She questioned the legality of a marriage, and Bryan argued that no one would know she’d ever been married before. After all, the ceremony had taken place in a foreign country. She was not using her married name, but had been presenting herself as Miss Jade O’Bannon. Everyone thought she’d come to America directly from Ireland, a distant relative of his late wife. He insisted there was nothing to worry about, candidly suggesting, “You’d be better off pretending you never even knew Colt Coltrane, that there never was a marriage.”
Jade silently agreed, but knew her heart would never permit such absolute denial of so great a love.
They mutually agreed that Bryan would continue to present her to everyone as Marnia’s cousin, so as not to raise eyebrows over their spending so much time together and to ultimately lessen the shock when they married. Marnia’s parents were dead, he pointed out, so there was no reason for anyone to contradict their story.
Within herself, Jade dealt with her pain over Colt by instilling the firm belief that the past was no more than a dream remembered. Memories, both good and bad, only brought misery; therefore, she commanded herself each time her heart began to ache, it was best not to think about any of it, to think only of her present life and her future…and the man who was trying so very hard to make her happy.
Although Jade was disinclined to make any immediate arrangements, they did decide that when a date was finally set, they’d just slip away for a private ceremony. They both liked the custom that public announcements were marked by brevity, with more emphasis given to the bridegroom’s social status than the bride’s.
“We need to keep things in good taste,” he reminded her one day. “After all, there are those who’ll say I didn’t wait the proper length of time before remarrying, but,” he added sarcastically, “chances are they’ll forget I ever was married, the way you’re procrastinating.”
Jade had grown used to the way Bryan could sometimes be acerbic, knowing it was a way of getting his point across. She ignored it, as always, changing the subject this time to the matter of finances.
It was, she knew, unheard of at that time for a woman to own anything separate from her husband. She did not think it fair, however, and wanted it understood that when they did marry, she would retain her financial independence. Bryan was agreeable. He even set out immediately to research and advise her on various investments so she would have knowledge of options besides having her money sit idly in the bank.
With an understanding of their relationship, and that they would marry when, as Jade put it, the time was “right”, she then turned all her energies, both physical and mental, into moving into her new home. It was an exhausting, time-consuming job, for she insisted on doing all the shopping herself. Bryan urged her to call in a decorator, but she refused, saying it was something she wanted to do as it helped move her even further away from the ghost of the past. Seeing it that way, Bryan said nothing more on the subject.
For the sake of propriety it was decided that if she were to reside at a hotel in the city while preparing the house, she should hire a woman to be a combination secretary, companion, and chaperone. The young woman they selected, Miss Lita Tulane, had migrated from France with her family, had some experience, and seemed well bred and intelligent.
The two got along well, and Lita was always eager to accompany Jade on her almost daily shopping jaunts.
Jade ignored “The Ladies’ Mile”, the popular fashion district from Eighth Street to Twenty-third Street on Broadway, and instead became a familiar face among shoppers in the district around Sixth Avenue and Thirty-fourth Street. There she found a myriad of shops and a large selection of imported furniture, antiques, bric-a-brac, art, and decorator pieces.
Expense was no consideration. Jade never bothered to ask the price of anything. Marble, gilt, crystal, paintings, sculptures—she knew she was probably overdecorating in splendor and opulence but did not care. She was determined to have one of the most grandiose houses, if not the most grandiose, in all of New York.
Lita, however, came from a somewhat impoverished background and constantly gasped at such extravagance. The day Jade bought four cut-glass, five-light chandeliers of crystal and gold, fitted for electricity, Lita dared to peek at the price tags and was so shocked she staggered backward and would have bumped into a fifteenth-century Tuscan marble bust of the Infant St. John the Baptist, costing four times as much, and sent it crashing to the floor, had Jade not caught her arm and righted her in time.
“I am so sorry,” Lita later apologized. “It’s just that I’ve always had to spend what money I had so carefully, it makes me dizzy to think of anything costing that much.”
