What the Lady Wants

by Renée Rosen

  Though she knew she’d catch her mother-in-law’s wrath for being late, Delia had no regrets. Marshall made her feel valued and useful. He took her opinions seriously and this feeling of being respected by a man like Marshall Field was worth any reprimand awaiting her.

  For the first time since she’d met Mrs. John D. Caton, she didn’t care what her mother-in-law thought of her. Delia realized it didn’t matter how she decorated her house, which social engagements she attended or committees she chaired, because as long as she didn’t produce an heir, and preferably a son, Delia knew there was no pleasing Arthur’s mother. And yet even if she did bring a male heir to their family, Delia supposed she’d be regarded only as the custodian.

  When she arrived home, her mother-in-law wasn’t waiting for her.

  “You’ve been spared,” said Arthur. “Mother isn’t coming today.”

  “Oh.” Delia walked into the library and set her satchel down on the chair in the corner. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She actually was a bit disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to test her newfound indifference on her mother-in-law.

  “I sent her home.” His voice was flat. He was sitting on the sofa, his shirtsleeves rolled up and his hair in a rumpled mess. She saw the opened bottle of bourbon in front of him on the table.

  “You’re drunk? Already?”

  “Possibly. And please don’t start scolding me again about my drinking. I’ve had one hell of a day.”

  She inched closer to his side. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” She reached for his forehead, feeling for fever as he pulled away from her.

  He looked miserable as he refilled his glass.

  She paused for a moment, listening to the ice crackling, breaking down as the bourbon hit it. “Please, tell me what’s wrong?”

  “It’s Paxton,” he said, taking a long sip. “He’s decided to move back to New York. Apparently he’s got some girl there.”

  “Oh.” Delia nearly laughed. “You know how fickle Paxton is. He’ll be back.”

  “You don’t understand.” Arthur set down his glass hard. “He’s my best friend and he’s leaving.”

  “You still have me. Aren’t I your best friend?” She smiled, but Arthur just gave her a long, blank stare that she couldn’t decipher. She felt the sting of rejection as he drained his glass, got up and walked out of the room.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Candlelight glinted off the blue topaz diamond on Delia’s finger as well as the crystal goblets and sterling silverware. She was dining at the elegant Kinsley’s on Washington between State and Dearborn. Arthur was on her left and Marsh—as they’d taken to calling him—sat to her right. Their waiter had just opened their third bottle of wine.

  In the past few weeks Delia, Arthur and Marsh had spent a good deal of time together. Delia adored Marsh and told herself it was perfectly fine as long as Arthur was with them. Besides, it was Arthur who sought out Marsh’s company even more than she did, especially now that Paxton had moved back to New York.

  It was at Arthur’s insistence that Marsh join them for a play the week before, followed by a visit to Wallach’s down on LaSalle and Erie for hot toddies. The previous Sunday, Marsh had come over to the Catons’, and he and Arthur played chess while Delia curled up on the settee with her sketch pad. At first she’d drawn the two of them, deep in concentration, hovering over their respective sides of the chessboard. But then it was Marsh that she sketched, focusing on his classic features, his straight nose and narrow chin, the strong line of his jaw, the intensity of his eyes, the fullness of his mustache. With the tip of her finger, she blended the harsh charcoaled edge of his mouth, blurring the line between fact and fantasy as she caressed his lips and wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Catching herself in this reverie, she set her pencil down and tore up the sketch.

  After that, she’d sheepishly excused herself and went into her room, feigning sleep until she’d heard Marsh leave. Later that night, she was so racked by guilt she hardly slept at all. All she could think was that her thoughts had betrayed Arthur and Nannie, too.

  In the morning, though, her guilt dissipated. By noon she forgave herself, taking comfort in the fact that she hadn’t actually done anything wrong. She hadn’t done anything at all; she had just been fantasizing. She was still reminding herself of this the night at Kinsley’s.

  “So I’ve been thinking about this horse-breeding business of yours,” Marsh said to Arthur.

  “Actually, it’s not a business. Really just a hobby,” said Arthur, as he refilled everyone’s wineglass.

  “But why not expand your operations? Make something of it,” said Marsh.

  “Why would I do that? I don’t need the money.”

  “It’s not about the money. You do it because you can. It’s about making your mark. Leaving something behind that your children and grandchildren will carry on. That’s why we get up every morning and do what we do. We’re the backbone of this country. Just think about all the people you could put to work.”

  Arthur looked at him, confused, but Delia knew exactly what Marsh was saying and it made her blood pulse a bit faster.

  “Think about it for a minute,” said Marsh. “Whether it’s a city horse or a country horse, even a trotting horse, those animals keep a lot of people employed. You have harness makers, carriage makers, blacksmiths, stable hands, coachmen.”

  “And don’t forget there’s uniforms for the coachmen, their driving gloves and such,” said Delia.

  “Exactly,” Marsh agreed, thumping the table. “Expand your operations and you’ll join the ranks of the men who helped build this city and this country.”

  Delia marveled at how Marsh’s mind worked. He was a visionary and it was his brilliant ideas that separated him from other merchants, from other men. She only hoped that Arthur was taking it all in.

