A Gilded Grave (2 page)

She’d not been able to visit even one of her old haunts since arriving in Newport last week. There hadn’t been a minute that wasn’t filled with shopping, fittings, visiting, and afternoon drives. It was a different life; she’d looked forward to it, but now she wasn’t certain she was going to like it.

Her mother stirred the air with a plumed ivory fan. “Seacrest is always stifling. Deanna, make sure you are breathing properly. And if you get overheated in a dance, retire immediately to the ladies withdrawing room and send for your maid before you start to perspire.”

“I know, Mama.”

A snort came from the corner of the carriage where her father sat.

“George, this is her first big night in Newport. It’s a mother’s duty to remind her of every little thing. Newport is not New York. And one little misstep here—”

“Oh, leave off, Jeannette. You’ll make her so nervous that she’ll fall out of the carriage, trip up the stairs, and knock over a tray of champagne.”

“I won’t, Papa.”

“Of course you won’t.” He leaned forward to pat her knee. “And even if you did, you would carry it off with such panache, no one would dare snub you.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Adelaide in her perfectly modulated voice.

Deanna glanced at her sister. Adelaide would never expend the energy to fall up the steps or knock over a tray of champagne. Sometimes Deanna was amazed she could stand upright.

The air in the carriage ruffled as her mother made use of
her fan. “I wonder how many people are invited? Seacrest won’t accommodate a large number of guests, no more than two hundred at the most. Francis and Eleanor should have heeded our advice and used Hunt instead of this American architect no one has ever heard of.”

The carriage inched ahead.

“I don’t know what Lord David will think of us, with us missing dinner.”

“I’m sure Francis will explain that the ferry was late. No doubt there will be other late arrivals.”

“And Lionel not even bothering to make an appearance to the man’s introduction to Newport society.”

“As I explained to you, my dear, Ballard had business issues that couldn’t wait.”

“Ah, business,” she said, dismissing the idea with a wave of her fan.

“Keeps you and the girls in finery, and I must say the three of you are looking exquisite tonight.”

Deanna shot a smile across to her father. Her? Exquisite?

Mrs. Randolph nodded slightly and returned her attention to Deanna. “Lord David is the owner of a huge sugar plantation in Barbados, and from what I hear very handsome—and eligible. And a peer. I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight, Deanna, and please, please try not to scare this one away.”

“But I—” A look from her mother hushed Deanna’s tongue. She hadn’t scared Joseph Ballard away, had she? It had all happened so suddenly. The families had decided the two of them would marry, and before Deanna had even assimilated the news, Joe had bolted. An unladylike word, but there it was.

It wasn’t even as if she’d loved Joe. Or he, her. They had practically grown up together. When Bob died, Joe became a
surrogate big brother. He’d always been solicitous to Adelaide, who was just four years younger than he, but Adelaide never wanted to do anything fun or interesting or energetic.

Joe called her Adelaide the Limpid.

Deanna, on the other hand, according to Joe, was a handful. He could be bossy and a little overprotective, like an older brother, but he could also be fun.

She erased the slight smile from her face. She wasn’t going to think about Joe tonight.

The carriage moved forward and finally came to a stop at the front steps of Seacrest. The door was opened by a liveried footman, and a ripple of anticipation danced up Deanna’s spine.

Jeannette Randolph looked quickly across at her daughters.

“Adelaide, pinch your cheeks. You’re looking positively peaked.”

Adelaide pinched her cheeks, and they all descended.

D
eanna didn’t fall out of the carriage or trip up the steps, but she did stop to take it all in. Deanna and Cassandra Woodruff were great friends, and she’d been to Seacrest hundreds of times. It was one of the many new “cottages” that lined Bellevue Avenue. Not as monumental as Marble House or Chateau-sur-Mer, not nearly as big as the new Vanderbilt “cottage,” The Breakers, which had just been completed in time for the summer season.

Seacrest was a sprawling confection of towers and turrets and fairy-tale details with wonderful places to play hide-and-seek. The Woodruffs held extravagant parties that Deanna and Cassie had spied on from the oriel window above the ballroom. But tonight was the first time she’d actually been invited to one.

