The New England: ROMANCE Collection

by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris

  “Where are you going?” Mother asked.

  “I shall be but a few moments.” Francesca walked the path from the tennis court to the side entryway of the building. She found Elizabeth in the hall.

  “Elizabeth.”

  The maid froze and turned to face her. “Miss Francesca.” She inclined her head slightly and smiled.

  “Thank you for getting us the lemonade. I wanted to tell you so earlier, but you left the tableside quickly.”

  “I am doing my job, miss. And, honestly, your mother gives me a fright sometimes and makes me afraid I might drop something.” Elizabeth bit her lip.

  “About Paris …” Francesca felt as if a chasm opened in the marble floor between them.

  “I had the prettiest night of my life, and I will always remember it.” She moved as if to turn back toward the kitchen area, then paused.

  “What is it, Elizabeth?”

  “The young man with the coppery hair at the table today. He was there that night in Paris, and spoke to me.”

  “Yes. He is a family friend.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me saying, miss, but he has a good heart. He treated me as if I belonged, even when I wasn’t well spoken as a grand lady. I know your family has plans for you, but I thought I’d let you know.”

  “I know. He does have a good heart. At least, I believe so.” Francesca smiled. Perhaps the chasm between them wasn’t so wide after all.

  A clatter from the kitchen at the end of the hallway made them both look.

  “I must go. But I will help you prepare for your nap this afternoon.”

  “No, please. I’ll be fine.” Francesca tried to reassure the young woman. They couldn’t return to the way things were before Paris and Francesca’s crazy scheme.

  “Very well, miss. I’ll see you before supper.” Elizabeth turned and headed toward where the sound of the noise had come.

  Francesca had wanted to apologize about Elizabeth’s punishment, but some things she just couldn’t atone for. She sighed. She might as well return to the group outside before Mother came to find her.

  She turned the corner and nearly ran into Alfred.

  The sherbet had done little to cool Alfred’s mood. What had begun as a leisurely late morning business conversation with James and the elder Mr. Wallingford had ended with a distraction.

  And that distraction had nearly collided with him in the hallway as he went to retrieve his hat.

  Francesca, her cheeks flushed, skidded to a halt. Her tennis skirt swirled around her ankles. “Al—Mr. Finley. I beg your pardon. I was in a hurry.”

  “And I should have been paying closer attention to where I was headed.”

  “You are leaving already?” Her pretty face sank into a frown.

  “I must prepare for my return tomorrow to New York for business.”

  “How … how did your business fare this morning? With James and Father?”

  “Quite well, quite well. I see that the young woman who accompanied you in Paris is in her place once again.”

  Francesca’s face darkened. “Yes. She is. I am thankful she didn’t lose her position.”

  “Please promise me you will never do anything like that again.”

  “You sound almost like my mother.” She placed her hands on her hips.

  “But my motivation for asking such a promise is different.”

  “How so?”

  “That young woman likely is taunted every day by a life she will never have, and it was not right of you to fill her head with dreams.” Truly, he didn’t understand why he must explain to her.

  “She told me it was the prettiest night of her life and she would always remember it.”

  “When I found her she was nearly in tears from the rudeness of two women who made fun of her extremely poor French. And you were gallivanting about the ballroom—”

  “I was not gallivanting.” She touched his sleeve. “And I have already asked forgiveness for my actions. If you must know, Elizabeth and I were only having a bit of fun. I was rather tired of the pretentiousness around me and wanted to view the room through fresh eyes—Elizabeth’s.”

  He stared at her hand on his sleeve. “And in the morning, she had to return to her regular position of serving and being invisible until she was needed.”

  “I … I don’t know why I feel I must explain my actions to you, of all people.”

  “And now you are the one who sounds like her mother.”

  Francesca, her face red, darted to the side and passed him. The grand door to the outside opened, letting a glare of light into the cool hallway.

