Duke of a Gilded Age (8 page)

“Where did you come from?” she asked, startled.

“I was lurking behind that potted palm,” he replied. “I couldn’t help overhear your conversation just now. Perhaps you’ve a career giving lessons in etiquette?”

Belle wrinkled her nose. “I certainly hope not. That would be awfully dull.”

As she entered Madison Square Park, Belle felt a weight lift from her shoulders.
Freedom!
She felt like skipping, but contained herself partly because it would have been undignified to skip in front of Wesley and partly because the summer heat was oppressive. Nevertheless, the beautiful trees and fountains went a long way toward alleviating her discomfort. The park attracted many residents and employees from the nearby East 26th Street brownstone homes, and uniformed nannies with prams negotiated the wide pathways with practiced skill. Businessmen strolled along with walking sticks or umbrellas in hand and newspapers under their arm. Children cavorted on the grass under the watchful eyes of their mothers.

Under the shade of her parasol, Belle paused to admire the park’s monuments and sculptures. One large, triangular, granite drinking fountain was cleverly designed to serve humans and horses alike. After Belle and Wesley thoroughly explored the park, they walked around the square itself. On Sixth Avenue, the Eden Musee lured them in for a pleasant hour of looking at a broad array of wax figures. Many world leaders were portrayed, and Belle gasped at the life-like wax representation of Queen Victoria.

“She looks so real, I almost want to curtsy,” she said with a giggle. “I wonder if Her Majesty knows she’s a tourist attraction in Britain’s former colony?”

“If she did, I daresay she’d demand a share in the proceeds,” Wesley replied.

As the afternoon sun dipped toward the west, they stepped into the confection shop, Maillard’s. Belle breathed in the fragrant chocolate aroma. “Oh my! The smell alone is intoxicating!”

“I sampled the chocolates last night. Believe me, the taste is intoxicating too.”

The store was such a visual feast that Belle didn’t know where to look first. One of the soberly attired salesladies explained that the huge colorful painting decorating the ceiling was an allegorical piece painted by a French artist, Charles Louis Müller.

“Should I know who that is?” Wesley whispered to Belle.

“I’m afraid I’m at a loss too, but the painting
is
lovely,” she replied, gazing up at the angelic ladies and children overhead.

Fancy, beribboned candy boxes in various shapes and colors were arranged on marble-topped counters or tall freestanding glass shelves. There were thousands of different candies to choose from, from simple chocolate bars to bonbons, vanilla chocolates, and ornamental confections. Wesley chose a box of milk chocolate-covered caramels while Belle picked out a small box of chocolates for Errol and a paper bag of chocolate covered marshmallows.

“To share with Papa,” she told Wesley with a wink.

She reached into her reticule for money.

“I’ll buy that for you,” he said.

“No, thank you.” Her reply was a little sharper than she had intended, as evidenced by Wesley’s mild surprise. “I’m sorry, but it’s not proper for you to buy me a gift,” she explained.

“But you didn’t complain when I paid the entrance fee at the wax museum!”

“That was a mutual outing, not a gift.”

His brows knit together in confusion. “I don’t see the difference.”

“
I
know the difference, and that’s what is important.”

They paid for their purchases separately and left the shop.

“I’m never going to remember what’s supposedly proper and what isn’t,” Wesley grumbled as they headed toward the entrance to the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

“There’s a gentlemen’s guide book to etiquette in my father’s library. I’ll lend it to you as soon as I return home.”

“Someone wrote a whole book on the subject?”

“There are several books on the subject, for both ladies and gentlemen. Don’t despair, Wesley, you’re not wholly without manners.” She favored him with a smile.

“I suppose by that you mean to say I’m not completely hopeless?”

“You’re far from hopeless!”

“So we’re still planning to visit Central Park tomorrow?”

“If my father gives his permission, then yes.”

Chapter Five

Central Park

A
T
D
INNER
, W
ESLEY
C
ONSUMED
a large bowl of consommé to take the edge off his hunger, but he was really looking forward to the roast beef and rice with a side of asparagus and potato salad. Mr. Oakhurst, to his right, dipped his spoon into a fragrant bowl of julienne soup.

“Your Grace, I’m having some difficulty confirming Mr. Cavendish’s references,” he said. “His most recent employer, Mr. Jenkins, embarked a few days ago on an ocean liner bound for Europe.”

“That’s bad luck,” Wesley said.

“I
did
manage to speak with his housekeeper, a Mrs. Thumb. She confirmed Mr. Cavendish’s employment and indicated he was extremely charming, well-liked by the staff, and performed his duties to Mr. Jenkins well. Mr. Cavendish told Mrs. Thumb his fondness for drink was the reason for his dismissal.”

Wesley shrugged. “Mr. Cavendish told me that during the interview.”

Lady Frederic glanced up from her mock turtle soup, aghast. “Wesley! You knew and hired him anyway?”

“Perhaps Mr. Jenkins drove him to it,” Wesley said. “I won’t be nearly as difficult.”

