Duke of a Gilded Age (17 page)

“I shall. Good night, Mr. Ley.”

As Mr. Ley left, Wesley swept the chess pieces into their wooden box, folded up the board, and replaced the set in the cabinet. A glance at his pocket watch revealed the time was eight o’clock. He left the library and traveled the short distance to the drawing room, peeking through the glass door at the activity inside. Stephen and Belle were dancing together—a waltz, he presumed. Stephen’s hand was resting on her upper back in a familiar fashion. In return, she was smiling at him in what could only be described as a flirtatious manner. A surge of jealousy mixed with a sudden sense of chagrin.
I’m a fool! I could’ve been here with Belle, but instead I was trounced at chess!

Stephen and Belle dipped and turned with athletic grace, seemingly with no thought for anyone else but each other.
I can’t dance with Belle like that. Blast Stephen!
Wesley opened the door and slipped inside.

“There you are, Wesley!” Louise exclaimed.

The piano music stopped, and all eyes turned toward him. Belle and Stephen froze for a moment in hold before splitting apart.

“Hullo,” Wesley said, suddenly tongue-tied. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Better late than not at all,” Stephen said. “Only we just danced the last dance.”

Belle hurriedly made introductions all around, after which came an awkward pause. “Well…shall we discuss when and where we’re to meet next?” she asked.

“We were unusually fortunate to have the drawing room to ourselves this evening,” Stacy said. “I doubt we’d be that lucky again.”

“I’ve been thinking. Since there are no steerage passengers, couldn’t we get permission to use their exercise deck in the afternoons?” Stephen asked.

“What a wonderful idea! I’m sure there will be a rolling piano on that deck we could press into service,” Eva said.

Stacy frowned. “I wish we had a pianist that wasn’t one of us. We’ll never have a complete square at this rate.”

“We could always advertise in the ship newspaper, asking for volunteers,” Wesley said. “I’ll broach the matter with my steward.”

“That would be wonderful,” Belle said.

Horatio stifled a yawn. “Good night, then.”

Carl Stenger and the Egermann sisters left with Horatio, but Stephen, Wesley, Belle, and Louise lingered.

“Miss Oakhurst, may I escort you to your cabin?” Stephen asked.

“Er…thank you, Mr. Van Eyck,” Belle said.

Wesley gritted his teeth.
Never leave your queen unprotected!
“I’ll go too. I’m curious which cabin is yours, Miss Oakhurst.”

Louise sniffed. “My cabin is just down the hall from Annabelle’s, should anyone wonder.”

When Wesley returned to his cabin, he remembered to ask Cavendish whether or not he’d eaten dinner.

“Thank you, Your Grace, I have. There’s a separate sitting for servants and the food was most excellent.”

“Good.”

Wesley slumped into a chair, morose. Cavendish paused his knitting needles long enough to peer at him. “I can’t help but notice something seems amiss.”

“My friends have formed a dance club, and I don’t know how to dance. Stephen Van Eyck was dancing with Miss Oakhurst just now, like he was born to it.”

“Nobody is born knowing how to dance. It’s a learned skill.”

Wesley sprang to his feet and began to pace. “I understand, but I’m going to look stupid. For him to show me up is intolerable.”

“If you’ll permit me, I can give you pointers.”

Wesley’s footsteps paused. “You know how to dance?”

“In my day, the polka was all the rage, along with the redowa, mazurka, schottische, and galop, among others. At present, I believe the emphasis is on the waltz and two-step, but you never know when a polka, quadrille, or promenade will be required, especially in the highest society.”

“I take that as a yes. Cavendish, you’re a lifesaver!” He paused. “Can you teach me to waltz tonight?”

“I can teach you the basics. After that, you’ll have to practice with a female partner—preferably an attractive one.”

“There’s a practice tomorrow afternoon, assuming we can get permission for the space. That reminds me, I must write a note about it to Mr. Finnegan. We’re also putting an advertisement for an accompanist in the ship’s newspaper.”

“I’d be happy to oblige in that regard too, if you’ll release me from my valet duties during those hours.”

“You play the piano? Cavendish, is there anything you can’t do?”

“There are many, many things that challenge me, but I’d rather not bore you with a lengthy list.”

Wesley dashed off a note to the steward, asking for permission to use the steerage exercise deck and a piano.

“I’ll take that to Mr. Finnegan’s cabin, Your Grace,” Cavendish said. “When I return, we can get started.”

