by Gina Welborn
Not.
Once Mama Helaine and Rena heard about this—oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. She had to think. She had to calm her racing mind. Why had she allowed Rena to convince her proposing to Captain Yeary was a good idea? Two dresses had been enough.
Félicie’s gaze fell to where the not-as-noble-as-she’d-been-told captain’s hand was resting atop hers. They would not be in this predicament had he not tattled to Mrs. Grbic about her lack of blood relations. It was a good thing she had not confessed to being deserted by her mother, or that Mama Helaine had taken her in as her own, or how Rena was closer to her than any blood sibling could be. This was his fault. All his fault. His duty as a gentleman was to repair the damage he had caused. Once they left here, she would explain his obligation and he would thusly do what was honorable.
His reputation, unlike hers, could endure the slight.
Feeling a bit more settled, she returned her attention to the on-going discussion.
“And that is why, ladies,” Mrs. Grbic was saying, “I call upon each of you over the month to host Carp and his lovely fiancée for dinner. Encourage your friends to do so as well. Every meal they eat shall be given for them by someone.”
Félicie looked at Captain Yeary and did a double-take. He looked like he was staring at something on the wall behind Mrs. Grbic.
Mrs. Lester set her empty lemonade glass on the side table between her chair and Mrs. Grbic’s. “What about having a tea?”
“Certainly.” Mrs. Grbic looked expectantly at her friends. “Anyone else?”
“Both sides of the family should,” prompted Mrs. Topping. “I shall host the bride’s tea.”
Mrs. Jones raised her hand. “I’ll host the groom’s.”
“I shall give a dance in their honor,” Mrs. O’Brian put in.
“Now, Doris,” interjected Mrs. Kleg, “where do you propose this dance take place? Or has Harold decided your ballroom is no longer the best place for him to store his carriage collection?”
Mrs. O’Brian’s cheeks colored. Her voice softened. “I shall host a Saturday brunch instead.”
Mrs. Buckwalter patted Mrs. O’Brian’s arm. “Brunches are always nice.” She looked to Mrs. Grbic. “I’ll host one too.”
Félicie glanced from one lady to the other. Five days a week she took her meals at the hotel. She always took her meals in the hotel. Or at Mama Helaine’s. That was her schedule. She liked knowing what she was going to eat, when she was going to eat, and where she was going to it. They couldn’t just change it at their whim, no matter how laden down in jewelry they were.
She leaned closer to Captain Yeary and whispered, “Say something.”
He continued to watch the wall with an inscrutably blank expression.
Mrs. Dillingsford withdrew what looked to be a planner from her tote. “Dinners throughout March,” she muttered, flipping pages.
Mrs. Grbic nodded. “Ladies, we can extend into April, if necessary.”
“Good idea,” someone muttered.
“This is not necessary,” Félicie insisted. “Really, it is not.” She nudged her fiancé, yet not even his eyes blinked. The man was worthless. She turned back to the circle of eight. They were huddled in groups of two. None were paying her any attention.
Mrs. Jones tapped Mrs. Dillingsford’s planner. “That evening is best.”
Mrs. Dillingsford nodded and wrote in her planner. She looked up. “Rachel and I will organize the engagement ball for our daughter-to-be,” she said, punctuating her words with the wave of her ring-encrusted hand. “I can think of a dozen other premier families she has yet to be presented to.”
Mrs. Kleg picked up a cookie. “My Melissa’s engagement ball was at the Carey Hotel. Mr. Kleg swears by their Indian pudding.”
“It is the finest Indian pudding west of the Mississippi,” Mrs. Lester added.
The ladies all nodded in agreement.
“I heard they purchase Barbados molasses from the Caribbean Islands,” Mrs. Topping put in. “It’s made from sun-ripened cane which has grown twelve to fifteen months.”
Mrs. Buckwalter looked significantly impressed. “Really?”
“Ahh,” said Mrs. O’Brian, “that has to be what makes it taste so good.”
