“Mother, you read too much into it. A shine is not the same as being in love with me.”
“I know. Come along, Gloria, or we shall miss the ball.”
*
As Gloria walked down the Whitfield grand staircase, Ben could not take his eyes off her. The train of her dress spread out behind her, and further enhanced the elegance of her descent. When she reached the bottom, her tiara glistened under Abigail’s lavish chandelier.
“You look magnificent,” Ben said.
“Which of our mothers bid you to say that?” she whispered.
“Neither,” he confessed, “you do look magnificent.”
“You flatter me, kind sir.” She took his arm and followed her parents out the door. Claymore’s Rambler five-passenger touring car had red wheel rims, shiny green doors, a gold trimmed engine, and brown leather seats.
“I demand a weather report,” said Gloria after Ben helped her in the back seat and then climbed in beside her.
“Mrs. Whitfield,” Ben asked, “what can we expect of the weather this evening?”
“Clear skies, a half moon and plenty of starlight,” she answered. Since her back was to the younger couple, Abigail did not see them both muffle their laughter.
*
By design, the MacGreagors arrived before the Whitfields and just in case, Driver Dugan went inside first to make certain the duchess was not there. Blair was so excited, she found it difficult to wait, but she assumed it was part of some odd ritual everyone went through. As soon as Dugan came back and shook his head, he opened the door and helped her out.
Inside, the sight of Blair garnered more than her share of attention, but soon her friends surrounded her. Nevertheless, Cameron was not about to let her out of his sight. As soon as the music started, he made certain he was the first to dance with his daughter, just to let all the men, young and old alike, know precisely whom they would have to deal with. Next, Hannish danced with her, and reinforced his brother’s warning. Being the tallest and largest men there, they felt certain they had gotten the point across.
Leesil and Cathleen tried not to, but both privately laughed at their husbands. “Are we to go through this when each of our daughters become old enough?” Leesil whispered.
“I have not the least doubt,” Cathleen answered.
The Antler Hotel was well lit and all aglow when the Whitfields arrived. The usual red walls and curtains in the ballroom had been enhanced with glittering gold sashes, and fresh spring flowers in ornate vases sat on pedestals between each set of curtains. Nearly everyone was already there, most were dancing, and the five-piece orchestra was playing a Johann Strauss waltz as they entered the room.
Gloria and her mother immediately went to welcome the guests, leaving Claymore and Ben alone. “Shall we?” Claymore asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, and instead took Ben to the lounge where they each ordered a stiff drink. “Abigail will frown,” he said, “but then, she always does.” He clinked glasses with a smiling Ben. Both downed their drinks and hurried back to the ballroom.
At his first ball, Ben was slightly puzzled. “What do we do now?”
“Fraternize, mostly,” Claymore answered. “Tell me, did the MacGreagors teach you how to dance?”
“They did, but I confess I have much more to learn.”
“You best learn it quickly if you mean to be a member of this family,” Claymore said. Before Ben could respond, Claymore spotted an old friend and abruptly walked away.
Ben stared after him. A moment later, he felt a hand wrap around his arm, “Ah, sister, you look wonderful.”
Dressed in a velvet gown nearly the color of her hair, Leesil smiled. “Thank you, kind Sir.”
“Have you come to rescue me?”
“I have come to beg you to dance with me.”
“To build my confidence, before I dance with Gloria, you mean?”
“Precisely.” Leesil reached back, took hold of the train to her gown, and then curtsied to her brother.
Ben laughed, bowed, and then took her in his arms. His first step was perfect and before he knew it, he and his elder sister were dancing as though they had grown up together. When he spotted his glowing mother, he nodded, and when he noticed Gloria watching him, he smiled. It was the beginning of a wonderful evening.
At least that’s how it started.
“I feel as if my whole world is upside down,” Gloria confessed as she danced with Ben for the fifth time.
“You have changed your mind about Mr. Harrington?”
“I dare not change my mind, for my father’s sake, but I fear a disastrous marriage awaits me.”
“You need not marry him. If you say nothing, your parents will not hear of your engagement to Mr. Harrington.”
Gloria shook her head. “Until he comes to the house, hoping to change my mind.”
“I had not thought of that.” When the music ended, he walked her to the edge of the dance floor where the guests were few and they could talk. “I cannae imagine you living the rest of your life in misery.”
“Nor can I.” Gloria nodded to a friend, and then turned her attention back to Ben. “Perhaps Father is right and love will grow.”
“And perhaps he is wrong.”
Gloria playfully gasped, “My father…wrong?”
He tried to smile, but the subject was far too important. “Are you saying you no longer love Mr. Harrington?”
“Oh, Ben, how could I have been so blind? I know now that he could never love me the way my father loves my mother. He has no time for me. At best, I have condemned myself to a life of loneliness, until I have children to keep me company.”
“Without love, you shall become old, bitter and cruel.”
She playfully smacked his arm. “You are not being at all helpful.”
“I am not trying to be. I want you to stay with all the people who love you, and find your happiness with us.”
“You ask too much of me. You are a friend, a good friend, but you may be gone tomorrow. My father is forever in my life, and I cannot bear to think of him being ashamed of me, not for a single moment.”
