Behind a Lady's Smile (11 page)

Mitch smiled grimly, begrudgingly acknowledging that his mother looked well and seemed happy—far happier than he’d seen her look in quite some time. Growing up, he’d been subjected to the wild mood swings only an actress can have, moods that depended upon the roles, the audiences, the reviews. He’d spent his boyhood on edge, praying that she would get a standing ovation and dreading the door slamming following a poorly received performance. Still, he loved her. Who could not? She was charming and beautiful, and though she might not be the ideal mother, she’d done far better than some in similar situations.

Madeline rung a small bell and her maid appeared to escort Genny to her bedroom. “And please make up another room, Eileen.”

The maid looked from Genny to Mitch in surprise, as if she’d never seen an unmarried man and woman who hadn’t shared a bed.

Stifling another yawn, Genny left mother and son alone. And that’s when the fun really began.

“Spill it.”

Mitch was truly getting irritated by the fact everyone seemed to know him so well. He didn’t even bother hiding the truth.

“Her grandparents are the Duke and Duchess of Glastonbury.”

His mother smiled smugly. “Ah,” she said, drawing out the word. “I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all. I knew it had to be something. And you haven’t . . .”

“No, Mother, I haven’t. She is completely innocent and a very nice girl.”

“That wouldn’t stop most men. So, she’s rich and you’re hoping to collect a sizeable reward.”

Mitch slumped back into the couch, annoyed by the fact the piece of furniture was so damned comfortable. “That was the original idea, yes. But now I feel obligated to bring her to her grandparents no matter what.”

His mother gave him a look of pure disbelief.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. Easy money. But it’s starting to feel wrong somehow. She thinks I’m some sort of hero and I’m feeling lower than a snake.”

“What a delightful drawl you’ve developed,” she said, laughing lightly. “It’s not like you’re
stealing
money from her.” Madeline, if anything, was always pragmatic. “And it is a bit of a gamble. Who’s to say she is rich? Not everyone with a title is wealthy, you know. Why, we had a German duke here not six months ago and he tried to leave without paying his due. I had to have Martin rough him up a bit.”

“Martin?”

“He’s a large fellow I hired to make certain my clients stay in line. I rarely require his services. His presence alone keeps my clients well behaved. The duke claimed he was poorer than a church mouse.”

“Perhaps he wasn’t a duke, Mother.”

“Oh, he was. There was an article in the
Times
about him. I was so honored that he picked my establishment, and then the cur refused to pay. Claimed his girl hadn’t performed up to his standards. Well,” she said with a scoffing laugh, “I knew that wasn’t true. He’d been with one of the best, so he could hardly blame her for his . . . problems.”

Mitch closed his eyes briefly. “Please, stop. And yes, I know it’s a bit of a gamble, but it could also turn out to be a boon.”

“Either way, that doesn’t make you a bad person. You see? You
are
a hero, darling.”

Mitch chuckled. Leave it to his brothel-running mother to convince him that what he was doing was right and good. “There is one thing I need your help with.”

“Oh?”

“Genny, Miss Hayes, was brought up in a cabin in the woods. She has been nearly isolated and sure never spent any time with women. About the only thing cultured about her is her accent. She is a lady but she doesn’t know quite how to act like one. You know the kind I’m talking about, those girls who walk up and down Fifth Avenue with their companions, with their fancy dresses and such. And that’s New York. I can’t imagine what girls are like in England. She doesn’t know which fork to use or how to get in and out of a carriage without lifting her skirts up to her knees. She needs polishing.”

Madeline looked first stunned, then touched. “And you think
I
can help?”

“You’re an actress. You’ve
played
a lady. And isn’t that what it’s all about anyway? Acting proper?”

Madeline smiled. “Of course I’ll help.” She stood and walked over to him, placing a soft hand on either side of his face. “You turned out to be such a good man, Mitchell. I haven’t a clue how it happened.” Then she kissed his forehead and dropped her hands when Mitch furrowed his brow and shook his head. He had no idea what his mother was talking about.

“What do you care if she’s well-received in England?” Madeline asked gently, still looking at him as if he was some kind of hero, not an opportunist. “You’ll have done your job. As far as you’re concerned, she’s simply a package that needs delivering. Right?”