Jade assured her there was no reason for her to be embarrassed, but felt the need to justify her own extravagance. “You see, Lita, I grew up in a wealthy family, and I suppose I could say I’m used to having everything I want, but that’s not why I’m spending so much money redecorating my house. I can’t explain it but please understand when I say that I’ve learned that material things in life aren’t really important, and maybe that’s why I don’t mind spending the money, because the money no longer means anything to me.”
Lita gave her a strange look, nodded that she understood, though Jade knew she didn’t, and she wasn’t going to explain herself further. How could she? How could she make anyone understand that when something was lost, taken away, something so precious that money could neither buy it nor replace it…well, when that happened, money means nothing, because not many things do in the wake of the pain.
And yes, despite all her efforts to run from it, the pain was still there. It came in the night, in her dreams, and she was helpless. Awake, she learned to control her thoughts, but sleep rendered her defenseless to her haunted heart.
One of the reasons she cared so for Bryan was his tender perception of her moods. So many times she felt as though she were in mourning again, only this time it was not for the death of her husband, but the death of a dream, which was, perhaps, even more difficult to endure.
But fortunately, her life became so busy that there was little time to dwell on heartache, and, of course, there was Bryan; it seemed she loved him more with each new day. He was so like Colt in so many ways, yet he had his own, distinct personality and style that she found captivating.
New York society was busy, exciting, and demanding, and once Bryan was able to persuade her to join him in attending various “subdued” functions, such as those for charity, where his presence would not be regarded as disrespectful to his wife’s memory, Jade began to receive her own invitations to galas. At first she declined, but then prominent matrons began to call on her, and she suddenly found she liked the role of hostess.
Delighted over Jade’s popularity, Bryan presented her with an ornate silver tray, which, he explained, was to be placed on the Moorish walnut side table that stood in the small receiving foyer of her hotel suite. “The calling cards the ladies are leaving are piling up, and this is the proper way to collect them.”
She stared at him blankly for a few seconds, then asked, “But why do I want to save them? I’ve told Lita to throw them away, but she keeps forgetting.”
“I doubt that’s the reason. She’s worked for prominent families before and no doubt knows that you’re supposed to collect the cards in a tray and leave them sitting out for others to notice. It’s a symbol of how popular you are.”
She started to tell him she didn’t really care and frankly thought it wasn’t anyone else’s business who had called earlier, but instead, thanked him for the tray and remarked that she found a lot of the local customs boring.
“I know you do,” he empathized, “and so do I, but the fact is, like it or not, we’re a part of those customs—me, by birth; you, by migration. Frankly, I’m proud that all the prominent ladies like you so much, because that means when we’re married, we’ll be invited to all the important parties, and I’m sure you’ll develop into one of the leading hostesses of New York.”
&n
bsp; She was still unimpressed. “But is it necessary? I mean, in Russia I was part of the Imperial Court yet enjoyed more the company of friends who weren’t.”
He laughed at the incredulity of such a question. “That was Russia, sweet Jade. This is New York. And I assure you that coterie acceptance and social leadership are very necessary to being happy here.”
Jade did not agree but said nothing more.
One evening he came to take her to dinner and was delighted to see an invitation from Mrs. Arista Astor Cummings to a “waffle party” at her home overlooking Central Park. Waving the gilt-edged card in the air, his eyes shining with pride, he happily exclaimed, “I don’t believe it! Do you realize how many people would give their eyeteeth to be invited to one of her parties? I didn’t even know you knew her. When did you meet?”
Jade thought a moment, then leafed through the ever-growing pile of calling cards in the silver tray. Finally holding one up, she tonelessly said, “I think it was two weeks ago. She was here with some other ladies.” A frown touched her forehead. “I remember, because Lita and I were about to go shopping, and Lita came in and told me I had visitors. I asked her to convey my regrets and explain they’d have to come back another time because I had plans, but she had a fit, said it wouldn’t be proper!”
