“Thank you,” he whispered. He coaxed her to her side, brushing her hair from her face to meet her gaze.
Clarissa blushed with womanly pride before smiling. “It should be mutual,” she whispered huskily. “Hold me while I sleep, Gabriel. I’ve missed your arms around me,” she murmured as she felt sleep approaching.
“Always, my love,” he whispered, moving so her back settled against his front. “I’ve missed this. The simple contact of holding you in my arms.” He nuzzled her nape.
She raised one of his hands, loosely fisted on her belly, to her lips and kissed it. “Sleep well, my darling.”
“I no longer fear tomorrow,” he whispered into her ear, his voice thickening as sleep beckoned.
Clarissa blinked away tears, pulling his arms more tightly around her. “Nor do I.”
13
Newport, RI, July 1913
Zylphia McLeod laughed as Parthena Tyler and Rowena Clement whispered to her about the other guests attending the ball at Rosecliff, one of Newport’s imposing summer mansions, frequently referred to as a “cottage.” Zylphia sobered at the disapproving glower from another guest, Mr. Thurske, and then sighed in relief as the orchestra played, muffling their conversation and excess expressions of gaiety.
She leaned in to listen to her friends while looking around the room and taking in the splendor of a Newport mansion readied for a ball. Light from the two sparkling chandeliers reflected off mirrors adorning the long ballroom, and numerous doors on either side were flung open, inviting guests to escape from the stifling interior to patios outside.
Bouquets of white roses in crystal vases were set atop white pedestals throughout the room, their scent competing with myriad perfumes worn by the attendees. The crisp bright-white beauty of the room was highlighted against the brilliant blue color of the fresco on the ceiling and in sharp contrast to the entranceway decorated in a plush red velvet. The stairway leading to the private upper level formed the shape of a heart with the white marble stairs covered in the same thick red velvet.
Guests mingled in the entranceway, the ballroom and on the terraces, while staff moved among them with trays of champagne. A small group of musicians occupied one corner of the ballroom, unobtrusively supplying the music for the evening. Men exited a door at one end for the billiards room, rarely reemerging with a desire to dance.
“You know the others will wonder why our hosts invited us,” Rowena whispered as she smiled vaguely at a matron across the room, attracting Zylphia’s full attention.
“They invited us because they want to curry our fathers’ esteem. And, to do that, they hoped to impress us with their sons,” said Parthena, affectionately called P.T. by her friends. “Although I don’t know how they’d imagine we’d attract anyone dressed all in white. Whose featherbrained idea was it to have a white ball?”
Rowena chuckled as she ran a hand down her pristine dress. “The hostess of this ball is something of an eccentric.” She glanced at Zylphia with envy and nodded. “Some of us look striking in white.”
Zylphia blushed, her raven hair pulled up into a chic layer of curls and her blue eyes sparkling with delight at her first Newport ball. “I think we all look lovely.” She glanced at her friends, Rowena with her auburn hair and brandy-colored eyes and Parthena with her straw-blond hair and hazel eyes.
“Even if we don’t look a fright, I can’t see why dressing as though we were barely out of the schoolroom will entice interesting men,” Parthena said.
“I’d think you’d want more than to just attract men,” Zylphia whispered.
“Of course, but it doesn’t mean I don’t like to dance.” Parthena tapped her feet to the music.
“Or flirt,” Rowena teased.
“As long as it isn’t with that horrid Mr. Wheeler,” P.T. said with a dramatic shudder.
“I thought balls would be different here than in Boston,” Zylphia murmured.
“Why should it be any different in Newport than attending a soiree or ball in Boston?” Rowena sipped at her punch, grimacing at its cloying sweetness. “Rich people gather, dance, drink excessively and then return again to repeat the whole series of events at another place the next night. If we have any luck, someone acts scandalously and adds a bit of gossip.”
Zylphia snickered at Rowena’s cynicism. “But New Yorkers are here too. Shouldn’t it be more exciting?” Zylphia smiled wanly at a man with overly pomaded hair and turned her attention back to her friends.
