Love on a Dime (9 page)
The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed one-thirty, time for Mama to send a maid to fetch her for a luncheon engagement at Beechwood, the summer home of Caroline Astor, the widely acknowledged queen of society. Lilly rose. She either escaped now to Elna’s signing or not at all.
Quick footsteps in the hallway signaled Mama was nearby, no doubt in search of her daughter or daughter-in-law. Without a second thought, Lilly peered out the library door and spotted Mama entering the conservatory. Lilly flew up the staircase to her bedroom, grabbed her hat and reticule and hurried back down. She rushed out the front door into the sunshine, her heart beating double-time. As she strode across the lawn to the stable, she pinned the nondescript straw boater to her head with shaking hands. She didn’t dare glance over her shoulder in case someone waved her back home. If only Miranda hadn’t gone to the Redwood Library for a lecture on the effects of poverty, they could’ve ventured to the book shop together.
Once the carriage rolled out onto Ocean Avenue, Lilly’s nervousness abated. She ’d successfully escaped from Mama and all her questions and social rules. Lilly grinned, satisfied at her accomplishment. It would do her good, professionally speaking, to understand how other authors coped with public exposure. Of course she ’d faint if any of her friends or acquaintances spotted her pushing through the crush of dedicated fans, especially after denying any interest in sensationalist fiction. But she didn’t expect to see anyone she knew at the book signing. Society ladies claimed romantic dime novels were written for servant girls, not for refined women who appreciated literary works.
She’d heard Mrs. Price included no moral precepts in her stories which reduced them to titillating trash. That was hearsay, however. She ’d never read any herself. Fortunately Fannie Cole provided an alternative to Mrs. Price ’s type of dime novel, although many people lumped all the books together into one category—disreputable fiction. Mama certainly did.
Lilly’s coachman reined in the horses and pulled up to the curb in front of the book shop. A line of women snaked around the entrance to the store. Laughter, loud Irish brogues, and clipped Yankee accents mingled with the clatter of carriages and carts. Everyday dresses made from inexpensive cloth without ribbon or lace defined most of the women as average townsfolk. As the crowd inched forward, Lilly scanned the unfamiliar faces. Although they’d never recognize her, she kept her eyes down and yanked her short mesh veil to the tip of her nose.
Ten minutes later she passed the plate glass window and entered the busy store. Mrs. Price sat straight ahead, bent over a copy of her book, pen in hand. Lilly caught a glimpse of her plum satin dress, cut low, and titian hair frizzing beneath a large hat trimmed with silk violets, black lace, and an immense purple plume. Suddenly the author rose to her feet, chin jutting forward, arms spread wide. A hush fell over the audience.
“Ladies,” she boomed, her gaze traveling from one fan to the next, “my publisher, Mr. Sterling, and I are most appreciative of your overwhelming hospitality.” She gestured toward the white-whiskered man beside her. “When we came to your fair town today we had no idea how kindly you’d treat us. Your support for my novels brings tears to my eyes.” As if on cue, her eyes glistened. A few teardrops rolled down her slightly shriveled cheeks. “Thank you so much for your outpouring of love.”
Hands clapped in a deafening roar.
Elna raised her palms and the crowd quieted. “As I meet you and autograph your books, please write your name and address on the slip of paper we’ve provided. At the end of the signing, I shall pick a name out of my hat.” She pointed to her headgear. “The lucky winner will receive a copy of one of my most beloved books,
Flames of Love
. However, if you don’t win the prize, we have copies you may purchase. I know you don’t want to miss this thrilling tale which I have penned just for your enjoyment.”
Another round of applause broke out. Women rushed forward, jostled each other for position, and snatched books off the table, thrusting them at Elna for signature. Her laughter rang above the voices of the crowd. “Thank you so much for your affection, ladies.”
