Newport Summer (2 page)

Atherton leaned back after polishing off his filet
mignon, wiped his mouth with a well-starched napkin, and looked Gannon squarely in the eye. “You’re sure
this is the only way?”

He didn’t have to say anything more. Gannon knew
to what his friend referred. But his decision was made.
“It’s either stay in England with no hope once this last
batch of items is auctioned, or take Lionel Carrington
up on his invitation. Only the latter offers any hope for
a future beyond the fall harvest”

Garrett nodded his acceptance. A wry smile made a
modest appearance on his lips. “If you are set on this
course, then this calls for a toast” Garrett motioned to a
nearby waiter. “A bottle of Champagne over here. Camberly and I are going to celebrate!”

Surprisingly, Gannon did feel like celebrating. The decision was made. This was a real chance to do something
positive-and permanently-for Camberly. For the first
time in months, he felt as if he were taking action, and it
felt good.

Garrett poured the chilled Champagne and offered an
oblique toast in a voice easy to be heard if one strained
his ears. Gannon noticed that many did. The burst of excitement at their table had drawn the quiet attentions of
their fellow diners. It would be all over town that Camberly and Atherton had been in high spirits over lunch.

Gannon clinked glasses with Garrett. “You’re quite
the showman, arranging for us to be seen in good humor on the very day my household goods are sent to
auction. What will people think?”

Garrett chuckled. “They will think they’ve lost their bets. I am tired of the town speculating on the exact
date of your ruin, my friend.”

Gannon laughed loudly, drawing more stares in their
direction. He’d seen the betting book downstairs. It was
full of wagers about his financial future.

Garrett raised his glass again and said ambiguously,
so that eavesdroppers could draw whatever conclusions
they wanted, “Here’s to a change in your fortune.”

“Here’s to good sailing. Here’s to a Newport summer,” Gannon replied, lifting his glass to drink, ignoring
the prick of conscience that rebelled at the cold thought
of trading his title for cash, of picking a wife for her fortune, at putting aside any and all emotion. Emotion
wouldn’t keep him warm if Camberly went on the block.

Two weeks later, Gannon stood next to the exquisitely dressed Lionel Carrington and his lovely wife,
Stella, at the rail of the Bothnia, Cunard’s elegantly appointed transatlantic steamer, as it slipped its moorings
in Liverpool to the cheers of passengers and the wellwishers on the docks. He waved to his brother Andrew,
his sister Moira, and his GreatAunt Lily who insisted
on seeing him off. He thought of one more detail to tell
Andrew about the summer wheat. He cupped his hands
and yelled amid the shouts around him.

Lionel Carrington elbowed him in the ribs. “I am sure
that whatever you have to say, you’ve already said to the
lad a hundred times. Relax, Gannon. You’ll be home for
the harvest”

Gannon laughed at himself and sighed. “I am sure you’re right. It’s just that he’s only seventeen, and the
whole responsibility for the estate lies with him while
I am gone”

“And with your very capable steward,” Lionel reminded him. “Andrew shows a lot of promise. Your
brother is growing up. He’s not the same gangly lad I
met two years ago” Good-naturedly, Lionel winked.
“You have to face it. He’ll be courting girls and dancing
at the assemblies soon. Then he’ll be begging you to
take him up to London”

Gannon gripped the railing and assented. He’d noticed
Andrew’s maturity during his quick visit to Camberly
over the past two weeks. It had all been a whirlwind.
Once he’d decided to join the Carringtons, he’d spent
four days concluding business in London, settling accounts with Christie’s so that the sum of the sales would
be placed in his personal account at the Bank of London.
He arranged for the Camberly town house to be leased
by foreigners looking for prime property to rent during
the Season just getting under way. The rent and the enormous deposit he had required of them would see his
aunts and siblings through the summer in the country.

With family and finances taken care of, Gannon had
paid a visit to his tailor to order the requisite wardrobe
for Newport. It went against his principles to spend
money so lavishly on a wardrobe at such a time, but if
he was to cut a compelling swath through Newport society, he had to go looking the part.

His remaining time had been spent on a mad dash to
Camberly, balancing the ledgers and going over everything with Andrew, who had solemnly accepted the duties
of Camberly without a flinch. His brother had understood
with a maturity beyond his years that this trip to America
was not a selfish pleasure fling. Moira had smiled dreamily at the prospect of impending romance. Gannon hadn’t
the audacity to crush her girlish notion that he was off to
rescue a princess and bring her home to Camberly to live
happily ever after.

Gannon stayed at the railing until the dock faded
from view and the open sea lay ahead of them. They
had sailed with the late-afternoon tide. Now the spring
sun started to lower in the sky, giving way to twilight
and stars twinkling like precious gems nestled in dark
velvet. The faint clink of glasses and soft piano music
came from the grand salon, reminding Gannon that his
first night at sea was about to begin. In many ways, it
was more than a first night at sea; it was the first night
of a new life.

Was this all there was to life? Audrey St. Clair made
a complicated move with her ivory fan of Battenberg
lace to hide a yawn from the sea of suitors vying for position around her chaise under the shady elm.

To her credit, she recognized that the day was exquisite in all ways, from the pleasantly warm June weather
to the thrill of cold Champagne served in the afternoon.
The annual Casino picnic was spread out before her, an
elegantly appointed affair with its white canopies dotting
the lawn that looked out over the blue Atlantic, and excellent lobster patties on silver trays served by footmen.

Yet she was bored-she who should have reveled in
being the belle of the day in her expensive Worth gown
of fine white India cotton and besieged by the attentions of Newport’s finest young bucks, each one of them with a fortune at his disposal to rival her daddy’s
own. However, none of the young scions or their fortunes moved her to do anything more than make polite
conversation.

