Newport Summer

by Nikki Poppen

  Audrey choked on a sip of water. Here was yet another unforeseen complication in her brilliant plan. So far the “brilliant” part of her plan hadn’t materialized. She was fast learning that people weren’t as predictable as paper. She’d have to alert Gannon when he returned. The line they needed to walk had just gotten thinner.

  Gannon had never traveled much with the exception of his annual pilgrimages to London for the Season. He was a country man at heart, loving the open spaces of his estate and the call of the land. Still, he spent a significant part of each year in London, and he knew his way around a big city.

  London was no backwater but an international center from which it seemed all spokes of the world radiated. Gannon supposed he was more than a bit guilty of seeing London as the sole hub of the world. After all, any Englishman worth his salt had been brought up to see the rightness of the British motto, “Make the world England.”

  Even so, New York City was a marvel, hardly a provincial town full of colonial idiosyncracies. When he said as much to Lionel, Lionel had laughed, saying, “We have those too, Gannon. If you want idiosyncracies, you can go to Boston. They’ve got so many rules in their high society, it’s just no fun to be in the club”

  Lionel was proud to show off his city and gladly took Gannon everywhere. The day Lionel took him to Newspaper Row, where the major newspapers were headquartered, Gannon had to concentrate on not walking around looking up. Lionel politely let him gawk at New York Tribune Building before heading over to the GB Post Produce Exchange on their way to the financial district.

  “Unbelievable!” Gannon craned his neck up at the Produce Exchange’s ten stories and magnificent tower.

  Lionel did his best to feign modesty at the compliment to his city. “There’s more on the way. Chicago has the jump on New York just now. Chicago has taller buildings, but it won’t be long before New York catches up and surpasses those inlanders.”

  “They’re impressive buildings, but I’d hate to have an office on top. It would take me all day to get there, and I’d be too tired to work!” Gannon joked.

  “We’re fixing that too,” Lionel said excitedly. “I am currently involved with a group of investors who are backing some experiments with personal elevators that could carry people to the upper floors in a minimal amount of time, much faster than walking it.”

  “Really?” Gannon took another look at the building. “Then I suppose the potential for tall buildings is unlimited.”

  “Well, there are limitations other than our legs,” Lionel acceded. “There’s the issue of structural soundness. We’re working on that too, but it may take more time than the elevator.”

  “Are all American cities like this one?” Gannon asked as they continued to progress down the street. “I imagine the capital is.”

  Lionel snorted. “Hardly. Philadelphia and Washington have seen their heyday. Well, at least Philadelphia has. I am not sure Washington ever had one. Even during the War Between the States, DC was nothing more than muddy roads and tent cities.”

  They arrived at the bank and went inside, Lionel leaving Gannon in the capable hands of the vice president, who was thrilled to be of assistance to a real-life earl.

  There was more sightseeing that afternoon and dinner at Delmonico’s Restaurant, which Lionel insisted made any visit to Manhattan complete.

  “So, honestly, Gannon, what do you think of our sleepy little burg?” Lionel asked over oysters and platters of Delmonico’s signature steaks.

  Gannon was thoughtful for a moment. “This world of the `new’ city is quite beyond me. I understand and appreciate invention in all its guises, but give me a machine that can plow a field faster or harvest crops quicker any day. No, I’m a farmer at heart. But this all reminds me of Andrew. He likes to build things. He would love to see this, to be part of this while it’s still new.”

  Lionel nodded, sipping ice-cold Champagne. “If you want some advice, send him on a Grand Tour, let him see all the great architecture of Europe. Have him study in Italy. Then send him over here. There’ll be a place for him with me when he’s ready. There are architects all over the city looking for quality apprentices with fresh perspectives.”

  “I am humbled by your generosity.” Gannon smiled at his American friend.

  Lionel leaned over the table and said in quieter tones, “Then let me continue with my generosity.” It was meant humorously but carried an edge of caution. “There will always be a place for you with me. I will always be indebted to you for the service you rendered me and Stella in England” He paused, letting their history hover between them. Gannon knew the event to which he referred. A member of Lionel’s shipping company had tried to embezzle several hundred thousand dollars from the firm. In the process, Stella had been kidnapped and placed in serious danger.