Mrs. Grbic finally decided to sit. “I use sulphured molasses in my gingerbread.”
“Your gingerbread is delicious,” Mrs. Jones said with a sigh. “I rarely cook with molasses much anymore. Mr. Jones doesn’t care for the taste.”
“Mr. Kleg doesn’t either,” added Mrs. Kleg.
“Molasses is an excellent source of copper and manganese,” said Mrs. Grbic, “and a very good source of potassium and magnesium.”
“You don’t say,” mused Mrs. Dillingsford. “Perhaps I—”
“A ball?” blurted Félicie to get back on topic. “Must we have an engagement ball?”
The ladies all looked at her as if she had spoken Russian.
“What my lovely fiancée means is,” Captain Yeary said, and gave her hands a little squeeze, “is must we plan the ball now? Tomorrow she begins her new job as calligrapher at the hotel. Let’s give her a few months to adjust. How about we do a late summer engagement ball and a St. Valentine’s Day wedding?”
Perhaps he was not as worthless as she had thought.
Mrs. Grbic’s brows drew together. “I see.” And then she fell silent.
The other seven said nothing either
Félicie looked to Captain Yeary.
He shrugged.
What was that supposed to mean? She rolled her eyes before she could stop herself.
“How about this,” Mrs. Grbic said, a bit placatingly. “You two spend the afternoon making a list of possible wedding dates, foods you like, locations for the service, members of the bridal party, and any other preferences. We will stay here and work on parental duties.” She made a little motion with her hand that mimicked walking. “Go on.”
Then she smiled.
Her circle of friends smiled too.
With that, Félicie knew any further discussion was not to be had.
Before she could find a stick to shake, she and Captain Yeary were standing outside Mrs. Grbic’s three-story mansion. The sun shone bright, blue sky with nary a cloud. The breeze was gentle against her skin, the temperature moderate. The day could truly not be any more beautiful.
“It’s a beautiful day,” he said as if making a grand announcement.
Félicie rested her hands on her hips. “This is your fault.”
Captain Yeary touched his chest. “Mine? You must be confusing me with you.”
“Me?” Félicie coughed a breath. She glanced around and saw no one within earshot. “You were the one who accepted my proposal when we both know you intended nothing of the sort.”
“You proposed.”
“Because I was being greedy,” she said in all truth. “All you had to do was say no. N-O. Now go back into the house and tell them this was all a misunderstanding.”
“You tell them.” He crossed his arms. “You’re the one who made me succumb to your flirtation.”
“What? No! I—we—” she sputtered. She was not a flirt. She never flirted. She had more sense than—Félicie growled under her breath. There was a time for humor and a time for seriousness. This was not the former. “You may tell them whatever you want as long as it includes we are not getting married.”
He shrugged. “I can’t. If I do, they’ll think badly of me.”
“You care what people think?”
He gave her a stern look. “I have a reputation to uphold as a gentleman.”
“A woman’s reputation has always been more precarious than a man’s.” She let out a furious exhale. “As a gentleman, you must do the right thing. You must sacrifice for a lady. That you refuse to surprises me because I had just started to think favorably of—why are you smiling?”
“Anyone ever told you, you’re a sight when you’re in a dither?”
“You enjoy vexing me.”
“Not sure why I enjoy vexing you,” he said, still smiling, “but I do.” He leaned close. “Admit it, you enjoy being vexed by me.”
With a huff of breath, Félicie started east toward the trolley stop at the end of the block and away from Captain Yeary’s flirtations. As a Carey House employee, she had signed a contract stating she would be a woman of virtuous character. Women of virtuous character did not cry off an engagement. Women of virtuous character also did not propose for the sole purpose of earning a silk dress. Not even a silk dress. She had chosen tweed and calico—practical fabrics. With every step away from Captain Yeary, she could hear Mr. Eaton’s words as clear as they had been last night.
Miss Richmond, there is a rumor going around that you proposed to Carp for a free dress and for that reason alone. I shall choose to believe this is not the case. However, should I hear you ended the engagement, I will know you are not the woman I took you to be. In that case, you will need to find work elsewhere.
