Duke of a Gilded Age (3 page)

Wesley wiped the drip off his nose with his sleeve and turned around to face the girl.

“Ever since my father died I’ve had no peace,” he replied. “The obituary mentioned his brother the duke, and I’ve been mercilessly mocked and teased since then until I don’t want to hear another word about it! I don’t aspire to be a member of royalty whatsoever.”

Miss Oakhurst’s gaze was unwavering. “You ought to be proud of what you are, Mr. Parker. Although from my perspective, you’re well on the path to becoming a delinquent.”

Wesley’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know a thing about me. And anyway, why should you care?”

“I don’t care about
you
personally. Your mother, on the other hand, is a lady and should be treated as such. You really ought to apologize to her and accept your heritage with gratitude and humility.”

“And you really ought not be so stuck up!”

He peered past the brim of Miss Oakhurst’s hat, which seemed to be quivering with righteous indignation. A stab of pain pierced his heart when he realized his mother was indeed clutching a handkerchief to her eyes. Although he resented this young slip of a girl lecturing him in such an arrogant fashion, he couldn’t argue with her sentiments. His mother
did
deserve better. Wesley jammed his hands in his pockets, brushed past Miss Oakhurst, and cleared his throat.

“Forgive me, Mother. I spoke without thinking just now. If it would please you, I’ll accept the title. I think it’s what Father would have wanted.”

When his mother’s smile shone through her tears, it almost made up for the insufferable look of triumph on Miss Oakhurst’s face.

As soon as the visitors left, Lady Frederic picked up her skirt and twirled around the flat in glee. Finally, she sank into a chair, out of breath.

“I can’t
wait
to go back to England!”

His mother was so happy that Wesley couldn’t suppress a smile. “When are we leaving?”

“I’ve asked Mr. Oakhurst to book us on the next available steamship to Liverpool. Until then, we’re to move to the Fifth Avenue Hotel in Manhattan. Heaven knows I don’t want to stay here a moment longer than I must.”

Wesley gaped. “The Fifth Avenue Hotel, did you say?” He dug into his pocket to produce the few coins Mrs. Zinna had given him. “I don’t think this is enough to pay for our rooms.”

“Mr. Oakhurst left us plenty of money to settle our bills here, and he’s arranged a line of credit at the hotel. Get out our trunks and help me pack. A cab is coming to fetch us tomorrow morning.”

“All right, but afterward I have to go tell Mr. and Mrs. Lombardi they need to hire another delivery boy. I’ll also have to resign my teaching position, but I suppose I can write the school a letter.”

Wesley dragged a dusty old steamer trunk from inside a closet. Lady Frederic, humming, began to gather up her meager belongings to arrange inside.

“Look, can’t we take a later ship to England?” he pleaded. “Mr. Oakhurst is all right, but his daughter’s a bossy prig.”

“I hope her priggishness rubs off on you, Wesley. If you’re to move in British society, you must learn how to behave. Since you were born in America, many people will expect you to be uncouth.”

Wesley shrugged and examined his grubby fingernails. “Well, I
am
uncouth.”

“No, you’re not! Make an effort to get along, Wesley. Providence has finally seen fit to smile on us, and I intend to take advantage of the opportunity.”

The Oakhurst’s cab drove onto the Brooklyn Bridge on its way toward Manhattan. Belle stared out the window, nursing hurt feelings.
I can’t believe Wesley Parker called me stuck up! That was abominably rude.

“The new Duke of Mansbury behaves more like a stable boy than a duke, and he smells worse than the back end of a horse,” she said.

“Annabelle, that’s uncharitable.”

“Accurate, nevertheless.”

“Wesley Parker is a young man who’s had to make his own way since his father died. After he’s suitably attired, I think your opinion of him will improve.”

“His bruises and cuts will heal, and perhaps you can buy him some decent clothes, but nothing will mask his dreadful American accent or brutish manners,” Belle said. “Errol dislikes Americans, and I’m not so sure I don’t agree with him.”

Mr. Oakhurst laughed. “I find the Duke of Mansbury’s accent charming.”

“The novelty will soon wear thin unless you can install a veneer of civility to go with it.”

“An excellent suggestion, Annabelle. I’ll rely on you to assist him.”

“
What
?”

“You can teach him the rules of gentlemanly behavior and help him practice his social graces. In addition, he must learn to dance. Since you’re a dance instructor at Monsieur Caron’s studio, you’re the perfect candidate.”

“I’m certain Monsieur Caron would welcome another pupil,” she said.

“There may be little opportunity for extensive lessons, Annabelle. As soon as His Grace takes up residence at Caisteal Park, he’ll receive invitations to balls and parties. Perhaps Lady Frederic will even host a reception herself. The new Duke of Mansbury must be ready.”