  Gannon waved it away. “You’ve more than paid for it by letting me come here with you, stay at your home, and be underfoot for an entire summer.”

  “No, my friend, you will not dismiss it so easily. You saved my company and perhaps my wife’s life with your efforts. And by doing so, you saved mine. I did not understand that you would want to invest when you came over, so I did not offer any opportunity. Now you’ve thought to throw your lot in with St. Clair on some deal I don’t pretend to know anything about. It’s always secretive with him, some buyout or other. You don’t need to do that. You’re welcome to invest with my group.”

  Gannon was nearly guilted into spilling the plans St. Clair had for the short line railroad. “I appreciate the offer. But I need St. Clair’s investment option. For me, it’s the way I need to go” He lowered his voice. “I need cash, and there’s the promise of a lot of it in a very short time,” Gannon said meaningfully. He could tell Lionel that much at least.

  Lionel gave a sad smile. “Well, I hope it works out, for your sake. Be careful. Wilson St. Clair will not look kindly on a man who jilts his daughter. He’s the type of man who would blow a business deal for revenge, and he’s got the millions behind him to easily cover his losses,” Lionel cautioned.

  To his credit, Lionel didn’t press the matter again over the next two days they spent in New York. By Friday, Gannon was glad to see their private stateroom on the Fall River boat. He told himself he was eager to get back to Newport because the city had been so hot, with a humid, sticky heat. He was tired of feeling perpetually dirty from the constant presence of sweat. He and Lionel joked about how much they were looking forward to the large bathtubs and bathing rooms that adjoined each of the bedrooms at Rose Bluff.

  But it was more than that. He wanted to see Audrey. He was desperate to see her, in fact. Lionel’s warning had left him feeling unsure of himself and of her. He had made the transfer of funds, but he was doubting the wisdom of the investment. Were she and her father setting him up to fail miserably on purpose, perhaps as a joke to spite the Englishman? To teach him a subtle lesson about invading America, searching for an heiress to prop up his aging aristocracy? Or perhaps it was all just his paranoia when he contemplated the enormity of what he’d done-taken the last of the money and gambled it on St. Clair’s business acumen.

  When he pictured Audrey in his mind, conjured up her startling blue eyes and dark hair, he could not believe she was out to dupe him. It was nearly impossible to imagine that her forthright nature could even conceive of trickery when being outspoken served its purpose so much better. And so his mind vacillated on the return journey, leaving him sleepless in his berth while Lionel snored quietly on the other side of the room.

  Gannon was on the wide back porch of Rose Bluff reading his mail and taking in the Atlantic breeze with a new appreciation when Stella found him at three-thirty the afternoon of their return from New York.

  “Violet and Audrey St. Clair are here. Are you at home?”

  Gannon stood up and set aside his mail. “Of course. I am always at home for Audrey St. Clair.”

  “Well, it’s so hard to tell with you, Camberly.” Stella linked her arm through his
as she teased. “Half the girls in Newport think they’ll be the next countess after the way you cut a swath through them before you left.”

  “I find that perfectly alarming,” Gannon said in all seriousness while they walked.

  Stella shot him a sly look. “I am sure Violet St. Clair does too, and that’s why they’re here”

  Stella had had the St. Clairs placed in the music room at Rose Bluff, a big open room done in the French style at the back of the house so that the glass-paned French doors opened onto the porch and caught the afternoon breeze. They rose when Gannon entered the room. His first thought was that Audrey looked lovely, dressed as she was in an afternoon gown of cool blue trimmed in tiny white lace. Indeed, it was nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. Her beauty dominated the room and his senses.

  “Good afternoon, ladies. This is a pleasure.” Gannon found the wherewithal to bow over Violet St. Clair’s gloved hand and then Audrey’s, giving her hand a secret squeeze as he did so. They all sat down while Stella poured tall, iced glasses of lemonade from an expensive crystal pitcher.

