Father leaned toward Mr. Harper and observed, “We have to watch out with these modern girls, you know. They’d rather play ragtime than Chopin.”
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with modern music,” Mr. Harper said.
“Take my Esme,” he said, glancing at his daughter with a mischievous look. “I’d be the first to admit she’s a flibbertigibbet, always chattering about dances and the latest fashions.”
“Father!” Esme admonished, but only because she thought it was the right thing to do, not because she was truly offended.
“There are some who’d say I haven’t been strict enough with her. But my proudest accomplishment is to have raised a happy daughter. She wasn’t always so carefree. My wife’s death was a trial for both of us. Mr. Harper, you know what it is to suffer the loss of a dear companion . . .”
Mr. Harper’s face seemed to droop even further, his mustache sinking down over his frowning mouth. Esme looked at her father’s empty sherry glass, and the empty decanter next to it, and wondered how much he’d had to drink.
“Esme was denied a mother’s love and comfort, yet she has grown into a young woman of great spirit. She is the joy of my life, and one day, I hope, she will bring equal joy to her future husband.”
Father looked meaningfully at Esme, and Esme glanced at Mr. Harper’s wooden, self-conscious expression, and her face went hot. So this was why Mr. Harper had been invited to dine. She would have been furious at Father’s machinations if it weren’t for the guest of honor’s obvious mortification. He was as much a victim as she was, a realization that softened her anger.
With practiced ease, Esme summoned an expression of amused nonchalance. “I have much to learn before I’m ready to marry. Mrs. Ayres, what do you believe are the ideal qualities in a wife?”
As she’d hoped, Mrs. Ayres went off on an extended discussion of duty and self-sacrifice, with the occasional nod or grunt from browbeaten Mr. Ayres. Esme would have very much liked to hear his thoughts on the matter, guessing he’d rank muteness above anything else, and she stifled a laugh. When she realized Mr. Harper had noticed her amusement and seemed perilously close to cracking a smile himself, she turned away, blushing. Afterward, the men turned to their port and cigars, and Esme retired to the sitting room with Mrs. Ayres. Her anger at Father’s meddling had eased. He was concerned for her future, that was all, and now that she was nearly twenty, marriage was the next logical step. Tomorrow, she’d tell him about Theo and John, and he’d be thrilled to hear she had two prospective suitors. Together, they would work out which one was the best match.
“I was surprised to see Hiram here this evening,” Mrs. Ayres said, settling next to Esme on the sofa. “He declines most invitations.”
“I was just as surprised,” Esme said. “I don’t think I’ve said more than two words to him before.”
“Be ready to say more than that!” Mrs. Ayres let out a braying laugh. “He was quite charmed by you.”
“I don’t see how. He looked miserable most of the evening.”
“Oh, that’s Hiram’s natural state. You didn’t see the way he stared at you, when your attention was elsewhere.”
Esme looked down modestly, pretending to be embarrassed, but secretly she wanted to know everything about the way Hiram Harper looked at her.
“He’s a good catch,” Mrs. Ayres continued. “Huge house, very well off. Inherited everything when his father died a few years ago. He may seem a dour old man to you, but he was considered very handsome in his time. Just between us, I was quite smitten with him! That was before I met Mr. Ayres, of course.”
Despite Mrs. Ayres’s self-satisfied smile, Esme could see from the woman’s eyes that a part of her would always see Mr. Harper as the beau he once was, when they were young.
“There’s no understanding between me and Mr. Harper,” Esme said. “I hardly know him.”
“That’ll change, if he has anything to do with it!” Mrs. Ayres teased. “Don’t dismiss him out of hand. A girl could do far worse.”
The fact that Mrs. Ayres had such high regard for Mr. Harper piqued Esme’s interest, for she’d always found that there was nothing like another’s admiration to stir up her own. When Mr. Harper sent a card the following day thanking Esme and her father for dinner and inviting Esme to his sister’s for tea the following Saturday, she sent her acceptance the next morning and sprayed the notecard with a touch of her eau de cologne. Mr. Harper was formally polite during Esme’s hour-long visit, not at all the kind of man she could imagine stealing a kiss behind a tree. But his sister seemed delighted to have Esme join them, and her children were charmingly affectionate with their uncle Hiram. The Harpers were such easy company, in fact, that Esme found herself agreeing to future plans—an evening at the theater, a lunch at the country house of his sister’s in-laws—and the more time Esme spent with Mr. Harper, the less impressive her other prospects began to look.
