Masquerade (49 page)

Conrad’s mouth dropped as Charlotte walked down the staircase, reinforcing her decision to move on with the evening. The sparkle in his eye and the depth of his smile filled her up, causing her back to straighten and her neck to lengthen.

He walked to the bottom of the stairway and took her hand. “You’re ravishing.”

“Thank you.”

As she took his arm, he leaned close. “You like the necklace?”

She put a gloved hand to the gems. “How could I not? It’s beautiful.”

“The first of many gifts.”

Was she dreaming? Was this real?

“Let me show you around before people arrive.” Conrad led her to the dining room, where the table was set for thirty. At the Gleasons’ she’d witnessed many fancy dinners, but none compared to the opulence of this table. The china was set on silver chargers and the glasses were rimmed in the same silver. The middle of the table contained five floral displays of red roses, yellow lilies, and orange zinnias. As filler in the arrangements were cuttings of trees, with their leaves the colors of a vivid autumn. Four silver candelabra were ready to light. And compotes of fresh fruit were arranged to entice—but not to touch—as stands of molded butter promised fresh bread.

“It’s all for you,” Conrad said.

Charlotte put a hand to her mouth as tears threatened. “But I don’t deserve this. I’m not … it’s too much.”

“It’s just enough. Just the beginning.” He turned her toward the foyer again. “Come see the drawing room. There’s a floral arrangement inside that has to be five feet in height.”

Five feet—at least. It stood on a mahogany pedestal next to the entrance, refusing to be missed.

“Here she is,” Conrad said. His parents and Beatrice were already present.

Mr. Tremaine came to greet her first, his face florid with pleasure. “My, my, look at you. If Caroline Astor doesn’t drool over that dress, then I’ll move us to Albany.” He kissed Charlotte’s hand, then glanced at his wife. “Well done, my dear. Well done.”

Mrs. Tremaine accepted his praise. “The dress often makes the woman, but sometimes I do believe the woman makes the dress.”

Was that a compliment?

Beatrice hung back, her blue gown its own lovely masterpiece. And yet … her grim countenance lessened its beauty. Perhaps Mrs. Tremaine’s statement was correct. There was something about attitude that made a gown extraordinary.

Charlotte started when the doorbell chimed. “They’re here.”

Mrs. Tremaine placed herself next to her husband. “Indeed they are.”

The black fabric of the maid’s uniform was starched, stiff, and uncomfortable. Lottie was used to lush fabrics like silk and velvet, not this scratchy cotton. She put the white ruffled apron over her head and tied the bow in back. She attempted to see her rear view, but the small mirror on the wall of the storage room offered scant reflection.

Next, the cap. It was a silly thing with a tiny row of lace along its edge and a fluttering of fabric down the back. Two hairpins had been provided to secure it to her hair—which Mrs. Sinclair had told her must be upswept and contained, with not a single strand loose.

Lovely.

Finally ready, Lottie took one last look at herself. When she’d come up with the idea of having Dora take her place, she’d assumed she would find a new life in America, but had never imagined herself in Dora’s position as the hired help. Once again God must be having a good laugh at her expense.

She looked heavenward and gave Him her opinion. “You laugh now, but just wait. The night is young.”

In a few hours everything would once again be as it should be.

Or would it? Logically, the Tremaines would not celebrate the details of the truth that would play out this night. It would take time for Lottie to earn their trust and a place in their lives and home.

Lottie hated logic. And waiting.

Mrs. Astor didn’t look very happy for being the head of the Four Hundred, the queen of New York society. Her mouth was slightly pulled as if she’d smelled something unseemly, and her eyebrows were raised above eyes that missed nothing and judged everything.

When it was time for Charlotte to be presented, she nearly took the woman’s hand and kissed it, offering a full curtsy as she’d heard was proper when meeting Queen Victoria. But Mrs. Tremaine had warned her that all that was required—or sought—was a deferential nod.

And then it was done. Mrs. Astor moved away without saying a word.

“Not even a hello,” Charlotte murmured.

Beatrice took her elbow and led her aside. “She has no need to talk to others. The fact she is even here is a victory for Mother.”

“Is she unmarried? I see no Mr. Astor.”

“William B. is the second son and, as such, has little to do. Rumor has it he spends most of his time at his upstate New York estate or on his yacht—which admittedly is the largest in the world.”

“She doesn’t go with him?”

“Heavens no. Her kingdom is here. Her brother-in-law JJ—John Jacob—is the heir and lived next door to William and Caroline until he died, and now
his
son causes a score of trouble for ‘Aunt Lina,’ as he calls her. He’s furious she calls herself ‘
the
Mrs. Astor,’ as if she’s the only one. It’s even written that way on her calling card. The nephew’s wife takes offense, which is probably why Mrs. Astor does it.”

Charlotte looked around the room. The other woman Mrs. Tremaine had urged her to impress was Mrs. Vanderbilt. Yet looking at her and Mrs. Astor, holding court on opposite sides of the room … “Mrs. Astor and Mrs. Vanderbilt don’t seem to care much for each other.”

