An Unlikely Suitor

by Nancy Moser

  Rowena was moved by Lucy’s words and her hope for the evening. She kissed her cheek. “I thank God for you too, Lucy. I have never, ever had a friend like you.”

  “Then put this on and go live happily ever after.”

  It was the least she could do.

  Entering the grand hall of the Breakers was like stepping into a fairy tale. The enormous room was filled with characters throughout history, from fanciful butterflies, imps, and jesters, to courtiers spanning the Italian Renaissance to Henry VIII’s court to the Elizabethan age, to the extravagant bewigged creations of French royalty before its fall to revolution.

  “There’s Edward,” Mother said as she entered beside her. “There, dressed as a Shakespearean actor.”

  Rowena saw him, and as she did, he saw her. But in the instant before he smiled, there was a flash of something else in his eyes.

  Fear.

  Fear? What was he afraid of?

  But as he crossed the floor to ease her into the cheery mayhem, she saw him struggle to set it aside. By the time he took her hand, he had succeeded. Partially.

  “You look lovely, Rowena.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked as she slipped her hand in his arm and they entered the crowd. She kept her eyes straight ahead, smiling and nodding as they strolled among the other guests.

  “Wrong?” he said. “Why, nothing is wrong.”

  She wanted to believe him, but by the pause in his initial step, by the hesitation and catch in his voice, she knew her instincts were right. And so she stopped their progress and faced him. But as she did so, as her words were poised to be spoken, she felt a wave of panic, an inner warning to ignore her instincts and let the ball continue in all its fantasy. To speak the words, to confront what she only sensed . . .

  Everything will change. Don’t say it. Let it pass.

  But she couldn’t let it pass. They were face-to-face now, stopped amid the throbbing movement. “There is something wrong,” she said. “There has been something wrong. Please share it with me. If we are to be . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence, for to mention their engagement when nothing had been said would be the height of presumption.

  Edward avoided her gaze, looked down, then into her eyes. “There is something I need to tell you.”

  And then she knew.

  The fairy tale was ending before it began.

  The female guests of the party had left the reception room, leaving behind their lady’s maids. A few women made themselves comfortable, lounging on the silk-upholstered chairs and settees, while others busied themselves with empty hatboxes and valises. They were clearly settling in for the evening, at their mistresses’ beck and call.

  Lucy couldn’t have sat if she’d wanted to—which she didn’t. She wanted to go watch the festivities and spot Dante.

  A thirty-something lady’s maid sidled up next to her. “If you keep eyeing that door, you’re going to burn a hole in it.”

  “If the hole would let me see . . .”

  “You want to see? You want to watch?”

  Lucy’s stomach flipped. “You know a way?”

  The woman’s eyes sparkled. “There’s always a way. Come with me.”

  Lucy looked around for Mamma. She was over by a window, talking with one of the older ladies. And Sofia was slumped in a chair, running her hands across the damask upholstery.

  If she left quickly, for just a short look . . .

  “Let’s go,” she told the woman. “By the way, I’m Lucy.”

  “And I’m Agatha.” With a quick glance across the room she headed for the door. “Quickly, so we don’t draw a crowd.”

  They slipped out to the hallway, where a footman in a powdered wig and eighteenth-century waistcoat stood guard.

  “Evening, Agatha,” he said with a wink.

  “Evening, Benny. We’re just going for a look-see, all right?”

  “Have a time of it,” he said.

  “Where’s the back stairs?”

  He pointed with a nod.

  But just as they started walking, the door opened again and Sofia came out.

  “Go back inside, girl,” Benny said.

  Sofia pointed to Lucy. “I’m with her. She’s my sister.”

  Benny—and Agatha—looked at Lucy. “She is,” Lucy said. “Can she come along?”

  Agatha rolled her eyes but nodded. “Get over here, girl, but do exactly as I say or back you go.”

  Lucy flashed Sofia a look. She’d better not ruin things.

