An Unlikely Suitor (43 page)

Rowena entered a breathtaking two-story grand hall that could be overlooked from a wraparound railing on the second floor. The ceiling was edged with a heavy gold cornice, and was painted with a scene reminiscent of summertime. Rowena had never been to Europe but couldn’t imagine any palace being more opulent.

She looked back to see Lucy’s reaction, for surely she would find the grandeur even more of a shock. But Lucy was not behind her. And where were Mrs. Scarpelli and Sofia?

Rowena saw her mother enter and went to her. “I’ve lost the Scarpellis.”

Mother spoke under her breath. “They went to the servants’ entrance. There’s such a thing as protocol, Rowena. You didn’t expect them to enter with us, did you?”

Actually, that’s exactly what she’d . . . wanted. Rowena felt bad for not thinking things through. She’d been so enraptured with the idea of letting her friends experience something sumptuous and new that she’d ignored the cruel realities. How embarrassing—for her, but mostly, for them. To arrive in a grand carriage only to be whisked away to some other entrance because they weren’t considered good enough?

“It’s my fault. I never should have put them in that position.”

“What, dear?”

“Nothing.” Rowena made her excuses to her mother and walked with the other women toward the ladies’ reception room, where they could put the finishing touches on their costumes.

The reception room was as feminine as the other room was grand. It was paneled in white, with murals lining the walls. The furniture was intricate and looked French. Rowena moved as quickly as possible through the meandering women dressed as princesses, glorified milkmaids, and Greek goddesses, looking for Lucy.

“May I help you, miss?” a maid asked.

“I’m looking for my . . . my . . .” How could she describe them?

“Servants? They should be coming in real soon, miss.”

Servants. What must Lucy and her family think of me?

At that moment, Rowena spotted the Scarpellis entering the room with the hatboxes, walking among a half dozen lady’s maids.

Rowena rushed toward them, her hands outstretched in supplication. “I’m so sorry. I wanted you to see . . . I never thought it through . . . I feel so bad. . . .”

Mrs. Scarpelli put a hand on hers. “Shush now, Miss Langdon. ’Tis not your fault. We know that. And the truth is, we
are
here to help the three of you get dressed.”

Her gracious spirit was humbling. Sofia, however, sat in a chair by the window, pulling at a lace arm cover, sulking. And Lucy . . .

Lucy moved past her and opened the hatboxes. She fluffed an ostrich plume. Rowena went to her. “I’m so sorry, Lucy, I never meant for you to be embarrassed and—”

“Let’s get this headdress on.”

Rowena took a moment to study her friend. The tone of her voice revealed no injury, but the blush in her cheeks and the tightening between her brows showed harm had been done. Rowena stilled Lucy’s hands with her own. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. Truly, I am.”

With a bit of reluctance, Lucy met her eyes, but then she held Rowena’s gaze. “I know you are. You wouldn’t know how to be mean. Things are as things are.”

“Which doesn’t make them easy, or right,” she said.

A shrug was Lucy’s only answer—unfortunately, the only answer there was. Rowena felt sick inside and wished she could undo the injury that had been done to her friends, erase the slight. Suddenly, the entire event seemed ridiculously frivolous, decadent, and . . . wrong. And as such . . . she wanted nothing more to do with it.

She handed the headdress back to Lucy. “I’m going home. We’re going home. We’ll spend the evening up in my room and have a wonderful time talking and laughing and—”

Lucy’s head shook in short bursts. “What are you talking about? This is what we’ve been working toward for weeks, to create costumes for this ball. You can’t go home. Besides, Edward will be here.”

Rowena’s thoughts twisted into a tight cord of confusion. Of course she couldn’t go home. Lucy and her family had worked long hours to create these beautiful costumes—which deserved to be seen. Surely Lucy would get other commissions because of this night. It was selfish of Rowena to even think of leaving.

Lucy touched her hand and moved close. “I appreciate your offer, but we’re fine, Rowena. I am a seamstress and you are an heiress. Neither one of us asked for our roles, but we’re stuck with them—and with everything that goes with them. That we are friends . . . that you and I . . .” She squeezed Rowena’s hand. “I thank God for you, and I want what’s best for you, which is . . .” She nodded toward the door. “To go find Edward and sweep him off his feet with your beauty and charm so he’ll propose to you right there on the dance floor.”

Rowena was moved by Lucy’s words and her hope for the evening. She kissed her cheek. “I thank God for you too, Lucy. I have never, ever had a friend like you.”

“Then put this on and go live happily ever after.”

It was the least she could do.

Entering the grand hall of the Breakers was like stepping into a fairy tale. The enormous room was filled with characters throughout history, from fanciful butterflies, imps, and jesters, to courtiers spanning the Italian Renaissance to Henry VIII’s court to the Elizabethan age, to the extravagant bewigged creations of French royalty before its fall to revolution.

“There’s Edward,” Mother said as she entered beside her. “There, dressed as a Shakespearean actor.”

Rowena saw him, and as she did, he saw her. But in the instant before he smiled, there was a flash of something else in his eyes.

Fear.

Fear? What was he afraid of?

But as he crossed the floor to ease her into the cheery mayhem, she saw him struggle to set it aside. By the time he took her hand, he had succeeded. Partially.

“You look lovely, Rowena.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she slipped her hand in his arm and they entered the crowd. She kept her eyes straight ahead, smiling and nodding as they strolled among the other guests.

“Wrong?” he said. “Why, nothing is wrong.”