“Mrs. Astor has family roots that go back to colonial times and has made a point of not associating with tradesmen. The Vanderbilts are
nouveau riche
—newly rich. A grandfather made his money in railroads, I believe. But the fact remains they
are
rich. Two years ago, after their grand house was finished, Mrs. Vanderbilt planned a great masquerade ball and didn’t invite Mrs. Astor because Mrs. Astor hadn’t called and left her card. But Mrs. Astor’s daughter wanted to go so badly that Mrs. Astor gave in and had her driver bring her card by. Since then, they’ve accepted each other, but they are certainly not friends. Even our family has been slow to be accepted. I know that’s one reason Father built this mansion right across from Mrs. Astor’s. It makes their brownstone look like a tenement. It forces our position.”

“It’s all so complicated,” Charlotte said.
And too much an eye for an eye.

“Such is friendship when money and power are involved.”

Beatrice motioned a maid to bring a tray of champagne flutes close. She took a glass for herself, but Charlotte shook her head. Her stomach was still in knots.

“Are you sure, Miss Gleason?” the maid asked.

For the first time, Charlotte looked at the servant’s face.

And nearly fainted.

It was Lottie!

Charlotte gasped and stepped back. Alarmed, Beatrice took her arm. “What’s wrong?”

Lottie slipped away into the crowd. “I’m … I just need to sit down.”

“Over here.” Beatrice indicated a chair close by.

It was too close. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll step into the foyer for a few moments. All these people …”

“I’ll go with—”

“No. I’ll be all right. I just need a few moments.”

A few thousand.

Lottie saw Dora exit the room. She still had four glasses on her tray, so she made a sweep through the crowd, quickly emptying it.

She followed Dora into the grand foyer, finding it hard not to run.

Lottie didn’t see her at first, but then, to the left, behind a statue …

“Psst!”

Dora extended her hands to Lottie. “You’re here! I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve missed you so much.”

For a moment, Lottie was shocked by the greeting. She’d been so focused on seeing Dora for the express purpose of calling off the charade that she’d ignored the reunion aspect of their meeting. But once in Dora’s presence, she took pleasure in the comfort and familiarity of the contact.

Except that Dora was dressed in satin and lace and she …

Dora stepped back to look at her and smiled. “My, my. I never thought I’d see you in a shirtwaist and bib. It’s not your best look.”

Lottie was embarrassed to have their roles so utterly reversed, but it led nicely toward her mission. She looked around the foyer. It was too risky to remain. They might be found, and it would be hard to come up with an explanation. Although she wanted to expose the farce, the situation must be handled with aplomb.

“Is there a place we could talk?” she asked.

Dora hesitated for only a moment. “The gallery. Follow me.”

The room took her by surprise. “It’s like a museum.”

“I know,” Dora said. “Yet no one ever comes here.”

Lottie pointed to a painting of some Flemish peasants at an open market. “Is that a Bruegel?”

Dora looked up. “I have no idea.”

“This is astounding,” Lottie said.

“We don’t have time for this, I must get back.” Dora took Lottie’s hand. “I went to Five Points. I saw your hat in that apartment. Did you go to my cousin’s? Where are you staying now? How are you?”

The events that had occurred since arriving in America raced through Lottie’s mind—and were quickly discarded. None of that mattered now. For
now
was about to change everything.

“I want to call it off.”

“Off?”

“I want to be myself again.”

Dora stared at her, her mouth agape. “But you can’t do that. I … this is my welcome party. I’ve just been presented to the elite of New York society. You can’t just pop in and say
you
are the real Charlotte Gleason.”

“Actually, I can. I could.”

Dora’s expression crumpled. “But I’ve made a life here.”

“Are you engaged yet?”

“Not yet, but—”

“What about Dr. Greenfield?”

Dora’s eyes widened. “How do you know about him?”

“He was at the Scarpellis’, yes? Lea told me you two looked as though you had feelings for each other.”

Dora found a chair. “I do. We do. It’s a miracle he found me. When he walked into my bedroom here, it was as though God had brought him to me.”

“Do you love him?”

“I …” She faltered. “Conrad is a good man too, and we care for each other, and—”

Lottie pounced. “So you have two men on your hook?”

“No, yes, I mean …”

“Isn’t that being a bit greedy?”

The look on Dora’s face softened Lottie’s heart. She’d been unnecessarily cruel. This was her best friend. The two of them were in this predicament because of
her
idea.

She knelt beside Dora’s chair. “I’m sorry to spring this on you. But ever since you left me at Castle Garden, things have gone from bad to worse. I thought being alone in America would afford me adventure and fresh chances, but instead I’ve endured poverty and hopelessness.” The thought of Sven and Fitz flashed by, but she didn’t let their images land. Sven was married. As much as she admired him, he had no feelings for her. And Fitz … she was doing this for Fitz. If she could get established in a prosperous home, if things went as planned, Fitz could have all the advantages money could buy.