Mistress Suffragette

by Diana Forbes

  Setton squared back his shoulders, and we both stiffly box-stepped to the strains of “Blue Danube.”

  The music abruptly changed to 6/8 time, and those brave enough to continue had no choice but to perform the minuet—one of France’s most heinous exports. I always disliked the complex partner changes and found them disruptive to meaningful conversation. As George Setton toddled off to find my sister, I ignored my mother as well—and made a beeline to the crudités.

  From behind the celery sticks, Sam Haven’s face appeared. I wanted to run out the door and hide in the garden. My eyes canvassed the room, searching for a gallant lad to save me from the advances of my former fiancé. Alas, none sprang forth, and by country rules, I was forced to accept Sam’s hand although he’d never accept mine.

  The fact that we were distantly related seemed to give Sam a confident air that was impossible to ignore. Worse, recent events hadn’t left a dent in his appearance. Indeed, I half wished that Sam had been trampled by a runaway horse! The only saving grace was that I didn’t have to pretend with Sam. He knew I felt miserable, having been responsible for the condition.

  “You dance well, Cousin,” Sam said, his faded blue eyes taking me in.

  “Thank you,” I muttered.

  I couldn’t tolerate him calling me “Cousin.” Not after that day in the Library when, moments after spurning me, he’d had the gall to suggest that we’d always remain cousins—good cousins.

  “Don’t frown like that,” said Sam, spinning me in his false gentlemanly way. “We’re family. And family is a haven in a heartless world.”

  “Perhaps. But Sam Haven isn’t.”

  I didn’t want to be tortured anymore. I wanted to hang out by the deviled eggs like a normal spinster.

  His ebony hair, combed back without a part, coordinated well with his waistcoat. I hated that I still felt physically drawn to him. He seemed unfazed by my discomfort. If anything, it bolstered his confidence.

  “Do you see that couple?” he asked jovially, swinging me around.

  I directed my eyes to a vibrant pair. The woman, long-haired, brunette, and well appointed with long strands of pearls and diamond earrings, wore a rose taffeta ball gown that put everyone else’s outfit to shame. Her dancing partner, very tall, clean-shaven, with large hands that anticipated her every move, twirled her about without effort. This couple could teach ballroom dancing, so graceful were they.

  “That’s Evelyn and Edgar Daggers,” Sam said, thin lips scarcely moving as he warmed to his favorite topic, the genealogy of the 400. “Her grandmother was a Spear, from the Spear-Sperry clan and her husband is one of the Van Alen Daggers.” He said it in the reverent tone he reserved for royalty. “They traveled here all the way from New York,” he continued. “Come. Let’s make their acquaintance. Maybe she’ll take you under her wing; and, meanwhile, I understand her husband’s a banker.”

  “But I’m not going to New York.”

  He dropped my hand, then fumbled to retrieve it.

  “Where else would you apply for work—if it comes to that?”

  “Work?” The tutoring and the few classes I’d started to teach, Father had positioned as temporary.

  “Work: the occupation one takes up to support one’s livelihood if no one else will.” He must have seen my dazed expression. “Consider it hypothetical. Where would you work if you had to pay for your own room and board? Chicago? Philadelphia?”

  I felt my knees lock. “Phil-a-del-phia?”

  “It’s in the United States,” he said with a laugh.

  “Boston, then,” I snapped, if only to end the inquisition.

  “Oh, don’t go there,” he said quickly.

  I stamped my foot. “Sam, for tonight, please, no more talk about the Panic.”

  “Ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away,” he said with a flash of petulance. “And please stop stamping your foot like that. You just made us lose time.”

  “I’m not ignoring it. Mother forbids me to discuss it.”

  “How convenient.”

  And there was that dreaded word again. “You of all people have no right to speak to me about convenience,” I said, bristling as I recalled his callous disregard for my feelings the day he’d broken off our engagement.

  A chilling breeze whistled through the thin wooden slats and dust flew from the bookshelves of the Mercantile Library where Sam sometimes worked.

