by Nancy Moser
But I’ve changed.
This afternoon, the old Sofia would have blurted out, “Dante’s real name is Edward,” reveling in the shocked looks on Lucy’s and Rowena’s faces, not really caring that her words would be hurtful, nor that they would cause life-changing repercussions.
But she hadn’t said such a thing.
A wave of satisfaction was a balm to her shameful memories. What had changed her? Why was she now considering the feelings of others?
She looked toward an upper window and saw Hugh standing there, looking out at her. He wore a cascade of ruffles at his neck, and a red coat with gold trim at the opening. He was a ship captain of yore. When he’d told her his choice of costume, she’d approved. If he couldn’t be a ship’s captain in real life, why not play the part when the chance arose?
He saw her, bowed his head, and made a by-your-leave gesture with his hand. She stopped walking and curtsied to him, right there in the middle of the lawn. Then he blew her a kiss—which she caught with a hand upon her cheek. He disappeared from the window and she continued toward the house with the knowledge that he had been the reason for the change in her character.
She didn’t have to be the spoiled girl anymore. She had choices. She could be a kind young woman who thought of others before she spoke.
With that knowledge came her decision. She’d tell Lucy after the ball. She’d give her this one evening to revel in the success of her costumes. Tonight was a night of fantasy and dreams.
There’d be plenty of chances for reality tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty
We get to go to the ball?” Lucy said.
Rowena nodded and took Lucy’s hand and turned her under her own arm, as if in a dance. She’d been stewing about the idea for days and had finally conjured up the courage to ask her mother. The permission—though reluctantly given—was permission nonetheless.
“However did you manage it?” Mrs. Scarpelli asked.
“At costume parties most of the ladies bring along a lady’s maid to help with the headdresses that don’t take kindly to the limited space of the carriage, and for help when it becomes necessary to use the . . .” She looked at the women, hoping they would fill in the blank.
“The necessary,” Sofia said.
Leave it to Sofia.
Sofia had more to say. “I’m not wearing a maid’s uniform. We’re not—”
“No, of course not,” Rowena hastened to add. “Lady’s maids don’t wear uniforms. You may wear whatever you’d like.” Then she had an idea. “In fact, if you’d like to wear something of mine, you would be most welcome. It will be my thank-you gift for all your hard work.”
Mrs. Scarpelli shook her head. “I couldn’t.”
Sofia raised her hand. “I could.” She linked her arm with her sister. “And Lucy will too.”
Although Sofia’s outspokenness was often annoying, today Rowena found it helpful. “Will you, Lucy? It would make me very happy.”
Lucy looked uncertain, but she nodded.
“Excellent!” Rowena began to go through her clothes. Sofia was a bit shorter than Lucy, but—
“Can I wear this one?” Sofia pulled out an off-the-shoulder pink ball gown.
Rowena didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t specified what kind of dresses Lucy and Sofia could borrow, and it had been her idea, but it would be the height of impropriety for them to come in something so fancy.
Mrs. Scarpelli came to the rescue. “Don’t be silly, Sofia. We are not attending the ball, we are merely going to the Vanderbilts’ to help.” She moved to a section of neutral-colored skirts. “Perhaps a plain skirt—”
“I have a plain skirt,” Sofia said. “I want something fancier than that.”
Lucy smoothed the ball gown back into place among the others. “Think, Sofia. We must look appropriate.”
Thank you, Lucy. “Perhaps a pretty daytime ensemble, like this one?” Rowena pulled out a pale green blouse with small floral flowers. “I’ve worn this to many a party. You could wear it with your own skirt.”
Sofia sighed dramatically. “I suppose.”
“Sofia!”
Sofia shrugged, then smiled at Rowena. “It’s very pretty. Really.”
Rowena was quick to seal the bargain. “Try it on. And for you, Lucy . . .” She chose a caramel dotted Swiss dress, with insets of lace spanning the skirt. “The brown in the trim will complement your brown eyes.” She turned to their mother. Rowena’s skirts would never fit Mrs. Scarpelli’s wider frame, but perhaps a blouse she could tuck into one of her own skirts. She pulled an ivory voile from the rack. “Mrs. Scarpelli. Please allow me to dress you as you have dressed me. At least wear this blouse.”