Lilly stepped aside, ready to leave this theatrical event. She ’d seen more than enough to convince her that she didn’t find mob adulation appealing. She shuddered to think this was the kind of publicity Jack wanted Fannie to embrace. Raucous crowds, tours in strange cities, shaking hands, and signing autographs would rob her of her privacy. She ’d never take part in such a distasteful task. And Mama would die of humiliation to see her daughter make a public spectacle of herself.
Turning, she made her way out the door just as the line surged forward. A nudge from behind pushed her off balance and she stumbled into the back of a gentleman. Jackson Grail.
“What are you doing here?” she muttered. Her legs wobbled and her hands shook.
Jack chuckled. “I could ask you the same question.” He hiked an eyebrow, obviously amused by her discomfort.
“I came to buy—Irene—an autographed copy of Mrs. Price ’s new book. I thought she ’d appreciate the addition to her library of—dime novels.” A stack of cheap novels hardly qualified as a library of any sort. Would he believe her? Her excuse sounded so ludicrous. “And you? Did you come to purchase a book?” Picturing Jack engrossed in an Elna Price story brought on a broad smile, in spite of herself.
Jack leaned forward and murmured in her ear, “I do have to keep up with the competition, you know. I’m here to see how well publicity works for Atwater Publishers. I expected to find crowds of fans lined up to fill the coffers and I was right.” His face split in a satisfied grin. “A book tour would work equally well for Miss Cole.”
Lilly gave a grudging nod, then spoke softly. “I can see publicity is effective. And Mrs. Price thrives on the attention. Your Miss Cole may not.” Lilly wove through the congestion and out into the warm, briny air of Thames Street. Her gray serge walking suit felt much too hot for the afternoon weather.
Jack followed one step behind as she headed toward her carriage. “I also wondered if Fannie Cole would appear.”
Lilly’s breath rushed out of her lungs. “Well, did she?”
He shrugged his square, muscular shoulders encased in a navy jacket of the finest merino wool. “I thought Miss Cole might come out of curiosity. Unfortunately I didn’t see any cottagers here, unless she arrived incognito.”
“I didn’t spot anyone I know, either.”
“Then that leaves you, Lilly.”
Taken aback, she coughed up a nervous laugh. “Do I look like a novelist to you?”
He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, much like a dressmaker gauging measurements. “Perhaps you do.”
“Nonsense. I’m a would-be poet. Please excuse me. I must go.” Lilly headed down the sidewalk. She waited on the corner while her driver made his way down the congested street, weaving through a knot of carts and carriages.
Jack must have lengthened his stride because he reached out and lightly touched the sleeve of her jacket. “Lilly, I was joking. I’m sorry I offended you.”
She breathed with relief at his half contrite, half mischievous smile and didn’t brush off his hand. “That’s all right, Jack. I’m afraid I’m on edge lately. Do enjoy your afternoon.”
With Jack’s help, she boarded her carriage and sunk into the plush cushion. Despite the shock of running into him, she felt glad she’d come to the book shop. Seeing the flamboyant and rather common Mrs. Elna Price reinforced her determination to remain out of sight. Never would Jack convince her to become a sideshow, a Lillian Russell of the literary world.
As the carriage jolted forward, Lilly closed her eyes and let her worries temporarily diminish.
H
alf an hour later Jack found Lilly crossing the foyer on the way upstairs. He bowed and handed her Elna’s newest bestseller. “Here you go. I noticed you forgot to purchase a copy for Irene. It’s even autographed.”
Lilly’s eyes widened, but she quickly recovered with a polite nod, her social mask securely in place. “Oh dear, I did forget. In my haste to get away from the crowd, I forgot all about Mrs. Price’s novel.” Then her taut shoulders relaxed. “Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness, Jack. I’m sure Irene will enjoy the book.”
“No doubt.” If Irene didn’t care for Mrs. Price ’s story, Jack knew the servants would. “But won’t Irene be shocked you ventured down to Thames Street on your own and mingled among the townspeople?”
