Newport Summer (11 page)

“Unbelievable!” Gannon craned his neck up at the
Produce Exchange’s ten stories and magnificent tower.

Lionel did his best to feign modesty at the compliment to his city. “There’s more on the way. Chicago has
the jump on New York just now. Chicago has taller
buildings, but it won’t be long before New York catches
up and surpasses those inlanders.”

“They’re impressive buildings, but I’d hate to have
an office on top. It would take me all day to get there,
and I’d be too tired to work!” Gannon joked.

“We’re fixing that too,” Lionel said excitedly. “I am
currently involved with a group of investors who are
backing some experiments with personal elevators that
could carry people to the upper floors in a minimal
amount of time, much faster than walking it.”

“Really?” Gannon took another look at the building. “Then I suppose the potential for tall buildings is
unlimited.”

“Well, there are limitations other than our legs,” Lionel acceded. “There’s the issue of structural soundness.
We’re working on that too, but it may take more time
than the elevator.”

“Are all American cities like this one?” Gannon asked
as they continued to progress down the street. “I imagine
the capital is.”

Lionel snorted. “Hardly. Philadelphia and Washington have seen their heyday. Well, at least Philadelphia
has. I am not sure Washington ever had one. Even during the War Between the States, DC was nothing more
than muddy roads and tent cities.”

They arrived at the bank and went inside, Lionel leaving Gannon in the capable hands of the vice president,
who was thrilled to be of assistance to a real-life earl.

There was more sightseeing that afternoon and dinner at Delmonico’s Restaurant, which Lionel insisted
made any visit to Manhattan complete.

“So, honestly, Gannon, what do you think of our
sleepy little burg?” Lionel asked over oysters and platters of Delmonico’s signature steaks.

Gannon was thoughtful for a moment. “This world of
the `new’ city is quite beyond me. I understand and appreciate invention in all its guises, but give me a machine
that can plow a field faster or harvest crops quicker any
day. No, I’m a farmer at heart. But this all reminds me of
Andrew. He likes to build things. He would love to see
this, to be part of this while it’s still new.”

Lionel nodded, sipping ice-cold Champagne. “If you want some advice, send him on a Grand Tour, let him
see all the great architecture of Europe. Have him study
in Italy. Then send him over here. There’ll be a place
for him with me when he’s ready. There are architects
all over the city looking for quality apprentices with fresh
perspectives.”

“I am humbled by your generosity.” Gannon smiled
at his American friend.

Lionel leaned over the table and said in quieter tones,
“Then let me continue with my generosity.” It was meant
humorously but carried an edge of caution. “There will
always be a place for you with me. I will always be indebted to you for the service you rendered me and Stella
in England” He paused, letting their history hover between them. Gannon knew the event to which he referred.
A member of Lionel’s shipping company had tried to embezzle several hundred thousand dollars from the firm. In
the process, Stella had been kidnapped and placed in serious danger.

Gannon waved it away. “You’ve more than paid for it
by letting me come here with you, stay at your home,
and be underfoot for an entire summer.”

“No, my friend, you will not dismiss it so easily. You
saved my company and perhaps my wife’s life with your
efforts. And by doing so, you saved mine. I did not understand that you would want to invest when you came over,
so I did not offer any opportunity. Now you’ve thought to
throw your lot in with St. Clair on some deal I don’t pretend to know anything about. It’s always secretive with him, some buyout or other. You don’t need to do that.
You’re welcome to invest with my group.”

Gannon was nearly guilted into spilling the plans St.
Clair had for the short line railroad. “I appreciate the offer. But I need St. Clair’s investment option. For me,
it’s the way I need to go” He lowered his voice. “I need
cash, and there’s the promise of a lot of it in a very short
time,” Gannon said meaningfully. He could tell Lionel
that much at least.

Lionel gave a sad smile. “Well, I hope it works out,
for your sake. Be careful. Wilson St. Clair will not look
kindly on a man who jilts his daughter. He’s the type of
man who would blow a business deal for revenge, and
he’s got the millions behind him to easily cover his
losses,” Lionel cautioned.