“I would like to be more than…”
She held up her hand to stop him. “Please, Ben, say no more. It cannot be.”
He bowed his head. “You must not marry him, Gloria. Your father will understand once you explain it.”
“He will not understand. You heard him; he shall know that I hurt Mr. Harrington. Father thinks all men are the same as he – loving and tenderhearted, who do not recover well after losing the women they love.”
“You do not give your father credit. He knows very well not all men are the same as he.”
“Yet, a promise is a promise that must be kept, and I have given my promise to Mr. Harrington. It is too late, far, far too late.” Gloria took a calming breath, reached up on tiptoe and kissed Ben’s cheek. “Forgive me if you can.” She abruptly turned, walked to her father and pretended nothing was wrong.
Ben watched, but it was the last time she looked at him. He dare not ask her to dance again, and his heart was too heavy to ask anyone else just yet. He guessed everyone was noticing, but he knew pressing her would only upset Gloria and perhaps push her farther away. At length, he busied himself dancing with Blair and her friends, and when it came time, he acted as if nothing was wrong on the ride home. At the Whitfield mansion, he bid her good night, mounted his horse, and rode home.
*
It was Sunday morning. The ball had lasted into the wee hours the night before and breakfast was served late. Gloria and her parents chatted about the entertainment, the gowns, the refreshments and the little tidbits of gossip Abigail managed to gather from the guests.
“Daughter, has Ben proposed yet?” Claymore finally asked.
“What?” Gloria asked.
“It is a simple question. Has he gotten up the courage to ask for your hand yet or not?”
“Claymore, is it not obvious they quarreled last night?” Abigail asked.
/> “About what?” Claymore wanted to know.
“We did not quarrel,” said Gloria.
Claymore did not hide his relief. “I am glad of that. Therefore, I am asking again if he means to marry you anytime soon. It is apparent he is in love with you, and I think you love him too. You know how your mother has her heart set on planning your wedding, and I am simply asking for a bit of advanced warning.”
“Father, Ben and I…I mean, I cannot marry Ben even if he does love me.”
“Why not?” Abigail demanded.
“Because, I am already engaged.”
Abigail was speechless. Her mouth dropped, her shoulders slumped and she dropped her fork in her plate.
It took Claymore a while too, before he finally asked, “To whom?”
“A man I met in Baltimore. His name is Nate Harrington. He owns a factory, or rather he is part owner of a factory in New York, and several coal mines in Pennsylvania.”
“Why are we just now hearing about this, daughter?” Claymore asked.
“Oh, Father, I so wanted to tell you, but Ben and I were having great fun waiting to see what our mothers would do next. And…”
“And what?” Abigail asked.
“And, I knew it would break your hearts to learn I was going to live so far away.” She waited, but her parents just stared at her. “I have dreaded this moment so.”
“And here it is anyway?” Claymore said. He set his plate aside, put his elbows on the table and strummed the fingers of one hand against the fingers of his other hand. “When is this wedding to take place?”
“In June.”
“Here or in New York?” Abigail asked.
“Mr. Harrington says he cannot get away long enough to have the wedding here.” Again, Gloria tried to gracefully endure the tense silence between them. She thought to take another bite of her eggs, but they suddenly looked very unappealing.
At last, Claymore said, “I find that rather unusual. Traditionally, a bride is given away by her father in a place of his choosing, if not his own home.”
“I know, and I am so sorry,” said Gloria. “I wish it were otherwise, truly I do.”
“Can you not convince your…Mr. Harrington otherwise?” Abigail asked.
“I do not imagine I can, but I shall try, Mother.”
The deed was done then, and Gloria felt relieved having said it, but she found their stares unbearable. Perhaps she expected yelling or in the very least, her mother’s tears, but there was nothing. She wanted to scream—to admit she knew she was making a terrible mistake. Instead, she waited.
“Well,” said Abigail finally, “I suppose you are in need of a wedding gown?”
“I have already ordered one.” Gloria watched as her mother abruptly excused herself and left the room. Her father downed the last of his coffee, and without another word, excused himself and left as well.
Never had she felt so alone and she had no one to blame but herself.
*
In her sitting room, Abigail picked up the telephone twice to call Leesil and tell her the good news. Twice, she put the phone back in the cradle before the operator answered. Gloria had not come out of her room, and what should have been excitement and joy, was silence and hurt – Abigail’s hurt. Oh, how she dreaded breaking the news to Mother O’Connell. Nevertheless, Gloria was all grown up and free to make her own decisions. Abigail drew in a deep breath, stood up, went to her daughter’s door, and lightly knocked.
“Come in?” said Gloria. For the past hour, she had been trying to read a book, but she was so troubled, the words would not stick in her mind. “Mother?”
“I have come to apologize,” Abigail said, slipping into the chair beside her daughter’s. “I should not have reacted so badly.”
“You have every right to be upset with me. I should have told you the day I arrived.”
“Well, never mind that now. You must tell me all about him. Is he handsome? Have you met his family? Does he have a home?”
Gloria smiled finally. “He is very handsome.”
“Of course he is.”