  “So, our attachment was nothing more to you than a marriage of convenience?” I spat out. I gathered up my skirts, turning to go.

  As I darted down the creaking steps of the Library, I heard Sam yell after me. “I never saw it as a marriage of convenience! I saw it as an alliance!”

  “Alliances are between countries, not people,” I shouted back.

  Chapter 2

  Midnight Brings a Scandalous Proposal

  After several spins around the floor with various unsuitable suitors, my shoes started to pinch. During an intricate dance involving partner changes, my partner fell ill, so I found myself alone again. Looking up, I saw Sam only a few feet away. “Shall we sit this one out, Cousin?” he asked. For his many faults, he still knew how to read me. We took an empty table for four out on the lawn. The table, just outside the mansion, offered a clear view through the large bay windows of the ball inside.

  Due to the rampant fear of a Breakers-style fire, there were no candles on any of the tables; but even from the dim shadows, it was easy to see that Evelyn and Edgar Daggers were the toast of Newport Society. After an ebullient quadrille, the couple left the dancers. I noticed Edgar Daggers peering at the tables, which had started to fill. He looked quite a bit older than me—he had to be at least twenty-five.

  Sam waved to him and his wife: this surprised me, as they were high Society. Perhaps even more surprisingly, they decided to join us.

  Sam and I jumped up for the introductions.

  “Mrs. Daggers, I’d like to present my fifth cousin, Penelope Stanton,” Sam said, bowing slightly.

  “So, pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Daggers.” I gave her my lowest curtsey.

  Mrs. Daggers smiled and clasped my hand. “Likewise. But it’s not necessary to bow down like that to me.” She laughed. Her voice tinkled like wind chimes as she said, “Come, Edgar, darling, I’d like to present Miss Stanton and her fifth cousin. I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” she said turning to Sam.

  “The fault is mine,” Sam offered with a graceful half bow. “Sam Haven.”

  The two gentlemen pulled out chairs for Mrs. Daggers and myself, helping us into our seats before sitting down.

  As she turned to me, I caught the sweet whiff of Linden Bloom perfume, reminding me of lawn parties and parasols and other things that might be taken from me.

  “Your cousin’s manners are impeccable,” she said.

  “In public, they are,” I assented.

  She laughed.

  “It’s a damned shame about your father’s ships,” Mr. Daggers interjected, staring at me from across the small table.

  “You heard the news?” I felt feverish and hoped an interrogation wasn’t imminent.

  “Word travels fast. Yes.”

  “Dear,” Mrs. Daggers said, blinking her heavily lidded eyes and pressing a glass flute in his hand, “I’m certain Miss Stanton has better things to do than to regale us with stories about her father’s business.” She motioned for her husband to drink his champagne, then flashed me an apologetic smile. She laid her hand on his arm. “How was your meeting at the home for unwed mothers?”

  “I’m thinking of donating them a building,” he said.

  “My husband is too generous,” she said, looking away.

  “Generosity is underrated,” he replied, with an exaggerated bow.

  I wondered if the Spears and Daggers were jousting in public or if this was more like an invisible sort of tennis game between them.

  Sam attempted a topic change. “I understand you attended Miss Graham’s finishing schoo
l,” he said to her. “Did you enjoy your studies?”

  “Not especially,” she answered affably, “but it’s important for women to keep up with their education.”

  Sam lifted his flute to toast Mrs. Daggers. “Yes, yes,” he said, “especially with the new interest in causes.”

  “Causes?” I asked, dumbfounded. I had been engaged to the cad for six months and never knew Sam cared for causes!

  “Sometimes a new cause presents a new opportunity,” Sam said. “At the New England Women’s Club last week—”

  Mr. Daggers snapped his fingers. “Fascinating,” he said. I felt his eyes linger on my face for a beat too long. “Miss Stanton, where do you currently study?”

  “Alas, my formal studies ended recently.”

  “A pity,” he said. “Your father’s business mishaps have capsized your prospects.”

  He stared right through me, piercing my careful facade.

  “B-b-but I try to keep my hand in by teaching French classes as well as piano and German.”

