“Oh, Andrea, don’t exaggerate. I’m sure Mr. Huntington is not here only to meet your father.”
To be chastised in front of others, made Andrea feel like a child. Perhaps she spoke out of turn, but she only repeated what Mr. Huntington had said earlier. There was no point in arguing, to do so would have only caused further embarrassment.
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
“I’m not the one to whom you owe an apology, Andrea.”
“Mrs. James, there is no apology due. Andrea was correct,” Miles jumped in quickly, seeing the distress on Andrea’s face. “I did come down from Connecticut to meet Mr. James. I have been an admirer of his for many years.”
Lillian laughed flirtatiously despite her annoyance that he should be so forward as to call Andrea by her given name. Surely, she had taught her daughter better than to give a total stranger permission to address her so casually. “I thought Andrea and I were Sebastian’s only admirers.”
“Well, now he can claim one more. There are few in the shipping industry who can say that they have not heard of Sebastian James and the James Common Shipping Company.”
“Then you are in the shipping business also?” Lillian asked.
“When I graduate from Yale, I shall be fifty percent owner of three passenger ships. The rest will become mine upon the retirement of my stepfather.”
“I hear passenger transport is very lucrative. Whereas Sebastian must invest in a cargo and sell it before he makes a profit, you get your money up front. And if the ship goes down, you still have all the profits from your voyage locked away in the company safe.”
“What a unique outlook you have, Mrs. James,” Miles laughed, though in truth, he found no humor in her statement. As someone whose own father was lost at sea, there was nothing to laugh at.
Andrea felt envious of the way her mother casually conversed with Miles. She doubted her mother ever blundered as she had.
“Well, thank you, Mr. Huntington, for fetching Andrea for me. I’m sure your cousin is thankful for the opportunity to spread himself around.”
“It was a pleasure, I assure you. If I can ever be of assistance again, especially on such an enjoyable errand, please, do not hesitate to ask.”
As a final blow to Andrea’s pride, Miles nodded to her and left. She was crushed. If not for her mother’s request to fetch her, he would have never requested a dance. Undoubtedly, the only reason he wanted to take her out to the garden was so that no one would see them dancing together. The humiliation was too much to bear.
~*~
Lillian understood exactly what she was doing when she made it known to Andrea that it had been at her request, that Miles Huntington dance with her. No doubt the reason Andrea wore her mask was to prevent her from seeing the telltale signs of becoming smitten with Miles Huntington. Lillian said the necessary words, so her daughter would not make too much of their waltz. She knew the girl’s pride would not allow her to fall back into any ridiculous romantic notions she might have about Mr. Miles Huntington.
“Mama, I have a terrible headache. Would it be all right if I go back to the Perkins’ house? I’ll send the coach back for you.”
“Too much excitement, no doubt.”
“Yes, Mama, I’m sure that’s what it is.”
2
Not knowing when the James family would be leaving the next day, Miles found himself at the waterfront at the first rays of dawn. Only one of Sebastian James’s fleet floated in the harbor, a fast but small Baltimore clipper named, The Andrea. It served as the family’s yacht. Miles did not understand why he wanted to catch one last glimpse of Andrea before she left. She would go home today, and he would never see the English miss again. Perhaps what compelled him to be there was the sad look he had glimpsed on her face that showed her disappointment in her first ball. It seemed a pity that any young lady should not have an enjoyable first soiree. When he had emerged from a lengthy meeting with her father, he planned to claim her for another dance, but found she had returned to the Perkins’ home. It didn’t sit well with him, so Miles woke up the florist in the middle of the night, bought her a large bouquet of roses, and had them placed in their suite of rooms aboard their ship. Maybe such a grandiose gesture would turn the tide.
After nearly two hours of pretending to look over the books, adding and re-adding the same column of figures countless times, and rarely getting to the bottom of the column before his mind wandered to other thoughts, he was rewarded for his diligence. Sebastian James alighted from the coach first and handed down his statuesque wife, Lillian. As he reached back into the coach, Lillian stepped to the side and blocked his view of Andrea as she emerged. At first, all he could see was Andrea’s full white skirt, peeking around her mother’s skirt and he caught sight of part of her golden honey blonde hair. Finally, Andrea stepped away from the coach and her mother, but unfortunately, her back was almost completely to him, with only the line of her delicate jaw and classically high cheek visible. He could see her glorious hair in its entirety, gleaming in the sunlight as it hung down her back, the breeze softly blowing her natural waves.
Then to his disappointment, she turned away from him completely, looking towards The Andrea.
No! She couldn’t board before he saw her one last time. When it appeared Andrea was not going to turn around, he rushed out of the office with the pretense of wishing the whole family a bon voyage. As they meandered near the coach where their trunks were being unloaded, Miles approached.
“Mr. and Mrs. James,” he called out, when still ten paces away. All three members of the family turned at once. “I just wanted to wish you a safe journey and uh, God’s speed.”
The words died on his lips as their daughter turned in his direction. He did not know who this girl was, but she was not the young woman with whom he had danced. Did they have two daughters? He looked into the coach to see if Andrea was still inside. It was empty.