Belle struggled to stem her resentment by focusing on the magnificent view of the East River. A myriad of picturesque sailing ships, cargo vessels, and ferries traveled up and down the waterway, creating white froth in their wakes. She glanced back at the receding Brooklyn shoreline with a sigh of resignation.

If Wesley Parker and I are to be thrown together, I suppose I must try to make the best of it.

“The cab will be here shortly,” Lady Frederic called out. “Are you ready?”

From behind the privacy curtain that walled off his sleeping area from the rest of the apartment, Wesley fumbled with the buttons on his waistcoat. “Almost. It’s funny, but I feel like I’m dressing for a stage performance.”

He knew the garments didn’t exactly fit; he was taller than his father had been and broader through the shoulders. Nevertheless, clad in the black cutaway jacket, brocade waistcoat, and striped trousers, he stood straighter than before…until he banged his head on a pipe.

Rubbing his forehead, Wesley pushed the curtain aside. His mother didn’t say anything for a few moments, and he began to think the worst.

“I almost had your father buried in that suit,” she said finally. “I’m very glad now that I didn’t. You look a proper gentleman, Wesley, apart from the bruising.”

He tugged down the sleeves of the jacket, trying to cover his bare wrists. His mother gave him a misty smile.

“You’ll have to have an entirely new wardrobe tailored for you, of course. But you can’t walk into the Fifth Avenue Hotel dressed like a vagabond.”

She gestured toward the top hat resting on the kitchen table. “I’ve dusted your father’s hat off. It’s a bit shabby, but it’ll have to do until you purchase another one.”

“But I don’t want to wear a topper! Men wear derby hats these days.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Wesley. You’ll wear it.”

Wesley ran his finger across the brim of the hat. “My friends and I used to make fun of gentlemen who wear toppers.” A grin at the memory caused him to wince from the pain of his split lip. “Ouch.”

“Serves you right. No more fisticuffs, young man.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Lady Frederic busied herself gathering up her frayed gloves and a somewhat moth-eaten reticule. Wesley suddenly noticed her hair was arranged in a more elaborate style than usual, and her face had lost its strained expression. She’d set aside her mourning black and had donned an old, sky blue dress with flounces and slightly yellowed lace. The skirt was quite wide, and Wesley was baffled.

“How do you hold it out?” he asked, gesticulating with his hands.

His mother gave him a cool glance.

“A gentleman doesn’t concern himself with what’s underneath a lady’s gown. For your information, however, it’s called a crinoline.” She cast a critical eye at her reflection in the looking glass hung on the wall. “Crinolines are hopelessly out of fashion, of course, but I’ve nothing else to wear.”

“You look splendid and quite…pretty.”

“That’s very kind, Wesley.”

Her smile cheered him up considerably. “See here, if we can afford it, you shall have all new clothes,” he said. “I can make do with Father’s things for a while.”

At that, Lady Frederic laughed. “Weren’t you listening when Mr. Oakhurst was explaining your inheritance?”

“Not really. I was in too much pain.”

“Well, we needn’t concern ourselves about money any longer.”

“After being poor, I can’t imagine ever taking money for granted.”

A knock at the door just then heralded the arrival of the cab.

“I’ll get the trunks,” Wesley said.

But as he bent down, Lady Frederic put a firm hand on his shoulder. “A gentleman doesn’t handle his own luggage.”

Astonished, Wesley gaped. “Our trunks won’t move themselves!”

“Let the driver do it,” she said. “That’s how he earns gratuities.”

Wesley admitted the driver and stood aside while the man hoisted the first trunk onto his shoulder.
Gentlemen aren’t permitted to do a great many things
.
So far, being a gentleman doesn’t sound fun
.

“I’m going upstairs to relinquish the key to Mrs. Thackeray.” Lady Frederic gave the apartment one final glance. “I’m not sorry to leave this place. Your father was never happy here, and neither was I.”

Although Wesley hated the apartment too, a surge of nostalgia gripped him. Now that he was facing an uncertain future, the small dwelling suddenly represented a safe harbor. For good or for ill, he was about to say farewell to the last place he’d seen his father alive. He tried to keep his feelings hidden, but his mother must have sensed his turmoil. She slipped a soothing hand around his elbow.

“Come along, my dear,” Lady Frederic said. “Staying here won’t bring your father back. If his spirit is anywhere, we’ll find it at Caisteal Park.”

Lady Frederic left Wesley on the sidewalk while she went to the landlady’s apartment to drop off the key. The reflected August heat caused beads of perspiration to form on Wesley’s upper lip, but fortunately his mother reappeared almost immediately. While the driver loaded the last of their trunks, Wesley helped his mother into the cab and sat next to her.