  Alfred turned and watched the door close behind her. That dratted temper of his. If only he hadn’t overheard snatches of conversation about the count. Did Francesca mean she’d thought she and the count would make a good match? Or him? He used quick strides to find the man who would both obtain his hat and call for his horse.

  A large gilded mirror hung in yet another hallway, and Alfred paused. His own cheeks were flushed red. All that talk of the count that had drifted over from the ladies’ table, and Alfred had fallen into Mrs. Wallingford’s trap without warning. Demonstrations of jealousy would never win Francesca’s heart, nor could Alfred’s bank account win the Wallingfords’ approval. And the last remark about Francesca sounding like her mother? Unconscionable. Somehow he must make amends and prove his worthiness, or his plans for his foundation might be threatened as well.

  Chapter 4

  Sailing. He’s taking us sailing.” Francesca danced around her bedroom and tried to remind herself that she was still miffed at Alfred Finley. She had changed her shirtwaist three times, and a fourth hung ready on its hanger in the wardrobe. Any of them would go well with her dark blue walking skirt, but today she wanted to look extra special. She flopped onto her elegantly carved bed. The sky-blue walls, edged with white molding, lent a peaceful air to the room despite the fact the bed was littered with clothing.

  No matter that she couldn’t seem to make Alfred understand she’d meant no harm and truly regretted her actions with Elizabeth in Paris. Then there was always the unspoken disapproval from Mother whenever James mentioned his friend. The two had been cooking up something for Alfred’s foundation while working in New York, and this weekend Alfred was taking James out on his sailboat. Of course James would pine for Victoria if he left her behind, and so he wanted her to come along also, and of course that meant Victoria wanted Francesca for some feminine company. Mother frowned, but gave her permission to accompany the group.

  A knock sounded at her door. “Fran, are you nearly ready? James is having the carriage brought ‘round. Mr. Finley has asked us to meet him at the boat slip at nine o’clock.”

  “One moment, Victoria.” Francesca rolled to her feet in a most unladylike manner, but no one else was present to witness the action. She groaned and put on the original shirtwaist of white muslin with dark blue embroidery on the high neck. Her calfskin boots with their high heels must do, as she had nothing else that might be appropriate on the sailboat’s deck.

  She left the other garments in their disarray and joined Victoria in the hallway. She wore a black skirt with narrow white stripes, and a white frilly shirtwaist. A gauzy bow from her hat was tied under her chin. Sweet and calm, Victoria always managed to make Francesca feel as though her hems were too long and her feet too large. “I’m ready.”

  Victoria studied her face. “Have you applied rouge or some such nonsense to your cheeks? They look quite rosy.”

  “Of course not.” Francesca stopped short and touched her hair. “Oh, I’ve forgotten my hat. Pardon me, and I shall fetch it straightaway.”

  “I will head downstairs.” Victoria laughed. “My dear, we’re not running from a fire. We’ll wait for you. I daresay your anticipation of today’s activities has your head spinning.”

  Francesca skittered back to her room and tried to slow her feet and her racing heart. There. The simple straw hat with its dark blue ribbon would be ideal to w
ard off freckles, sunburn, and headaches from the sun. She settled it on her head and looked in her mirror as she tied the ribbon. Yes, her cheeks bloomed red, but not from rouge.

  This would be a long period of time spent with Alfred, the most since she’d seen him in Paris and knew for certain he had returned. Of course, James and Victoria would be along, as well as the sailors operating the boat. But still.

  Perhaps James would even speak to Father, if he saw how well she and Alfred got along. Mother couldn’t stand against all of them. Because she knew if Mother had anything to say about it, Alfred would never be a match for Francesca.

  She ambled down the grand staircase and joined Victoria. “I’m ready, and calm now, thank you very much. I can scarcely wait to be out on the sea, though.”

  Victoria linked her arm through Francesca’s as they stepped out the front door, held open by Holmes, the doorman. “And I am so glad you will be accompanying me. The men will talk of their stuffy business dealings, and I’m afraid James is still rather the newlywed, as I am.”