  “We’ve come to talk about the picnic tomorrow,” Violet began.

  Gannon racked his brain for a clue as to what she referenced. “Is that so?” he said vaguely when it became clear that Violet was waiting for a response.

  “Mrs. Astor is very kind to do such a thing for Camberly” Stella came to his rescue.

  Ah, yes. He remembered now. An English-style picnic in honor of his visit. “I am looking forward to it.” In reality, the only enticement the thought of a picnic held for him was Audrey’s presence.

  “Where’s it to be held?” Stella asked, passing around a plate of lemon cookies.

  “Caro has convinced the Benton farm to let us have the picnic there,” Violet said casually, taking a delicate bite of the cookie.

  Commandeered was more apt, Gannon thought. Caroline Astor was a woman who got her way. He could envision her taking possession of the farm with all the force of a general. The poor Bentons. Whoever they were, Gannon hoped they’d been well compensated.

  “There will be games,” Audrey put in. “A croquet course is being set up, as well as a badminton court”

  “Do you play?” Violet asked with an innocent look in her eye that immediately put Gannon on alert. Innocence and Violet St. Clair didn’t go together. Her chicanery would have equaled some of the best matchmaking mamas the ton had to offer.

  “Yes, I play both games,” Gannon offered.

  “There you go, Audrey” Violet turned to her daughter. “Perhaps Camberly would partner you tomorrow”

  Audrey blushed. Gannon thought it was most likely from embarrassment at her mother’s overture. He knew his duty here, and he did it. “I enjoy sporting games, Miss St. Clair. It would be a pleasure to partner you if you would like.” Not that doing his duty was any hardship. It worked out quite well that he’d have a reason to spend the day with Audrey.

  Audrey played her part too. “I would like that very much. It is so kind of you to offer.”

  “Audrey is as good at badminton as she is at the piano. Have you heard her play yet?” Violet asked Gannon.

  Another device. The dratted woman knew very well he hadn’t heard Audrey play. In fact, he hadn’t known she played at all. Gannon did his duty again, feeling sorry for Audrey, who was bristling silently beside her mother on the sofa. “Perhaps you could play for us, Miss St. Clair?” Gannon asked.

  Audrey gave a brittle smile and made her way to the piano. Gannon followed under the pretense of lifting the lid for her. “We’re doing brilliantly, I think,” he whispered under his breath. It earned him a smile, a real smile, this time.

  “She’s desperate to win you back. She fears I am losing you,” Audrey confided quietly.

  “There’s no chance of that,” Gannon reassured her.

  “Yes, but only you and I know that,” Audrey teased quietly, settling her skirts at the bench.

  “Play something nice, dear,” Violet called. “Camberly, do convince her that Beethoven is unhealthy for her constitution.”

  Gannon raised an eyebrow at Audrey. She suppressed a laugh and launched into a quiet lieder by Schubert. By God, the woman had talent. Gannon could not recall when he’d heard the piano played so expertly and with so much feeling. He’d heard enough musicales and private performances given in wealthy London homes to know when someone was a hobbyist and when they were more. Audrey St. Clair was definitely among the latter.

  Gannon quietly stood back from the piano to watch and to listen. It felt odd that he hadn’t known this about Audrey, when he felt he knew her so well in spite of their short acquaintance. Such an omission was a telling reminder that while he guessed at many things about her, he only knew one thing for certain: She wanted her freedom. Hearing her play today, Gannon could start to guess why.

  Gannon swung his racquet in a graceful lobbing motion, arcing the shuttlecock neatly over the net and into the back left corner of their opponents’ court. The young man covering the back court made a gallant but futile effort to return the shuttlecock, landing the birdie in the webbing of the net.

  “Game point!” Audrey cried a little too exuberantly to be ladylike, her hair coming loose from the thick braid that hung down her back. “We win!”