Lilly blanched. “Yes, she might, though knowing my sister-in-law, I’m sure she ’ll be amazed I had the gumption to go by myself. She thinks I’m afraid of my own shadow—or at least, of Mama’s disapproval—which, of course I am, most of the time.” Her mouth curved in a wry smile.
Others might consider Lilly timid, but Jack felt sure beneath her shy exterior lay a woman with a steel backbone. A lady strong enough to write a book her family and friends would disparage . . . Jack considered this a most interesting possibility.
AVOIDING JACK WASN'T as easy as Lilly hoped. Even in a “cottage” with twenty-two spacious rooms, she seemed to bump into him every time she turned around, unless she hid in her bedroom. He began to shadow her, obviously hoping to change her mind about helping him locate his authoress. Lilly sighed. Annie brushed Lilly’s thick hair in preparation for the evening’s frivolity at the van Patten’s, then secured it with silver combs.
This was one of the many social functions Mama insisted she attend. In the spring when Harlan had first introduced the family to the upper echelons of society—truly the most elite—Lilly had enjoyed the novelty of extravagant balls and dinners along with her family, but as the round of entertainment pressed on night after night, she ’d grown weary. With less time and energy for writing, she knew she was beginning to fail at the one important task God had given her.
Lilly bowed her head while Annie, her maid, clasped a double string of pearls around her neck.
“You look lovely, miss.”
Lilly examined her reflection in the dressing table mirror and found it wanting. She ’d thought the yellow silk with lace overskirt suited her well enough when she’d chosen the fabric two summers before. Now it appeared not only outdated, but wrong for her pale complexion. Too fussy with too many bows, the frock would better suit an eighteen-year-old experiencing the last days of girlhood. She sighed. Nothing could be done about it now.
Only four other ball gowns filled her wardrobe and she’d worn them all this season. If she ’d accepted Mama’s earlier offer for a few more frocks, she could have replaced this with one simpler and more elegant. But she hadn’t cared for fancy dresses even a little bit until Harlan began to court her. And she hadn’t anticipated so many dinners and dances that required an extensive and fashionable wardrobe.
Mama, seated beside her on the slipper chair, patted Lilly’s long white glove. “Don’t fret, my dear. You’ve never looked more beautiful.”
She smiled, embarrassed at the compliment. “Thank you, but I’m not so sure.”
As soon as Annie withdrew to Lilly’s dressing room, Mama tilted forward. Her round eyes grew even rounder. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but did Jackson go to the city after you? You left to help at the Settlement House, and next thing I know, he’s off as well.”
“No, Mama. He merely needed to be in New York at the same time. It was a coincidence that his purchase of Jones and Jarman happened at the same time.”
Her mother studied her intently for a moment, then sniffed and adjusted a lock of Lilly’s hair. “Years ago when you were young, I was convinced he was smitten—that is, until he suddenly left. You never told me exactly what happened.”
Lilly adjusted a few strands of her hair, avoiding Mama’s probing gaze. “It wasn’t just you, so don’t feel slighted. Besides, whatever was between us is long over.”
“Oh Lilly, why are you so secretive about everything? We ’re mother and daughter, we should share intimacies.”
“Perhaps, but there ’s little to share about Jackson Grail.” She trusted Mama but still knew she tended to chatter too freely with her friends.
Mama’s eyes sharpened. “You’re not going to cast aside Harlan for Jackson, are you? He certainly doesn’t have the same entree into the best society that Harlan has.”
“I understand that.” Lilly gave her mother a small but reassuring smile. If she mentioned she wasn’t interested in society, Mama would get upset and try to change her mind.
Her mother rose and with a sigh of resignation glided toward the door. “I must go. Do enjoy the ball.”
Lilly gathered up her reticule and fan, and then made her way to the foyer to wait for the coachmen to bring around the carriage. The grandfather clock struck ten. No one in the family had appeared yet, so she wandered off to the library, where she met her father. He spent much of his time perusing the classics along with current mystery novels and, against doctor’s orders, puffing on his pipe. The sweet aroma of expensive tobacco greeted her as she entered the room.