Bryan was quick to defend Lita. “Ladies go calling uninvited and unannounced, Jade. It’s the custom all over the city, and the sign of a good hostess that she be prepared to receive them. Thank God Lita knew that.”
Jade stared at him, aghast. “In a hotel, for heaven’s sake? Surely I’m not expected to be prepared with tea and crumpets for a crowd at any given moment! As it was, when they came, I had to send Lita downstairs to the dining room and have a tray prepared.”
His eyes flashed with reproach. “Well, you won’t have to do that again. I’ll have a complete tea service delivered first thing tomorrow, and I’ll make arrangements with the dining room for you to have everything you need delivered fresh every day—tea, coffee, cream, pastries—”
“Bryan, really…” she protested, but he waved away her objections.
She went on to say she couldn’t understand why he was so excited over Mrs. Cummings’ party, then asked hopefully, “Does this mean you’ll come with me? It’s not a charity function, and that’s all we’ve been to.”
“As far as I’m concerned, my period of mourning is over,” he said firmly. “If society thinks I have to adhere to a timetable before I can start to live again, that’s just too bad. It’s been nearly a year…long enough. Time for me to get on with my life.
“Besides,” he added with a mischievous wink, “it wouldn’t do for me to allow my late wife’s distant cousin to gad about New York unescorted, now would it?”
“Of course not,” she smilingly agreed, then urged, “Tell me what a waffle party is.”
He explained it was just what the name implied. A type of sweet cake, baked in a special iron, was served, topped with a fruit or chocolate sauce. Then parlor games were played.
Actually, Jade preferred more sedate gatherings, or cozy, intimate little dinner parties. To her chagrin, she quickly discovered that big, elaborate dinner parties were the vogue, with upward of perhaps a hundred guests. She supposed when the time came for her to host one, she’d hire someone to direct it, although Bryan said that once she moved into her house, she would need to hire an entire staff of at least a dozen people, maybe more, to take care of such a huge place.
Hearing Bryan’s description of Mrs. Cummings’ party, she yawned for emphasis, then said, “It sounds terribly boring. Why do people want to go?”
“Because it’s an honor to be invited. She’s blue blood. Prominent. A descendant of the Astor family, and in New York, that opens all doors. She can have any kind of party she wants, and people will go. It doesn’t matter that waffle parties haven’t been popular since the middle of the century. She can get away with having one. Actually,” he added wryly, “I think she has them periodically to show off the quaint dozen or so mahogany waffle tables she inherited from old John Jacob Astor himself.”
“Well, I think the whole structure of New York society is confusing,” Jade said, sighing. “The more money a person has, the higher they’re regarded. Like Mrs. Cummings. Because she’s rich, people want to go to her parties, even though they know beforehand they’re going to be bored silly.
“And I thought royalty in Europe was the pinnacle of society,” she added, laughing. “Why, the difference is that in Europe it’s the aristocracy that rules, and here it’s the plutocracy.”
“That’s not altogether true, Jade,” Bryan said. “Actually, the study of New York society is quite interesting. I should know,” he wryly pointed out. “I think my mother spent a lifetime pursuing it.
“For instance,” he went on, “after the Civil War, people came here from all parts of the country. Huge fortunes were made, and suddenly it was the newcomers to the ranks of the rich who set up standards of their own. Up till then, things were conservative, with unwritten laws as to what was considered proper or improper.”
Jade listened, enraptured, as he told of how the old social stalwarts had been amazed at the behavior of the new regime. The newly rich people, from every state in the country and from every class, moved in and took over the social life in New York, setting a fashion of extravagant display and luxury, unbridled excesses that completely upset previously conceived ideas of right and wrong. Until then, it had been considered the height of vulgarity to spend money lavishly on unnecessary luxuries, simply for the sake of making a display and exciting the envy of others. Quiet, unostentatious hospitality had been the character of each household, and the wit and education of the hosts—not the size of their bank accounts—had been the standard of excellence. But all that changed drastically. Knowledge, education, good breeding, and so forth were not prerequisites for leadership among the wealthy; the hostess who could spend the most money on entertaining was the one to be most highly regarded. The newcomers were happy doing this, since all they had to their credit was money, certainly not background and family heritage.