Every window was ablaze with light. The Woodruffs had installed electricity throughout the house last year, and the lights were so much brighter than the gaslight they still used at Randolph House. Gaslight was softer but harder to see by; her father so far had refused to install the new lighting.

Deanna had to admit there was something garish about all that brightness. It took the mystery out of the façade: flattened out the scrollwork until it looked almost like a painting instead of intricately carved detail; and turned the turrets, belvederes, and gabled eaves into hard geometric shapes.

Her mother paused on the landing, looked down the sweeping steps, and cleared her throat. Deanna collected herself, lifted her skirt gracefully in one hand, and climbed the steps without mishap.

They stopped in the foyer, where backlit stained glass windows rained particles of color on the visitors as they entered. The majordomo showed them through to the ballroom as if none of them had been in the house before. Even Deanna had danced there, but only in the daylight, when Cassie and she would sneak in and twirl to the music in their heads until Cassie’s governess found them and shooed them back to the schoolroom.

Tonight it had been transformed. The three giant chandeliers shone brilliantly overhead. Each crystal had been washed and dried and replaced by gloved hands, and they sparkled like diamonds. Wall sconces shot cones of electric light against the new “japonesque” wallpaper that Mrs. Woodruff had commissioned for the occasion. Chaises and chairs were placed for convenience around the dance floor.

The ballroom was already filling with people, the women’s colorful dresses standing out among the gentlemen’s dark evening wear as if bits of light from the foyer had followed them
inside. Music floated down from the hidden orchestra alcove above their heads and filled the room with the latest tune.

The Randolphs made their way to their hosts, who were standing near the entrance to the ballroom. Mrs. Woodruff was wearing a gold-and-orange brocade evening gown with a ruffled scooped neck that showed off her ample bosom. A tiara of diamonds and amethysts was nearly buried in the curls of her coiffure. A diamond choker circled her rather plump neck and a corsage of pale lavender orchids embellished her left shoulder.

She was dressed lavishly but none too tastefully, and Deanna knew her mother would not approve. Mostly, her mother disapproved of Eleanor Woodruff because her wealthy silver-mining family, though rich in money, was poor in pedigree. Deanna thought that what Mrs. Woodruff lacked in taste and refinement, she more than made up for in generosity and good humor.

Fortunately, her mother had to put up with Mrs. Woodruff, because Francis Woodruff not only was a partner in R and W Sugar, but came from a family with both a staggering fortune and an impeccable pedigree. And why she’d allowed Adelaide to become engaged to Charles.

“Don’t you look lovely tonight,” Mrs. Woodruff said when it was Deanna’s turn to be presented. “Cassie is somewhere around here. She’s been looking for you all evening.” She practically winked at Deanna. “Won’t it be nice to be down here among the grown folks rather than peeking through the oriel?”

Deanna unconsciously glanced up at the peep window where she and Cassie had sat, heads together as they’d watched the dancers waltzing below. Mrs. Woodruff smiled and turned her attention to her next guest.

“And who is this beauty?” Mr. Woodruff took Deanna’s
hands in his. Always a slight, lean man, tonight he looked positively frail. There were dark circles under his eyes. But his eyes were bright and his smile was genuine, and Deanna forced a smile to her lips.

“How do you do?”

“Just fine, my dear, just fine.”

“There you are.” Cassie Woodruff, swathed in layers of light rose taffeta, appeared out of the crowd. She was glowing with excitement, her cheeks flushed to the same lovely color as her dress. “I’ve been waiting ages. I want to introduce you to Lord David and his sister, Lady Madeline. She’s gorgeous and so much fun. You’re going to love them.”

She took Deanna’s hand and began leading her across the room, so close to the swirling dancers that Deanna felt dizzy. She quickly looked around to make sure her mother wasn’t watching.

“Cassie, slow down.”

“Oh.” Cassie dropped her hand. “Sorry. I forgot this was your impression night.”

“Yes. And don’t pretend you’re so old and jaded just because your parents brought you out a year ahead of me.”

“Yes, and still an old maid,” Cassie said. “Though Lord David is definitely delectable.”

“Cassie . . .” Deanna began, but she couldn’t chastise her friend for not taking Deanna’s first Newport appearance seriously. Cassie loved parties, and she was naturally vivacious and high-spirited, sometimes embarrassingly so.