Theo’s nervous attempts at conversation, once so charming, had grown tiresome, and John’s antics were those of an overgrown boy, not a man. Mr. Harper had no talent for or interest in romance, yet Esme found his steadiness increasingly appealing. Mr. Harper acted like a husband should act, with quiet confidence. He was careful with his money, and therefore he’d never want for anything. Wealth wasn’t Esme’s prime concern—she’d never have married someone she didn’t like simply because he was rich—but she did want a secure future. As Mrs. Harper, she could take trips to New York and Europe. Buy the clothes she wanted without enduring a lecture. As a married woman, she could go to restaurants and order champagne and escape the stultifying rules of her father’s house.
So when Mr. Harper invited Esme for a ride in his new Ford—and her father said she could go, unaccompanied—she knew what it meant. She pulled on her traveling coat and pinned her largest hat into her swept-up hair, artfully arranging a swath of netting so it protected her face from the dust while perfectly framing her eyes. Mr. Harper escorted her into the car and began an earnest description of the motor and how it worked and why it was better than a certain other motor—very little of which she understood. As they drove, Esme did her best to look fascinated, but her natural pleasantness was tested by Mr. Harper’s avoidance of the only subject that mattered. Had she been mistaken? Would he be eternally faithful to his dead wife?
At last, Mr. Harper pulled over by a park. They were in a part of town Esme wasn’t familiar with, a quiet, residential area that looked nearly deserted in the early November afternoon. They were alone.
“Miss Sullivan, I must speak to you on a matter of great importance.”
Esme’s heart pounded, but she kept her expression calm. Act surprised, she told herself.
“I have grown quite fond of you.” Mr. Harper said the words in a rushed monotone; he might have been addressing a meeting of his bank managers. “For many years, I have been quite content in my solitude, but I have recently contemplated a change in my circumstances.”
Esme fought back a giggle. This was a far cry from the passionate declaration of love she’d always imagined. John Moss would be down on his knees by now, summoning up dramatic tears. But she found she didn’t mind Mr. Harper’s stiff delivery. It felt honest and true.
“I have very little hope that a young woman of your charms would consider me an ideal husband. I do promise my complete dedication to your well-being, if you would but consider my offer . . .”
“What offer?” Esme asked, feigning confusion.
“I—er, that is to say, it would give me the greatest honor . . .”
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
Mr. Harper’s surprise at her bluntness gave way to relief that she’d said it. “I am. In the most bumbling way possible.”
Esme looked at Mr. Harper, her prospective bridegroom, a man she’d never addressed by his given name. She saw the streaks of gray in the hair above his ears, the creases in the skin beneath his wary eyes. All his features had a mournful cast, from the natural downturn of
his mouth to the slight stoop in his shoulders. She found herself wanting above all else to make him happy.
“Of course I will,” she said simply. And the delight that brightened his face silenced any lingering doubts.
“You have made me the happiest of men,” he said.
“Silly thing, don’t you know you’re supposed to kiss me?”
Esme leaned forward and offered up her lips; Mr. Harper hesitated a moment, then pressed his mouth against her cheek. The kind of peck her father used to give her at bedtime. Esme laughed, and Mr. Harper looked at her in bewildered delight.
“I suppose I can call you Hiram now.” She sounded it out again with deliberate emphasis. “Hiram. A very upstanding name.”
“Esme.” The sound of it seemed to almost overwhelm him. “Esme, my dear girl.”
It was the same endearment her father used, which made her want to laugh again, but she repressed her amusement. His hand wrapped around hers, and she shifted her body closer, until she was pressed up against the solid mass of his hip and leg.
“When we’re married, will you let me drive the motorcar?” she asked.
He looked baffled by the thought of a woman at the wheel, and she squeezed his fingers to show she was teasing. The momentousness of what had just happened made her giddy, and she wished they weren’t in such an isolated spot. She wanted to spread the news like a town crier: I’m going to marry Hiram Harper and live happily ever after!