Christ! That couldn’t be her. The Andrea he danced with was a mature young woman; this girl was just a child. All she needed was a big pink bow to make his humiliation complete.
Miles felt heat creeping up his neck and into his ears.
“Ah, Mr. Huntington,” Sebastian said, extending his hand to Miles. “It’s kind of you to come see us off.”
Miles shook his hand, but found himself at a loss for words, his eyes involuntarily drawn to Andrea. “I thought I’d look over the books while I was home, and saw you step out of your carriage.”
Sebastian noticed the way Miles kept looking past him. He pulled Miles away from his family and spoke in hushed tones. “Why do I think you were lying in wait for us?” There was a slight twinkle in his eye as he sensed what had compelled this young man to be there.
“Sir, uh, I don’t know what to say. She told me she was seventeen.”
“Andrea!” Sebastian bellowed. “Did you tell Mr. Huntington you were seventeen?”
Andrea pulled back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I did no such thing,” she protested. “He guessed my age was fifteen, and I told him he missed by two years.”
“You’re thirteen? Dear God!” Miles exclaimed, petrified at the idea of being attracted to someone so young. “I-I had no idea, sir, I swear. I-I….”
Finding the whole matter funny, Sebastian laughed loudly. “I can tell you didn’t know. I saw the way she looked at the ball. I’ve seen thirty year old women who looked younger than my daughter appeared last night.” He cast a look at his wife as if they had had words about that very thing.
“I am so sorry,” Miles said, pulling at his collar, and swallowing compulsively.
Lillian James hooked her arm around Andrea’s elbow, and began leading her to the ship. “Good day, Mr. Huntington.”
Miles waited until he was alone with Sebastian. “I-I…. Christ! I wanted to make a good impression on you.”
“Son, you made a hell of a good impression on me last night when we spoke. If you were not embarrassed, well, we might be having words right now.”<
br />
Miles seemed to relax a little at his reassurance. Suddenly, as if hit with a shovel, he remembered the roses. He could not catch a break. “Sir, I, uh….I had flowers put in your cabin. Please, I beg you, throw the card into the ocean unopened.”
~*~
As her mother went below, Andrea lingered on deck, watching her father and Mr. Huntington converse. He was the last person she wanted to see this morning. All she wanted to do was forget the horrible evening. She had tried so hard to be perfect and poised, but he had shown his irritation at being sent on an errand to fetch her. She should have realized when he wanted to take her out to the garden; it was not so he could get her alone, but to keep his friends from seeing him dance with her. No doubt, the story of Timothy and Lisette was just a ruse to try to persuade her after she had refused. A blush heightened her cheek color when she thought about how she told him her parents would not approve, as if he had salacious intentions. And then when he had shown up on the docks, for a brief moment she hoped that he wanted to see her one last time before they left. Her hope was laid desolate when she realized, he had only called out to her parents. He kept looking at her as if he didn’t even recognize her from the night before.
Andrea pulled her shoulders back and lifted her head. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, she repeated silently to herself.
Andrea was not particularly looking forward to another long ocean voyage. With grace, she went below to the family’s suite. It was not a new ship, in fact, it was as old as she, named and christened three days after her birth. The old girl was sturdy, and one of the fastest ships in her father’s fleet, their suite of cabins was richly appointed as befit the owner and his family. The Andrea was Sebastian’s favorite, and the ship they used for their summer excursions, or when he travelled to his shipping offices around the world. She had sailed to exotic and not so exotic countries, on four continents, but there was no place she liked to travel to more, than to her home in England.
This was, without a doubt, the worst journey she had taken. Not only had her maid deserted her, leaving her to either fend for herself or borrow her mother’s maid Genevieve, but she had not found anything about America exotic or exciting. To her, it was like being in a poor imitation of her beloved England. The people didn’t even have the decency to speak in a musical foreign language; instead, they had to butcher the King’s English. Nothing the Americans did quite reached the pinnacles of English life, as Andrea saw it. Rather than having a bigger-than-life monarch, they elected a man called a president to rule the country. Not only was his time in office limited, but the Americans had the audacity to boast that any American boy could grow up to be president. What an indiscriminate country it was. Good Lord, had they never heard of royalty? Did they not understand the pomp and splendor of a royal family?
Andrea opened the door to their cabin only to find her mother inside. Lillian stood next to an enormous bouquet of flowers, her hands behind her back.
“Who-who are they from?” Andrea asked.
“Your father, of course. Who else would send me roses?” Lillian turned away and tucked the card inside her sleeve. “I had to endure your father last night. He just wanted to apologize.”
Andrea’s face reddened with embarrassment. She hated it when her mother told her that kind of thing. She understood that her mother only wanted to prepare her for what she would have to withstand when she married, but she preferred not to think of her father and mother like that. Her mother would say that if a gentle man like her father, whom they knew and loved so well, could not control the forces of nature, no man truly could.