  Gannon was loath to spoil her enjoyment of the victory with a reminder about propriety. It had been a hard fought battle against young Spurling, who was heir to his father’s greengrocery fortune, and a rather capable Miss Van Duyesen, who was imagining herself jilted by the earl. She’d wanted to partner him and lay claim to his at tentions by the merit of the one social call he’d paid her and the two dances they’d had. She’d not been pleased by Audrey’s prior claim to partner him at badminton.

  Gannon and Audrey shook hands with their reluctantly defeated opponents and sought out the shady canopy where her mother and friends sat, Caroline Astor among them.

  “Splendid playing, Camberly,” Wilson St. Clair said as they approached. “I don’t suppose you sail as well as you play badminton?”

  Gannon reached for nearby towel and wiped his face. “I enjoy sailing on occasion,” he said modestly. It would hardly do to say that the last time he’d been boating, he’d crewed with the Prince of Wales’ nephew at Cowes. He could only imagine what the gossip mill would make of that. They’d probably have him next in line for the crown.

  Wilson St. Clair slapped him on the back. “There’s a little race coming up-nothing serious of course. But I’d like to have you crew on my boat”

  Gannon accepted with a nod. “I’d be glad”

  “Hear, hear! A toast, then!” Caroline raised her glass of lemonade. “To our sportsman! Camberly is quite accomplished.” She winked slyly at Violet.

  “Speaking of sports, I believe we’re due at the croquet field,” Audrey put in swiftly, slipping an arm through his.

  “Yes,” Gannon said, “I do think young Spurling and his partner are eager for another go at us”

  The rejoinder made for a good exit, but they weren’t out of range before the comments started behind them. “Audrey’s got him back in line now, Violet. I am sure he won’t stray again. He seems quite taken with her.” Caroline’s voice followed them in snatches.

  “Yes, Audrey has him back. Now she just needs to bring him up to scratch,” Violet said. “If she spent more time thinking about snaring Camberly than she did about Beethoven..

  Gannon shot a look at Audrey. She was blushing profusely. “It’s awful, it’s just awful,” she said, clearly appalled at the comments. “I’m so embarrassed. I hope you don’t think-” She broke off.

  Gannon steered them behind a wide-trunked maple tree that blocked them from view. She needed a chance to collect herself. The remarks had clearly unsettled her. “It’s all right. They’re supposed to say those things, remember? I’d be doing a miserable job of courting you if they weren’t.”

  Audrey leaned against the trunk of the tree and blew out a deep breath. “Is it l
ike this for you all the time? All these women after you? Speculating about you as if you’re a piece of real estate or a horse?”

  Gannon laughed. “I suppose it is, but I try not to think about it in those terms” Had being with another person ever been this easy? This honest?

  “Sorry,” Audrey said, still out of sorts. “It just makes me so angry sometimes” She shook her head, lost in thought, her gaze going past his shoulder. “And I didn’t want you to think the worst of me”

  “What would the worst be?” Gannon cajoled softly. With her eyes on him, he was becoming disconcertingly aware of their proximity, the awareness no doubt heightened by the intimate nature of their conversation.

  She moved her gaze back to his face from the nebulous point beyond his shoulder and said frankly, “That I was like them; that I saw you as a prize to be won; that I concocted our little plan with every intention of trapping you into marriage.”

  “Such duplicity never crossed my mind,” Gannon said with a shake of his head. In fact, very little was crossing his mind at the moment beyond the urge to kiss her. It was not a new urge but certainly an insistent one. One soft kiss. That was all.

  His hand was moving before he realized it, the rest of his body in accord. He stepped close, a half step. His hand cradled her cheek and angled her face up toward his. His mouth came down on hers, tenderly, the sound of his name cut off by the gentle pressure of his lips on hers.

  Whatever caution or protest she’d been about to utter died quickly. He felt her lean into him as he deepened the kiss. He broke the kiss softly and with great restraint. How had he ever thought one kiss would satisfy him? That one kiss would be enough? He wanted more, but out in the open of a picnic was no place to pursue such notions, with nothing more to conceal them than the wide trunk of a tree. Besides, he reminded himself, a gentleman did not pursue such notions with a lady of Audrey’s caliber.