  “Where are we going?” Sofia whispered.

  “To watch the rich cavort and be merry,” Agatha said.

  Lucy whispered for Sofia’s ears alone. “I want to find Dante.”

  Sofia yanked her arm, forcing them to stop. “No, Lucy. That’s not a good idea.”

  “I just want to look. I thought you, of all people, would—”

  Agatha stood before them, her hands on her hips. “Are you coming or not?”

  “Not—”

  “I’m coming.” Lucy glared at her sister. “Go back to the room.”

  “No. I’ll come too.”

  Agatha threw her hands in the air. “Well?”

  “We’re coming.”

  Agatha led the way down a hall, to a back stairway that led to the second floor. There, they entered an open mezzanine, one like Lucy had seen at Stewart’s department store. There was a series of tall open arches connected by black filigreed railing. The arches and railing ran around the enormous two-story atrium hall where the guests were mingling. Agatha led them behind one of the rectangular fluted columns. “There,” she said with a wave of her hand toward the opening. “There’s the Great Hall, and there’s the most wealthy of the wealthy in Newport—in all of New England.”

  Lucy peeked around the column and let the voices of the crowd and the music from the orchestra waft upward, drawing her forward to see.

  “Stay in the shadows,” Agatha warned.

  Lucy noted the edge of the shadow and pulled her skirt tight to her legs, leaning back toward the column as she edged her way closer to the railing. Sofia pressed beside her, with Agatha pressing from behind, looking over Sofia’s shorter stature.

  “See there?” Agatha said. “That rather pudgy woman wearing the ridiculous gold headdress is the hostess, Alice Vanderbilt. She may look small, but she rules with an iron fist. Rules all but her children, that is. See the weak-looking young man there near the orchestra? The one in the soldier’s uniform? That’s the heir, Neily, and the striking woman he’s with is Grace Wilson. She was secretly engaged to his older brother Bill a few years ago, but then Bill died of the typhoid and now . . . the parents aren’t pleased one whit she’s moved on to the younger brother.”

  Lucy enjoyed hearing Agatha’s stories, but was most concerned with finding Dante. He’d told her he would be wearing a costume from Shakespeare’s time. Unfortunately, among the hundreds of people swirling below there was more than one man wearing a short doublet and tights.

  “And there’s your Miss Langdon,” Agatha said. “And DeWitt’s with her. Are they engaged yet? I hear that’s the plan, but . . .”

  Lucy stopped listening. The music faded away, as did the murmur of the party. All her senses focused on sight, on the sight of Rowena and . . . and . . .

  Sofia whispered in her ear. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. That’s why I wanted you to stay away.”

  You knew?

  Yet Lucy couldn’t pull her eyes away from the awful sight to question her sister. There had to be some mistake.

  Once again Agatha’s voice sounded in Lucy’s ears. “That DeWitt is a handsome chap, that’s for certain, but with Miss Langdon’s problem . . . I hope she catches him before his head is turned by someone else.”

  This can’t be real. I’ll blink and everything will be different.

  Lucy did just that. She closed her eyes, then opened them again.

  But nothing changed.

  Dante was Edward DeWitt. Edward DeWitt was her Dante.
r />   Not my Dante. Not mine at all!

  Suddenly, she didn’t care about shadows or being discreet. She stepped toward the railing and gripped it like a lifeline.

  “Get back here!” Agatha whispered.

  Lucy felt hands tugging on her, trying to pull her back.

  Dante was Edward. Dante had proposed. But Rowena was supposed to marry him. How could—?

  Suddenly, Dante looked up.

  He saw her.

  His mouth opened.

  Rowena saw the direction of his gaze, looked up, and waved happily.

  He shook his head, no, no, no . . .

  Lucy turned.

  And ran.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  No!” Edward said. “No!”