Her gaze wandered from the group immediately
around her to rove over the others present. They were the
same collection of people who had been at the Randolph
ball the night before, the same people she saw every day
taking the air up and down the length of Bellevue Avenue. They were all the same-many of whom she saw
socially in New York throughout the year. There wasn’t a
stranger among them. Did any one else notice? What
was wrong with her that she could not pretend this picnic
was somehow different from countless other similar
events plotted on the summer calendar? Did no one else
want to scream at the monotony of it all?

Suddenly she felt the overwhelming need to escape.
She rose from her chaise and snapped her fan shut. “Excuse me, gentlemen.” She gave a smile but no explanation
for her absence and wound her way through the throng of
well-meaning suitors until she’d won free of the crowd. At
last she was blessedly alone on the tip of the bluff, staring
out over the ocean, watching the waves roll into shore, the
powerful pulse of the surf reaching her ears even at the
cliff’s height. In the distance, a yacht rounded the corner
of a bluff farther east and headed toward her. If she had
access to such a vessel, she’d sail in the opposite direction, away from all the pretensions and social-climbing
nonsense of her world. The yacht passed the bluff she stood on and pulled up to the little dock located beneath
the picnic area.

For a moment, Audrey felt a spurt of excitement.
Maybe the boat carried new people, people she didn’t
know. Three people exited the yacht and took the steep
wooden stairs leading up to the picnic grounds. Audrey
wished she had a telescope to better view them. From
her vantage point, she couldn’t see them very well once
they mounted the steps.

It probably didn’t matter. She most likely already knew
them. How could it be otherwise? Strangers were not welcome in Newport. She could always go back to the picnic
and find out. She cast a glance at the set of stairs near her
on the bluff; they led down to the sandy strip of beach.
Or, she could go down to the beach, take off her shoes,
and carefully wade in the surf. She opted for the latter.

Gannon Maddox shook hands graciously and kept a
polite smile on his face throughout the innumerable introductions while Lionel and Stella toured him about
the picnic. By four o’clock, he had to fight the urge to
cringe when Lionel said for the hundredth time, “May I
introduce you to the Earl of Camberly? He is summering with us over at Rose Bluff” Gannon felt he might as
well have worn a halter and shown everyone his teeth.
Goodness knew, he was decked out in his best “tack and
harness”-a white summer suit of cool, spotless linen,
and a hat to ward off the sun.

The news of his arrival had circulated throughout the picnic like a ripple on a pond. Fathers smiled broadly and
pumped his hand in the gregarious American custom.
Mothers quietly urged fathers to introduce the family, and
there had been a stream of conversations beginning with
the phrase, “May I present my daughter .. ” Apparently
no reference check was necessary if one carried the requisite title.

The girls curtsied and giggled, some of them barely
out of the schoolroom by English standards. All of them
butchered the appropriate address. He’d been “your
highness”-ed and “your earlness”-ed all afternoon. But
through it all, he’d not blanched. He’d made conversation, overlooking their silly errors, and complimented
them on their hats or charm.

During a quiet moment, Stella pressed a glass of
chilled Champagne into his hand. “You’re doing splendidly, Camberly. They’re not like our girls back home,
are they?” She smiled fondly at a passing group of young
debutantes headed for the shade of a nearby tree. They
were giggling and failing miserably in their attempts to
look discreet as they walked by the earl. “But they’re
good girls, just high-spirited. That’s how it is over here.
You’ll get used to it.” She gave him a supportive pat on
the arm.

Gannon inclined his head. “I appreciate your commiseration, Stella” Lionel’s wife was English, and in
the past three weeks since their departure from London,
he’d come to rely on her as a connection with home. It
helped beat the homesickness he’d been surprised to feel. He’d never been away from Camberly or England
with the exception of his Grand Tour after Oxford. Even
that had been cut short with his father’s sudden death.
Afterward, Camberly had been his life. There’d been no
time for trips abroad. And lately, there’d not been the
blunt for them either.

“It will get better once you stop thinking of America
as a copy of England. For all their Anglophilic passion,
this is a place all its own” Stella laughed softly at his
side.

“What do you think of it all, Gannon?” Lionel approached, stooping slightly to kiss Stella on the cheek.
Unlike Stella, who insisted on addressing Gannon by
his title, Lionel was American to the bone and had no
such compunction.

“We were just making comparisons,” Gannon said
obliquely.

“Well, here we are. A toast to our safe arrival.” Lionel raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and the threesome clinked glasses.

Gannon knew Lionel meant more than just the uneventful crossing on the Bothnia. He’d been introduced,
his title and association with the well-loved Carringtons having sealed his acceptance into the tight Newport circles. “If our business is done for the day, Lionel,
I think I will leave you two to catch up with old friends,
and I shall wander about on my own.”

“If you’re sure?” Lionel prevaricated. “I don’t want
you to be a wallflower.”

Gannon laughed. “Hardly that. When have I ever been
a wallflower? I’ll be fine”

He set off, Champagne in hand, to see the picnic
grounds. His first thought was that Moira would love
seeing it. The canopies, the beautiful plates of food laid
out like artwork, the fountain centerpiece on the buffet
table spouting Champagne, the women in their summer
dresses and beribboned hats. He would have to write
her an extremely good description of the event, leaving
out, of course, the more sordid undertones-that amid
all the splendor of the afternoon, he’d felt lower than a
common doxy. If he did, it was his own fault. He could
imagine what Garrett would have to say to that. This
was a bumblebroth of his own making. He’d put himself up for sale; he could expect to feel no less.

Gannon reached the edge of the bluff and leaned on
the railing overlooking the ocean. The view was quite
spectacular. Blue went on as far as he could see, and
beyond that was England, two weeks away. He thought
of Camberly, and it gave him strength. There was no
shame in doing what was necessary.