“There they are, over by the fireplace.”

Deanna looked toward the far end of the ballroom, where a giant spray of peacock feathers screened the fireplace, lending an Egyptian feel to the gabled and gilded overmantel. The dance ended, and the crowd separated to the sides of the room, leaving
them a full view of the sugar baron and his sister. But Deanna hardly noticed him. Standing at his right side was Joseph Ballard. He caught her eye, quickly excused himself, and walked swiftly into the crowd and out of sight.

Mortified, Deanna stood frozen for a full ten seconds, while heat flooded her face. What was wrong with her that Joe would be so anxious to avoid her? And why was he even here? So much for what Orrin said. She would make Elspeth promise to never use the words “Orrin says” ever again.

Deanna dragged her gaze from the empty spot next to Lord David and turned to Cassie.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was going to be here?”

“Lord David? It’s a party in his honor.”

“I meant Joe.”

“Joe? Is he here?”

“He was standing right next to your guest of honor. Didn’t you see him?”

Cassie giggled. “No. I didn’t even know he was invited. Shall we snub him all evening?”

Deanna shook her head. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” From the way he’d reacted to seeing her, she didn’t think she had to worry about running into him again. How had she gone from friend to pariah so quickly? She wished their families had never cooked up that marriage scheme. It had ruined everything.

“Well, forget him and come meet our guests.”

Deanna made a concerted effort not to glance around for Joe as Cassie guided her across the floor to Lord David and Lady Madeline. She forgot Joe the instant Lord David saw them and turned his smile on her. He was tall and thin with dark blond hair “kissed by the sun,” probably from overseeing his plantation.
A full mustache and a sparkle in his eye made him look slightly roguish, like the hero of one of her dime novels.

And more handsome than Joe, who was dark and clean-shaven, though maybe just a tad taller than Lord David. And a tiny bit more muscular. And he
had
looked very distinguished in a crisp white shirt and black formal attire.

Not that she cared how Joe looked.

“Lord David, Lady Madeline,” Cassie began a little breathlessly, “may I make my friend known to you?”

Deanna curtseyed to Lord David, then turned to his sister. “Lady Madeline.”

“Do call me Maddie. I can tell we’re going to be great friends.” Madeline Manchester was as beautiful as her brother was handsome, with even lighter hair and the same sparkling blue eyes fringed in dark lashes. Her gown was a rich azure, trimmed in pointed lace that accentuated her tiny waist, and had a décolleté that hinted at, but didn’t quite show, high, firm breasts.

Madeline was so bubbly yet so decorously assured that Deanna knew she would be an instant success in Newport, even with the more exacting ladies.

As well as the envy of every girl in the room.

Cassie was enchanted with both guests, though Deanna found the sister the more captivating of the two. So much so, that she was startled when Lord David asked her to dance. Recollecting herself, she curtseyed and let him guide her onto the dance floor.

J
oe Ballard stood in a shadowed alcove and watched Lord David lead Deanna Randolph onto the dance floor.

Of all the rotten luck. He’d been so intent on getting entrée to the Manchesters, he’d forgotten that Deanna had made her coming-out over the winter and would most likely be here, too.

“That was very unmanly of you. Not to mention rude.”

“Grandmère.” Joe turned quickly to encounter his grandmother.

Gwendolyn Henriette Laguerre Manon was a much smaller woman than her name implied. Joe had heard one of his father’s friends say she was like Queen Victoria, but with twinkle. “My mother-in-law may look like that old prune,” his father remarked, “but she has the spirit of a French—” He’d broken off immediately, remembering Joe was in the room, but Joe knew just what he’d meant.

Grandmère had a fire for living and had exercised that fire
in more than one
affaire de coeur
. Even now, she held sway over men who should know better. She had a distaste of the boring, anger at injustice, and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Which evidently she was planning to do at the moment.

Joe bowed over her proffered hand.

“Joseph, was that really necessary?”

He looked up over their linked fingers. His grandmother’s deceptively mild gray eyes flashed for an instant before she smiled. He didn’t trust that smile; he hadn’t missed her brief look of censure.

“I suppose you’re talking about Deanna.”

“Who else?”

“I didn’t expect to see her,” he said. “If that’s what you mean.”

“And what else would I mean?” She tapped his hand with her fan.