She grumbled under her breath. Pearl had to have been the one spreading the gossip. Or Alta. Truth was, it mattered not who started the gossip because she had proposed for a free dress and that reason alone. This was her self-created mire.
“Who is Miss Laurent to you? Sister? Cousin?” he called out. “I know you two are more than acquaintances.”
Félicie shook her head. Not in response but in hopes of ridding his voice from her mind.
His shoes thumped against the brick sidewalk as he raced to catch up.
“Mrs. Helaine Laurent of St. Louis—and before that New Orleans—moved to Wichita in ’96,” he said, falling into step. He flipped his hat back on his head. “Five months later she married attorney Mark Peddicord in a private civil service. Two teenage girls were in attendance. Almost two years later, one of his pro bono clients shot him point blank in the chest.”
Félicie stopped, her heart racing. She caught her breath. “How do you know this?”
“I made a few calls.”
“When?”
“Last night after I left you at the hotel.”
“You had me investigated?”
He quirked a brow. “I made a few calls. Is Helaine Peddicord your mother?”
Félicie swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. “No. When Rena and I were fourteen, she took us on as apprentices.”
“So Miss Laurent isn’t her natural daughter either?”
“Charles and Helaine Laurent adopted Rena. He died a few months later of natural causes.” She clasped her hands together and straightened her shoulders. “Returning to the matter at hand...last night I consulted four etiquette books. All advise breaking an engagement by letter.”
He looked significantly confused. “Why letter?”
“By this means a man is best able to express himself clearly.”
“That makes sense,” he murmured.
Félicie grinned. She appreciated a person who listened to reason.
“Since we agreed to be honest with each other,” he began, “I believe it is in our best interest to wait until April to break the engagement.”
“April? Why then?”
His gaze shifted down to her figure.
Félicie felt her cheeks warm. “I am not staying engaged merely for a month of free meals.”
“They want to help.”
“I am not a charity case.”
“Why won’t you let someone do something nice for you?”
Félicie growled under her breath. It was bad enough that he saw her as a lost pet in need of rescue. To know Mrs. Grbic and her circle of friends saw her that way too…
“Captain Yeary, since you refuse to break the engagement as would a true gentleman,” she said, with considerable emphasis, “then you leave me with no choice but to be so insufferable that you will jilt me.”
He stared at her for several seconds before busting out a laugh.
“You may stop,” she said.
His laughter ended abruptly. “You’re serious?”
“Unlike you, I am not a person who jokes around. If I say it”—she looked him directly in the eye—“I mean it. I shall make your life miserable.”
He started shaking his head. “Sweetheart, you cannot be insufferable enough to make me jilt you. You’re too nice of a person. Call me Carp. Everyone does,” he said as if it were an afterthought.
Even if they married—and they weren’t going to—she would never call him Carp. “First of all, you do not know me well enough to know how nice or not nice I am.” She ignored his raised brows. “Second, I certainly can be more insufferable than you are.”
“I breathe insufferability.” His cheeks ballooned with air, then slowly deflated with a pfffft.
“Now you are being childish.”
He leaned forward, smiled a little. “And you aren’t?”
In that moment, she realized how close his face was to hers. His eyes—they’d never seemed so green, so intense. He just stood there studying her. She almost believed he liked what he saw.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.
His grin broadened. “You’re awfully cute when you’re in a dither.”
Ignoring the warmth in her cheeks, Félicie pointed to Mrs. Grbic’s house. “Go back right now and tell them we are not getting married.”
He crossed his arms. “To the winner go the spoils.”
“In light of these circumstances, that makes no sense.”
“To insufferable people it does.”
With a shake of her head, Félicie continued on to the trolley. For Carpenter Yeary’s well-being, she needed to walk away before she did something—something outlandish. Something not nice. Something horrible people did. Something involving ink and frogs and custard. Something—
Oh, why was she even pondering what she would do?