Mitch looked at his mother, his incredibly insightful mother, and shook his head again, but this time in acknowledgment. “So I like her. A lot. That doesn’t change a damn thing.”

“It changes everything, Mitchell. Everything.”

T
he next morning at breakfast, Mitch explained a bit of his plan to Genny, who’d spent the night in the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in.

“My mother can help; she’s an actress, and if anyone can help you know how to act around those fancy people, she can.”

“Your mother is truly an actress?”

“Yes,” Mitch said. “Lady Macbeth was her favorite role. See? She knows what it takes to be a lady.”

“But Lady Macbeth was a horrible person,” Genny said.

“Yes, but she was still a lady. I’m certain with Mother’s guidance, you can succeed.” Mitch gave her a dubious look, as if the thought of Genny ever being a lady was a farfetched idea indeed, and Genny wrinkled her nose at him.

“At the very least, I sound like a lady. Father always insisted on it.”

“That you do,” Mitch said. “With a pretty dress and your hair done up, you’ll look like Lady Genevieve, not ordinary Genny. You’ll see.”

Genny rather liked the notion. At the moment, she was eating an omelet that was so good, she could hardly pay attention to the conversation.

“This omelet is wonderful,” she said, slowly chewing.

Madeline smiled. “I’ll let Monsieur Letourneau know. He trained in Paris, of course, and was a chef at Delmonico’s. Speaking of which, I have an idea, Mitchell.”

“I’m certain you do, Mother.”

“I thought it would be a good idea for Genny to observe the patrons at Delmonico’s. She’d learn far more there than I could ever teach her. Members of high society have a different way of acting, Miss Hayes, and I thought it would be good for you to take note. Of course, dining there yourself would be a good way, but getting a reservation is nearly impossible on such short notice. Unless your name is Vanderbilt or Rockefeller.” She laughed, then explained, “They’re richer than Croesus.”

Genny looked from Madeline to Mitch, not quite understanding the need for her to watch a bunch of wealthy people eat their supper. “I imagine they eat food the same way we do,” she said, putting another healthy forkful into her mouth. Mitch was trying not to smile, she could tell. “What?” she asked, the word slightly muffled.

“Your grandparents are rich, Genny, and the rich don’t act like you and me,” Mitch said. “They have a special way of doing things, a proper way. And they don’t eat an omelet in thirty seconds.”

Genny looked down at her plate doubtfully. She stabbed the last bit of egg and put it in her mouth. “I don’t see how the process can vary all that much.”

“It won’t hurt to watch. I think those rich ladies wear gloves when they eat,” Mitch said.

His mother interjected, “No, that’s bad form. Ladies wear gloves at all times
except
when they eat.”

“Is that right? Seems I can remember seeing—”

“Does it really matter?” Genny asked.

Mother and son turned to her, looking slightly dismayed.

“Of course it matters. How people perceive you greatly matters. A factory worker doesn’t wear gloves. A lady does. And the finer the gloves, the finer the lady. When I walk into a glove shop on Fifth Avenue, I wear my finest pair or they look at me as if I’m someone who doesn’t belong in their shop. In this part of town, I can wear any old thing.”

Genny didn’t own a single pair of gloves, but now that she thought about it, many women on the train had worn them constantly, taking them off only to eat or when they were crocheting. The sales clerk at the dress store had asked her if she wanted gloves and she’d declined, mostly because it was nearly summer and her hands weren’t cold. She hadn’t realized it was some sort of fashion accessory.

“I need gloves,” she said, looking at Mitch.

“There’s a lovely shop on Fifth Avenue,” Madeline said. “Smythes. She’ll have to be measured and the gloves made. If you go today, they should have them ready in a few days.”

“See what I mean, Genny? I didn’t know about this glove thing. Who knows how those ladies act when they’re eating,” Mitch said, and it seemed to Genny that he was getting a bit worried about everything she had to learn.