When he had finished, Jade was silent, thoughtful.
“What’s wrong?” he prodded. “We both fit in. We’ll be accepted by every distinguished family in New York, and people will vie for invitations to our parties. So why do you look so unhappy?”
She shrugged, as though it didn’t really matter. After all, she had been grudgingly tolerated by her royal Romanov cousins, and she supposed she should be used to never being accepted because of the person she was inside. Trying not to sound hurt, she told him, “Mrs. Cummings invited me only because she heard the story we told about my having studied in Russia, even though I’m from Ireland.”
“Well, what does that have to do with anything?” Bryan asked impatiently.
She gave a brittle laugh. “To her, being Russian means knowing how to waltz. You see,” she rushed on to explain, “I remember now that she asked me if I could waltz, and when I said of course, she got very excited, went on to tell me how it was a Russian, a young man attached to the Russian legation in Washington, who introduced the waltz to some New York ladies, and now it is all the rage, replacing the stately minuet. No doubt she’s having this party not only to show off the Astors’ mahogany waffle tables but to get me to teach her staid old friends the new dance that’s sweeping the country.”
“And can you?” he asked, an eyebrow raised in challenge as he smiled down at her.
She stared at him frostily for a few seconds, then snapped, “Of course. There’s not a dance in Europe I can’t do.”
The smile became a grin that was almost taunting. “Then why do you want to open a dance studio just to teach ballet? Show off your talents at Mrs. Cummings’ party, and you’ll have all the ladies beating a path to your door to teach them how to waltz and do every other kind of dance you know.”
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and then, as his idea took hold, Jade felt her heart begin to pound
excitedly. Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck to hug him with grateful enthusiasm. “Oh, Bryan, what a wonderful idea—I love you for it!”
Gently, he unwound her arms to fold her in his own. Looking down at her with all the adoration that lived in his heart, he whispered huskily, “I’m going to make you love me for lots of reasons, princess, and right now I’m afraid we’re going to be late for dinner, because I’m going to give you another one.”
She did not resist as he lifted her up and carried her from the parlor and into the bedroom, closing the door soundly behind them.
Chapter Nineteen
For Mrs. Cummings’ party, Jade chose her favorite dress, a green-and-white French satin she’d designed herself and had made by a wonderful seamstress she’d discovered in a tiny shop on Fifth Avenue. The neckline was high and ribbed with finger lace imported from Belgium, and the yoke to her bosom was of translucent chiffon, spotted here and there with tiny seed pearls set in green embroidered petals. The waist was nipped in tightly, and it made her feel very proud not to have to wear one of the tightly constricting corsets of whalebone. A wide band of green velvet ribbon encircled her waist, and a large bow was tied in the back, with streamers falling all the way to the floor. The skirt, with its twenty yards of material, billowed down in tiers of graduated shades of green, each edged in the same precious lace of the neckline.
She wore her hair in a pouf, with waves cascading about her face. She liked the latest style but thought it a bit plain for evening and added a ribbon of pearls among her cardinal-red tresses.
When Bryan arrived, well dressed in a dark blue coat, white pants, and shiny leather buttoned shoes, he raved over her appearance. “You’re beautiful, Jade. God, you really are a princess.” He bent to kiss her hand in playful homage, then wistfully remarked, “It’s a shame we can’t tell everyone who you really are—a Romanov, straight from the Imperial Court of the Czar. Maybe we’ll do that once we’re married.”
Love and Dreams: The Coltrane Saga, Book 6 Page 18