“Well, all that I said might be done on a grander scale, but it really isn’t much different,” Rowena said. “Zee, at times like this I realize you weren’t raised your whole life in money. This is how those of your father’s class acts.” Rowena glared at Zee. “Stop smiling at everyone who smiles at you. It only encourages them.” Rowena frowned at the same man Zylphia had smiled at, and he approached another group of young women. “You must realize that those of the upper class act differently than those in an orphanage.”
“Rich or poor, our needs are the same,” Zylphia insisted. “As women, we need to be recognized as having rights. Full rights, equal to those of men.”
“Zee, you know you’ll never get her to agree with you,” P.T. said. “For she’s never been poor and never will be.”
Rowena shuddered. “Thank God.”
“You’ll never be successful in having either of us believe that Socialist twaddle,” P.T. said. “We couldn’t be more different than those wretches at the orphanage.”
“There are moments, like now, when I don’t know how we are friends.” Zylphia blew out a breath, her cheeks flushed with agitation.
“You like us because we aren’t offended by your excessive liberal view for women. Besides, just because I never want to be poor doesn’t mean I don’t want rights of my own. I have my own thoughts and ideas, and I’d like to be able to express them,” Rowena said.
“Being poor in spirit is worse than being poor,” Zylphia said. “Believe me. I’ve—”
“Zee, we’ve all heard about your rich cousin who made a lucky escape from her husband. Although some would argue she wasn’t a dutiful-enough wife.” Parthena’s eyes gleamed as though with enjoyment at goading Zylphia.
“I’d like to see you survive what my cousin Savannah suffered. But never fear, you’ll be fine, as long as you marry who your father says and do what your husband wants,” Zee hissed as Sophie towed a group of men toward them.
Parthena nudged her to silence her, and Zylphia glared at her.
“Zylphia, these men wish to be introduced to you and your friends,” Sophronia Chickering said with her characteristic bluntness. She leaned heavily on her walking stick, although she appeared as sprightly at this evening’s ball as she did over her first cup of coffee in the morning. Her eggplant-toned evening dress with black lace at the collar, bodice and wrists was a perfect counterpoint to her silver hair and aquamarine eyes. She had refused to wear white, proclaiming one of her great age should only don the color as a funeral shroud.
“Excuse us,” said a young man, his blue-green eyes shining with merriment while his honey-gold hair fell just to his coat’s collar. “We couldn’t help but notice that you seemed the most interesting young women at this ball and wanted to meet you.”
“This is Owen Hubbard of the Boston Hubbards. This is Theodore Goff”—Sophronia pointed at a tall, lanky man with sable hair and the appearance of a perpetual frown—“and these are Jeffrey Tindall and Morgan Wheeler.” Sophronia harrumphed after saying their names. “May I present Miss McLeod, Miss Clement and Miss Tyler? If you will excuse me, I’m certain you are intrepid enough to enjoy yourselves without my presence.” She winked at Zylphia and moved to rejoin her friends.
Jeffrey’s and Morgan’s gazes traveled from the floor up the three women and then moved to other women in the room. After a nod, they departed, leaving their two friends, Owen Hubbard and Theodore Goff, with Zylphia and her friends. Parthena relaxed as Mr. Wheeler left their group.
“Pleased
to meet you,” Rowena said with a small curtsy to Owen and then to Theodore. She did not extend her hand.
Zylphia watched her carefully and then mimicked her actions.
Parthena merely nodded her head.
“What does it mean to be Mr. Hubbard of the Boston Hubbards?” Zylphia asked, tracing the stem of the empty crystal coupe glass in her hand.
“My father has found success with mining and the railways,” Owen said.
“Have you?” Zylphia asked.
Rowena choked on her final sip of punch.
Theodore Goff watched Zylphia intently while handing Rowena a handkerchief. His inquisitive gray eyes were partially hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“Goff?” Zylphia asked Theodore, before Owen could sputter an answer at her impertinent question. “Are you related to Mrs. Henrietta Goff?”
