An Embarrassment of Riches (10 page)

His father eyeballed him. ‘No,' he said, and strode from the room.

As the door rocked on its hinges behind him Alexander slammed a clenched fist into a carved and gilded wall, almost sobbing in frustration. It was useless to go after his father and to pursue the argument further. The only result would be a curtailment of his already too circumscribed freedom, or of his ample allowance.

‘Hell, damn, balls and blast!'
he said explosively.

The war was going to be over by Christmas and it was a war he was going to have to miss. Why the devil couldn't his father be reasonable? Why couldn't he agree to his enlisting? Why couldn't he agree to his marrying Genevre?

With his rage still simmering he strode from the room and along the crimson-carpeted corridor to the marble-floored rotunda that served the Karolyis mansion as an entrance hall.

Walking soothed him and he enjoyed lone walks in Fifth Avenue just as much now as he had when he had been far younger. That it had always been his custom to go out for unaccompanied walks was now very much to his and Genevre's advantage. It meant that they could meet without his father's suspicions being aroused, but the very fact that such subterfuge had to be resorted to almost drove him crazy with fury. Why, oh why, couldn't his father accept that Genevre was the girl he wanted to marry and the only girl he would
ever
want to marry? Why couldn't he face reality instead of still insisting that his future daughter-in-law had to be a European aristocrat?

He walked out into the stifling August heat and across the dusty, flower-tubbed and statue-filled courtyard. His father had sworn that if he married Genevre when he was of age and able to do so without his consent, he would cut him off without a penny. Alexander was uncaring. He would always have Tarna, because his grandfather had bequeathed Tarna to him outright, seeing no point in bequeathing it to a son with no love for the horses bred there.

A minion hurried in advance of him, opening two ornate gates of iron and bronze that had been taken from a palace of the Dorias and that were set in a gateway forged in the golden age of Florence. Alexander strolled obliviously out between them and into Fifth Avenue. Tarna would be enough for him. He and Genevre would live there and be happy and they would raise their children and grandchildren there. As the hubbub of Fifth Avenue assailed him he wondered for the umpteenth time if his father really
would
disown him financially, or if it was only a bluff. A horse-drawn streetcar rattled past him. He had no way of knowing. All he knew was that bluff or no bluff, he was going to make Genevre his wife.

He began to walk north towards Madison Square. Ever since their arrival in the city six years ago the Hudsons had lived at the corner of Madison Avenue and 26th Street. Two years ago the flamboyant and horse-loving Leonard Jerome had built a mansion near them and it had been at the Jerome house-warming ball that he had met Genevre again. He had not recognized her.

When he had last seen her, in the drawing-room of his family home, she had been a mousy thirteen year old whose only redeeming feature had been her sensitivity and her obvious intelligence. Now, in the splendour of the Jerome ballroom where fountains sprayed cologne and champagne into the air, she was a vision in an ankle-length gown of white broderie-anglaise trimmed with pale pink satin, gleaming soft brown hair swept high in a chignon, with tiny tendrils of curls brushing her cheeks.

As he stared across the room at her she laughed back at him, her cheeks dimpling. There was no chaperone at her side. Thanks to his continuing friendship with old Henry Schermerhorn, Alexander was on excessively good terms with Leonard Jerome and he knew enough about his bohemian habits to be unsurprised at him having among his guests unchaperoned young girls of obvious good family.

Smiling in response he had crossed the crowded ballroom. As he approached her she had said: ‘You don't know who I am, do you?'

‘No,' he had said, his interest mounting, ‘but I obviously should do.'

She had turned towards the group of gentlemen talking by her side and, tapping one of them lightly on the arm with her fan, had said: ‘Papa, do see who is here. It is Alexander Karolyis and he has not the slightest recollection of ever having met me.'

William Hudson turned, his bushy eyebrows rising. Excusing himself from his companions he joined them, shaking Alexander's hand warmly. ‘Nice to meet you again, young man,' he said affably. ‘This is all rather spectacular, don't you think? Mr Jerome has built his very own opera house and in a little while we are to take our places in the auditorium and hear the divine Miss Adelina Patti perform for us.'