  Rowena didn’t understand. Just a moment ago he’d pulled her aside, wanting to talk with her, and then he’d looked up and seen Lucy peering down from the second floor railing. She was glad Lucy was getting the chance to see her costumes in the mix of the party.

  “What’s wrong, Edward?”

  She looked toward Lucy again, just in time to see her turn and run away.

  “I have to go.” His voice was frantic.

  Rowena grabbed his arm “But why? Tell me what’s—”

  He stopped and looked down at her, his face a tragic mask. “I’m Dante. I’m Lucy’s Dante.”

  She must have faltered, because he took her arms and held her up.

  “I’m sorry, Rowena. I didn’t mean for it to happen. That’s what I was going to talk to you about tonight.” He looked toward the front entry. “I have to go. I have to find her and explain.”

  But what about me? What about explaining it to me?

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m—”

  His apology was as ineffectual as offering to kiss a gaping wound to make it better. He was sorry?

  Rowena pulled her arms free. “How could you?” she whispered.

  He opened his mouth to speak but offered nothing. Except . . . “I have to find her.” He kissed Rowena’s cheek, then ran off through the crowd.

  “Oh dear.”

  “Did you ever . . . ?”

  Rowena was horrified to realize her humiliation was public. As if in slow motion she looked right, then left, to find multiple groups of onlookers, their heads bent one to the other, absorbed in discussing the drama they had just witnessed. Their faces revealed interest, revulsion, and embarrassment.

  But no sympathy. No compassion.

  And not a single person—for she would not dignify them by calling them friends—stepped forward to console her, or even to ask after the situation. Rowena was society’s pathetic cripple, the subject of pity, gossip, and gratitude that they weren’t as wretched as she.

  She thought to excuse herself from their presence, then decided they didn’t deserve it. And so, she walked through the crowd, letting the venerable bastions of society fill in the space behind her.

  Out, out, out, out . . .

  Her focus was singular: escape. To be away from this party, this house, this moment.

  This truth.

  Her hurried departure set the doormen scurrying. “Did you have a wrap, miss?”

  She shook her head and let them open the door before her and pull it shut upon her egress. Various coachmen flicked their cigarettes away and stood at attention.

  “May we help you, miss?” one asked.

  Could they?

  “Morrie. Haverty.”

  A coachman looked down the row of carriages, whistled, then called out, “Haverty! Yer wanted!”

  Whatever energy she’d had left her, and Rowena’s legs gave out. The men came to her rescue, taking her arms, offering her a seat.

  “Is there someone at the party I can call?” one asked.

  “Just Haverty. Please.”

  But before the man could call Morrie’s name a second time, he appeared from the line, hurrying toward her, resplendent in his coachman uniform. “Ro—” He caught himself. “Miss Langdon. What’s wrong?”

  “I need to go. Please.”

  “Of course. Let me get the carriage. It’s just five or six—”

  She shook her head, knowing she couldn’t walk another step, nor stay here another second. She raised her arms in supplication. “I can’t . . . Carry me.”

  He pulled her into his arms and she linked her hands behind his neck. “I gotcha now. No worries. I’ll take care of you.”

  Rowena closed her eyes and nodded against his chest.

  Lucy ran down the back stairs to the servants’ entrance and outside. But instead of turning left, toward the main driveway—which was lined with a parade of carriages—she ran around the side of the house toward the back. There were stone steps and balustrades and gardens, but finally only an open lawn stood between her and the sea.

  Her lungs burned and she stopped to catch her breath. Glancing back at the house was like looking at a fully lit lantern, with the movement of the people its flame.

  A red hot flame that burned her very soul.

  The sound of music and laughter from the house mocked her. See, you silly girl? You don’t belong here. Did you really think one of our kind would truly be interested in someone like you?

  But then the sound of the sea swept over the sounds of the house, and she made her choice. The sea was impartial. The sea wouldn’t judge her. The sea, the sky, the stars . . .

