by Nikki Poppen
Marianne bit her bottom lip. “Yes. Mine came in the post this morning.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have let myself be so happy last week. Everything was wonderful and now this will ruin it all.”
“How could it possibly ruin everything?”
She paused from her bread punching and fixed him with a strong gaze. “I won’t let you pay him, Alasdair. Paying his fee only validates for him that he possesses information that has value.”
Alasdair nodded. “I had no intentions, nor I hope do you, of paying for his silence.”
“He will tell everyone what happened in New York,” Marianne said quietly, absently massaging a bit of dough that had become separated from the pile.
“Probably,” Alasdair agreed. “Is it all that bad if he does? We’ll still be married as we planned. We’ll still turn Highborough into the home I want it to be. There is very little he could say that would alter our plans, Marianne. I am not sure he understands that or he would know what an outlandish gamble he’s taking. He would know the odds are against him in terms of succeeding with his course of action.”
Marianne smiled at his encouraging words. He, too, felt bolstered by them. It was true, he realized. He had no intention of letting this measly piece of blackmail alter what he’d waited to find his whole life. The world became a simpler place when one could cut out the extraneous concern about what others would think and focus on one’s own priorities. The only reason he cared about Brantley’s threat was that he didn’t want to see Marianne hurt.
Alasdair reached for a clump of dough and took off his coat. He began rolling up the sleeves of his very white shirt. “Does this really work for relieving stress?”
“It works for me” Marianne studied him with acute disbelief. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to try it. I have to admit I’ve never kneaded bread before, but until last week, I’d never made a bed either.” Alasdair kept his tone purposely light. “While I’m learning, perhaps you can tell me what happened in New York that would have Brantley believing he could blackmail you”
Marianne sobered. “There will be a scandal, Alasdair, if word gets out. Your mother won’t like it.”
Alasdair gave a harsh laugh. His mother had been poleaxed by the official announcement of his engagement before the party had left Highborough. She’d been so thoroughly upset by the notion that she’d refused to accompany the group to Cowes. “Then the scandal won’t change anything,” he said nonchalantly. He’d come to terms with his disappointing relationship with his mother years ago, and although he was always optimistic that relationship could be changed if she desired it, he wasn’t always hopeful. His choosing Marianne for a wife was only one of many things they had disagreed on over the years.
“Tell me your story, Marianne, and let me be the judge of it.” Alasdair gave his dough an experimental punch. “I’m ready for it.”
“New York was exciting. There was so much to see, and people were friendly. My mother’s family is from New England and they had some connections. I had a sponsor in New York. It helped immensely. I’d been told in advance that New Yorkers looked down their noses at new money, especially at fortunes that came out of the West. San Francisco and Denver are cities that are too raw for their tastes. But since I had a sponsor, no one cared overmuch about my `question able’ antecedents” Marianne reached across the worktable. “Try it like this,” she suggested, guiding Alasdair’s hands in a more-regular motion.
“Within a week I had a group of young friends with whom I went everywhere. We attended the same functions. Their families invited my mother and me to sit in their opera boxes, to come to their country houses for a winter weekend on the Hudson … One of my new friends was a girl named Rachel. Another young man in our set, Christopher Archer, had also become a close friend of mine. He made certain to dance with me at parties and I thought the three of us formed a very nice trio.”
“Let me guess,” Alasdair broke in. “Rachel didn’t think so”
“Exactly. I didn’t know that there was an understanding of sorts between Christopher and Rachel. Apparently, this understanding had been arranged between their families for ages” Marianne huffed. “We don’t do things that way in San Francisco. For one thing, the city’s not old enough to have families that can trace their roots back for a century.”
The parallel to the situation with Sarah could not have been more obvious. Alasdair nodded his head. He saw now why she’d been so concerned, early in their relationship, about the rumor regarding his unofficial status with Sarah Stewart. She’d recently come out of a similar situation. It made her reluctance to pursue a courtship with him perfectly understandable, and ad mirable even, seeing that she would put the concerns of another ahead of her own happiness.
“Rachel told me about Champagne Sundays and arranged for me to attend one of them”
“Wait, what’s a Champagne Sunday?” Alasdair queried.
“Well, Sundays are the most boring days of the week in New York. Proper homes don’t receive on Sundays and no events are held. But other ladies, who live on the fringes of social acceptance, discovered this was a vacuum that they could fill with social events of their own. So, on Sundays, these ladies would invite men of their acquaintance to their homes. They would serve champagne. Sometimes there’d be an oyster dinner or a visiting opera singer who performed. There would oftentimes be singing and dancing.”
Alasdair nodded. He grasped the concept, something a bit akin to the demimonde of London but on a smaller scale.
“I didn’t fully understand the implications of attending a Champagne Sunday. At the time, it seemed like a fun lark, a harmless dare. The activities weren’t exactly of a debauched nature-only the company was. I suddenly learned in New York that it didn’t matter so much what you did but who you did it with. I could eat oysters at Delmonico’s without repercussion, but as soon as I ate oysters in the company of questionable companions on a Sunday, there were consequences”
Alasdair followed the story to its logical conclusion. “New York ousted you for it, all because you danced too many times with the wrong young man.”
