The Husband List (7 page)

Caroline’s father would have laughed at Caroline’s silly comment. For that matter, only a few years ago Mama would have, too.

Just then, Jack approached. His good humor had returned.

“Good morning, Mrs. Maxwell,” he said.

Mama made a harrumphing sound no one could interpret as a hello. Jack’s smile did not fade. Instead it grew broader.

“Caroline, Amelia, and Helen, it’s a pleasure to see you, too,” he added.

The twins responded courteously, though Amelia was actually rather impolitely staring at Jack.

“Good morning, Mister Culhane,” Caroline said. “Did you have a pleasant voyage?”

“It was an adventure,” he said.

Caroline nodded absently. She had just noticed that his sleeves were rolled up almost to his elbows. She’d never seen even his forearms bare since they’d been youngsters. His arms were strong and the skin as tanned as his face, as though he’d spent time in the tropics she’d been dreaming of this morning. Her fingers twitched with the desire to feel the firm tautness of his skin. She clasped one hand over the other to stop herself.

“Did you truly help rescue those poor sailors last night?” Amelia asked Jack. “I heard a crewman talking of it as we lined up to leave the ship.”

“I pitched in a hand,” Jack replied. “And my spare clothes once we had the four we could find aboard.”

“But I heard you did more than that. The man was saying that you spotted the men and saved their lives,” Amelia said. “I think you might be a hero, Mr. Culhane.”

“I’m nothing of the sort,” he said, softening his words with a smile.

Caroline glanced at her mother to see how she might take this self-deprecation. It seemed, however, that his good manners had bounced right off her.

Frowning, Mama said, “We must be moving along.”

“Of course. I apologize for delaying you and look forward to seeing all of you again this season,” Jack said.

“That is quite unlikely. We will
not
be entertaining,” Mama proclaimed, as though a lie would settle the matter.

Jack grinned. “Really? I always find you entertaining, Mrs. Maxwell.”

Caroline hid her laughter with a cough. And with a tip of his hat, Jack was gone.

Once they were settled in the Longhornes’ carriage, Mama didn’t speak again, choosing instead to scowl at Caroline from her perch opposite her. The twins ably filled the silence. On Bridge Street they speculated about the precise number of picnics and galas they would attend over the summer. Once the carriage turned south on Thames and into the shopping district, their talk moved to who sold the best chocolates in Newport and whether they might come back later in the day to sample some.

At Church Street they were on to who had the finer singing voice. Caroline looked out the window at Trinity Church, with its white spire pointing the way to heaven. Her concept of paradise was something more immediate: a book and a blanket beneath a tree, where she might read in peace. Or better yet, no book, but Jack at her side. Caroline sighed at the thought.

Mama’s scowl turned into a glare. “Do not make the mistake of thinking I will tolerate another summer like last, Caroline. You must get control of yourself.”

“I agree,” Caroline replied. Of course she gave those words a different meaning from the one her mother had intended.

Once they had turned east off Belleville Avenue and onto Bath Road, the bustle of the commercial area gave way to quiet. Buildings no longer stood shoulder-to-shoulder. Rolling lawns, elaborate entry gates, and cottages that could house a hundred took over the landscape. In a matter of minutes, they had turned onto a private lane that led to the Longhorne family estate.

Villa Blanca might not be so large and grand as Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt’s Marble House, just a handful of mansions away, but Mrs. Longhorne had hardly gone short on marble, either. Villa Blanca’s three stories and two angled wings glowed ethereally white as the sun cut through the mist hovering above the house’s smooth green lawns. It was perhaps the most lovely jail Caroline had ever seen. She would not bother pretending that it was intended to be otherwise for her.

Once they were up the broad—and, naturally, marble—steps, a footman in ornate livery opened the front door. Just inside, Mrs. Longhorne’s Italian butler announced in charmingly accented English that Mrs. Longhorne would be found in the Blue Seaside Salon. Since there was also a Green Seaside Salon, the distinction was necessary.

With the butler ushering the way, Caroline and her sisters followed Mama and her little dog like silk-and-lace-garbed ducklings into the salon, in which someone—likely not Mrs. Longhorne—had shown an admirable restraint in the placement of decorations so that the view of the ocean was the room’s focus.

Mildred greeted Mama with four excited words. “Agnes, a costume ball!”