“She is my mother, yes,” Theodore said with a curt nod, a hint of England in his voice.
“If I may be so bold as to inquire, Miss McLeod, how do you know Tedd’s mother?” Owen asked with thinly veiled curiosity.
“She donates her time and resources to the orphanage my mother used to run,” Zylphia said.
“That was very charitable of your mother,” Owen said. “I’m surprised your father was keen to have his wife at such a place for longer than necessary to raise a few funds or hold a cake sale.”
Parthena nudged Zylphia with her foot, a discrete attempt to dissuade her from speaking more on the topic. Zylphia blushed and nodded in a nearly imperceptible manner, flushing a bolder red when she noted Mr. Goff watching her.
“I’ve heard your mother’s charity didn’t cease even though she is no longer in charge of the orphanage,” Theodore murmured in a deep voice.
“My mother and father will always concern themselves for those less fortunate among us.” Zylphia bit her lip before schooling her features into one of bland inquisitiveness and politeness.
Tedd Goff’s frown deepened as he noticed her action.
“As long as they don’t invite them among us,” Owen said with a smirk.
Zylphia blushed and glanced toward the dancers.
Rowena shared an amused glance with Parthena, whispering, “Then I hope he never calls at Zee’s house.” Parthena chuckled before focusing on the conversation again.
“Don’t you live in the Montgomery mansion?” Theodore asked. He took a sip of champagne, a gold signet ring flashing with the movement.
“We call it the McLeod mansion now.” Zylphia raised her chin as though daring him to comment.
“Fascinating history, from what I’ve learned,” Owen said. “A murderess turned heiress runs away to hide in the wilds of Montana.” His gaze sharpened as he focused on Zylphia. “Although of course you’re related to her, aren’t you?”
“Yes, well, my family is filled with people you might call eccentrics,” Zylphia said with pride.
“Whose family isn’t?” Parthena asked.
“Yes, we’ve all heard of your great-great-uncle who became a trapper and lived with the savages for a while.” Owen turned from Parthena and reached out his hand to Zylphia. “Miss McLeod, will you join me in this dance?”
Zylphia smiled, stilling her foot that had tapped along with the lyrical music played by the musicians. “I’d be delighted to.” She set her empty glass on a passing servant’s tray and accepted his hand.
“Excellent.” He gripped her gloved hand and led her onto the dance floor for a sedate waltz.
She glanced toward her friends to share a quick smile at her first dance at a Newport ball but sobered immediately when she saw Theodore Goff’s glower. As Owen spoke his flowery praise of her dancing skills, she was unable to ignore the persistent stare from Theodore the entire time she remained in Owen’s arms.
The following morning Theodore rambled along the walk clinging to Newport’s cliffs. At points a well-maintained walkway, at others a rougher path with boulders in the way, the cliff walk highlighted nature’s grandeur. Teddy huffed out a frustrated breath as he turned away from staring at the ocean to look up at one of the Vanderbilt mansions glistening in a rare beam of sunlight on this gray day before he continued on.
He approached a shrub and whacked at it with his stick to push it aside. A roiling unease filled him, while the hope that this walk would ease it diminished with each step. He swung his walking cane again in frustration. He took a few more steps, halting to find Miss McLeod perched on a low boulder. “Miss McLeod, are you harmed?”
She glared at him as tears leaked from her blue eyes. “No, I long to sit here in an undignified manner waiting for any sort of man to pass.” She flushed at her frank words and blew out a breath. “Forgive me. I wasn’t paying attention and twisted my ankle.” She slapped away his hands when he attempted to lift her long sky-blue skirts to ascertain the damage.
“Please, let me help. I’ve studied quite a bit, and I would like to see how severely you are injured.”
“Unless you have turned into a doctor overnight, no. I will not be caught in a scandalous position with you, raising my skirts.” She blushed again at her blunt words and glanced around, belatedly realizing being alone with him on the path was true cause for scandal. “It’s bad enough I’m sitting on the path with you hovering over me.”