Alexander agreed that both the house-warming ball and the new mansion were indeed spectacular and tried to recover from his stunned surprise. The last time he had seen Genevre Hudson she had looked as if she wouldn't have been able to say boo to a goose. Now she looked so happily at ease among the sophisticated throng around her that it was hard for him to believe she was no older than himself, and perhaps a little younger.

‘I'm seventeen,' she said impishly, reading his mind all too clearly. ‘Don't you think it terribly enlightened of Mr Jerome to invite young people to his parties and not to stuffily wait until they have formally “come out”?'

Alexander grinned. ‘It would be a little difficult for him to do so when the divine Miss Patti is herself only seventeen,' he said, having the sense not to add that she was also rumoured to be Leonard's latest mistress.

A waltz was being played. The furthest thing from his mind when he had accepted his invitation to the house-warming had been that he would find himself executing a waltz among middle-aged Brevoorts, Schermerhorns and Astors. He had accepted only because he liked and admired Leonard Jerome's style and over-the-top exuberance and because he had intended paying a visit to the stables at the rear of the house where several Tarna-bred fillies were residing in luxurious comfort. Now he heard himself saying: ‘Would you care to dance?'

Genevre looked enquiringly at her father who happily nodded his permission. As Alexander took her in his arms something seemed to move in the very centre of his being. It was as if he knew that from that moment on he would never again be quite the same person. He wanted to laugh aloud at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. He, Alexander Karolyis, who thought of himself as being assured and worldly beyond his years, was doing what he had vowed he would never do. He was falling in love.

His fall had been total. Genevre was not only beautiful beyond his wildest dreams and intelligent as he had always known she was, she was also fun. He enjoyed being with her more than he enjoyed being with Charlie, more than he enjoyed being with Henry, more than he enjoyed being with anyone. His periodic visits to Josie Woods's establishment ceased. As there could be no question of him having sexual relations with Genevre, he began, at the sexually fraught age of eighteen, to live a celibate life.

Charlie thought he was mad. ‘I don't understand why it
matters'
, he said time and time again. ‘If happily married men go to prostitutes, why can't you? Genevre will never know, just as wives never seem to know.'

‘
I
would know,' he had retorted, perplexing Charlie even further. ‘Besides, I don't think happily married men do go to prostitutes. I won't when I'm married to Genevre.'

He crossed the junction with 18th Street and looked towards the fantastic gargoyles and towers of the Schermerhorn mansion. Charlie would be home now but he had no desire to call on him. He was still incredibly fond of Charlie, but they just didn't seem to have much in common any more. When he wanted companionship, he wanted Genevre.

She was sitting in the garden, waiting for him. ‘What did he say? Did he see reason?' she asked, jumping to her feet and running towards him.

‘No,' Alexander said briefly, catching her in his arms and holding her tight.

With super-human strength Genevre prevented a spasm of relief from running through her body. ‘I'm sorry,' she said gently, raising her face for his kiss.

His mouth came down in swift, unfumbled contact on hers as he found release for all his frustrated, angry emotions. At the beginning of their relationship their-love-making had been restricted to light, stolen kisses and chaste hand-holding. In the last twelve months, since they had known that they were going to marry come what may, it had grown ever more passionate and reckless. Now, as he felt her breasts within her silk dress pushing teasingly against his shirt-fronted chest, and as her tongue slipped willingly and lovingly past his, he had to exert the restraint of a Hercules to prevent himself from rolling her to the grass and taking her then and there in hungry need.

At last, breathing unsteadily, Genevre pushed herself away from him. ‘What will you do?' she asked, her hands still against his chest. ‘If he won't give way over the Army, he will never give way over our marriage.'

Alexander took hold of her hands, his dark eyes burning. ‘It doesn't matter a damn whether he gives way or not! The instant I return from Europe we marry and he can like it or he can go to hell!'

Genevre knew that he was serious and she knew also what he would be giving up by his action. The loss of the vast Karolyis fortune did not bother her for her own sake, her own fortune from her father's railroad empire was more than enough for her and for all her future needs, but she cared about its loss for Alexander. He had grown up amid indescribable wealth and he had not the slightest idea of what it would be like to live without it.

