The Meridian Gamble (27 page)

Madeline laughs, but Marjorie
glares at her, and our sister quickly realizes the comment wasn’t meant to be
humorous.

“They will think that you are being
a devoted sister, one who has the good taste to allow her sibling a moment in
the sun on the day her engagement is to be announced. And after that, you can
go back to being the beautiful flower you were meant to be.”

“But Mother, this is not fair. This
should be my moment,” she wails, in an unpleasant manner.

And I fear my sister is about to
cry.

“I cannot believe you would …”

“Gregory Lawlor,” I say, before she
can protest any further.

The words stun her into silence.
Marjorie looks to me, with big, blurry tears welling up in her eyes.

I’m not sure why I blurt out his
name. It is cruel to taunt my sister in this way. Yet, instinctively, it feels
like the right thing to do.

“What do you mean?” she replies,
filled with a momentary hope.

“Roland’s family is quite
influential,” I say, slowly. “And they get along with the Lawlors quite well.
I’m sure it is not out of the question that they could convince Mr. and Mrs.
Lawlor that you are a far more suitable match for Gregory than that horrible
Philippa Price-Pearce. In fact, we would be saving him from a cruel fate.”

Mother glares at me, harshly, but I
ignore her for the moment.

“Are you … are you certain of this,
Caroline?”

I am not certain of anything, and I
am not sure why I say it. But Roland does not seem without his own influence.
He seems magical almost, with his supreme self-confidence. And for some reason,
in this moment, I feel as though he can make this happen for Marjorie, if not
an even better match. It almost feels like an outside force has taken over my
mind, one that compels me to say these things.

“If that’s what you want. But then
again, Roland is not of the opinion that the Lawlors are even good enough for
you. Apparently, there is a prince from Denmark he wishes for you to meet.”

“R … royalty?”

“Of course, dear sister. Yours is
the kind of beauty which is meant to bend the will of even princes.”

And a flutter of a smile crosses
her face.

“And when exactly did Roland tell
you all of this?” Mother asks.

“Why, when we had tea in the
garden, Mother,” I say, innocently. “The one that you arranged. We discussed
many things. Quite fortunately, you have found me a fiancée who is quite the
excellent conversationalist.”

And I turn to Marjorie once more.

“You must understand, dear sister,
that what our parents have provided for me is more than just a marriage. It is
a union of our two companies, so they can form a single corporation of such
power it will make all of London take notice. It will dwarf anything the
Price-Pearces can ever hope to accomplish. And I make this sacrifice not just
for our company, but also for you. That you and all of my sisters may find the
unions of your choice, for love or power or any reason you desire, but not of
convenience. And all I ask in return is that you forgive me for the small sin
of stealing your emerald dress.”

Mother goes silent, and looks away.
I am unsure of what she thought, that perhaps I am just a silly girl who was
thrilled to be married. That I did not truly understand the nature of my being
promised to Roland, despite it being explained to me. And Marjorie seems filled
with a cautious optimism.

“A prince? Are you sure he said
prince?”

“I remember quite clearly my relief
that he did not say duke. Because that would not be good enough for you, my
dear sister.”

And a smile of delight flickers
over Marjorie’s face.

“I quite like the idea of being
related to royalty,” Madeline says.

And we all laugh, even the
seamstress from the dress shop.

And finally,
the tension leaves the room. And I realize that for the first time in days, the
gloom that has hung over our house has been washed away, and it is all thanks
to Roland.

I do not see my beloved again for
days. It is decided that we will not be together again, until the Admiral’s
Ball, where our engagement is to be announced. We do not want to cause
controversy, from the neighbors spying us together and gossiping. And our
marriage is to take place quickly, after the announcement of our betrothal and
the merger of the two companies, perhaps in as soon as six months. I suspect
that Father hopes to stun his competitors, and perhaps put some fear into them
over his cunning. But I no longer worry about such things.

I only think of Roland.