  The family’s carriage drew up to the porte cochere and stopped. James hopped out and held the door for them. “A beautiful morning, and off we go, ladies.”

  Less than twenty minutes later, Francesca found her pulse racing again as they drew up to the Newport marina where Alfred’s elegant little sailboat, the Grey Gull, waited. Father never had much of an interest in sailing, and James had been too preoccupied with Victoria to get a sailboat.

  “You’re here.” Alfred greeted them with a wide smile as he stepped up onto the pier. “I’ve brought lunch for us.” Several men in white shirts and pants were raising the sail and tying and untying ropes.

  Francesca looked up as the sail rose and the Gull bobbed where it was tied. She accepted Alfred’s offer of his hand to assist her as she stepped down onto the boat. One foot nearly slipped on the deck, but she caught herself in time. Had she lost her footing, she’d likely have ended up in Alfred’s arms, and nearly regretted not letting her feet go where they may.

  “Miss Fran.”

  “Mr. Finley.” She smiled at him, and he indicated some built-in seating on the sailboat where passengers could enjoy the voyage out of the sailors’ way.

  “Al, good to see you,” James said. “I don’t know how you feel, but if I could make my office here instead of New York, I’m afraid I’d want to be sailing or riding instead of at my desk.”

  “I feel the same way. Which is why I’ve returned to New York so I can accomplish something with my time.” Alfred inclined his head to Victoria. “Mrs. Wallingford.”

  Francesca glanced at her sister-in-law as she boarded the vessel. It still sounded strange, sometimes, to hear someone besides her mother addressed as Mrs. Wallingford.

  They settled into their seats and cast off from the dock. Francesca leaned back on the cushioned seat and loved the sound of the water rushing past, the snap of the breeze hitting the sail.

  “Miss Francesca.” Alfred took the seat beside her.

  Francesca cast a glance at James and Victoria, lost in their own conversation. “Mr. Finley.”

  “I was happy when I learned you would be permitted to accompany us today.” The light wind ruffled his hair, shining dark copper in the sunlight.

  “And I can’t tell you how happy I was to be allowed to come. The time has never seemed right when we saw each other, and we always seemed to be unable to finish our conversation. That is, I meant to say …” Francesca stumbled over her words. “I am sorry you have had the wrong impression. We seem to have started out badly.”

  “And I am sorry for my assumptions and my earlier words about your actions.” Alfred’s tone softened. “While there are many years between us, I do know you have a kind heart. You were not maliciously trying to hurt your maid’s feelings.”

  “I was not, truly. But you were correct. I was thoughtless, and for that I am sorry. Elizabeth is doing well, though, and no longer working in the laundry. If I could take back my actions, I would.” A gust tugged at her hat, and she gripped it with one free hand.

  “I shouldn’t have demonstrated my disapproval as I did. Try as I might, I don’t always hold my temper. Bad for business, and bad for friendships, my wise mother tells me.” Alfred fiddled with his tie, reminding Francesca of a young boy.

  “So long as the sun does not go down on your anger.” Francesca nodded. “I understand. Oftentimes when I am vexed, my mouth wants to run of its own accord. And I find myself asking God and others for forgiveness later.”

  They sailed along in silence, and right then Francesca wanted Alfred to take her hand. But he was an honorable man, and likely would not have done so even if James and Victoria weren’t there. And they would never be allowed to spend time alone. Unthinkable. She had so many questions to ask him, especially about when he left years ago.

  Alfred rose then and headed to the tiller, where he addressed the head sailor. “Clement, thank you. I’ll take the tiller for a time.” He grinned at Francesca, then called out, “Come, stand with me if you wish. I will let you steer.”

  As the boat skimmed along, Francesca found her feet. How could she resist the invitation? Victoria shot her a sly look.

  Sitting on a sailboat was one thing. Trying to stand and then walk was yet another, Francesca discovered. Her stylish boots did not provide secure footing, but somehow she managed her way to where Alfred stood. She hung onto the wood trim on the railing.