“Be sensible, Your Grace,” Belle chimed in. “Wouldn’t it be better to hire a valet with his faculties unimpaired?”

At her use of his title, Wesley slid Belle a withering glance across the table.

“Mr. Cavendish had most of his faculties during our interview,
Miss Oakhurst
, and I could scarcely smell any whiskey at all.”

She lifted her chin. “You’re joking.”

“Of course I am. The man was completely sober.”

“At any rate, I did manage to exchange cables about Mr. Cavendish with Lord Henry Overton,” Mr. Oakhurst said.

“I’m sorry, who was that again?” Wesley asked.

“He’s the younger brother of Mr. Cavendish’s previous employer, Lord James Overton. Although Lord Henry did not recall Mr. Cavendish specifically, he said his brother had been exceedingly arrogant and despicable. It was his opinion that if Mr. Cavendish managed to work for his brother more than a fortnight, he was worth his weight in gold.”

Wesley grinned. “There you have it. I was right to hire him, wouldn’t you say?”

“So Lord James Overton was just as horrible as the tenth Duke of Mansbury?” Belle said.

“Annabelle, think about the company you’re with,” her father murmured.

Her cheeks flushed scarlet as she flicked a guilty glance first at Lady Frederic and then Wesley. “I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t have said that about one of your family members. It was frightfully rude.”

Wesley’s gaze lingered on Belle’s face. Her creamy complexion was rendered brilliant by her blush. “It’s all right Miss Oakhurst. My father didn’t like Uncle Septimus any more than you did.”

“Nevertheless, I do apologize. I didn’t know what was in the duke’s heart, and I shouldn’t have said it. I understand he wished to reconcile with his brother, so perhaps he came to regret his previous dealings with him,” Belle said.

“Don’t make yourself uneasy, dear,” Lady Frederic said. “I resented Septimus more than I can express. Had he shared just a small portion of his estate with Frederic, my husband wouldn’t have been forced to make his living in America.”

His mother’s eyes grew misty. Wesley couldn’t bear to see her unhappy, so he hastened to change the subject. “Mother, did you finish writing your letters?”

“No, and if I don’t get them written and posted, we may arrive in England before
they
do,” Lady Frederic said. “I’m going to be quite busy tomorrow.”

“And you, Papa? His Grace and I discussed a visit to Central Park. Are you free?” Belle asked.

“I’m afraid not. After I visit the employment agency in the morning to complete our arrangements with Mrs. Neal, I’m heading to the steamship ticket office to reserve our deck chairs. Then I’m lunching with an old friend of mine who teaches international law at Columbia.”

Wesley and Belle exchanged a glance.

“I suppose we’re on our own again,” he said.

She stifled a smile. “We’ll just have to make the best of it.”

The next morning after breakfast, Lady Frederic returned to her room to finish her letters, Mr. Oakhurst set off for the employment agency, and Wesley hired a cab to take him and Belle through Central Park. The cab entered the park through Scholars’ Gate at Fifth Avenue and East 59th Street, and headed north. Belle gasped at the beauty of the large bodies of water, the landscaping, and the monuments. There was even a riding path around Croton reservoir.

When the cab reached the northern end of the park, the drive meandered in a looping pattern until the carriage faced south once more. Belle gasped as she spotted a castle. “Does someone live there?”

“That’s Belvedere Castle. It’s an observatory.”

“I’d like to see it up close.”

“We can walk there, if you don’t mind the exercise.”

“I adore exercise.”

“After we make a tour of the park, we’ll find a place to stop.”

A few minutes later, Belle spied a flock of black and white sheep grazing on the lawn. “Why, there are sheep in the middle of the city!”

“Yes, and that red brick complex with the peaked gables is the Sheepfold.”

“How absolutely charming!”

Belle’s hazel green eyes were sparkling, and her smile revealed even, white teeth.
She’s really very pretty—when she’s not scolding me or being a prig
. The pink and white dress Belle wore had puffy sleeves with small pleats, an elaborate ruffled front, and a high collar with a large bow at the back of the neck. Her curly, nutmeg-colored hair was tucked under a white straw sailor’s hat, the brim of which was bound with a wide, pink grosgrain ribbon. The whole effect was one of dainty femininity, and Wesley found himself watching her rather than the scenery. Unfortunately, she noticed his stare.

“Is something wrong?”

“Oh…not at all.” Wesley waved to get the driver’s attention. “Drop us off at the carriage concourse at Cherry Hill, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

The carriage circled past the pond, and a short while later, the driver brought the cab to a halt next to Central Park Lake. With Wesley in close pursuit, Belle scampered down a path toward the water. Swans and ducks were clustered near the edge, hoping for breadcrumbs from passersby. Further out, rowboats sliced through the water, propelled by young gentlemen attempting to impress their female companions with their athletic prowess.

“Are we crossing that enchanting bridge?” she asked.

“Yes. It’s the only way to Belvedere Castle from here.”