Joe was sure it looked like a playful act from a distance. But his skin felt the sting of her displeasure.

“Did you mean to give her the cut direct?”

“I did not.”

“Well, that’s what it looked like to me, if I didn’t know you better. But other people might not be so astute. You could easily wreck her season by treating her like she has the plague.”

“I would never do that.”

“Then ask her to dance; stop all those malicious tongues before they start wagging—and stop skulking around the fringes of the ballroom like one of Allan Pinkerton’s spies.”

Joe flinched. “They’re detectives, not spies. And I’m not skulking, Grandmère.”

“And you can stop mooning over that girl from Barbados.”

“I was not mooning. I was being polite.”

His grandmother sniffed. “In my day we called it something else.”

Joe gritted his teeth. Oh, he was making up to Madeline Manchester all right—and to the brother, too—but not for the reasons his grandmother imagined.

The telegram folded into the inner pocket of his jacket was his sole reason for being here. A request from his father that Joe go to the ball in his stead and make sure none of the guests trundled Lord David away to undercut his deal with R and W.

Joe knew it was a volatile time in the sugar trade. And that R and W, in which his father was a silent partner, needed the deal with the Manchester sugar plantation in order to stay in business. Joe knew his father was worried and wondering why the sugar baron and his sister had been in town for almost a week but had yet to venture into Manhattan to finalize the deal. Every minute’s delay was a chance for someone to usurp R and W’s claim on Lord David’s raw sugar.

But it was clear Lord David intended to enjoy himself tonight. He’d been unimpressed when Joe introduced himself as envoy from R and W. He hardly had a word all evening for anything except his own pleasure.

“Stop avoiding Deanna Randolph,” his grandmother repeated. “You don’t have to marry the girl, but at least be civil.”

“I—”

Fortunately, Bernie Ainsworth approached them and bowed formally over Gwendolyn’s hand. “You promised me a dance.”

Years were shed in a second as his grandmother took Ainsworth’s proffered arm. “I’ll probably bust a gusset.”

“Nonsense,” he answered. “You’ll put them all to shame.”

She’ll cause tongues to wag as usual
, thought Joe, but at least it stopped hers from wagging at him.

D
eanna was still dizzy from twirling and excitement when Lord David led her off the ballroom floor. He was an excellent partner, and she’d acquitted herself well.

She barely had time to catch her breath before Mr. Woodruff came over to introduce her to another young man, who accompanied her back to the floor and an extended quadrille.

Next came a schottische with Herbert Stanhope, a nice young man with a shock of red hair and a ready laugh. His father was one of the Boston Stanhopes; his mother was related to Henry Havemeyer, whose Sugar Trust was R and W’s arch competitor.

Luckily, Herbert didn’t seem to be interested in sugar at all. He was entertaining and funny and didn’t take anything quite seriously. He was an enthusiastic dancer and kept her laughing through the entire song. When they finished, he offered to bring her some lemonade.

She met Cassie near the fireplace.

“Whew, it’s hot,” Cassie said, and fanned herself with the back of her hand.

“Maybe we should go up and be tidied,” Deanna suggested.

“And chance missing the fun? Not me. I wonder where Maddie is. Do you see her?”

Deanna looked around the ballroom, but there must be two hundred people milling about. It was impossible to find anyone.

Herbert returned with her lemonade and entertained them with nonsense until the orchestra struck up again.

“Excuse me, ladies. I believe I have this dance with Lady Madeline.” He hurried away.

He made a beeline across the floor, and soon they saw him swirling around the floor with Lady Madeline in his arms. Deanna also saw Charles and his father standing side by side, both watching the couple. Charles was smiling. His father said something to him, and Charles stopped smiling, bowed slightly to his father, and walked away.

Now, what was that about?
Deanna wondered.

J
oe spent the next half hour cooling his heels, waiting for a chance to dance with Deanna in order to please his grandmother and Newport society. But the one time he attempted to approach Deanna, she latched onto Herbert Stanhope like he was the crown prince. Nor was Lady Madeline ever without a partner, including Mr. Woodruff, who should have left her for younger men. Lord David was constantly dancing or holding court with the other young blades about town. The one time Joe had approached Charles, his father had trundled him off to dance with a neglected young woman.