  “You certainly have the land to expand,” Delia said to Arthur.

  “I’ve never thought about turning it into a business,” said Arthur. The word came out as if coated in something bitter. He lifted his wineglass and shrugged. “I just like breeding horses.”

  “I think it could be a wonderful opportunity,” said Delia, reaching for Arthur’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

  When they got home that night, Arthur poured himself a brandy and followed Delia upstairs to her bedroom. “It’s certainly an interesting prospect,” he admitted. “But I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “Why not ask Marsh?” Delia was already in bed, hugging her arms about her knees. “I’m certain he would be willing to advise you.”

  “He’s really quite remarkable,” said Arthur, reaching for his brandy. “The more time we spend with him, the more I realize that.” He took a sip and continued. “Maybe with his help I could make a go of this. And then what would my father say?”

  “You’ll show him.” Delia laughed. There’s nothing she would have liked better. Judge Caton was a demanding man and severely critical of his son, calling him lazy and spoiled, neither of which Delia could deny. But she believed in Arthur. All he needed was some encouragement, some guidance, and Marsh was the perfect person to do just that.

  Arthur set his glass down and lay beside Delia on her bed. “I think I could learn a great deal from Marsh. Certainly more from him than I ever learned from my father.”

  “I was just thinking that very thing.” Delia scooted closer to Arthur and rested her head on his shoulder. “There’s a chill in here,” she said. “Why don’t you get under the covers.”

  “Marsh is very wise. Don’t you get that impression?” He stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “You know, the more time we spend with him, the more I like him. He’s really quite remarkable,” he said again.

  She smiled, realizing that Arthur was repeating himself, which was what he did whenever he drank too much. But just the same she was thrilled that Arthur
saw what she saw in Marshall Field. The fact that Arthur admired him as much as she did made her feel less guilty about her attraction to him. It was as if this lure toward Marsh was something that she and Arthur shared together. In their own ways, she realized they were both falling a little bit in love with him.

  Arthur reached for his glass and balanced it on his chest. “I think I’ll make some notes and see if I can discuss them with Marsh.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea.”

  Arthur nodded and set his empty brandy glass on the night table and sat up.

  “Where are you going?” Delia felt a jolt, a tug at her heart.

  “To write down my notes.”

  “Now?”

  “Marsh has me inspired. I don’t want to lose any of these ideas.”

  Delia pulled the covers up over her shoulders and slouched back down. She could hardly protest. She was pleased that Arthur was finally motivated to do something. When he kissed her on the forehead, she willed herself not to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him back into her bed. She turned and looked at the indentation his head had left on the pillow.

  • • •

  Delia sat in the library, studying her social calendar and watching the snow fall. It was early December and icicles hung down from the mullions along the window frames. Several weeks had passed since Marsh suggested Arthur start his horse-breeding business. As far as she knew, Arthur hadn’t done a thing about it. He wouldn’t even show her his ideas when she asked, making her think that he’d never bothered to write them down in the first place.

  Delia glanced again at her calendar. She had a full schedule. There was a Fortnightly Club meeting and Frances Glessner, a leading socialite, had invited her over for a reading group she was starting. A lover of books, Delia was especially looking forward to that gathering. She was also having tea with Bertha one day and lunch with Annie Swift the next. There was a charity ball that weekend, along with a hospital dedication ceremony Sunday afternoon. Because the judge had donated fifteen thousand dollars to the project, the whole family was required to attend. Just thinking about it and all her other social obligations left her exhausted. She closed her calendar and rubbed her temples. As she stood up from her desk, a dull ache spread across her lower back. Her head throbbed and her stomach knotted up with the first sign of her monthly cramps.

  She called to Therese for a hot water bottle. She didn’t need to bother checking the date or counting the days. She already knew that another month had come and gone. Once more she had failed to conceive. Delia went upstairs, stepped out of her dress and loosened her corset. She no longer cried at the sign of her monthlies. She was used to it and had come to expect the disappointment.

  In just her chemise and drawers she stood near her bedroom windows looking out across the way at the Field mansion. It was daylight, so the lamps weren’t on yet, but she could see people milling about inside, probably the servants. Delia felt the knot in her stomach tighten as she pulled the drapes shut.

  She went over to the bed and rolled onto her side, curling her body around the warmth of the hot water bottle. If she wasn’t meant to have children, then why was she here? What purpose did God have for her?

  Oh, if only she and Arthur could have children—even one child—all this nonsense with Marsh, this infatuation with him would go away.

  She dozed off and when she got up she found Arthur hovering in the doorway.

  “I just got back from lunching with Marsh. Therese said you weren’t feeling well. I came up to check on you.” He went over and sat next to her on the side of the bed, his hand gently rubbing circles along her back. “What’s wrong? Is it your head? Do you feel feverish? Tell me what it is, my pet.”

  With her back toward him, she said, “Another month. I’ve failed you, again.”

  He leaned over and wrapped his arms around her. “You haven’t failed me, Dell.”