Lillian was glad her daughter turned away, giving her a chance to open the card and read it. Good Lord, what had happened during their single dance to warrant him giving her such a beautiful bouquet of flowers? Heavens! These were comparable to the flowers she received after her stage performances when she was still acting. Her greatest admirers encompassed the richest men in London, many of whom were peers of the realm. By what right did he have sending Andrea three dozen white roses? Lillian couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by writing:
Andrea,
Thank you for the lovely dance. Since I was unable to take you out to the garden, I thought I might bring the garden to you. Unfortunately, not one of these buds is as beautiful as you are.
Yours,
Miles
If she didn’t want Andrea to know the truth about where the flowers had come from, she would have asked her outright. Perhaps that was why Andrea was upset and wanted to leave the party early last night. Had the man been forward with her? Or perhaps he had promised to take her out to the garden when he came back for his second dance. Oh, Lord! What if it was Andrea who wanted to go out to the garden—after all, it said, “Since I was unable to take you.” Lillian cringed when she realized she had to have another talk with Andrea about men. If they were only going to be blessed with one child, why couldn’t they have just had a boy, then there would be no need to protect anyone’s chastity.
Lillian moved to the door. “I’ll send Genevieve to help you unpack.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Andrea said as Lillian turned to leave. “Mama?”
“What is it, Andrea?”
“Do you think when I’m older some young man might send me flowers?” Her voice sounded small and fragile.
Lillian faltered, and momentarily thought about giving her the card. It would certainly make her happy, but it would also fill her head with nonsense.
“Andrea, I have no doubt that you will receive many bouquets in your lifetime, but don’t make too much of them. When I was still acting, men who didn’t even know me, sent enough flowers to fill this room every night. They all wanted to woo me in hopes of getting me into their beds. Do not be surprised if some young man tries the same thing with you. Never trust men. They’re very deceitful, and if you give into them before you have a wedding band on your finger, you might as well forget about marriage because no man would want you after you’re ruined.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Lillian put her hand to her own forehead and then to her cheek as if testing to see if she was feverish. “I believe I shall go lie down. I am not at all recovered from last night.”
3
Four years later.
Andrea moved past the crates piled high in the corridor to the library. She never imagined a house could be as disorganized as theirs. Deciding the best course of action to stay out of the way of the servants, would be to seek refuge in the library with a book. Hopefully, reading a novel would also keep her mind off her misgivings about moving. Her mother insisted that they move to the prestigious Mayfair section of London, so they would be exactly where they needed be for her debut. Andrea had one more year at Miss Whitecott’s school before her mother foisted her into society.
As always, Andrea’s insecurities revolved around being accepted. She had no doubt that her mother’s wish that she marry a man with a title would come to fruition. Her father’s wealth could easily sustain any family for generations, and there were many nobles who needed more than a dowry to sustain them.
Girls at school all seemed to dream of a love match. Andrea had no illusions of the men who would be vying for her hand. The only love they would have for her would be for her ample dowry and inheritance. Her only expectation of them was a title. It had been drummed into her head as long as she could remember. The new house in London was paramount to the success of Lillian’s scheme. Andrea felt the pressure placed upon her shoulders, its weight nearly paralyzing her. Although Andrea did not know the exact figure, she knew her father had spent a fortune on the new house and her mother, to hear Sebastian good-naturedly complaining, had spent a comparable amount refurbishing and furnishing it. All this so Andrea could marry advantageously.
The house had been neglected for at least two decades by an impoverished earl and it would probably take the carpenters and masons at least another year to complete the restoration of the house built in the late 1660s after the gre
at fire. However, after six months’ toil, the interior of the house was finally ready for its inhabitants.
Andrea sighed. She honestly felt the whole matter smacked of overindulgence and would undoubtedly be viewed exactly for what it was—Lillian James’s latest attempt to ingratiate herself into the upper echelon. At seventeen, Andrea could no more understand the difference a man’s social status made, any more than she could at thirteen. Her father had millions, yet socially, he was still considered working class—a distinction she really did not think her father minded. Sebastian James, with his sardonic wit, had put great thought into naming his company the James Common Shipping Company. It was those common roots and common values that made him wealthy and the name seemed to stick in the craw of many a noble man.
As Andrea diligently searched for something frivolous to read, she noticed a handful of letters on the floor next to her father’s desk. They appeared to have been accidentally knocked off the desk while her father had been going over his bookkeeping. As Andrea bent to pick up the letters, her attention was drawn to her name written on the fold of a page that was slightly protruding from an envelope. Curiosity got the better of her and she removed the sheets of paper from the envelope, immediately turning to the last page to see who sent it. Richard O’Shea. At first, the name meant nothing to her, but as soon as she spotted the New York postmark, she remembered the young man she had danced with in America. His name was O’Shea. Although she had never recalled his first name, she was sure it was something undeniably Irish, not Richard. As she read, it soon became apparent that the writer was the father of the younger man.
Dear Mr. James,
It was truly an honor to meet you and Mrs. James during your visit to New York two years ago. Obviously, I am quite flattered that you should remember my son and me. To say that Shamus reminds you of yourself at his age is high praise indeed, and I thought about keeping that part of your letter from him, so your words would not go to his head.
Miles Before I Sleep Page 3