The feeling of missing him
alternates between agony and an odd feeling of relief. Though I am excited to
start my new life, a part of me is glad that I don’t have to just yet, so I can
savor my last moments of youth.

But I am curious to know more about
this future husband of mine. Our time in the garden was so fleeting, and though
we discussed much, I now feel that I barely know him. Yet, in other ways, the
connection between us is strong. There are moments where I feel he is always
with me, and that I have known him forever.

The thought of leaving my family
overwhelms me, that I will go to live in a house with him, that I will shed the
old life I held in mixed regard behind. And what will it be like to share a
marriage bed with Roland? As curious as I am to experience this, to know how
his touch will feel, I am also afraid of that unknown.

Yet, I do have a hint of the joys
that are to come, from the night when we first met, when he appeared in my bed
and seemed to fill my body with pleasure. Which still puzzles me. Though I
dared not ask him about this when we met formally for the first time in the
garden, I am curious to question him about it now, as we get to know each other
better. He has been so open and honest with me, I know he will not mind my
asking him foolish questions. And I know that he will have answers for me,
about the mystery of appearing in my room.

I know our life together will be
pure bliss.

After days of nervously waiting,
the day of the Admiral’s Ball finally arrives. We put on our finest outfits and
ride in the family’s carriage together, myself, Marjorie, Madeline and our
parents. I feel sorry for Father, being crammed into a conveyance with four
women, all dressed in gowns. And yet, he seems in good spirits of late. We all
do, even Marjorie, who has a pleasant demeanor, as much as can be expected of
her. And she looks lovely in her dress of white and cream. It amazes me how her
beauty can make a fashion designed to be simple seem stunning. But I know this
is of little comfort to her, as we are both pointedly aware of the fact that
her gown of neutral colors was meant for me. Even worse, the diamond and
emerald necklace she covets sparkles from around my neck.

And Marjorie takes small, covert
glances at it as we ride along, pretending she does not notice. But I suspect
she wants to snatch it away from me.

“So pretty,” she finally says,
unable to hold her words any longer. But I have no doubt that she refers to the
necklace, and not me. More than likely, she ponders about how beautiful she
would look wearing my outfit.

Mother seems to notice too, and
comforts her.

“Do not worry, daughter. You will
have your chance to wear it soon enough.”

Marjorie grits her teeth, and
smiles bitterly.

“But it looks so wonderful on
Caroline. I would not want to tarnish the memory of this day by trying to
invoke its memory.”

Marjorie is petulant, and I suspect
she will never want to wear the necklace again simply because I have worn it.
She is selfish, and wants to be the first among the daughters to don it. I
imagine she might even demand a new necklace of her own if she plays the martyr
well enough tonight. In fact, I can already see the wheels spinning in her
mind.

When we arrive at the Admiral’s
mansion, there is a long row of carriages waiting out front, and we sit and
wait for what seems like an eternity. I wonder why we did not leave sooner for
the event, but realize that Mother probably planned this. She possesses great
skill in navigating the waters of high society, learned from her mother before
her. And she knows very well how important it is for us to make the right
entrance on this night, when enough of a crowd has gathered. It will be the
best way to make the greatest impact for my debut.

From the carriage, I get an
exceptional view of the Admiral’s home, which has huge pillars out front that
make it look like a museum or opera house, or perhaps a Greek palace. Many
speculate as to how he made so much money, to afford a home that could house
royalty. Some believe that his wife inherited great riches, while others
whisper that perhaps the Admiral used his position in the government to ensure
that his investments in the shipping industry profited. Whatever the source of
his wealth, the Admiral’s Ball is considered the most coveted social event of
the year. To be excluded from it means that one has fallen from grace.

We finally pull up, and are allowed
out of the carriage. A red carpet has been laid out on the front steps that
leads into the building, and from the second we step onto it, I can already see
heads turning my way.