  “How delightful,” said his wife with a magnanimous smile. She was a lady through and through, determined to make me, a stranger, feel at ease. “Perhaps you’d be a candidate to teach at Miss Graham’s.” She beamed at me through her kind brown eyes, oblivious to the fact that I loved to learn, not teach, and that the lessons I’d been forced to give would have happily vanished, had my engagement gone off as planned.

  “A wonderful idea.” Sam clapped his hands. “Is she looking for teachers?”

  She tapped her chin a few times as a footman poured a second serving of champagne. “Why, I have no idea! But I’m happy to find out.”

  Sam winked at me as if my problems were over.

  At that, I kicked him under the table—hard. He had no right to map out my future after he’d wanted no part of it.

  Sam screwed up his face in pain as he doubled over the table. “My studies take me to Boston, or I’d be looking for a job in New York, too,” he squealed.

  “Would you, now?” Mr. Daggers said, abruptly. He leaned forward on his elbows. “I’m sure you’ll find something in Boston. But your beautiful, young cousin should look in New York. There are any number of positions at which she would excel.”

  My conversation with him seemed to happen on a second level, one I wasn’t sure I understood. His words were like hints veiled in innuendo—or was I imagining it all?

  Ignoring her husband, Mrs. Daggers quickly riffled through her pink taffeta purse—custom-designed to match her amazing gown.

  “I don’t normally approve of handing out cards at social events,” she said, handing me her calling card. “But if you ever do get to New York, call on me. Most New Yorkers’ manners are atrocious. It’s the rudest city in the world, and I’ve traveled far. You’ll need help navigating it, and I’m happy to assist. Women should help each other out, don’t you think?” she asked with an enigmatic half-smile.

  Thanking her, I turned toward Sam only because I felt her husband’s dark eyes studying me. The wind picked up, and tiny bumps formed along my exposed skin. I was on the verge of asking Sam if I could borrow his jacket when Mr. Daggers asked me to dance. I looked at his wife, not knowing in this particular case if it was proper to accept.

  She winked. “Oh go ahead. It will give me a chance to get to know Mr. Haven.”

  Good luck with that, I thought, as her husband reached out a large hand to usher me to the dance floor inside.

  Mr. Daggers carried himself with the sort of arrogance that comes only with fine schooling and early good fortune. His dark eyes suggested that he had accumulated a lifetime’s worth of secrets about men and women, and just maybe he’d be kind enough to spare you the details. But he also had a way of looking at me that made me feel as if I were the only woman in the room; and as he walked me across the floor, I felt prettier and more graceful. It was a heady feeling.

  It didn’t surprise me that he was from New York with its tall buildings and formidable towers. He seemed to stand taller than other men, his shoulders were broader, and his voice, a shade deeper. There was more to him: more height, more depth, and more to be wary of, too. He was dark complected and had full, voluptuous lips like the pictures of a statue I’d once seen in a book Father had brought back from Florence. I wondered how many women this particular “David” had seduced and how quickly his victims had succumbed.

  I glanced through the open windows at his wife. She waved at me in that animated way that people shout “Bon voyage!”

  As Mr. Daggers’s eyes roved down my bodice, I felt like he was claiming me. We danced a slow waltz, and his arm wrapped around my waist as if to squeeze the breath right out of me. I felt his hand clutch at my back, then press against my dress at the precise spot where my corset was laced tightest. He was like a hunter honing in on his target. I found myself strangely excited being in his arms, but knew it was wrong to feel that way.

  A full head taller than I, he gazed down at me for the entire waltz. Indeed, it seemed as if he and I were performing a different dance than the one dictated by the band. He barely moved his lips as his hips subtly pressed into mine. “So, I take it you find yourself in reduced circumstances?”

  I forced a brave face. “It’s my father’s business. I’m certain it will recuperate.” Dear Lord, I hoped it would. Between the shipping business and the small bank Father was president of, hopefully he had enough wherewithal to survive the Panic.

  “Shipping ventures don’t come back quickly. The investors get impatient, and….” His hand stroked my back.