“A costume ball?” Mama asked.

“Yes, you must have one,” Mrs. Longhorne said. “It’s early enough in the season that no one has said a word of holding one. If you let your plans be public, no one else will, for they’ll know they cannot outdo you. What better way to show Bremerton what he will be gaining by marrying Caroline?”

Mama nodded excitedly. “Mildred, you’re right! There is no better way!”

A desperate sort of humor overtook Caroline.

“We could always set out the three-hundred-piece gold dinner service,” she suggested. “Or better yet, strap it to me with a diamond chain or two so the message is clear. I will clank and rattle behind him wherever he goes.”

Mama, who was pulling off her gloves, turned to face her. “Did you not listen to me in the carriage? This is your future, Caroline, and it’s one any healthy girl would embrace. I am becoming convinced that you are unwell.”

“We will get you settled into your room in just a few minutes, dear,” Mrs. Longhorne said to Caroline. “And until then, do sit.” She made a shooing motion toward a fat, sapphire blue chair that was positioned to give an angled view of both the lawns and ocean and the room itself.

“Thank you, Mrs. Longhorne,” Caroline replied.

She settled in, focused on the outdoors, and willed herself to be calm. There was no stopping Mama from having a ball and throwing her in front of Bremerton. Her smartest move would be to appear accepting so that she had some freedom left to maneuver. She pinned on a placid smile.

“Girls, you sit, too,” Mrs. Longhorne said to Helen and Amelia.

The twins, who still stood where they’d stopped upon entering the room, took a sofa along the interior wall.

“Have you had any thoughts about a theme, Mildred?” Mama asked.

“I was going to suggest Independence. It seems to fit, as our national holiday is in July.”

“Don’t you find that somewhat ironic, Mama?” Amelia asked.

“Ironic? What do you mean?”

“You would be asking an Englishman to celebrate losing a colony.”

Mama nodded. “Ah, I see. No, that wouldn’t do at all.”

Caroline breathed a sigh of relief. Celebrating independence at a fete meant to assure her captivity seemed too close to cruel.

“When is Bremerton to arrive?” Mama asked Mrs. Longhorne.

“I read in the
Mercury
that he will begin his stay with Mr. and Mrs. William Carstairs on Saturday the thirtieth.”

“Of July?” Caroline’s mother asked.

Mrs. Longhorne shook her head. “No. June.”

“Too soon,” Mama said. “I must have the ball almost immediately after his arrival.”

“Definitely,” her friend agreed.

“Which means that Rosemeade must be quickly finished.”

“True.”

Mama paced to the picture window and looked out for a moment, altering Caroline’s placid view. When she turned back to rejoin her friend, her face was set in the same determined expression Caroline knew she wore when planning a secret foray. She and Mama were much alike in that, if not in their opinion of what best suited Caroline.

“With such a short time to prepare, I think it would be best to invite guests to attend as their favorite historical or mythological figure,” Mama said to Mrs. Longhorne. “It’s been done dozens of times, but we’ll make up for the stale theme with the food, gifts, and music.”

Mrs. Longhorne rubbed her hands together. “How wonderful! We’ll have to shop!”

“That we will,” Mama said before focusing on Caroline. “We’ll need to start a costume for you immediately. You must shine the brightest of all. Who do you wish to be?”

“Joan of Arc,” Caroline said. The Maid of Orleans had been a fierce warrior for her cause, as Caroline wanted to be. Though Joan hadn’t fared too well, when all was said and done.

“Absolutely not. You must be alluring,” Mama replied. “Perhaps Demeter, and you can wear a crown of jeweled flowers.”

But Caroline had no desire to be the perfect and fertile Demeter.

“How about Queen Elizabeth?” she suggested. “She wore plenty of jewels.”

Plus Elizabeth had known a thing or two about employing tactics to remain unwed.

“Athena,” Mama decreed. “Elizabeth has been overdone.”

“Artemis,” Caroline countered.

Across the room, Helen giggled. She was student enough to know that strong and determined Artemis had vanquished all who wanted to see her captured, bedded, or wed. Mama, however, was not so well versed. And she already wore the dreamy expression of a woman envisioning an ivory silk gown, golden diadem, and a flowery quiver and bow.

“Yes, Artemis would be perfect,” Mama said. “Just perfect.”