Mamma passed her fingers over the intricate lace of the bodice, and Rowena could see she was tempted.
“Please. For me.”
“I suppose. If you insist.”
Mission accomplished.
Lucy sat in the carriage with her family and Rowena. Mrs. Langdon was in another carriage with her husband and Hugh. The sun was just beginning to set, and the light had turned a bluish color as the darkness began to fully overwhelm the day. The streetlights were being lit by a man on a ladder, marking the way to the largest mansion in town: the Breakers.
They were not the first to arrive, and the entrance drive was backed up, carriage upon carriage, down Victoria Avenue to Bellevue. Obviously, the Vanderbilt costume ball was the place to be.
“I can hardly wait to see inside,” Rowena said.
“Haven’t you been here before?” Lucy asked.
“The home was just completed. But I hear it has seventy rooms, and thirty bathrooms with hot and cold water piped in—fresh and salt water from the sea.” She leaned toward the other ladies to add a bit more. “The other Breakers burned down mysteriously a few years ago and Alice Vanderbilt decided she needed to build something bigger than her sister-in-law’s house next door. Marble House is grand, and was a thirty-ninth birthday present to Alva from her husband. Since Alice and Cornelius hate Alva, they were determined to make this house grander.”
“Why don’t they like each other?” Mamma asked. “If they’re family . . .”
“There are two reasons—at least,” Rowena said. “For one, Alice doesn’t approve of what Alva is trying to do to her daughter, Consuelo.”
“What’s that?” Sofia asked.
“Apparently, she’s determined to have her marry into an English title. The Duke of Marlborough is the designated pawn. If Alva gets her way, Consuelo will become a duchess. In return the duke will get funds to fix up some English palace. Alice and Cornelius’s daughter Gertrude isn’t married, and is rather ordinary looking compared to Consuelo’s beauty, so Alva will win this round by getting Consuelo a title.”
Lucy didn’t want to say anything, but was the situation with Rowena’s parents that much different? Weren’t they forcing her into marriage with Edward—for funds?
Rowena continued. “Also, Alice considers Alva a vixen who lured their father-in-law into bequeathing Alva’s husband an equal amount of his estate, even though Alice’s husband was the eldest son. Instead of ten million, like he left his other children, by Alva’s coercion and wiles, her Willie got an additional fifty-five million.”
“Million?” Sofia asked. “Dollars?”
“I know,” Rowena said. “It’s an astounding amount. Incomprehensible.”
“Where do they make their money?” Lucy asked.
“Railroads.”
She thought of her train ride to Newport. “So they owned the train that brought us here?”
“If they don’t, they’d like to, and probably will. The Vanderbilts tend to get what they want.” Rowena adjusted her gloves above her elbows. “Plus, I’m sure Alice is quite pleased Alva was disgraced by asking for a divorce last spring.”
Sofia shook her head, unbelieving. “Why would anyone who was this rich get divorced and risk losing it?”
Mamma answered. “People need to marry f
or love, not money. ‘For the love of money is the root of all evil.’ ”
“But not money itself,” Sofia asked.
Her comment seemed strange. As if Sofia would ever have money.
“Actually,” Rowena said, “Alice and her husband are very generous to charities, especially colleges. And they met while teaching Sunday school.”
The carriage slowed. It was their turn to enter the estate. There was a huge iron gate at least thirty feet tall, bounded by four stone columns topped with enormous stone balls. Crowning the gate was a filigree C and V.
Lucy set aside the bickerings of the wealthy and took a moment to count her blessings. Her family loved each other, and at this moment Lucy felt like a princess. She—she—was going to a costume ball. But better yet, it was a ball Dante was attending, and he wasn’t expecting her. She wasn’t sure how she was going to do it, but she was determined to find a way to peek at the festivities and see him. And if she did it right, he would see her, and they would exchange a wonderful glance across the room, and she would smile at him and nod as if to say, “See? I can be here too.”