‘Papa is expecting us to join him for tea,' she said reluctantly, stepping away from him and beginning to lead him towards the house, wondering for the hundredth time how Victor Karolyis could be reconciled to their love for each other. One of Alexander's hopes had been that if he acquitted himself gloriously in the war his father would have been forced to acknowledge his maturity and would then have looked more favourably on his decision. As it was, he was not allowing Alexander to enlist and in her heart of hearts she couldn't help but be vastly relieved. At least now she would not have to live with the fear of him being killed or maimed in battle.

‘So your father turned the idea down flat, did he?' William Hudson said without preamble as they joined him for afternoon tea. ‘Can't say I'm surprised. I've heard it said that he thinks the war will be over by Christmas and although I'm not in agreement with him on many things, I have to admit that I'm in agreement with him there.'

Victor Karolyis was a name William Hudson now seldom uttered. When Alexander Karolyis had asked for Genevre's hand in marriage he had given his consent whole-heartedly, delighted at the prospect of his daughter marrying into a family that was synonymous with wealth from coast to coast. When Victor Karolyis had vehemently opposed the marriage he had been dumbfounded. His own wealth was such that he couldn't conceive of Genevre being accused of fortune-hunting and what other objections to the marriage could Karolyis possible have? He soon discovered.

‘European royalty?'
he had roared in his booming Yorkshire accent. ‘Ye gods! Who does the man think he is? He can't possibly be serious! Does he really think that one of Queen Victoria's brood, or any other member of the British royal family would for one moment consider allying themselves with the son of a jumped-up Hungarian immigrant?'

‘Mr Karolyis was not an immigrant, Papa,' Genevre had said to him patiently. ‘It was Alexander's grandfather who was the immigrant, and by European royalty I think that Alexander's father is referring to lesser known royal houses, or royal houses in exile.'

‘Then he'll be damned lucky to find a Protestant daughter-in-law,' her father had said with asperity, thinking of Bourbons and Esterhazys and half a dozen other staunchly Catholic royal houses. ‘What does Alexander think of all this? Is he prepared to go grovelling around Europe trying to buy himself a suitably impoverished royal bride and making himself a laughing-stock?'

‘No, Papa,' Genevre had said again, with endless patience. ‘But an aristocratic daughter-in-law has always been his father's dream and it is one that he is not easily going to relinquish.'

Nor had he. William Hudson had found Victor's stance almost unbelievable. That the man should have the arrogance to believe it possible that his riches would buy him an aristocratic and possibly even royal bride was farcical enough. That because of this ambition he then deemed Genevre as not being good enough for his son to marry was more than William could stomach.

He cast a speculative look across the tea-table at Alexander. He had always found him extremely likeable, but there were moments when he wondered if, with the passage of time, Alexander would grow just as arrogant and as merciless as his father. There was something about the chiselled mouth and the set of his dark, narrow eyes that indicated pride and temper, as well as passion.

As Alexander and Genevre began again to discuss the war he pondered. All in all, it might be for the best if Genevre's relationship with Alexander was severed. He had no desire to see her trapped in a marriage with a man who might one day consider that his father's advice had been the right advice, and that he could have married more advantageously.

‘I shan't volunteer as a nurse now,' Genevre was saying. ‘I would only have done so if you had enlisted.'

Alexander would be twenty-one in a year's time and had declared his intention of then marrying Genevre with or without Victor's blessing. The more he thought about it, the more William disliked the idea. The marriage would have been an ideal one if Victor Karolyis had been as delighted about it as he himself had initially been. As it was, the whole of New York would know that Victor did not consider Genevre worthy of being a Karolyis bride and instead of being the social occasion of the year, the wedding would instead be a shaming hole-in-the-corner affair. There was also the question of money. With only Tarna as an inheritance Alexander would not be in a position to provide adequately for Genevre. She would be reliant on her own fortune. His mouth tightened. Worse, Alexander might very well become reliant on it and he hadn't worked hard all his life to see his fortune being dissipated by the disinherited son of the wealthiest man in the entire United States.