Her berth was comfortable, warm, and snug, but Belle was too restless to sleep. So much had transpired that day she could not have anticipated. She’d met a great many wealthy American friends with illustrious pedigrees.
America may not have traditional royalty, but it has a form of aristocracy all its own.
Her warm acceptance among them had been intoxicating, and the girls had even progressed to calling each other by their Christian names. Carl, Horatio, and Stephen had sought her out as a desirable dance partner—and what fun she’d had!

Admittedly, Carl Stenger was in dire need of practice, but he was willing to work hard. Horatio had been a very able dancer, but he paled in comparison to Stephen. Never before had she had such a capable partner! Errol disliked dancing, and although she’d partnered many sweaty young men at Monsieur Caron’s Dance Academy, few had a sense of grace or timing. In Stephen’s arms, she’d felt as if she could fly. She giggled at the memory of him whispering in her ear. The fellow was certainly high-spirited and impudent. Ordinarily she would never encourage such frivolous attentions, but what was the harm in a passing flirtation of short duration?

The only moment of the evening she did not reflect upon with satisfaction was the wounded expression on Wesley’s face when he saw her dancing with Stephen. A spray of briny seawater couldn’t have dampened her ebullient mood more effectively. Neither was she pleased to notice the previously congenial relationship between Stephen and Wesley turn cool. Even as the two men had accompanied her and Louise to their cabins, they’d exchanged subtle barbs the entire time. What on Earth could’ve turned them against one another? She was engaged, after all, and could scarcely be expected to form an attachment to either of them.

Confused and discomfited, Belle turned over in bed yet again. Errol had discouraged her from traveling to America, and perhaps it had been a mistake to leave his side. She considered all the reasons she’d fallen in love with him. Her eyes flew open in a moment of panic; she was in love with him, wasn’t she? Yes, yes, of course she was…she adored his handsome face, noble brow, and melodious voice when he read to her from
Fordyce’s Sermons
. Errol had such a romantic, long-suffering air, and she’d fallen for him almost immediately. In fact, he’d taken the ladies of Mansbury by storm when he arrived in town. Many of Belle’s friends had sighed when the dashing Sir Errol strolled by in church, and gazed at him with longing when he rode past in a smart gig pulled by his high-stepping mare, Isolde. Maureen Crane, the mayor’s daughter, had set her sights on him right away, but her hopes withered when Errol had quickly singled Belle out as the object of his affection. A week from now, when they were together again, all her doubts would be laid to rest. Far away from idle flirtations with a good-looking Philadelphia heir, and the amiable company of a certain handsome American duke, she would plan her wedding—and a glorious wedding it would be! Thus persuaded, Belle allowed the ship to rock her to sleep.

Dawn broke over the clear North Atlantic skies with an inspired beauty that would stir the imagination of even the most hard-hearted curmudgeon. Wesley, far from being curmudgeonly, emerged from his cabin and was immediately drawn to the railing by the view of the distant Nova Scotia shoreline. A myriad of fishing vessels dotted the coastal waters, and a pod of humpback whales cavorted in the glassy waters not too far from the steamship. One of the enormous creatures breached the surface and displayed its belly, as if to invite Wesley’s admiration. Mr. Finnegan came to stand by Wesley’s side.

“A prettier view is not to be had, Your Grace,” the steward said. “I never tire of it.”

“Good morning, Mr. Finnegan. It’s a magnificent day.”

“That it is.”

“Has Lady Frederic arisen, do you know?”

“Aye. In fact, she just went down to breakfast.”

Wesley’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? She must be feeling better.”

“Yes, sir. By the way, your request to use the steerage exercise deck has been granted. It’s being set up for you as we speak.”

“Thank you. Please tell the captain I’m terribly grateful.”

As Wesley strode along the deserted promenade deck, he felt so ebullient that he couldn’t help practicing his newly learned waltz steps. Cavendish had worked with him for two hours last night.
Bless his soul!
When Wesley came around full circle, with an invisible sylph in his arms, he suddenly realized a well-dressed, elderly couple had paused to watch. Red-faced, Wesley stopped and dropped his arms to his sides.

“Sorry. I was just, you know, carried away there for a moment,” he mumbled. “Morning exercise, sea air, and all that.”

The gentleman exchanged an amused glance with his wife. “Don’t let us stop you, lad. We were once young too.”

Chapter Twelve

Choppy Seas

P
ASSENGERS
W
ERE
B
EGINNING
T
O
T
RICKLE
into the saloon when Wesley arrived at breakfast. Lady Frederic was sitting alone at one of the smaller tables, reading a copy of the ship’s newspaper,
City of New York Gazette
. He slid into a chair across from her.

“Morning, Mother. How are you feeling today?”

“Well enough to eat a little toast, thank you.” She tapped the paper. “You’re the subject of curiosity.”

“What do you mean?”