  “My father’s will.”

  “Are you close to him?”

  I bit my lip. “He keeps me at arm’s length.”

  “You need someone who won’t. My key is yours, darling.”

  Had I misheard him? Was he inviting me to be his mistress, and doing it as casually as if he were inviting my family to watch the regatta?

  My hands started to sweat inside my gloves. Using the slight change in tempo, I withdrew from him and looked over my shoulder back at his wife. She appeared to be in spirited conversation with Sam.

  “They predict the Panic will last a long time,” Mr. Daggers said, taking me in his arms as we spun across the floor. “In New York, we’re closer to the news than you are. The railroads are overbuilt, and rumors abound that several will go out of business. There have been roughly ten bank runs in several cities,” he continued. “Just last week, a banker I know ran in front of the stock exchange and shot himself on the steps.”

  My pulse jumped up to my throat. He was talking about real guns. He seemed knowledgeable, and I felt so very sheltered. He wasn’t like Sam, who’d told me to go read a bunch of newspapers to make sense of it all. No, Mr. Daggers was explaining it to me. And his knowledge held power.

  “And the only city that’s immune is bloody Chicago,” he said. “The Chicago Fair,” he murmured. “What a racket.”

  I flushed at my proximity to this sensual, full-bodied man who was so worldly about national affairs. Each time he twirled me, I felt a bead of perspiration pop. My dress stuck to me. How could I let him have this sway over me? Dancing with him was intoxicating—and disturbing.

  I stared up at his masculine jaw. “Should I try to teach there, do you think?”

  “Where?”

  “In Chicago.”

  He laughed down at me. “Are you mad, woman? I’ve just offered you my key—and I have homes in Newport, New York, and Tuxedo Park. Come visit me.”

  Now instead of taking offense at his utter lack of propriety, I found myself mesmerized by his eyes and words. The champagne must have blown bubbles into my head, for it seemed both lighter and bigger, like a balloon about to explode. Light-footed, I danced on air. I looked down at the floor: my silk slippers were still attached to my feet.

  He released one of my hands and grazed his gloved fingers over my cheek. “I doubt the pork barrelers and politicians of Chicago will benefit much from the study of French,” he said. “You should
move to New York, a place where culture is appreciated.” He moistened his lips.

  “I don’t enjoy teaching all that much,” I said, praying no one had seen him touch my face.

  “There are ways to supplement the meager income.” His eyes dilated, and he stared down at me again as if he wanted to devour me like a Viennese pastry. “I understand women in distress well,” he whispered. “And, over the years, I’ve found they understand me, too.”

  “Mr. Daggers—”

  “Call me Edgar,” he murmured, moving a strand of my hair off my neck. “Not in mixed company, of course, but in private.”

  The music ended, and we stopped moving, although he still held me. I drew in a sharp breath. My bosom strained against my corset.

  “Edgar—Mr. Daggers—your lovely wife has just—”

  “Yes, of course,” he said with urgency. “Visit with her first, and then come see me in my private apartment. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  My dignity made a brief reappearance. “Sir, my circumstances may be reduced, but you should not take me for a—”

  Before I could finish the sentiment, my cousin approached to dance with me.

  Undeterred, Mr. Daggers shooed him away, twirling me out of his reach as the music started up again. “Sir, if you please, dance with my wife.”

  Sam’s pale eyes rolled up to their sockets. He was just doing what polite Society expected; yet his rival was determined to thwart him. My cousin looked truly taken aback, and his lack of composure made my whole body relax.

  I seized the opportunity to repay him for what he had done. Perhaps if Sam could be stirred to feel a twinge of jealousy, there was still a chance of winning him back. He had been wrong to spurn me, wrong to dance with me at the ball, and so very wrong about Philadelphia!

  For the first time all night, I smiled up at Mr. Daggers. I leaned in closer and deliberately ignored his hand pawing at my back. Shamelessly, I batted my eyelashes at him, encouraging his attentions. When I felt his sightline directed at my cleavage, I moved it directly under his nose so he could get a better peek. For a moment, I had two men within reach.