interesting to her as the great cities of San Francisco, New York and Chicago. He made each new discovery a rich experience.

He delighted in spoiling her with trinkets and new gowns and she came to realize that, in spite of his talent for making money, he viewed it with indifference. It brought him no particular pleasure in itself. His own tastes, in fact, were simple.

Traveling allowed them to forge a relationship that was largely untouched by the outside world. Where they went, they were strangers to everyone but themselves. The bond of intimacy that grew out of this time was so strong that a mere glance passing between them would be immediately understood. And at night, in the darkness of strange rooms or tents or the cabins of boats, their lovemaking was tumultuous and gentle by turns, stormy or sleepy, fierce or tender.

When the year was up, they settled in New York, over Julian’s heated objections. He’d half hoped they would buy an estate near his own, and blamed the decision not to on his new son-in-law. That was not accurate. Adrienne had had the adventurous side of her nature ignited by her travels. Charleston proved too small, too provincial for her after she’d seen the wide world beyond it.

They built a mansion on Fifth Avenue, not far from Central Park, a limestone edifice so spectacular that it gave even the well-heeled neighbors pause. Visitors passing through the wrought-iron fence entered the home by way of massive oak front doors and found themselves in an entrance hall clad in rose pink marble from France. A bronze-railinged grand staircase flanked by two carved mahogany lions led to a series of balconies on the second floor overlooking the great hall, whose vaulted ceilings were adorned in gold leaf. The dining room could accommodate 30 guests and was warmed by twin fireplaces faced with onyx. The south wing contained a library boasting floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and Flemish tile decorations. On the third floor was the grand ballroom, crowned by crystal and brass chandeliers and featuring a stage for entertainers.

Though not a public space like the dining room or the ballroom, the master bedroom suite was no less impressive. Gold-plated fixtures gleamed on the oversized ceramic bathtub and a two-story closet with stairs leading to the upper level was judged ample enough to hold Adrienne’s ever-expanding wardrobe.

More trips to Europe were necessary to furnish the house once it was built. Noah let himself be guided by Adrienne in matters of taste, but he learned quickly. A 16th century stained glass window from Germany, an Oriental woven rug for the great hall, Dutch tiles for the bedroom fireplaces and Louis XV furniture of inlaid sandalwood for the master suite were acquired and shipped home to New York. In the following years, Bouche tapestries, Chinese urns, a Russian candelabra and Venetian crystal would all find places in the Waldron mansion on Fifth Avenue.

The only unhappiness to mar the early years of their union was the absence of children. Adrienne delivered two stillborn girls. She and Noah grieved for the two tiny daughters that never got to be and buried them in small pink caskets upon whose closed lids were heaped pink roses. She consulted numerous physicians but none could find anything wrong with her.

Finally, in 1886, their only son was born. Reece Benjamin Waldron ran the risk of being dangerously spoiled. Between his adoring parents and his family’s extreme wealth he could easily have turned into a haughty child of privilege. Instead, he was a naturally sunny, easygoing child who loved to take his toys apart and bestowed, with regularity, wet and sloppy kisses on both his mother and his father.

Horses remained an important part of Adrienne’s life. On their wedding night, Noah gave her Mistress Maya as a present and the mare—under Adrienne’s shrewd management—went on to win the many purses she’d predicted it would. The Waldrons purchased more racehorses and made a name for themselves among New York’s racing elite. Noah was content to leave the horses to Adrienne. They kept a few saddles horses for pleasure riding at the mansion on Fifth Avenue. Sunny days would often find the family riding through Central Park, with young Reece perched on the saddle in front of Noah, enjoying the security of his father’s strong arms around him.