To his credit, Lionel didn’t press the matter again
over the next two days they spent in New York. By Friday, Gannon was glad to see their private stateroom on
the Fall River boat. He told himself he was eager to get
back to Newport because the city had been so hot, with
a humid, sticky heat. He was tired of feeling perpetually dirty from the constant presence of sweat. He and
Lionel joked about how much they were looking forward to the large bathtubs and bathing rooms that adjoined each of the bedrooms at Rose Bluff.

But it was more than that. He wanted to see Audrey.
He was desperate to see her, in fact. Lionel’s warning
had left him feeling unsure of himself and of her. He
had made the transfer of funds, but he was doubting the wisdom of the investment. Were she and her father setting him up to fail miserably on purpose, perhaps as a
joke to spite the Englishman? To teach him a subtle lesson about invading America, searching for an heiress to
prop up his aging aristocracy? Or perhaps it was all just
his paranoia when he contemplated the enormity of
what he’d done-taken the last of the money and gambled it on St. Clair’s business acumen.

When he pictured Audrey in his mind, conjured up
her startling blue eyes and dark hair, he could not believe she was out to dupe him. It was nearly impossible
to imagine that her forthright nature could even conceive of trickery when being outspoken served its purpose so much better. And so his mind vacillated on the
return journey, leaving him sleepless in his berth while
Lionel snored quietly on the other side of the room.

Gannon was on the wide back porch of Rose Bluff
reading his mail and taking in the Atlantic breeze with a
new appreciation when Stella found him at three-thirty
the afternoon of their return from New York.

“Violet and Audrey St. Clair are here. Are you at
home?”

Gannon stood up and set aside his mail. “Of course.
I am always at home for Audrey St. Clair.”

“Well, it’s so hard to tell with you, Camberly.” Stella
linked her arm through his as she teased. “Half the girls
in Newport think they’ll be the next countess after the
way you cut a swath through them before you left.”

“I find that perfectly alarming,” Gannon said in all seriousness while they walked.

Stella shot him a sly look. “I am sure Violet St. Clair
does too, and that’s why they’re here”

Stella had had the St. Clairs placed in the music room
at Rose Bluff, a big open room done in the French style
at the back of the house so that the glass-paned French
doors opened onto the porch and caught the afternoon
breeze. They rose when Gannon entered the room. His
first thought was that Audrey looked lovely, dressed as
she was in an afternoon gown of cool blue trimmed in
tiny white lace. Indeed, it was nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. Her beauty dominated the
room and his senses.

“Good afternoon, ladies. This is a pleasure.” Gannon
found the wherewithal to bow over Violet St. Clair’s
gloved hand and then Audrey’s, giving her hand a secret
squeeze as he did so. They all sat down while Stella
poured tall, iced glasses of lemonade from an expensive
crystal pitcher.

“We’ve come to talk about the picnic tomorrow,” Violet began.

Gannon racked his brain for a clue as to what she referenced. “Is that so?” he said vaguely when it became
clear that Violet was waiting for a response.

“Mrs. Astor is very kind to do such a thing for Camberly” Stella came to his rescue.

Ah, yes. He remembered now. An English-style picnic in honor of his visit. “I am looking forward to it.” In reality, the only enticement the thought of a picnic held
for him was Audrey’s presence.

“Where’s it to be held?” Stella asked, passing around
a plate of lemon cookies.

“Caro has convinced the Benton farm to let us have
the picnic there,” Violet said casually, taking a delicate
bite of the cookie.

Commandeered was more apt, Gannon thought. Caroline Astor was a woman who got her way. He could envision her taking possession of the farm with all the force
of a general. The poor Bentons. Whoever they were,
Gannon hoped they’d been well compensated.