  “This is a beautiful boat.” She clamped her hand onto her hat.

  “It was my father’s, and I had no idea he owned it until this past winter.” He squinted over the water. “So I’ve been waiting for this chance to take her out. Of course, I let Clement sail her until we get out of the bay. Always best to let an expert take charge.”

  “I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing. Did you get to see him …?” Francesca bit her lip.

  “I was at his side, as was Mother, when he left this life. Mother telegraphed me in Colorado, and I arrived in New York in time.”

  “For that, I am glad.” Francesca recalled Mother’s description of the funeral procession on a rainy March day over a year ago, but Mother did not speak of Alfred. “I wanted to ask you some questions, but I’m not sure it’s entirely proper.”

  “If it is one thing I remember best about you, dear Fran, is that you were never quite good at being proper. Although I daresay today even your mother would approve of your behavior.” He leaned a bit closer, as if to be conspiratorial. “But ask away.”

  “When you left, no one would really explain why. And I … I missed you.” The admission burned her cheeks. “James was finished at university, and he was too busy learning the family business. I also have a suspicion that Mother, Father, or both forbade him to speak about you. All I knew was it had something to do with your father.”

  Alfred let out a sigh that made him sound like a much older man, with the weight of years pressing upon him. “Rumors and suspicion have a way of gaining a life of their own. Jacob Cromwell is my mother’s friend, and his hair has a reddish tint. So does my mother’s hair. Years ago, they were to be married. Something went awry, and my mother married my father. I knew him always as Uncle Jake. Someone—I still don’t know who—made a simple remark about their friendship. Perhaps someone also said Uncle Jake and I have a similar shaped nose.”

  “How horrible. I am so sorry that you had to leave.”

  “When Mother explained why I no longer received invitations to the clubhouse activities, I wanted to storm into their lounge and explain the truth to them, that I was always Charles Finley’s son and how dare they.” Alfred’s jaw pulsed.

  “I could understand that. How many of them have family members with less than perfect pasts? And your circumstances were based on hearsay.” Between hearing the sordid tale and the movement of the sailboat, Francesca felt like her insides had been put in a butter churn. “Sometimes I almost hate this wealth. I love the clothes and the parties and the baubles, I must admi
t. But where do we start thinking we are better than others and put on airs because we possess more?”

  “Dear Fran, I’ve upset you, and for that I wish I hadn’t told you what little I’ve confessed to you. Do not hold it against them. Another scandal always has a way of rolling in like a thunderstorm, and the old ones are forgotten by most.”

  “Except my mother.” Francesca frowned. “I wish I could make her see….” She stopped before her words betrayed her heart. The whole situation was truly impossible.

  “As do I,” Alfred said softly. “But do not forget. There is One who far surpasses your mother in authority, and it is He to whom I commit my future.”

  “I see no other path for me, and I fear my mother especially has already mapped out my future.” She didn’t want to think about Mother’s schemes, not now on this most perfect of days.

  “Here, take the tiller. You cannot help but smile when steering a sailboat. The men will do their jobs, but you can command.” Alfred placed a hand on Francesca’s shoulder, and guided her to stand at the tiller.

  Francesca grasped the handle. The boat felt as if it were very much alive under her touch, and wanted to pull its own way. “The current is strong.”

  “But the wind is stronger, and we will use it to guide the boat where we wish. Hold tight. The Gull is a kind sailboat, but even she gets frisky at times.”

  Alfred was right. Despite her earlier gloomy thoughts, a smile stretched across her face. She glanced toward her brother and sister-in-law. James rose from where he sat and applauded.

  “Well done, little sister. And I promise I will not tell Mother.” He gave her a wink, and Alfred a nod. “We wouldn’t want her to forbid you from attending the Vanderbilts’ upcoming ball.”

  Francesca wished they didn’t have to go back to shore. The thought of leaving such freedom behind her felt like a weight. But at least they would all have a picnic together.