She wanted to believe him, but by the pause in his initial step, by the hesitation and catch in his voice, she knew her instincts were right. And so she stopped their progress and faced him. But as she did so, as her words were poised to be spoken, she felt a wave of panic, an inner warning to ignore her instincts and let the ball continue in all its fantasy. To speak the words, to confront what she only sensed . . .

Everything will change. Don’t say it. Let it pass.

But she couldn’t let it pass. They were face-to-face now, stopped amid the throbbing movement. “There
is
something wrong,” she said. “There has been something wrong. Please share it with me. If we are to be . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence, for to mention their engagement when nothing had been said would be the height of presumption.

Edward avoided her gaze, looked down, then into her eyes. “There
is
something I need to tell you.”

And then she knew.

The fairy tale was ending before it began.

The female guests of the party had left the reception room, leaving behind their lady’s maids. A few women made themselves comfortable, lounging on the silk-upholstered chairs and settees, while others busied themselves with empty hatboxes and valises. They were clearly settling in for the evening, at their mistresses’ beck and call.

Lucy couldn’t have sat if she’d wanted to—which she didn’t. She wanted to go watch the festivities and spot Dante.

A thirty-something lady’s maid sidled up next to her. “If you keep eyeing that door, you’re going to burn a hole in it.”

“If the hole would let me see . . .”

“You want to
see
? You want to watch?”

Lucy’s stomach flipped. “You know a way?”

The woman’s eyes sparkled. “There’s always a way. Come with me.”

Lucy looked around for Mamma. She was over by a window, talking with one of the older ladies. And Sofia was slumped in a chair, running her hands across the damask upholstery.

If she left quickly, for just a short look . . .

“Let’s go,” she told the woman. “By the way, I’m Lucy.”

“And I’m Agatha.” With a quick glance across the room she headed for the door. “Quickly, so we don’t draw a crowd.”

They slipped out to the hallway, where a footman in a powdered wig and eighteenth-century waistcoat stood guard.

“Evening, Agatha,” he said with a wink.

“Evening, Benny. We’re just going for a look-see, all right?”

“Have a time of it,” he said.

“Where’s the back stairs?”

He pointed with a nod.

But just as they started walking, the door opened again and Sofia came out.

“Go back inside, girl,” Benny said.

Sofia pointed to Lucy. “I’m with her. She’s my sister.”

Benny—and Agatha—looked at Lucy. “She is,” Lucy said. “Can she come along?”

Agatha rolled her eyes but nodded. “Get over here, girl, but do exactly as I say or back you go.”

Lucy flashed Sofia a look. She’d better not ruin things.

“Where are we going?” Sofia whispered.

“To watch the rich cavort and be merry,” Agatha said.

Lucy whispered for Sofia’s ears alone. “I want to find Dante.”

Sofia yanked her arm, forcing them to stop. “No, Lucy. That’s not a good idea.”

“I just want to look. I thought you, of all people, would—”

Agatha stood before them, her hands on her hips. “Are you coming or not?”

“Not—”

“I’m coming.” Lucy glared at her sister. “Go back to the room.”

“No. I’ll come too.”

Agatha threw her hands in the air. “Well?”

“We’re coming.”

Agatha led the way down a hall, to a back stairway that led to the second floor. There, they entered an open mezzanine, one like Lucy had seen at Stewart’s department store. There was a series of tall open arches connected by black filigreed railing. The arches and railing ran around the enormous two-story atrium hall where the guests were mingling. Agatha led them behind one of the rectangular fluted columns. “There,” she said with a wave of her hand toward the opening. “There’s the Great Hall, and there’s the most wealthy of the wealthy in Newport—in all of New England.”

Lucy peeked around the column and let the voices of the crowd and the music from the orchestra waft upward, drawing her forward to see.

“Stay in the shadows,” Agatha warned.

Lucy noted the edge of the shadow and pulled her skirt tight to her legs, leaning back toward the column as she edged her way closer to the railing. Sofia pressed beside her, with Agatha pressing from behind, looking over Sofia’s shorter stature.

“See there?” Agatha said. “That rather pudgy woman wearing the ridiculous gold headdress is the hostess, Alice Vanderbilt. She may look small, but she rules with an iron fist. Rules all but her children, that is. See the weak-looking young man there near the orchestra? The one in the soldier’s uniform? That’s the heir, Neily, and the striking woman he’s with is Grace Wilson. She was secretly engaged to his older brother Bill a few years ago, but then Bill died of the typhoid and now . . . the parents aren’t pleased one whit she’s moved on to the younger brother.”

Lucy enjoyed hearing Agatha’s stories, but was most concerned with finding Dante. He’d told her he would be wearing a costume from Shakespeare’s time. Unfortunately, among the hundreds of people swirling below there was more than one man wearing a short doublet and tights.

“And there’s your Miss Langdon,” Agatha said. “And DeWitt’s with her. Are they engaged yet? I hear that’s the plan, but . . .”

Lucy stopped listening. The music faded away, as did the murmur of the party. All her senses focused on sight, on
the
sight of Rowena and . . . and . . .

Sofia whispered in her ear. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. That’s why I wanted you to stay away.”

You knew?

Yet Lucy couldn’t pull her eyes away from the awful sight to question her sister. There had to be some mistake.

Once again Agatha’s voice sounded in Lucy’s ears. “That DeWitt is a handsome chap, that’s for certain, but with Miss Langdon’s problem . . . I hope she catches him before his head is turned by someone else.”