“There will be games,” Audrey put in. “A croquet
course is being set up, as well as a badminton court”

“Do you play?” Violet asked with an innocent look in her eye that immediately put Gannon on alert. Innocence
and Violet St. Clair didn’t go together. Her chicanery
would have equaled some of the best matchmaking
mamas the ton had to offer.

“Yes, I play both games,” Gannon offered.

“There you go, Audrey” Violet turned to her daughter.
“Perhaps Camberly would partner you tomorrow”

Audrey blushed. Gannon thought it was most likely from embarrassment at her mother’s overture. He knew
his duty here, and he did it. “I enjoy sporting games,
Miss St. Clair. It would be a pleasure to partner you if
you would like.” Not that doing his duty was any hardship. It worked out quite well that he’d have a reason to
spend the day with Audrey.

Audrey played her part too. “I would like that very
much. It is so kind of you to offer.”

“Audrey is as good at badminton as she is at the piano.
Have you heard her play yet?” Violet asked Gannon.

Another device. The dratted woman knew very well he hadn’t heard Audrey play. In fact, he hadn’t known
she played at all. Gannon did his duty again, feeling
sorry for Audrey, who was bristling silently beside her
mother on the sofa. “Perhaps you could play for us, Miss
St. Clair?” Gannon asked.

Audrey gave a brittle smile and made her way to the piano. Gannon followed under the pretense of lifting the lid
for her. “We’re doing brilliantly, I think,” he whispered
under his breath. It earned him a smile, a real smile, this
time.

“She’s desperate to win you back. She fears I am losing you,” Audrey confided quietly.

“There’s no chance of that,” Gannon reassured her.

“Yes, but only you and I know that,” Audrey teased
quietly, settling her skirts at the bench.

“Play something nice, dear,” Violet called. “Camberly,
do convince her that Beethoven is unhealthy for her constitution.”

Gannon raised an eyebrow at Audrey. She suppressed
a laugh and launched into a quiet lieder by Schubert. By
God, the woman had talent. Gannon could not recall
when he’d heard the piano played so expertly and with
so much feeling. He’d heard enough musicales and private performances given in wealthy London homes to know when someone was a hobbyist and when they were
more. Audrey St. Clair was definitely among the latter.

Gannon quietly stood back from the piano to watch
and to listen. It felt odd that he hadn’t known this about
Audrey, when he felt he knew her so well in spite of
their short acquaintance. Such an omission was a telling
reminder that while he guessed at many things about
her, he only knew one thing for certain: She wanted her
freedom. Hearing her play today, Gannon could start to
guess why.

Gannon swung his racquet in a graceful lobbing motion, arcing the shuttlecock neatly over the net and into
the back left corner of their opponents’ court. The young
man covering the back court made a gallant but futile effort to return the shuttlecock, landing the birdie in the
webbing of the net.

“Game point!” Audrey cried a little too exuberantly to
be ladylike, her hair coming loose from the thick braid
that hung down her back. “We win!”

Gannon was loath to spoil her enjoyment of the victory with a reminder about propriety. It had been a hard
fought battle against young Spurling, who was heir to his
father’s greengrocery fortune, and a rather capable Miss
Van Duyesen, who was imagining herself jilted by the
earl. She’d wanted to partner him and lay claim to his at tentions by the merit of the one social call he’d paid her
and the two dances they’d had. She’d not been pleased
by Audrey’s prior claim to partner him at badminton.

Gannon and Audrey shook hands with their reluctantly defeated opponents and sought out the shady
canopy where her mother and friends sat, Caroline Astor
among them.

“Splendid playing, Camberly,” Wilson St. Clair said
as they approached. “I don’t suppose you sail as well as
you play badminton?”

Gannon reached for nearby towel and wiped his face.
“I enjoy sailing on occasion,” he said modestly. It would
hardly do to say that the last time he’d been boating, he’d
crewed with the Prince of Wales’ nephew at Cowes. He
could only imagine what the gossip mill would make of
that. They’d probably have him next in line for the crown.