“Precisely.” Marianne shook her head. “Only it will look so much worse when Lord Brantley tells the story”
Alasdair could see that too. Brantley would emphasize that she’d been in the company of men and their mistresses, while champagne had flowed freely. He would imply that all nature of licentiousness took place.
He pounded at his dough, not so much out of the original frustration he’d felt when he’d first read Brantley’s missive, but out of the need to think. After a while, he stopped pounding, pleased to see that a neatly shaped round circle had been formed from his efforts. “I think you’re right, Marianne,” he said slowly, thinking out loud as an idea took shape. “Brantley feels that he can maximize the story, exaggerate certain parts of it. But if the story can be maximized, perhaps it can also be minimized if we play our cards right.”
“How should we go about doing that?” Marianne asked, the wheels of her own mind beginning to spin, the process visible on her face.
Alasdair gave her a wicked grin. “We have to tell the story first. His mistake all along has been assuming we don’t want the story to get out. Brantley can’t claim blackmail if there is no secret to hide.”
Marianne dressed carefully for dinner that night. All of them were joining the Prince of Wales on his yacht for an intimate dinner, a very rare invitation. The setting suited them perfectly. They’d all agreed to “announce” Marianne’s New York situation at the supper. After a quick meeting that afternoon, the five friends had convinced Marianne that the prince would be most sympathetic to her plight and eager to champion her side of the story.
Still, she was nervous. Alasdair had reassured her the strategy was perfect and that his feelings for her were not in the least bit altered by this revelation. Marianne took a final look in the long mirror. Tonight she wanted to exude an aura of confidence and she hoped the cream s
atin gown with its bold rose print would help to accomplish that.
A knock sounded at her door and she gathered up her matching evening wrap and reticule, expecting to find her mother waiting on the other side of the door. But when she opened it, it was to find Alasdair there.
“The others are downstairs and I thought I would fetch you myself. You look stunning.” He smiled his appreciation.
“Thank you. I could say the same about you,” Marianne replied, taking in the handsome man standing in front of her in evening dress. She never tired of looking at Alasdair. She’d not really paid attention to a man’s physique until she’d met him, to the strength inspired by broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, the grace of his long legs. But it was no wonder she’d not noticed the magic of man’s body before. So many men were simply not worth the notice that no one had stood out the way he stood out to her.
Alasdair gently took her wrap from her hands and draped it about her shoulders. “What’s that in your hair?”
“Do you like it? It’s a strand of coral and pearls I had strung to go with this gown in Paris. The coral is supposed to match the roses in the pattern” Marianne raised a hand to touch the jeweled chain woven through her coiffure.
“It’s gorgeous. The coral twinkles so subtly in your hair, it makes a man look twice to make sure he’s not imagining things.” He paused, his eyes starting to spark with the familiar glint of mischief she’d come to associate with him. “I came up here for another reason too, you know.”
“What was that?” Marianne played along, tilting her head coquettishly.
“I wanted to steal a kiss.”
“I am afraid that will be quite impossible,” she said in a tone that caused him a moment’s consternation.
“Why is that?”
She tapped him on the nose. “Because you can’t steal something that is freely given. You’ve been doing far too much of the kissing lately. Tonight, it’s my turn” With that, Marianne stretched up on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.
“What did I do to deserve that most wonderful gift?” Alasdair asked a little later as they descended the stairs.
She shot him a sideways glance. “You believe in me. You love me for what I am and for what I am not”
The night weather at Cowes provided an ideal accompaniment to the dinner cruise. Stars winked overhead and the water was calm beneath them, allowing a table to be set up on the open deck. There had been the requisite tour of the prince’s yacht, and dinner conversation had naturally focused on the upcoming regatta. Prince Albert’s nephew, Kaiser Wilhelm II, had brought his yacht, Meteor, to race for the cup and for the bragging right to be called the King of Cowes.
“He once accused me of sailing with my tailor,” the prince said good-naturedly toward the end of the meal. “My boat was out of commission that year, and I was so determined to race that I joined my tailor on his boat. Camberly here has crewed with me before” The prince gestured to the earl who nodded. “I am hoping to persuade you to join me again, Camberly. What do you say?”
“I would be delighted.”
“And you, Pennington?” the prince challenged jokingly. “Where will your loyalties lie this year? With your father-in-law-to-be and his new yacht, or with me, your stalwart, longtime friend?”
“That is a difficult decision indeed. I shall have to ponder it,” Alasdair replied easily. Marianne blushed as he caught her eye over the table. Perhaps she’d been too bold with her kiss on the stairs but she’d wanted to kiss him, wanted him to know how she felt, how she understood everything he was endeavoring to do for her.
He should know from the start that she would not be like so many of the wives she’d seen during her time in England, who said nothing, who never spoke of their feelings but merely accepted decisions that were made for them. She would never be that kind of wife.
“Ah, very good” The prince laughed. “It’s a smart man who knows how to weigh the influence of his inlaws.”
“Speaking of influence,” Alasdair began. Marianne was instantly alert to the shift in the conversation. “We have had a slight issue with a dubious character who is seeking to besmirch Miss Addison’s reputation by making too much of an unfortunate incident in New York last year.”
