by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris
“What do you mean by that?”
“Yesterday morning, Miss Elizabeth McGovern, that sweet young woman who serves at Seaside, stole away to speak with me. Evidently Miss Wallingford had wanted to run away, and her mother locked her in her room.”
“As if she were an animal.” Alfred tightened his grip on his satchel, then forced himself to release it.
“I also had a very interesting luncheon with Mrs. Chalmers and her daughter. Evidently she has had her sights set on the count for some time.”
“What do you hope to accomplish by this supper?”
Mother beamed. “As I said, everyone needs a healthy dose of the truth. Because ‘ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.’ ”
For two nights and one day, Francesca had been locked in her room. She ate in her room and only was permitted to leave to tend to her personal needs.
Father had not come to her room, and she wondered what kept him. Mother notified her that, despite her extreme reluctance, they would all be attending a private supper at Tranquility, and Francesca must prepare herself right away.
“The only reason is that Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt will be there. I can see no other reason why. My dear friend Catherine Finley has become too eccentric for my tastes.” Mother went to Francesca’s wardrobe. “You shall wear the gown you wore the night you and the count became engaged. He’s in Newport, you know, and will accompany us tonight. It will not do for you to appear without him.” Mother sounded as if she cared more for her appearance in front of Mrs. Vanderbilt.
“Of course, Mother, it would not.” She only hoped Alfred wouldn’t be at Tranquility. Mother had not mentioned him in days, so perhaps he remained in New York.
“Here is the dress. We leave at seven o’clock.”
Promptly at five minutes until seven, the carriages lined up in front of Seaside, and Francesca inhaled deeply. Not that she hadn’t been able to go onto her balcony during her confinement, but being free of her room made the air feel fresher.
Of course, she took the carriage with Philippe, who bowed low and kissed her hand before helping her onto the seat. She did not expect any proclamation of affection, especially not since the incident with the sewing needles.
“You look well tonight,” was the first thing he said to her.
“Thank you.” Francesca wondered if he knew about her enforced confinement. But she regarded him with an even gaze. He met her eyes briefly, then focused on the scenery passing by them.
She remained silent for the rest of the journey, and she found it curious that Philippe did as well.
Once Francesca endured the gauntlet of greetings at Tranquility—she could not bring herself to look at Alfred, who stood there as evidence of what she could never have—she docilely followed Philippe to the Finley dining room.
This was a grand room, but a room for a family to enjoy a meal, not the staged propriety played out in front of her. Mrs. Finley, though, greeted her like a long-lost friend.
“My dear, you and the count must sit near Alfred and myself.” Once she organized everyone around the table, there were vacant seats.
“My guests, thank you for attending this evening. While it is a warm summer night, I trust that the cool refreshment accompanying the meal will stave off effects of the heat.” She smiled at them in turn. “Mrs. Vanderbilt sends her regrets that she could not attend tonight, so I believe this is everyone.”
Francesca couldn’t give the atmosphere in the room a name. She ate a spoonful of the chilled asparagus soup and surveyed the group. Lillian looked particularly resplendent this evening, and kept darting glances toward where Philippe and Francesca sat. Philippe kept tugging at his collar and clearing his throat.
“Something to drink, Count de la Croix?” asked Mrs. Finley. “I apologize if the soup does not agree with you.”
“I am fine, Madame Finley.” He focused on his soup.
“Very well. The beef will be served shortly.” Mrs. Finley nodded at him.
Other quiet conversations took place around the table, but Francesca kept her focus on her meal. She did not want her words to betray her, nor give her parents cause for alarm.
“Is this your last event of the season?” asked Mother from her place farther down the table.
“Yes, it is.” Mrs. Finley dabbed at her forehead with her napkin. “I’m not planning to try to impress anyone again. My Alfred didn’t care to have supper tonight—”
“Now, Mother,” Alfred began, “I have had a very busy week—”
“My Alfred didn’t care to have supper tonight, so it must be understood that he has nothing to do with this supper. I didn’t tell him of supper until he returned from New York last evening.”
Francesca wondered if he’d found any answers, or if James had been able to help him. So many questions, and with him nearby, without a way to ask. No one else said anything about Mrs. Finley’s remarks about Alfred.
Philippe gave Francesca a stern look, and she stared right back at him.
“So, Miss Wallingford, how have your wedding plans come along?” asked Mrs. Finley.
“Mother has been planning and kept very busy. My dress will be finished at the end of September. We have selected the menu.” And that was all she knew, after spending the last two and a half days in her room.
“What a wondrous life you shall have.”
Truly, the woman was cruel to speak so in front of her own son and speculate on Francesca’s life after marrying Philippe. “I’m sure it shall be quite grand. Count de la Croix, please tell me again how many homes we shall divide our time in.”
“Paris, of course. And a home in the country. I have a flat in London when I must stay there, mostly for business. And New York as well.” Philippe took the last sip of his soup. “But I have told my Francesca that I shall build her a home here in Newport if she so wishes.”
Mrs. Finley smiled. “Miss Wallingford, how wonderful for you. And you shall have a chance to pursue your painting.”
“I suppose I shall. Although supervising four different residences may take a great deal of time.” Francesca set down her spoon.