But then the inner voice that had recently started niggling at her added its two cents: But if you’re going to be his wife, shouldn’t you really be there with him? Dancing? Mingling with his set?
They were questions that had no answers. Add them to the list of things she didn’t know about Dante. His full name, his family’s financial status, how his family would react to her, what the future held for them as a couple . . .
She’d heard of wealthy people disowning their children if they displeased them in some way. Yet Dante seemed unconcerned or, at the very least, kept his worries to himself. He’d told her to trust him. Their love would conquer all.
But the words that overshadowed his promises were those of her father: “Ogni bel gioco dura poco.” Every good game lasts a short while.
All good things come to an end.
As did their ride. The carriage stopped at the door. But instead of being eager to enter the mansion, Lucy was struck by an overwhelming premonition. This good thing will come to an end.
“Lucy, come on. Get out,” Sofia said.
Lucy saw that the other three women had already exited. It was her turn.
Stay in the carriage. Don’t go inside.
“Miss?” The footman’s hand moved a few inches closer, and she saw impatience on his face.
She retrieved a hatbox containing Rowena’s headpiece, took his hand, and got out of the carriage. A strangling vise clenched her midsection, offering further warning that she should not enter this house upon risk of her life.
Rowena was already through the door, and there was a little commotion as the footmen weren’t quite sure what to do with Mamma and the rest of them. Rowena, in her kindness, had not thought through the awkwardness of the help alighting from the carriage with her. It was obviously not done, and the liveried menservants who were aiding the guests showed various signs of being both confused and perturbed.
There had to be a servants’ entrance. They needed to go back there and—
All this flashed through Lucy’s thoughts and added to her premonition that the night would not go well.
Finally, a servant leaned toward her and said, “Go around that way and they’ll send you up to the rooms set aside for the ladies’ use.”
Lucy nodded and pulled Mamma and Sofia away from the grand front entrance.
“We can’t go inside?” Sofia asked.
“Not with the guests,” Lucy said. She wasn’t in a mind to explain. “Just come with me to the back entrance.”
“This is embarrassing,” Sofia said. “I thought we’d get to see the main house, and now we’re treated like regular servants.”
“Shush now, piccolina. We’re lucky to be here at all. Don’t do anything to get us sent home.”
Lucy stopped walking. Sent home. Go home. Leave this place before it’s too late.
Sofia stormed past her, then paused and turned around. “Now what’s wrong?”
“I just can’t . . .” There were no words to explain.
Lucy expected Sofia to tease her, to be impatient with her, and was surprised when her sister nodded to Mamma and said, “Just a minute, Mamma. Let me talk to her.” Then she pulled Lucy to the side. “We don’t have to go inside. I’ll go home with you, if you want me to.”
What? Just a second ago Sofia had complained about not being able to see the main part of the house. Now Sofia was willing to miss the ball? Miss seeing inside this mansion of all mansions?
Yet Lucy could see by the furrow in her brow Sofia was serious. “I’ll walk you back. Mamma can handle the final primping. You shouldn’t go in there. I’ll go back—”
I shouldn’t go in there? It was an odd thing to say. It verified Lucy’s feeling of foreboding, but . . . “Why shouldn’t I go in there?”
Sofia’s countenance, which had been so adamant just moments before, lost its fervency. Uncertainty took its place and she looked away, as if unable to hold Lucy’s gaze.
Lucy took her arm. “Sofia? What aren’t you telling me?”
But before Sofia could answer—if she would have answered at all—they saw Mr. and Mrs. Langdon exit their carriage along with Hugh. He looked over to the girls and offered them a subtle two-fingered salute.
Whatever had been bothering Sofia was forgotten. “Let’s get inside,” she said.
Lucy had no choice but to follow.
God help me.
Rowena entered a breathtaking two-story grand hall that could be overlooked from a wraparound railing on the second floor. The ceiling was edged with a heavy gold cornice, and was painted with a scene reminiscent of summertime. Rowena had never been to Europe but couldn’t imagine any palace being more opulent.