“I suppose I should go then,” Genny said, though she couldn’t imagine what she would discover. Spoons were for soup, forks for meat, and everything went in your mouth. She had a sudden and strong urge to head back to her cabin, where she knew everything she needed to know. Although, she thought as she looked at her empty plate, if she went back, she surely would never get to eat another omelet like the one she’d just had.

 

It turned out that Mitch knew one of the restaurant’s waiters and they would be able to slip in and out of Delmonico’s easily. Even though they wouldn’t be dining, Genny wore her finest dress, a new dress she’d bought on their trip to get her sized for gloves. It was a pretty dove-gray dress with lace at the sleeves, but showed a bit more flesh than Genny was used to. Madeline assured her she was completely respectable, especially as she was going out for the evening. She thought she looked quite dashing and sophisticated, and she knew she looked pretty by the way Mitch stared at her when she emerged from her room.

“The dress is pretty, but don’t you need a shawl or something?” Mitch asked, his eyes darting briefly to her
décolletage
.

“It must be eighty-five degrees outside. I hardly think I need a shawl,” Genny said.

“She’s fine, Mitch. You’re simply used to seeing her in those high-necked monstrosities you bought in California. This is New York.”

Genny looked down at her rather unimpressive-looking chest and shrugged.

 

Delmonico’s was New York City’s premier restaurant. Located in a six-story triangular-shaped building on William Street, it had hosted such dignitaries as the Prince of Wales and Prince Arthur of Great Britain. Genny had never heard of either man, but Mitch explained they were great men from her parents’ home country and there was little doubt her grandparents knew them. It was amazing to Genny to think her grandparents likely knew, and were perhaps friends with, two princes. Princes and princesses lived in fairy tales, not in any world that Genny knew.

“I know I’ve joked about marrying a prince, but do you really think I might get to meet one someday?” Genny asked.

“A prince is just a man in funny-looking clothes,” Mitch grumbled.

Genny had wrinkled her nose at him. Ever since they’d arrived in New York, he’d been ornery. There was no hint of the man who’d looked in her eyes and told her he wanted to kiss her. No heated glances, no touching whatsoever; he hadn’t so much as offered her his arm since their arrival. It was almost as if that man didn’t exist and she was now keeping company with another man entirely. Genny supposed it was for the best. It would be far easier to say good-bye to New York Mitch than the one she’d spent time with on the trail and on the train. But she missed him and wished he’d kiss her at least one more time before she said good-bye. She couldn’t help remembering every moment of their too-brief kisses, the way his mouth was somehow both soft and hard, the way he breathed when he lost a bit of control, the low rumble in his chest that she felt down to her toes.

Now, he was simply a man doing his duty—and a duty he didn’t seem to be enjoying very much. She’d gone to the glove-maker and dressmaker with his mother while he went in search of old friends he hadn’t seen in years and sent a telegraph to her grandparents to let them know she was alive and well and coming to see them.

As they made their way south toward William Street in a horsecar, Genny sat while Mitch stood, clutching a metal bar for stability. The car was not as crowded in the evening, but nearly every seat was taken. The sun was still up, but the sky was beginning to take on a late evening summer glow and the buildings kept them in the shadows most of the time. Mitch pulled the line that told the driver to stop, and they and several others stood to make their way off the car. Mitch went first, turning to hold up his hand so that she could safely descend. When her hand touched his, a shiver went through her so unexpectedly, she nearly stumbled.

“You should have worn a shawl,” he said darkly, looking down the street.

“I’m not cold.”

He grunted something under his breath and started off down the street, not bothering to see if she was following. She had half a mind to stay put, but she lifted her skirts and followed him, staring daggers at his back.

They walked for a time until they reached the front of the restaurant, where gleaming carriages pulled up and deposited the people from within. Genny had never in her memory seen such finery. The men all wore top hats, the women gowns of such intricacy, it was hard to believe they were made by human hands. Even the horses pulling the carriages wore fancy clothes, and Genny giggled at one particular pair of matching roans who were bedecked with large red plumes. Men in livery stood at attention outside the restaurant and bowed and opened the doors, ushering in the diners.