  She staggered toward the edge of the lawn, which in the darkness looked like a line marking the edge of the earth. With one misstep she would fall into oblivion. But then she found courage by focusing on the sea and the white foam of the waves reflecting the moon. When her feet found the path, she felt she’d moved to a place of safety, as if the world of the Vanderbilts, the Langdons, and the DeWitts couldn’t touch her here.

  On the Cliff Walk the sea drowned out the very existence of the party, and each wave soothed her panic.

  Lucy looked upward to see the stars, but found them washed out. The light of the house was to blame. She felt a sudden need to see them fully, so walked to the south, to find a place free from the intrusion of man.

  Her progress was slow and careful, for as she achieved nature’s darkness, she lost the ability to see the path. She hugged the land side, letting her feet feel their way along the craggy trail. Lucy stopped a few times to test the sky, to see if the stars were visible, but walked farther and farther until the conditions proved right.

  Finally, the stars pulsed in the black sky and the moon played peekaboo through wide strands of clouds. The path here had taken a downhill turn, with the view of its mansion entirely hidden. She leaned against the high bank, letting her head find support there. She closed her eyes and sighed. “How could I have been so blind?”

  Had there been signs that her Dante was Rowena’s Edward? She raked her memories and found no clue but for his reluctance to tell her his name.

  And yet she’d been quite willing to continue the game of “Dante.” Had she suspected something was amiss and avoided it?

  She opened her eyes, looked out to sea, and remembered her time with Dante on this very path. Go ask the sunrise . . .

  The feelings they’d shared, the hopes, the plans, had been real. Above all else she’d never seen a bit of artifice in Dante. Their connection was genuine, and their feelings . . .

  “I love him.” But what did she know of love? And so the words were repeated. “I love him?”

  Lucy slid to sitting and wrapped her arms around her legs. Please, God, I do love him.

  But what about Rowena? She was supposed to marry Edward DeWitt. Her feeling of betrayal had to be as great as Lucy’s.

  “Edward is to blame. He should have told me. He should have told her.”

  She leaned her forehead against her knees and prayed a wave of wisdom would wash over her.

  Or let her drown.

  Rowena felt the carriage stop. The jostling and the sound of the horse’s hooves on the street were silent. But she couldn’t move.

 
After Morrie had swept her into his arms and taken her to the carriage, she’d pulled the headdress from her hair and let it fall to the floor. Then she’d turned onto her side with her hands to her cheek and lay upon the seat. She’d wanted to die, or at the very least, acquire the ability to become invisible. The rhythm of the horse’s stride ignited a mantra she repeated: Not true, not true, not true . . .

  Maybe if she repeated it enough, time would reverse itself and Edward would never look up and see Lucy, and there would be no moment of recognition, knowledge, and pain.

  But even before he saw Lucy, he was wanting to talk to me, to tell me something.

  Very true. It was all true no matter how much she wanted things to be different.

  Edward was Dante. Edward loved Lucy.

  And Lucy loved Ed—

  The door to the carriage opened and Morrie’s gentle voice broke through her awful trance. “Come, Ro. I’ll take care of you.”

  His words of comfort were as much a balm as the situation at the ball was a knife to her soul. Could one heal the other?

  Morrie held out his hand and helped her step out of the carriage. “Can you walk?” he asked.

  She nodded. Her legs felt stronger if for no other reason than he was beside her, ready to catch her if she faltered. It was then she noticed he hadn’t taken her to the main house, but back to the stables.

  It was a relief. Although her family was at the Breakers—hopefully they were still there, hopefully they hadn’t witnessed her humiliation—she couldn’t imagine being in that huge house by herself.

  “Come into my quarters and you can rest. I’ll send one of the boys to Mrs. Oswald’s to get you some tea.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Once there she sat upon a ragged chair and saw him limp away to get the boy. When they returned she said, “You limp, I limp . . .”

  “We are a pair, we two.” He pulled a footstool close and sat upon it, looking ridiculous crouched upon its tiny frame.