All that mattered was that Carpenter Yeary was underestimating her ability to make his life miserable.
He’s the dandiest man.
Ha! Pearl clearly had him confused with someone else.
Chapter 8
Any man who can begin to elicit any woman’s love can perfectly infatuate her more and more, solely by courting her right; and all women who once start a man’s love—no very difficult achievement—can get out of him, and do with him, anything possible she pleases. The charming and fascinating power of serpents over birds is as nothing compared with that a woman can wield over a man, and he over her.
~Social Life; or The Manners and Customs of Polite Society
Tuesday evening – May 26th
Madame Helaine Laurent’s House of Design
“HOW ENJOYABLE CAN AN ENGAGEMENT BALL BE”—Félicie gasped a breath as Mama Helaine fastened the back of the green-beaded ballgown—“when it takes this much effort to dress for it? I much prefer being the help.”
“Hush, he will hear you,” warned Mama Helaine.
Félicie looked over her shoulder to the woman who (once she heard a wedding committee had been organized) had announced to Mrs. Grbic’s circle of friends that she would be making Félicie’s ballgown and wedding dress, as a gift to the happy couple. That had led to Mrs. Topping making the motion that they accept the offering, and Mrs. Lester seconding, and all saying aye. Wedding plans should not be made by parliamentary procedure. Every day Carpenter refused to break off the engagement meant one day closer to them reciting wedding vows.
She sighed. “Carpenter would have to be standing on the other side of the velvet curtains to hear us. Besides, Rena is out there. You can bet she’s talking to him.”
Mama Helaine smoothed the sides of Félicie’s dress then swiveled her around. She smiled. “He will find no fault with this one.”
“He had better because this one is Rena’s.”
Mama Helaine responded with a tsk, tsk, tsk.
Félicie eyed the wardrobe of ballgowns she had spent the last two hours modeling for Carpenter because she’d insisted he choose the one she wore for their engagement ball hosted by his “
parental” half of the circle of friends. Any other man would have said “this one” after the first dress. Certainly after the second one. Having missed dinner because she’d dragged him to Mama Helaine’s right after she finished her day’s work, he had to be hungry and irritable and one degree closer to breaking their engagement. But here they were on her fourteenth gown, and the words “this one” had yet to cross his lips. Carpenter Yeary was a stubborn, obstinate, pig-headed man who refused to do the right thing and call off marrying her. He frustrated her to no end. None of her insufferableness seemed to push him over the edge, which was becoming all the more difficult because they still had to keep up appearances as a smitten couple.
Attend a weekend house party at the Kingfishers’ ranch.
Join him on a canoe trip down the Little Arkansas.
Help him manage the Fire Department’s Spring Auction.
Partner with him to run a booth in the high school’s alumni carnival.
The latter she couldn’t find fault with. Who wouldn’t enjoy convincing Wichitans to toss a pie in his face? Actually, she’d enjoyed all their couple activities during the last three months. Not that she would tell him. When Carpenter Yeary wasn’t trying to torture her, he was rather amusing and gallant.
He happily met her at the hotel every weekday morning and escorted her to breakfast in the dining room. He stopped questioning her relationship with Rena and Mama Helaine. He even insisted she spend her Sundays with them, to the point of forbidding Mrs. Grbic’s circle of friends to host events on Sunday. A man that considerate should have the decency to break an engagement.
Mama Helaine’s palm rested against Félicie’s cheek. “What troubles you?”
Félicie walked to the three-panel mirror and studied her reflection. Not a single strand of hair had escaped her smooth bun. Her cheeks no longer looked thin (or skeletal as Mama Helaine had oft complained). The princess-cut of the dress accentuated the fuller curves she had developed over weeks of extravagant dinners. A woman smitten with her fiancé should have a joy in her eyes. She looked tired, despite the bronze glow on her nose and cheeks from Carpenter’s attempt on Saturday to teach her how to play lawn tennis. No matter how unteachable she had tried to be, he’d taken it all in stride. The man had the patience of a saint.