Indeed she was, for Caroline had just begun her hunt for freedom.

SIX

Hunting freedom certainly lacked in the thrill of the chase. Instead, Caroline had spent the past three days doing her best to blend in with her surroundings so that she could gain the element of surprise. She had been obedient, patient, and subservient to Mama. And being all these saintly things had left Caroline feeling quite impatient.

Thursday morning, as she sat with her sisters in Mildred Longhorne’s shiny black phaeton headed toward the Newport Casino, everything was annoying her. Even her hat. The wide-brimmed, pale yellow creation was adorned with a white ostrich plume that bobbed in relentless time to the matched bays’ brisk trots. Caroline reached one hand to try to still the feather, but soon gave up.

Town remained relatively quiet. The real summer season would not begin until the first week of July. Still, Bellevue Avenue carried its share of social traffic. Caroline gave the obligatory small wave to the two Hadley sisters, who were also in an open carriage, as they passed each other. The Hadleys returned her greeting. Should they pass each other again, waves would be replaced by polite smiles. On a third passing, they needn’t make eye contact.

Newport was built on rituals such as these. Daily, at no later than ten minutes past nine, one had to be on the way to the Casino to watch a tennis match or perhaps take a lesson. And so the Maxwell girls were, though only to observe. Mama might unbend enough to allow an occasional bicycle ride, but her girls would
never
play tennis. At least not that Mama knew about …

Across from Caroline, both Helen and Amelia were acting like dour little rain clouds, which was indirectly Caroline’s fault. At breakfast, Mama had charged them with being at Caroline’s side for the day. Mama and Mrs. Longhorne would be occupied until well into the afternoon planning the costume ball.

The twins were destined to fail in their supervisory duties. They knew it, too. It was not a matter of if Caroline would slip away today and breathe some freedom, but when.

Helen edged closer to her side of the carriage, moving her fluffy pearl pink skirts away from Amelia’s.

“Would you please hold still?” Amelia snapped. “You know if we must face backward, I need to be on the left side of the seat. It’s bad enough that you didn’t give it to me. Do you need to bounce around, too?”

“I
never
bounce,” Helen replied. “And if you hadn’t dawdled, you’d have the seat you want, not that it would make any difference.”

“What do you mean, no difference?”

“Backwards is backwards, whether on the left or right. You’re acting like a spoiled child.”

“
I
am?” Amelia gasped, kid-gloved hand to her heart. “You dare say that after telling Mama you want to be the goddess Minerva at the costume ball, when you know that being Minerva is all I’ve spoken of since Monday? You’re the spoiled one of us.”

“I’m the elder. I get first choice in costume, after Caroline, and I’m better suited to be Minerva. I love books and wisdom. You just want to carry an owl.”

“You get everything you want.”

Caroline had heard enough.

“Markham, please pull over,” she called to the Longhornes’ coachman.

The twins stopped bickering.

“Caro, what are you doing?” Helen asked.

“Out,” Caroline said, reaching for the door’s clasp before poor Markham could even get there.

Amelia—who actually was a tad dramatic—gasped again. “What do you mean, out?”

“I mean for you to get out of the carriage,” Caroline directed. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m moving to your seat, and the two of you are moving to mine. And the rest of the way to the Casino, we all are going to be Minerva and explore the wisdom found in silence.”

Markham arrived. He took over his duties from Caroline, and readied to assist them from the carriage.

“Now, out,” Caroline said firmly as her sisters gaped at her.

“We never stop the carriage like this. You’re making a spectacle of us,” Helen said.

“If I wanted to make a spectacle, I’d do far more than this,” Caroline replied. “Move along so we can get to the Casino on time.”

The girls were standing curbside and Caroline had just risen and was readying to change seats when a gold-gilt carriage that even Mama would deem overdone pulled beside them and stopped. In it sat Flora Willoughby, with Jack opposite her. Caroline tried not to stare as her sisters were.

“Are you having difficulties?” Mrs. Willoughby asked.

Caroline couldn’t work up a response. Her silence wasn’t due to the other woman’s tennis attire, even though it was a wonderful near echo of what males were permitted to wear. Seeing Jack had scattered Caroline’s thoughts. After three days without a glance of him, she’d managed to convince herself that he’d left Newport. Life would be duller, but more manageable.