For the next hour, Gloria answered all her mother’s questions as best she could and relaxed. The worst was over. “Is Father very distraught?”
“He shall recover, he always does. You must promise to come visit as often as you are allowed, and naturally, we shall go to you when we can. Tell me all about your wedding dress. I have always envisioned a mountain of lace on your very special gown. I had no wedding gown, but then you know that already. At the time, I did not care in the least, and neither did your father. We were quite poor, you know, and…”
Hour after hour passed as Abigail happily planned her daughter’s wedding and Gloria let her. It was a relief not having to think of tiny details while her heart was breaking.
*
In the days following her arrival in Chicago, the duchess delighted Mr. Roth with stories of women she had known, and their adventures – the same adventures she made up to please Dr. Morris. Mr. Roth would never be the wiser, she knew, and it gave them something to talk about.
Douglas Roth was more than attentive as he showed her the wonders of Chicago, most of which the duchess was genuinely interested in. He took her to see the Home Insurance Building that he claimed was the tallest in the world. The architecture of the downtown Water Tower, built after the horrible Chicago Fire a few years earlier, was truly impressive. She also quite enjoyed strolling through Lake Park, which was built atop the city’s burned rubble.
Perhaps it was a certain sense of freedom that caused her exhilaration, for everything she saw and touched seemed wondrous. She even liked Mr. Roth. He was kind, gentle, humorous, and let her rest whenever she requested it. He bought her lemonade to sip as they sat together on the shore of Lake Michigan, and watched a tall ship sail away to be part of a history exhibition in Cleveland.
They spent one entire day visiting the Art Institute, which housed works from seemingly all over the world. The day after that, he tried to explain how they had reversed the flow of the Chicago River, and laughed when she looked completely confused. It had something to do with clean drinking water; that much she was able to comprehend.
Naturally, she found the Chicago Stock Exchange the most interesting of all. Before she knew it, she had whiled away more than an entire week. Chicago was a bit windy for her taste, and she was constantly holding on to her hat, but she liked the city. She liked it a lot. In fact, she liked it and Mr. Roth enough to extend her visit for a few more days.
When she was not with him, she visited bookshops to see if her book had made it to Chicago yet. It had not. She considered asking a bookshop owner, but decided not to draw undue attention to herself. While she was there, she picked up newspapers from London, New York City and Denver. In her room, she poured over them, first to see if her escape was mentioned, and then to see if the book had been reviewed. She found nothing.
However, in the Denver paper, she found a small notice of an upcoming ball in Colorado Springs to welcome Gloria Whitfield home. She would have liked seeing that, but the date on the newspaper indicated the ball had already come and gone.
The duchess felt not the slightest apprehension when Douglas Roth invited her to dine with his daughters at an exclusive restaurant. It promised to be the first step on their path to the marriage altar, and she was delighted. Normally, she did not agree to meet the family until after the proposal, for fear the man might be talked out of it. She learned that lesson the hard way when she was between husband number two and three. It was the closest she ever came to marrying into royalty. That aside, she had dealt with plenty of prospective relatives before, and the key was simply to be charming and not overly attracted to the gentleman in question – which was not difficult, since she was rarely attracted to any of them.
Mr. Roth picked her up at the hotel in his new automobile. She wore her blue afternoon dress, the one that was narrow at the waist, with puffed sleeves, off white trim and a full skirt. Her hair was
upswept, a little less bright red than it had been the week before, and she looked as if spring had already sprung in the chilly, northern city. She worried that she might look too young for Mr. Roth, but it was too late to worry about that now.
The restaurant was indeed exclusive, for only members of the stock exchange could enter. A pianist in the reception room played cheerful classical music, the kind she adored, and they were immediately shown to a table where his daughters were already waiting. As soon as they were seated, a waiter came to pour wine in their glasses. The duchess saw the instant attention paid to him, as a very good indication that Mr. Roth was noted for his wealth and status in Chicago’s upper society. She was elated and had no trouble at all ignoring the stares of his daughters.
In appearance, the daughters were as different as night and day. In the duchess’ opinion, one was ghostly thin and the other rounder than a proper lady should be. Their differences implied two different mothers, but what did she care? She was not marrying the daughters. Because she did not know their names, she dubbed them Miss Thin and Miss Plump. The idea made her smile with glee.
Oddly, Douglas Roth neglected to introduce them, and immediately ordered steak all around, until Miss Thin began to pout.
“I want pork chops,” she whined.
He put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, easily gave in to her demand, and changed his order.
“Where are you from?” Miss Plump asked the duchess.
Already the inquisition had begun. The duchess reached for her glass of wine and took a sip before she answered, “I was born in London, but I have seen a good many other places.”
“Such as,” Miss Thin asked.
Apparently, whining was Miss Thin’s natural tone of voice. The duchess tried not to stare at the rather large freckle on Miss Thin’s cheek and pleasantly answered, “California, Paris, Denver, and Edinburgh, to name a few.”
“Edinburgh, Scotland?” Miss Thin asked.
“Yes, Scotland.”
Miss Plump sounded considerably more impertinent when she asked, “Where were you educated?”
Marblestone Mansion, Book 8 Page 12