We enter the foyer of their home,
which is even more spectacular than the exterior. White marble stretches before
us, and the red carpet from outside continues through the entrance to the two
doors that lead to the Grand Ballroom. When you look up, you can barely see the
ceiling, it is so high, at least two or three stories up.

A harpist greets us with dulcet
notes plucked from her strings, but her music only provides a prelude to what
sounds like a small orchestra coming from the Grand Ballroom’s double doors. We
walk through them, and I breathe deeply. Though I have been here before, it has
always been as the underage daughter who blends into a crowd of children who
are not quite adults, and never when I knew attention would be focused on me.
Though I have seen it before, the sight that greets us intimidates me. A giant
staircase leads down to the main floor of the ballroom, where there is already
a large crowd of guests. Men are dressed in black suits with white shirts, and
there are women wearing the most expensive dresses you can imagine, which some
have sailed to Paris themselves to obtain. They eat hors d’oeuvres and drink punch
and exchange pleasant conversation. Yet, even from the top of the stairs, far
above them, I can see small groups gathering in the corners, whispering to one
another, strengthening their allegiances and forming new ones, as they plot to
tear down their rivals.

I feel nervous. Marjorie stands
next to me, and she is so much better at this than I. Even though this night
could prove to be an assault to her reputation, she holds her head high, ready
to rise above it all.

She looks my way, and seems to
notice my discomfort. And for a brief moment, a look of pity flashes in her
eyes.

“Come, sister. We are Caldwells.
Let us conquer this night with aplomb.”

And we begin our walk to the main
floor.

I take the steps slowly, trying
desperately to keep from falling. Even in the best of circumstances, I am
clumsy in high heels. And when we finally reach the bottom, a distinguished,
older butler greets us. Mother hands him a card with our names printed on it,
to assist him with his announcements. But I suspect he knows us, from our
previous visits to the Admiral’s home, and our standing in London society. I
recognize the man, even though he is of the serving class.

And for some reason, I wonder if he
ever wishes to rise up against us, to tear down his entitled oppressors.

“Mister Hugo Caldwell and his wife,
Catherine, with their daughters, Marjorie, Caroline and Madeline,” he proclaims
to the room, in a booming voice that rises above the din. And I admire him,
because I could never be so bold as to speak up in this way.

They do not see me at first, the
familiar faces we know from such events, friends of my mother, girls my own age
I am familiar with, their brothers and husbands. They think I am Marjorie,
because of our similar hair and features. They only study the dresses, and
admire the emerald necklace. But slowly, they realize that I am the one who has
donned vivid colors, and my sister wears the more demure gown. And a twitter of
excitement races through the crowd.

Father goes to greet some of his
friends, and Mother immediately leads us to where Mrs. Lawlor and Mrs.
Price-Pearce are standing. And Gregory’s mother looks at me with eyebrows
raised.

She is a stunning beauty, even at
her age, with artfully coiffed blonde hair. She is perhaps the most beautiful
woman in the room. Mrs. Lawlor wears a dress of blue silks that match her eyes,
and has painted on her make-up with a skill that master artists could not
match. Mrs. Price-Pearce is sadly her opposite, small and mousy, a slug-like
creature with a waist that is too thick for expensive dresses, and powder that
has been caked on too heavily. But there is a kind of feral sparkle to her eyes
that tells me she loves the intricacies of this newfound social world she has
clawed her way into, and I suspect Philippa’s mother is more than equipped to
plot and plan the downfall of others.

“Good evening, Amanda, Loreli.”

“Good evening,” Mrs. Lawlor says,
still staring me down, like an eagle ready to swoop on its prey. But she turns
to Marjorie abruptly.

“You look very lovely tonight, dear.”

“Thank you,” Marjorie says, trying
her best to muster courtesy. But she knows it is a slight. Mrs. Lawlor looks at
me with a mixture of anger and confusion, wondering why I am dressed so
dramatically, especially before I have been properly presented to the world,
such as at an 18th birthday party. It is almost a faux pas on our part, but
these things have happened before, and she clearly knows there is a reason.