A muffled noise from the other side of the table made Francesca look. Lillian had made a sort of strangled sound into her napkin. Her mother patted her shoulder.
“Miss Chalmers, are you all right?” asked Mrs. Finley.
Lillian nodded. “I’m fine.”
“She has been in the sun too long today, I’m afraid,” said Aunt Beatrice.
“Yes, the summer sun is quite draining,” admitted Victoria. “James makes sure that I do not overdo things. In fact, we’ve been in New York at the doctor. Pardon me.” At this, she blushed. “I should not speak of such things at the supper table, and as a guest.”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Finley waved her soupspoon at Victoria. “We are all practically family here. I’m glad you are well. We shall pray for a healthy child.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Finley.” Victoria’s color gradually returned to normal.
Francesca smiled, but the idea of bearing Philippe’s children made her appetite flee, despite the tantalizing menu this evening.
“And one day, you shall have a family as well.” Mrs. Finley touched Francesca’s hand.
A sob made them all look in the direction of the sound. Lillian hiccupped. “I’m so sorry.”
“What on earth is wrong?” asked Aunt Beatrice. “You’ve been looking forward to this supper all day long. This is most unladylike, Lillian.”
“I don’t care anymore!” Lillian flung her napkin onto the table and stood, knocking her chair backwards.
“Young lady, do tell us.” Mrs. Finley glanced at Francesca, then back to Lillian.
“I, for one, no longer wish to live a lie.” Lillian marched to the head of the table and stood near Philippe’s chair. He looked ready to bolt.
“Miss Chalmers …” Philippe began.
“One thing I like about Mrs. Finley is that she tells the truth. No pretenses. Where i
s the endearing ‘my Lily’ that you call me? Philippe, I have had enough of hiding.”
Francesca heard Mother gasp. “Beatrice, control your daughter, as I have controlled mine.”
Francesca stood. “Mother, please. Let Lillian speak.”
Fresh tears streamed down Lillian’s face. “You cannot and must not marry Francesca.”
Mother made a gurgling noise.
Now Philippe stood. “Miss Chalmers, it is, as you say, complicated. It is more beneficial for me to marry Miss Wallingford.”
“Philippe, don’t marry me out of a business obligation.” Francesca loved voicing the words before everyone. Mother and Aunt Beatrice were exchanging words across the table. Father was trying to quiet Mother.
“You.” Philippe pointed at Francesca. “Do not tell me what I should and should not do. I am so tired of you—you—acting as if you are my equal, or worse, more important than me. I am a count. I deserve respect. And Lillian always respected me.”
“I will not bend to you merely because of your title.” Francesca held onto the table edge.
“The more you pushed me, the harder I resisted. And I am sorry if you thought I considered myself more important than you.”
“Please, Philippe.” Lillian tugged at his sleeve. “I don’t have the financial means that my cousin possesses, but I love you. I adore you. I would do anything for you. Haven’t I shown you that already?”
More uproar from the end of the table. In spite of the clamor, Francesca felt a peace steal over her. A sudden movement made her look to Mrs. Finley. The woman’s face had taken on a gray pallor.
“Oh dear. Alfred—” Mrs. Finley grabbed a fistful of Alfred’s sleeve. Then she slumped over onto her table setting.
“O’Neal!” Alfred stood and pulled his mother to a seated position. “Send for the doctor!”
The next few minutes were a blur to Francesca, with Lillian and Philippe begging their leave of the family; James running to Alfred’s aid; Mother and Aunt Beatrice murmuring about what might be wrong.
The last thing she recalled before Mother and Father whisked her from the dining room was Alfred taking one of her hands in his and saying, “Pray for Mother. And have faith.” The strong squeeze he gave her made fresh hope bloom in her heart.
Chapter 15
Tranquility remained darkened for nearly two weeks. No word on Mrs. Finley, although Francesca had learned the woman had been hospitalized briefly. She knew Alfred’s priority would be his mother, of course.
Mother had spent the time weeping, now that the wedding was off and scandal rippled through their society. One would think that she’d been the one preparing to wed the count. Now that Philippe and Lillian’s secrets were out, Father had put his foot down and demanded Francesca’s engagement and their business agreement be dissolved.
“But our Fran was to be a countess …” Mother had wailed.
“And you locked her in her room?” Father’s voice thundered. “You may well run our households, but Seaside, nor any other of our residences, is a prison.”
Then Father had disappeared back to New York after the weekend was over.
Francesca gladly gave up further French studies, but she kept the paints.
She was sitting in the parlor when Holmes appeared at the door. “A Count de la Croix to see you, miss.”
“Thank you, Holmes. Please send him in.” Francesca stood and went to the desk. Would she need a letter opener this time? No. But she touched the velvet box on the desk.
“Miss Wallingford,” Philippe said as he entered the room. “You are looking well today.”
“Why, merci, Count de la Croix.” She held up the box containing the topaz and diamond necklace and bracelet. “Here. I cannot keep these. While this jewelry is beautiful in every way, I have a feeling it might be appreciated by someone else.”
Philippe waved the box away. “I will not take them back, because I did give them to you with affection. Sell them and give the money to Mr. Finley for his foundation.”