“There must be something I can do,” he said, his hand reaching out to touch her ankle but dropping as she flinched away from him.
“Give me your hand and help me rise,” she said, gritting her teeth and firming her jaw as she focused on moving. Although she stifled her moan of distress, she whimpered as she placed weight on her injured limb.
“Oomph,” he gasped as he caught her against him when she collapsed into his arms after taking one step.
“Oh, that hurts,” she whispered, another tear tracking down her cheeks. “Why did I have to pick now not to pay attention?”
He ran a palm down her back, feeling her tremble at his actions.
“I had the hope of dancing again tonight.”
Teddy smiled at her frankness, easing her from his arms and pushing her to lean against the boulder. “Miss McLeod, I’m not certain how to assist you. We are a fair distance from the house, and I’m unable to carry you that far.”
Zylphia flushed. “I’d never expect anyone to carry me. I know I’m not a dainty woman.”
“No, you’re not.”
She glared at him at his ready agreement.
“I don’t know why that would concern you. Rather than simpering in a socially acceptable emaciated manner in whatever god-awful room they’ve designated for tea or embroidery, you’re out here. Hale and healthy.”
“Except for the fact I can no longer walk,” Zylphia muttered.
Teddy chuffed out a laugh. “Except for that, yes.” He leaned on the boulder next to her, crossing his arms over his chest, and a peaceful silence ensued between them. The waves crashed against the rocks below, lending a soothing symphony, while songbirds trilled again in the adjacent bushes. A light breeze blew, ruffling his hair and tugging at her hat. The sky remained a dull silver, although no rainclouds threatened.
Zylphia sighed and pushed away from the boulder. Teddy stood, reaching out an arm to help her. She placed weight on her leg, grimacing, but then tried another step. “If I walk slowly, and if I can hold on to your arm, I think I can make it to the house.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t have much of a choice,” she said with a determined tilt to her head.
They walked at the pace only slightly faster than a lazy turtle. Zylphia gripped his arm to the point he had to free her fingers and move them to a different point on his arm.
“You’re in too much pain,” Teddy murmured.
“No, I’ll be fine. Tell me about your family. You don’t sound like you’re from Boston.”
“Are you always this blunt?”
Zylphia blushed. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Sophie tried to teach me how to act, but I’ve always been plainspoken.”
“And I highly doubt Mrs. Chickering is the one to turn to for sage advice on the proper ways a woman should behave.”
Zylphia stiffened next to him. “She’s an upstanding society matron who generously taught me the ways of polite society.”
“Did she consider herself a success?”
Zylphia bristled at the hint of humor in his voice. “She deemed I had learned all I was capable of learning at this stage in my life, and then we focused on matters that concerned us.”
“Why didn’t your mother instill the basic knowledge of how to act in proper society when you were younger?”
“I wouldn’t call it proper but polite.” Zylphia breathed deeply, relaxing her grip on his arm as she exhaled. “She was occupied with the orphanage. Now, before you distract me further, tell me about your family.”
“I’m from England, having arrived here when I was six.”
“But you’re an American now.”
“No, I merely live here. I still consider myself a British citizen. As does England and the passport I have.”
“You have a passport?” she asked, unable to hide the wistfulness from her voice. “I’ve always wanted to travel.”
“I’m sure you will one day.” The strengthening breeze ruffled his sable-colored hair, and she placed a hand on her hat to prevent it from blowing away.
“The farthest I’ve been is San Francisco.”
“I imagine it was quite a journey.” He helped her around a rough patch in the path, and they continued their slow progression to the house.
“I loved the train ride. I hated dusk because it meant all those hours where I wouldn’t be able to catalog the different landscapes we were crossing.”
“I’ve heard it’s all quite similar. Flat plains for miles on end.”
“That’s what you would think, but then you notice how each area is unique. And mile after mile of wheat fields is hypnotizing in its beauty.”
“What is San Francisco like?”
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