Esme never expected the regrets to come so soon. Her two-month engagement was a blur of parties and congratulatory hugs, and Esme thrived at the center of the storm. She showed Hiram off like a piece of new jewelry, calling him an “old dear” and “the sweetest man.” She could tell her friends were surprised someone like her had settled on someone like him, but Father’s contemporaries—who’d experienced twists and turns of fortune—were enthusiastic about a match that combined youthful enthusiasm with practical business sense.
“She’s always been headstrong,” Esme heard Father confide to a friend one night over glasses of whiskey. “It’ll do her good to have a husband who knows what he’s about. She’ll keep him on his toes, too, eh?”
Over one of many celebratory suppers, Mrs. Ayres told Esme she couldn’t be more pleased. “Hiram’s been alone too long,” she said. “I’ve been telling him that for years.”
Esme fought back the temptation to joke that Hiram proposed solely to avoid another of Mrs. Ayres’s lectures. Better to smile sweetly and endure Mrs. Ayres’s advice on the social obligations of a new bride. Esme listened half-heartedly, confident that it wouldn’t take much effort to make a success of her marriage. As long as she kept Hiram happy, she could do as she pleased.
Hiram and Esme had a Christmas wedding, with garlands of holly hung on the church pews and a service that ended with “Joy to the World.” They’d booked a delayed honeymoon in Europe, not wanting to make the Atlantic crossing in winter, so their first days as man and wife were spent at the Ayres’s weekend house in Bucks County. There’d be a housekeeper to see to their meals, but otherwise they’d be alone to “get acquainted,” as Mrs. Ayres put it. Esme was a touch apprehensive about the exact ways they’d be getting acquainted, and Mrs. Ayres had been uncharacteristically perceptive of Esme’s concerns.
“There’s nothing to fear,” she said. “Be grateful you’re marrying a man of experience. Two young newlyweds with no knowledge of such intimacies have a much more fraught time of it.”
For one mortifying instant, Esme thought Mrs. Ayres was about to describe her own wedding night. Fortunately, the woman was more interested in pontificating than reminiscing.
“Do what Hiram tells you, and cheerfully. He admires your vivacity, you know.”
“I’ve wondered . . .” Esme hadn’t planned on revealing her deepest fear, but Mrs. Ayres was the only person who might set it to rest. “If Mr. Harper will find it difficult. Our relations as man and wife may provoke memories of the first Mrs. Harper.”
“Don’t be silly!” Mrs. Ayres admonished. “Nellie was a sweet little thing, but so shy she could barely put two sentences together! You’re much better for Hiram.”
Esme had often wondered about Hiram’s first wife, whom he never spoke of, and she took a selfish satisfaction in knowing the woman had been a bore. After a vague description of what actually happened in a marital bed, Mrs. Ayres assured Esme that having an older husband was an advantage in this instance, for he’d insist on his rights far less often than a man her own age. That, Mrs. Ayres implied, was a blessing.
In any event, Esme was so tired by her wedding night that she couldn’t work up the energy to be nervous. The housekeeper served broiled fish and potatoes on trays in the upstairs parlor before unpacking Esme’s trunk in the bedroom next door. Esme’s trousseau was a profusion of silk and satin; Hiram had insisted on paying for it and promised even more additions to her wardrobe when they went to Paris in the spring.
Esme wasn’t sure how the rest of the evening was supposed to proceed. Should she disappear into the dressing room and make a dramatic entrance in her feather-trimmed robe? She remembered Mrs. Ayres’s advice and decided not to do anything until Hiram told her to. When he said he liked to read before going to bed, she flipped through the latest issue of McCall’s until he said it was time they turned in.
“Shall I help you with your dress?” Hiram asked, after Esme had followed him to the bedroom.
Esme’s going-away dress had a trail of pearl buttons down the back; she couldn’t take it off herself. She’d assumed the housekeeper would assist her, as her housemaid Nora did at home.
“Oh, yes,” Esme said. “Thank you.”