“Thank you very much. That is very generous of you. I’ll do that.” Francesca pulled Philippe’s family ring from her pocket. “But you should keep this ring. I know it’s important to your family.”
“Oui.” He took it from her, and as he did so, grasped one of her hands. “Would that things were different.”
“No, Philippe.” Francesca withdrew her hand. “You need someone who will adore you, as Lillian does. But do not break her heart. It is not often that we find someone who loves us despite our wrongdoing.”
He gave her a slight bow. “Mademoiselle Francesca, I was wrong the other evening. You do not have to act as if you are better than me. You are better, and I treated you most wrongly.”
“Thank you. I … I wish you well, Philippe.”
Philippe turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. “I hope Lillian grows to be as graceful as you.”
And then he was gone.
Mother entered the sitting room, sniffling as she did so. “You could have been a countess. Now whatever shall we do?”
“I am going to wait for a young man to speak to Father, as should have happened a long time ago.” Francesca hugged her mother. “And now that all of Newport knows what you have done to besmirch his reputation …”
“My own reputation is ruined.” Mother sank onto a chair.
“Take heart, Mother.” Francesca touched her shoulder. “One day it shall be someone else’s turn to have stories fly around about them. You know how society works.”
Alfred thought the meeting had been most agreeable. He rose from the chair and shook the man’s hand.
“You’re certain of this?” he asked Alfred.
“I know it’s quite soon after these recent events that have transpired, but I’ve prayed about it, and I know this is what I am to do. I only seek your approval and consent.” Alfred thanked God, over and over, that this day had come at last. Even now, it seemed like a dream.
“Well then, Mr. Finley, if you and I and God agree,” the gentleman appraised him as they faced each other in front of the library’s fireplace, “I suppose there’s one more person you ought to speak with.”
“Do you know where …”
“Take the sea path.” The man shrugged. “Where else would she be?”
Francesca loved the sounds of the surf pounding the shore. Dusk was falling, and the sky flamed a crimson that faded into shades of purple and a deepening blue that would soon turn black. By that time, Francesca would be indoors, tucked into her room at Seaside and wondering yet again about Alfred.
Her paintbrush flew over the canvas as she attempted to capture the atmosphere just before night fell. Mother would say her use of color was “violent,” but Francesca thought vivid more aptly described the colors. Poor Mother.
Mother wandered the halls like a shadow, almost as if she had been the one jilted. No, not jilted. Francesca still smiled at Philippe’s words, that he believed she considered herself his equal. Not exactly the same, but then she’d recognized human nature was still human nature, no matter how prettily one dressed it up. She could hardly wait to tell Alfred about the jewelry Philippe had insisted she keep.
Elizabeth strolled along the shoreline, gathering shells. The young woman had a spring in her step. Evidently, a certain young man named O’Neal in Alfred’s employ had spoken to Alfred, who in turn had spoken to her father, who had spoken to Elizabeth’s parents. It would not surprise Francesca if another wedding would take place within the year, not on the grand scale that Francesca’s might have been, but full of priceless love and laughter.
“Look, Miss Francesca.” Elizabeth held up a shell as she trotted across the sand to where Francesca painted. “This is a large one.”
“Beautiful. You should keep it and remember this night.” Francesca wanted to ask her about O’Neal. “I … I shall miss you when you leave one day.”
“Oh, I will still be here through the end of the year. After that”—and at this Elizabeth blushed�
�”we shall have a January wedding. Jonathan will have everything prepared then.”
“I am truly happy for you.” She really didn’t need a maid. “You will enjoy being part of the Finley household, I am sure.”
“I … I will miss you, too. And perhaps one day I shall borrow a dress and show up at one of the balls. You never know.” They both smiled at the idea.
“Have you heard how Mrs. Finley is doing? Because I’ve heard nothing.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “All I know is that Mr. Finley brought her to the hospital in New York, when the Newport physician could not help her.”
“I will continue to pray for her, then, until I hear more.” Francesca considered something for a moment. “She can be loud, but don’t be afraid of her. She has a golden heart and will treat you well.”
“Well, I’m sure having you as part of the Finley household will help as well.”
Francesca couldn’t believe her maid’s words. Mother would have called it impertinent; Francesca preferred the term “bold.” But she deserved as much after that spring’s scheme in Paris.
“What are you talking about?”
Elizabeth gave an impish grin and looked past Francesca, toward the path that led to Seaside. “I think I will go look for more shells, miss.”
Francesca turned and squinted at the shadows. A figure had just taken the last steps from the path and stepped onto the sand. The last rays of sunlight glinted dark red on his hair.
“Al?”
“Fran.” His posture exuded a confidence she hadn’t recalled seeing before. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. Mother …”
“How is she?” Francesca closed the distance between them.
“She is recuperating.” Up close, his eyes looked tired. “But I came to Newport when she threatened to drag me here herself. As she’ll be confined to a wheelchair from now on, that’s not likely, but I believed it unwise to take any chances.”
“So, why have you come, and why did your mother threaten to drag you here?”
“I understand that your engagement to Philippe has been called off.”
“And?”