She looked back to see Lucy’s reaction, for surely she would find the grandeur even more of a shock. But Lucy was not behind her. And where were Mrs. Scarpelli and Sofia?
Rowena saw her mother enter and went to her. “I’ve lost the Scarpellis.”
Mother spoke under her breath. “They went to the servants’ entrance. There’s such a thing as protocol, Rowena. You didn’t expect them to enter with us, did you?”
Actually, that’s exactly what she’d . . . wanted. Rowena felt bad for not thinking things through. She’d been so enraptured with the idea of letting her friends experience something sumptuous and new that she’d ignored the cruel realities. How embarrassing—for her, but mostly, for them. To arrive in a grand carriage only to be whisked away to some other entrance because they weren’t considered good enough?
“It’s my fault. I never should have put them in that position.”
“What, dear?”
“Nothing.” Rowena made her excuses to her mother and walked with the other women toward the ladies’ reception room, where they could put the finishing touches on their costumes.
The reception room was as feminine as the other room was grand. It was paneled in white, with murals lining the walls. The furniture was intricate and looked French. Rowena moved as quickly as possible through the meandering women dressed as princesses, glorified milkmaids, and Greek goddesses, looking for Lucy.
“May I help you, miss?” a maid asked.
“I’m looking for my . . . my . . .” How could she describe them?
“Servants? They should be coming in real soon, miss.”
Servants. What must Lucy and her family think of me?
At that moment, Rowena spotted the Scarpellis entering the room with the hatboxes, walking among a half dozen lady’s maids.
Rowena rushed toward them, her hands outstretched in supplication. “I’m so sorry. I wanted you to see . . . I never thought it through . . . I feel so bad. . . .”
Mrs. Scarpelli put a hand on hers. “Shush now, Miss Langdon. ’Tis not your fault. We know that. And the truth is, we are here to help the three of you get dressed.”
Her gracious spirit was humbling. Sofia, however, sat in a chair b
y the window, pulling at a lace arm cover, sulking. And Lucy . . .
Lucy moved past her and opened the hatboxes. She fluffed an ostrich plume. Rowena went to her. “I’m so sorry, Lucy, I never meant for you to be embarrassed and—”
“Let’s get this headdress on.”
Rowena took a moment to study her friend. The tone of her voice revealed no injury, but the blush in her cheeks and the tightening between her brows showed harm had been done. Rowena stilled Lucy’s hands with her own. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. Truly, I am.”
With a bit of reluctance, Lucy met her eyes, but then she held Rowena’s gaze. “I know you are. You wouldn’t know how to be mean. Things are as things are.”
“Which doesn’t make them easy, or right,” she said.
A shrug was Lucy’s only answer—unfortunately, the only answer there was. Rowena felt sick inside and wished she could undo the injury that had been done to her friends, erase the slight. Suddenly, the entire event seemed ridiculously frivolous, decadent, and . . . wrong. And as such . . . she wanted nothing more to do with it.
She handed the headdress back to Lucy. “I’m going home. We’re going home. We’ll spend the evening up in my room and have a wonderful time talking and laughing and—”
Lucy’s head shook in short bursts. “What are you talking about? This is what we’ve been working toward for weeks, to create costumes for this ball. You can’t go home. Besides, Edward will be here.”
Rowena’s thoughts twisted into a tight cord of confusion. Of course she couldn’t go home. Lucy and her family had worked long hours to create these beautiful costumes—which deserved to be seen. Surely Lucy would get other commissions because of this night. It was selfish of Rowena to even think of leaving.
Lucy touched her hand and moved close. “I appreciate your offer, but we’re fine, Rowena. I am a seamstress and you are an heiress. Neither one of us asked for our roles, but we’re stuck with them—and with everything that goes with them. That we are friends . . . that you and I . . .” She squeezed Rowena’s hand. “I thank God for you, and I want what’s best for you, which is . . .” She nodded toward the door. “To go find Edward and sweep him off his feet with your beauty and charm so he’ll propose to you right there on the dance floor.”