A wisp of white gossamer hair stood straight up on his shiny scalp. The once formidable tycoon looked old and shapeless, though his suit was perfectly tailored, as always. He slouched in his favorite leather chair, worn and crinkled like Papa himself.
“Off to the ball, my dear?” Cast in the shadows of the gaslight, his face looked mellow but his eyes glistened, as observant as ever.
Lilly’s spirits lifted. After suffering several asthma attacks during the spring, Papa’s fragile health worried her though he claimed the sea air cleared his lungs. “We ’re all going, except for Mama, of course.”
“She’s not very interested in dancing. Never has been. That’s fine with me.” Papa leaned forward. “Lilly, I don’t catch many opportunities to speak to you these days. I’m glad you’re enjoying Newport and keeping company with Harlan. He’s a responsible man, and he’ll provide handsomely for you and my future grandchildren. Now don’t go and blush.” His soft chuckle changed into a cough from the curls of smoke wrapped around his head. “It’s just a matter of time before he asks me for your hand. Shall I agree to his offer? Eh, my dear?”
She couldn’t deny Harlan seemed serious about marriage. Hints dropped from time to time had developed into pointed remarks about joining their lives together. Few gentlemen had shown an interest since her breakup with Jack, though admittedly she’d kept every potential husband at bay until Harlan appeared. She hoped that too many years without a real suitor hadn’t made her unduly susceptible to Harlan, the first appealing man who’d come along in years.
“Harlan is kind and generous. I could do worse.”
Papa nodded vigorously. His lips curved into a smile. “Yes, indeed. And he ’s giving you and George and Irene an opportunity to meet some of the finest and most influential people in town. They seem very pleased.” He took another puff and then groaned with apparent regret. “Your mother and I should have mingled more in society, but we really didn’t have the means keep up with the
nouveau riche
. It’s expensive to entertain on such an outlandish scale. Why I heard the costume ball the Bradley Martins held back in ’97 cost them hundreds of thousands.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “We couldn’t compete with that kind of extravagance. But it would’ve been an advantage to you and George if we’d gotten out a little more.”
Lilly kissed him on the forehead. “Oh Papa, you never deprived us of anything. You certainly gave me all I ever wanted.”
He smiled. “Thank you for saying that, but I’m not so convinced George—and Irene—would agree with you.” He reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze.
“Yes, they would. Now put out that pipe before Mama catches you.”
He slowly removed the offending object from his mouth, but she knew the moment she left, he ’d start smoking again.
“Is there anything I can get for you before I go?”
“No thank you, Lilly. I’m just fine. Now run along and have a wonderful time with your young man.”
She nodded. Without Harlan, her family would’ve received only a handful of invitations over the summer from their stuffy, tradition-bound set and no invitations from society’s top drawer. But now even Mama was caught up the whirlwind of constant entertainment, though she joined in the society’s amusements with more reticence and less frequency than George and Irene.
Yet, was thankfulness to Harlan a firm enough foundation for a successful marriage? It certainly seemed to be for many in her clique. But was it sufficient for her?
VANESSA WESTBROOK STROLLED into the library as her daughter departed in a swirl of lace and jasmine scent. Most becoming. No wonder George ’s old friend Jack seemed as taken with Lilly as Harlan was. Vanessa approached her husband, waving away a fog of aromatic pipe smoke that she secretly loved to inhale. Settling into the wing chair beside Thomas, her feet poked out beneath her beige silk frock and dangled a few inches above the oak floor. She frowned at the pipe resting conspicuously on the ashtray but refused to say a word. Thomas knew her opinion on smoking and asthma and never appreciated a reminder.
Grasping her hands as if to ward off any approaching lecture, he asked, “So, Nessie, are you enjoying your summer in Newport?”
“Yes, indeed. Newport society is a little too rich for my blood, but the sea air is delightful and doing us all a world of good. How’s your breathing?”
Thomas drew in a mouthful of air, released it, and then repeated the process. “My old lungs are pumping just fine.”