It was obvious he would learn nothing tonight. This had been a waste of time. The ballroom was stifling hot, and he could get nowhere near the Manchesters. He would just quietly take his leave. He skirted the dancing couples, bowing and smiling but never stopping long enough for anyone to introduce him to some poor girl who needed a partner.

Once in the foyer, he nodded to the butler and strode out the front door before remembering that he’d arrived in a borrowed carriage. He’d be walking back to his rooms in the warehouse tonight.

He walked down the drive, past carriages and dozing coachmen. As soon as he passed the front gates, he loosened his tie
and pulled it from his neck. Not only had the evening been wasted, he’d irritated his grandmother and hurt Deanna’s feelings. He’d seen it in her face before he’d turned his back on her.

For a moment he hesitated, deliberating whether to turn back and undo his bad manners, then looked at the tie in his hand. No. He’d go apologize tomorrow.

Besides, what he had to say could not be said in the middle of a crowded dance floor. He would explain that what had happened at the end of last season had had nothing to do with her. He’d just have to be on his guard not to say too much. None of this was her fault.

Joe set off down the street. He’d promised Bob that he’d watch over both the girls, though he hadn’t really believed that the flu would carry him away. Adelaide didn’t need much watching over; she was the most beautiful, most lethargic creature he’d ever known. But Deanna . . .

It was hard to believe the sisters were from the same family. Deanna was curious, vivacious, intrepid, smart. He’d been enchanted with her from the first time Bob had brought him home on holiday from Exeter, when they were both fourteen. She had just turned seven and was such a brat.

At ten, Adelaide already took her entry into society seriously, garnering the most attention from her mother, like any promising student would do. Deanna was left to the nursery and the care of her governess, who spent more time looking for the adventurous little sprite than actually teaching her anything. Deanna and Bob had a special rapport. Being an only child, Joe envied them.

Now Bob was dead.

Joe yanked the top button away from his throat and halted
momentarily, as ahead of him a gate in the wall that surrounded Seacrest opened and a dark figure slipped through to the street.

One of the maids sneaking out during an event this size? She was sure to be sacked if she was caught. The girl hesitated, looked furtively around, first left, then right in his direction. And in that brief moment, he recognized her. It was Daisy, one of the Woodruff maids, his apprentice Orrin’s sweetheart.

“Daisy?”

Daisy let out a squeak and cowered back into the shadows.

“It’s Joe Ballard, Daisy. What are you doing out here? And at this time of night?”

“Oh, Mr. Ballard, you about scared me witless.” She took a couple of quick breaths and stood still, wringing her hands while Joe closed the distance between them.

“What’s the matter, Daisy? Surely, Mrs. Woodruff didn’t send you out on an errand this late?”

She shook her head. “No, Mr. Ballard. I need to talk to Orrin.”

“At this hour?”

“It’s—it’s important. Awful important.”

Oh Lord.
Joe hoped to hell Orrin hadn’t gotten her in the family way. “Is it something that can wait until the morning, Daisy? It really isn’t safe to be out on your own.” Especially if she were planning to walk to the Fifth Ward, the denizen of working class families and angry Irish men who after too many beers spoiled for a fight and would think nothing of having their way with an unprotected young girl.

“I know Mr. Ballard, but there’s something I—something that—” She choked back a sob.

Joe touched her arm. “There now, Daisy. It can’t be so bad. Can’t you tell me?”

“It’s—I don’t know. You won’t—please let me—”

She was cut off by raucous laughter coming toward them. Two young bucks leaving the party early, as Joe had done. Probably seeking more exciting entertainment.

Daisy shrank back into the shadows. Joe stepped in front of her.

The men slowed down. “Is that Joe Ballard?”

Joe recognized them as Cokey Featheringham, a dissolute younger son of a steel-mill baron, and his equally dissolute cousin Nathaniel.

Cokey stuck his neck out of his evening wear like a turtle out of its shell. “I do believe it is. What’cha doing lurking in the shadows, Joe, my boy?” He attempted to peer around Joe’s shoulder and nearly fell over. “Ah. I see. Not ’nuff ladies in the ballroom for you?” He laughed. “Oh, that’s right, heard you were taking up with the common folk down in the Fifth Ward.”