She’d thought it would be embarrassing to get undressed in front of Hiram, but it turned out to be surprisingly easy. He was familiar with women’s clothes; he knew what attached where and how to unfasten each piece. It wasn’t long before Esme was down to only her gauzy chemise and stockings.
“You’re very beautiful,” Hiram said. Not overwhelmed, not rapturous, but straightforwardly acknowledging a fact of nature.
The usual blushes and protests Esme produced whenever she was complimented seemed inappropriate, so she only smiled. Hiram removed his jacket, trousers, and shirt, methodically placing each piece over the back of an armchair before taking off the next. Esme rolled down her stockings, dragging out the process to keep herself occupied.
Despite the well-caught fire, the bedroom was still chilly, and Esme shivered as she slid beneath the covers. It felt surprisingly natural for Hiram to huddle next to her, his hands soothingly warm on her goose-bumped skin. Hiram was a presence rather than a person, his face shadowed and his body concealed by the quilted bedspread. When he straddled her and began to push, she gasped, not in pain but perplexed surprise. So this was what it felt like?
Hiram stopped. “Did I hurt you?”
“Oh, no,” Esme murmured, as she’d reassure a dance partner who stepped on her toes. “It’s only a rather . . . peculiar sensation.”
Esme sensed rather than saw Hiram’s smile. “It will grow less peculiar in time, I hope.”
Esme reached for his forehead and gave it a kiss. “You may proceed, sir. I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
“Please don’t,” Hiram whispered, and then he finished what he’d started. When Esme giggled, he didn’t seem to mind.
As Mrs. Ayres had promised, Esme and Hiram returned to Philadelphia much better acquainted. Esme was delighted to discover that her new husband was nothing like her father with his unpredictable moods and constant fretting over money. Hiram was generous and calm and already seemed to be shaking off some of his natural gloom, though she was a tad perturbed by his ability to eat meals with almost no conversation. She loved Hiram’s enormous house and the enormous bed they shared in their enormous bedroom, but after so long on his own, he was set in his ways, and Esme was expected to adapt to his preferences.
The biggest shock came when she emerged from newlywed seclusion to rejoin society
. As Mrs. Hiram Harper, Esme was expected to be modest and discreet: no more wicked laughter with her friends at parties; no more dances with unmarried men. With every dull pleasantry exchanged at staid dinners and morning teas, Esme’s natural exuberance shriveled. When she mingled at the engagement party for Theo Yates, who’d managed to charm an Ohio heiress, Esme faced a dilemma completely new to her: for the first time, she could think of nothing interesting to say. Once she had children, she supposed, she’d be one of those women who talked about nothing else. She was already older than friends who’d started families, but Esme wasn’t quite ready to retreat into motherhood. Not yet.
“Your mother tells me you’re off to New York for your honeymoon,” Esme said to Theo and his future bride, as if she’d never heard such thrilling news. Theo, to Esme’s satisfaction, barely paid attention to the woman at his side. It was gratifying to know Esme could still capture his attention when she wanted to.
“We’re staying at the Waldorf Astoria,” Theo’s fiancée said. “I’ve heard it’s very grand.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time,” Esme said. “Hiram and I will be in New York soon, too. We’re sailing for France in March.”
Theo nodded his approval. “W-w-w-wonderful. What a jolly time you’ll have.”
“I will do my best to make Mr. Harper jolly, but it won’t be an easy task.”
They all laughed, and if Esme felt a twinge of disloyalty at making fun of Hiram, it was worth it. Basking in Theo’s admiration, she described her future travels with an enthusiasm she hadn’t felt for ages. She and Hiram would have a jolly time. They had introductions to well-connected families in Paris and London, and she’d be coming home with a trunk full of brand-new French fashions. With enough good food and wine, Hiram’s restraint might ease, and she’d be able to enjoy herself. As Esme looked at Theo’s face, his mouth slack like a child’s, she knew she’d made the right choice. She couldn’t imagine Theo guiding her through Europe, ordering porters and shop assistants around with Hiram’s dignified poise. She’d been right to marry Hiram, and if the realities of marriage had knocked her off balance, the honeymoon would set things right.
On a Cold Dark Sea Page 5