She slipped her hands from his gentle grasp. “Good. If your health is improving, then our season is a success.” Vanessa nodded with relief. “The children are having a grand time too. At least George and Irene are taking every opportunity to enjoy themselves.”
Thomas quirked a brow. “But not Lilly?”
“Hmm.” Vanessa’s fingernails clicked against the marble end table. “She ’s come out of her shell since Harlan started courting her. So much of her shyness and self-restraint have disappeared this summer. But after Jackson arrived, she withdrew again.”
“It could be a coincidence.”
“Perhaps, but I wonder.” Should she confide in Thomas when he’d most likely dismiss her fears? Always the optimist, his disagreement with her observations often led to little spats about the children. “I worry she may be falling for Jackson once again.”
“What? How can you think that, Nessie? Lilly is a serious, devoted girl. She ’d never throw off Harlan for an old beau. Or was Jackson just an old friend? I never knew.”
Vanessa sent him a dry smile which he disregarded. Thomas seldom noticed the subtleties of emotion. “She’s certainly been distressed lately. But if it’s not about Harlan, then what could be wrong?”
“Nothing, dear Nessie, not a thing.” Thomas combed his fingers through his patch of hair. “You worry too much.”
“How can a mother worry ‘too much’? They’re our children and our responsibility.”
“They’re both adults. Lilly is practically an—”
Old maid
. Neither of them wanted to say it. “Exactly.” Vanessa agreed. “That’s why I’m so concerned about her future.”
“Lilly can take care of herself. She doesn’t need our interference.”
Vanessa grumbled, “I’m afraid she really does need our advice.”
After thirty-one years of marriage, she realized Thomas purposely ignored any family dissension by pretending she exaggerated. He’d never admit Lilly and Harlan’s relationship might be at risk because of Jackson Grail. She ’d have to mend any fissures on her own, just as she ’d always done.
“Thomas, it’s getting late and I’m going off to bed.”
“I’ll be up in a few minutes after I finish one more chapter in this mystery novel. Crackling good plot. Do you mind?” He propped his book on his paunchy stomach.
“Not at all.”
Vanessa strode through the empty hallway, up the stairs and down the corridor toward the bedroom she shared with Thomas. Low gaslight cast deep shadows across the paintings that lined the papered walls. No sound disturbed the hush of the night. The servants were off duty, except for her maid and Thomas’s valet, so she had most of the rambling old house to herself.
After passing Lilly’s bedroom, Vanessa paused. Did she dare turn the doorknob and intrude upon Lilly’s sanctuary? For several seconds she stared at the closed door. No one would ever know if she slipped into her daughter’s room. After all, Summerhill was her temporary home. Didn’t she have the right to enter any space she pleased? Buoyed by her reasoning, Vanessa gripped the glass knob and twisted it. She pushed the door. It opened easily.
Stepping inside, her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She gulped in fresh sea air blowing through the screens. At first she thought of shutting the windows so Lilly could return to a warm, comfortable room. But if she did, her daughter would know someone had invaded her privacy. Better to leave well enough alone.
Vanessa’s eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. Vague forms sharpened to pieces of familiar furniture. She reached into the drawer of Lilly’s night table for matches. With trembling hands, she lit the kerosene lamp. The light banished the eeriness and eased her fears.
As she expected, Annie kept all of Lilly’s belongings in perfect order. Where should she search for a clue to Lilly’s puzzling behavior? Intuition whispered it must be more than Jack’s sudden visit that sent Lilly to her bedroom on every possible pretext. She seemed so distracted lately, definitely not herself. Vanessa yearned to help, but how could she unless she discovered the cause of her daughter’s peculiar moods?
Vanessa riffled through the chiffonier scented with floral sachet. In the wardrobe, she searched the gowns, hats, and accessories but found nothing unusual. Disappointed, her curiosity ebbed. She rolled back the cover of the desk and peeked through the cubbyholes, the last possible place to look. She still wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for.