“The women look like they’re floating,” Genny said, watching with some awe as a woman about her age drifted from the carriage to the door effortlessly, almost as if she were being smoothly rolled through the door. For the first time, Genny felt a small niggle of worry. She was not like these women. Certainly, if she had a pretty dress and her hair had been done up, she could
look
like them. But she couldn’t walk like them. Her skin wasn’t white and smooth as porcelain. She’d spent years in the sun, and she had a sharp tan line at her neck. It had faded over the last few weeks, but it was still there, as was the line on her forearm where she’d rolled her sleeves up. She put a hand to her neck as if she might feel the telltale tan line there. These women with their bared arms had no lines, nothing but smooth, white flesh unmarred by the sun or scars. They all wore gloves, she saw, rubbing her own ungloved hands together and hoping no one noticed.

“They don’t seem real,” Genny whispered.

“They’re not.”

She looked up to see whether Mitch was smiling, but he looked angry, though Genny wasn’t certain what was causing that expression. She started walking toward the entrance, but Mitch stopped her with a small touch to her arm.

“Come on. We have to go in at the back.”

“Oh. Of course.”

She followed Mitch around the building until they reached a high wooden fence with a locked gate. He knocked three times, and the gate swung open, revealing a dashing young man, his hair parted sharply in the middle and slicked back. He wore a vivid white shirt beneath a jacket and a large white apron that hung nearly to his well-shined shoes, the uniform of the waiters at Delmonico’s.

“You owe me one, Mitch,” the man said.

“I know, I know. We’ll just stay for a bit. This here is Genny. Genny, Jason. He’s a top waiter here and he’s doing us a big favor, letting us in.”

Genny furrowed her brow. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” she said uncertainly.

“It’ll be fine if you stay where I put you and don’t wander off,” Jason explained. “If the guests see you and complain, you’ll be booted out before you can say you’re sorry.”

Mitch smiled down at her, a smile she knew was meant to relax her but did the opposite. “I really think this is the best way for you to learn. Lord knows I can’t teach you anything about proper manners.”

Was there really so much about the way rich people ate that was different from how she did? Genny’s father had always made an effort to teach her manners, even when it was just the two of them. They sat for dinner, said grace, and ate. She knew not to put her elbows on the table or eat with her fingers. And even though the two of them had on more than one occasion broken the rule about not wiping their plates with a thick chunk of bread, she knew not to do that in a restaurant. Mitch and his mother must think she was going to belch or throw food, for goodness’ sake.

Jason led the two of them past a large garbage bin, causing several rats to scurry away, their little feet sounding overly loud in the alleyway and Genny pushed down a shiver. She didn’t mind woodland creatures, the chickarees and bobcats, but rats with their long, naked tails made her skin crawl. The back door led to a hall, past a large kitchen where Genny caught a glimpse of young men wearing all white rushing about as if they were in a mad race. The smells that emanated from the cavernous room were heavenly, and even though Genny had already eaten, she wished she could sample some of the fare.

Jason stopped at a pair of swinging doors and looked through one of the small round windows. He jerked his head so the pair of them would follow him through the doors that led out into one of the restaurant’s larger dining rooms.

“Here. If you don’t wander about, no one should be the wiser.” He’d led them to a half wall in front of which were several potted plants the likes of which Genny had never seen. Shiny green leaves larger than her head sprang from thick yellow-green stems. Genny peered through the leaves to see several diners quite close. She almost giggled and clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Genny, you stay here. I want to show Mitch our new card room. I’m in charge of a private room that won’t have diners until nine and I’ve already gotten the room ready, so I have some time. You should be fine as long as you don’t—”

“—wander about?” Genny said, completing his sentence.

Jason grinned, saying, “I just don’t want you to get in trouble. Because if you do, I’ve never seen you before in my life. Understood?”

“Understood,” she said.

“You’ll be all right?” Mitch asked, which Genny found slightly patronizing. Why were they acting as if she was a child? She’d survived a winter alone in the wilderness; surely she could handle hiding behind a strange plant and watching people eat.

“As rain.”

When Mitch gave her a puzzled look, she said, “Right as rain. It’s an expression my father used to use all the time.”

“Oh. I’ll be back momentarily.” He winked. “Don’t wander.”