  She rolled onto her back and reached up to stroke his face. “I was thinking maybe we need to try harder. Try more often,” she said. It was a subject she rarely broached, but she was desperate. It had been nearly three weeks since he’d touched her.

  “Who’s to say? Some things can’t be forced.”

  “But I do think we need to make more of an effort.”

  “Relax,” he said with a soft smile. “You need to relax and it will happen.” He unlaced his shoes and slipped them off before he stretched out on the bed beside her. “There, there.” He yawned as he placed her head on his shoulder.

  It took all her will to lie there and let him hold her. Delia needed him to say he’d try harder, too. How was she ever to become pregnant if they didn’t try more often? She watched the shadows growing longer on the wall as they lay there in silence.

  After a while, Arthur yawned and said, “I do have something that I think will lift your spirits.”

  “Oh?” She glanced up at him, thinking he was finally doing something about the horse farm.

  “I was thinking it might be nice to build a solarium out back. I spoke with Marsh about it and he’s recommended an excellent architect. Solon Beman—he’s the one who did Pullman’s conservatory.” Arthur yawned again. “I have a meeting set with him and I think we can break ground on it this summer.”

  “Won’t you be busy with the horse farm business all summer?” She waited, and when he didn’t answer, she gazed up at him. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep. It was three in the afternoon and he had fallen asleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was the height of the holiday season, and since Nannie was still in France with the children, Delia and Arthur continued to extend invitations for Marsh to join them for dinners or accompany them to special events and parties. As a result the three of them became a fixture on the Chicago social scene that season. They were out together three, sometimes four nights a week.

  One Saturday afternoon, Arthur had even convinced Marsh to take a day off and go skating with them. The three of them ventured to the lagoon in Lincoln Park. It wasn’t quite round, shaped more like an egg that just hit the skillet. Blade marks of previous skaters gone by were etched into its frozen surface. Bare trees peppered the land that separated it from Lake Michigan. Delia cleared a space on one of the snow-covered benches and sat to tighten her skates while she watched Arthur and Marsh whirling around. They swerved this way and that, in between the other skaters. A rosy pinkness filled Marsh’s cheeks as the wind blew his white hair back off his forehead. He was naturally athletic, as was Arthur, and the two of them glided effortlessly until Arthur’s front skate caught the back of Marsh’s blade and they both went tumbling down.

  They were still laughing when Delia skated across the ice, reaching them in the center of the lagoon. As she tried to help them up, she lost her balance and went down, too. The three of them had their arms and legs entangled, laughing. Delia looked over and saw Arthur rest his head on Marsh’s shoulder, his body shaking as he fought to compose himself.

  After that, they skated three in a row with Delia in the middle, her arms looped through both of theirs. She felt like the luckiest girl, surrounded by two of the finest gentlemen she’d ever known. It seemed to her that there, on that ice, in that one moment, the three of them had achieved a perfect balance—each of them leaning on one another, each of them advancing.

  But the spell was to be broken the following night. It was a blustery cold evening and the three of them attended Annie and Gustavus Swift’s annual winter pageant at the Edgewater Club. Actually, Delia and Arthur had gone together and Marsh met them there later when he was done at the store. When Marsh arrived Delia was talking to Nathaniel Fairbank, an industrialist best known for his Gold Dust Washing Powder and Fairy Soap. As soon as she noticed Marsh standing in the entranceway, she broke away from her conversation with Mr. Fairbank. Marsh is here! Now the party can begin.

  As he made his way over to her, Delia offered him a
playful smile. “Don’t you look handsome tonight, Mr. Field.”

  “And you, my dear neighbor, look ravishing as ever.”

  Delia wore a burgundy silk taffeta gown she’d had made just the week before. She set her hands on her hips, posing as if modeling for him. Marsh laughed, giving her a devilish grin. Delia was still smiling as she glanced over and saw that some women from the Fortnightly Club were watching her. She dropped her hands to her sides and felt her shoulders sink forward. What was she thinking? How could she have been so indiscreet? She immediately reined herself in, excused herself and went to her husband’s side.

  “Is Marsh here yet?” Arthur asked, taking a sip from his drink.

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him.” As the lie left her lips it bewildered her. There’d been no reason to deny having seen Marsh. It was as if she’d just handed herself something tangible to feel guilty about.

  As the party progressed, she was constantly aware of Marsh’s whereabouts. In the foyer, in the ballroom, everywhere she turned, he was there. When their eyes met, her body flooded with a sensation she couldn’t quite name. It was all-consuming, thrilling and unnerving.

  When it was time for dancing, the guests moved into the ballroom and the orchestra played while couples joined in. Gowns twirled this way and that as partygoers looked on, sipping champagne, enjoying the merriment.

  When Delia asked Arthur to dance, he said, “In a minute, my pet. Just give me a minute here.” He’d been chatting with Lionel Perkins and Cyrus McCormick. “Or better yet,” he suggested, “go ask Marsh. He’ll dance with you.”

  The orchestra had just started the cotillion and Delia went over to Marsh. “Arthur’s engrossed in conversation. He sent me over to ask if you’ll be my partner?”