The prince’s eyes narrowed. “Who might this character be?”
“Lord Brantley,” Alasdair said unflinchingly.
The prince looked severe. “He’s not the best sort, from what I’ve heard. What has he accused Miss Addison of doing?”
Marianne let Alasdair repeat the tale, knowing that it was better to let him persuade the prince. He made a good telling of it, leaving nothing out. When Alasdair finished his explanation, the prince wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back in his chair. “A Champagne Sunday, Miss Addison?” For a moment, Marianne thought she’d be scolded. They’d gambled on the prince’s sympathies and lost. Then his face broke into a grin and he gave a hearty chuckle. “It sounds to me like the only scandal there was that they didn’t serve Heidsieck’s.”
The table burst into laughter. Marianne laughed with relief. Brantley would have no hold on them now. Across from her, Alasdair smiled and mouthed the playful words “I told you so” And so he had. He’d told her it would be all right and it was.
Did you hear what everyone is saying about Miss Addison’s escapade in New York?” Brantley groused to Lord Hamsford, his companion at a small tavern in West Cowes.
“You’re going to lose the bet” His companion couldn’t resist the obvious dig. “The regatta is tomorrow and that’s the deadline we set, I believe.”
Brantley shook his head in disbelief. Somewhere along the way the bet had become a secondary motivation for him. He was beyond desperate for cash, and his anger at Pennington had grown exponentially with his accumulated debt. By now, he’d thoroughly convinced himself that his circumstances were entirely Pennington’s fault. If the Addison chit had danced with him instead, as intended, she would be marrying him now instead of the high-flying viscount.
Pennington had bested him at every turn. Pennington had stolen the heiress out from under him. Pennington had made the little madcap from America respectable even when she waded in duck ponds and made unpopular comments at grand teas. Now, Pennington had even contrived to steal his latest thunder by blowing his blackmail strategy out of the water, and Pennington had done it in great style sitting at the prince’s table.
That was another axe he had to grind with Pennington. It galled Brantley to no end that Pennington was about to escape the noose of poverty with his marriage, while he, Brantley, had to continue suffering in curtailed financial straits. It seemed patently unfair.
“You have to admit, the comment was hilarious. `The only scandal is that they didn’t serve Heidsieck’s,’” Brantley’s companion chortled, mimicking the prince.
Brantley shot him a dark look. “Shut up” If he heard the prince’s latest witticism repeated once more he’d punch the next messenger in the nose. Thanks to the prince, no one of account much cared that Marianne Addison had attended a Champagne Sunday in the company of less-reputable members of society. Brantley was astute enough to know that the only ones who did care were the sulky Americans who didn’t like the idea of a rejected member of their own society doing so well across the pond in admittedly moredeveloped social circles than their own. Englishmen would hardly care what their American cousins thought, since they, too, were only outsiders who would eventually go home.
Brantley’s last ploy had failed miserably. Instead of ousting the heiress from Society, his actions had only served to entrench her more firmly. Like the Countess of Camberly, she was on her way to becoming accepted.
Sensing his rather-obvious black mood, Brantley’s companion left the table so that he could grouse in solitude.
Actually, he wasn’t grousing just yet; he was still planning. There had to be a way to spoil Pennington’s success and get back a little of his own. Perhaps he’d gone about it the wrong way
. He’d been too focused on what supposedly “ruined” American reputations. Brantley slapped his hand on the hard wood planking of the table. He had it!
He would ruin Miss Addison in the most English of ways possible, and he’d do it tomorrow at the regatta. It would be the perfect cover, because when everyone was looking, no one saw a thing.
Blue sky, peppered with the right amount of white clouds to make a decent breeze on The Solent, greeted the sailors and their yachts as they lined up to begin the races. These were no ordinary sailors and deckhands. Boat racing in all its forms, from sailboats to steamer yachts, was the latest rage to sweep Europe. Nobility came from all variety of countries to race in the Cowes regatta, their boats crewed by their noble friends who also shared their passion.
On board the Addison yacht, moored to a spectator pier for the day, Audrey and the Carringtons joined Marianne’s family to watch Camberly and Alasdair crew the prince’s sailing boat. Marianne and the others held binoculars to their eyes to make out the specific figures on board the boat at the starting line. The men had removed their jackets and rolled up their sleeves, preparing to heave sails into place. Camberly was barking orders and Alasdair called a laughing response back to him.
The scene through her binoculars warmed Marianne’s heart. This time she’d found real friends and this circle of wonderful friends would continue to stand by her as she adjusted to life in England. Since their engagement had become official, Marianne had started to realize all it would mean to stay in England. San Francisco was a long way away. Her parents would return home, but she would not. She had not recognized that as a possible consequence when she’d set out on her journey. When she’d left the beautiful mansion in San Francisco, the only home in which she’d ever lived, she’d never imagined that she wouldn’t be coming back. But neither could she now imagine being without Alasdair. He was her world now.
Marianne lowered the binoculars, taking a moment to ingest the depth of her realizations: a new world, new friends. On either side of her sat two women who’d made the same choices she had.
