Authors: Nikki Poppen
“Shall we try the new piece?” Woerner suggested eagerly. “I think we have just enough time.”
“Oh, I don’t think so” Audrey’s mother, Violet St.
Clair, swiftly rose, her tone polite but not warm. “The
hour has passed so quickly. Audrey has to dress for the evening, and I wouldn’t want you to miss your boat,
Herr Woerner. It’s five o’clock already.”
It was common knowledge that the Fall River Line
steamers that ferried passengers from Newport to New
York left for their overnight trips in the evening. Audrey could imagine her mother’s status-conscious horror over being burdened with the presence of a shabbily
dressed music tutor in the house for the span of an extra
day if he missed the steamer.
Woerner might admire Audrey’s skill, but he knew
which side his bread was buttered on, and he acquiesced with her mother’s dismissal of him. “Then we’ll
start with the new variation first next week” He gathered up his battered traveling valise and headed toward
the door.
“Speaking of next week, Herr Woerner,” her mother
called out. “Perhaps you could teach my daughter to
play something more ladylike.”
Audrey watched Woerner’s shoulders sag at the “suggestion,” which all three of them knew wasn’t a suggestion at all. Violet St. Clair didn’t make suggestions. She
gave commands. There were some in Newport who said
only Violet St. Clair dared (and had permission) to advise Caroline Astor with singular regularity.
“As you wish. I can suggest some lieder by Schubert
that would be quite becoming for a young lady” Woerner gave Violet a stiff bow and exited quickly. Probably, Audrey thought uncharitably, before her mother
could make another demand.
“Mother, you don’t have to badger the poor fellow,”
Audrey said, turning on the piano bench to face her.
“Darling, why do you insist on such music? Beethoven puts one into such an irritable mood” Violet swept toward the polished beechwood grand piano with the same
innate grace with which she swept across Caroline Astor’s ballroom to join Mrs. Astor on the revered red sofa.
“Beethoven is perhaps the greatest piano composer
of our century,” Audrey began, knowing it was futile.
Violet shook her head. “I vow, I don’t know what’s come over you. It’s more than Beethoven, darling. Whatever were you thinking to wander off during the Casino
picnic? You were unchaperoned, to say the least, and
worst of all, you missed your chance to meet the Earl of
Camberly”
That got Audrey’s attention. “An Englishman?”
“Not any Englishman, an earl. Weren’t you listening?”
her mother snapped. “All the other girls got to make his
acquaintance. You should have been first in line.”
Audrey rose from the piano bench and said with
more nonchalance than she felt, “What do I care about
an earl? He’s undoubtedly scandal-plagued and landpoor like the rest of them” She should have been more
careful with her words. But her thoughts were racing as
she thought of Gannon. Images flashed through her
mind: trouser cuffs rolled up and damp from the waves,
dark hair ruffled by the breeze. It was difficult to merge
those free, natural images with the idea that he might
somehow be connected to the arrival of the earl.
What was he to the earl? A brother? A friend? The thought of seeing Gannon again was irrationally exciting as much as it was dangerous. She wanted to see him
again, but she didn’t need an earl to fend off all summer
any more than she needed Gannon letting it slip that
they’d met before in a highly inappropriate manner. All
she wanted to do was escape to her room and mull over
what she knew. But her mother would have her say first.
“Not care? That’s nonsense. You should care immensely. You’re the richest girl in Newport. You deserve
an earl’s attention. His attention is yours by right.”
Audrey sighed. Arguing with her mother wasn’t going to facilitate a quick exit. But placation would. “I am
certain I’ll have a chance to meet the earl soon, maybe
even tonight.” The Casino’s weekly ball was that evening. They’d be attending after a light supper at home
with some of the St. Clairs’ closest friends.
“You’re probably right, darling,” Violet said, somewhat mollified, if not surprised, by her daughter’s change
of tack. “Wear something pretty”
After rejecting the tenth gown her maid paraded in
front of her, Audrey began to despair of finding anything
“pretty” in her wardrobe. It wasn’t that her wardrobe was
short on elegant, Worth-created evening gowns. Most
Newport debutantes recognized the necessity for at least
eighty gowns to get through the summer. Violet had insisted on that number and twenty more for her daughter.
No, it was not the paucity of choices that caused
Audrey to despair. She was distracted. She was going to see the elusive Gannon again. She was certain of it. The
thought brought a strange thrill with it and an element
of peril on two fronts. She was in danger from the earl,
whoever he was, and her mother’s incessant matchmaking efforts, but she was also in danger from Gannon.
She didn’t want him either purposely or inadvertently exposing her secret. Such a tidbit that she’d spent
an afternoon with a stranger on the beach would be the
worst sort of gossip to have put about Newport and the
fastest way to find herself engaged, Vienna becoming
nothing more than a fading dream. Her plan for the evening was simple in the extreme. She had to find Gannon
first and ask him not to say anything about their prior
acquaintance. If he was keeping company with the earl,
it wouldn’t be hard to find him.
Audrey finally settled on a taffeta gown the color of
soft butter. Although the trend in gowns for married
women was bright colors, unmarried young women were
expected to wear pastels. The butter taffeta stood out to
her as being not so pale as white and not so conformist as
the popular pink preferred by so many other girls.
The gown was trimmed and ornamented in robin’s egg
blue to match her eyes and to avoid any tendency to blend
into the background, not that there was any chance of that
with a gown by Charles Worth. The great man himself
had deigned to design her gowns, declaring her slim figure perfect without flaw for carrying off the cuirassed
bodice and trained skirts.
In all, Audrey had to admit the effect was stunning, from the patterned blue Murano glass beads dangling
from her shoulders acting in lieu of sleeves to the pearlembroidered petticoat beneath the taffeta, hidden from
public view.
Audrey surveyed the effect in the long pier glass in
her rooms and was pleased. She looked regal, commanding, yet the gown gave her an air of beauty that
softened her belligerent edge just enough. She slipped
her feet into kid slippers dyed to match, her arms into
long gloves that ended at her elbow, and snatched up a
gauzy wrap in the matching blue to drape about her
shoulders for effect. She was ready to face the evening
and whatever it might bring.
Bellevue Avenue was already crowded with dancegoers when the St. Clair barouche entered the fray and
made its way toward the east end of the Casino, where
the theatre-cum-ballroom was located. Violet St. Clair
wouldn’t have planned it any other way.
“If we left earlier, we could have avoided all this,” Audrey groused as they moved forward at a snail’s pace.
“I could have walked there faster”
“Never say so!” Violet snapped in what Audrey could
only wish was mock horror. But it wasn’t. Newport was
run by women, and those women were run by Violet
St. Clair and her select few friends at the top of the social
hierarchy. Only the constant maintenance of status would
maintain status.
Audrey grimaced and said with a touch of obvious
sarcasm, “Oh, yes, I forgot. We have to give the plebians their show.” Much of the crowding was due to the
middle-class citizens and vacationers at Newport gathered to watch the ultrarich make their way to the night’s
entertainment.
Violet narrowed her eyes and focused on her daughter. “Audrey, never forget that here, even more than in
New York, society is on display constantly to those of
the other classes as well as on parade among itself.
What do you think would happen, darling, if I simply
disappeared into the country for a few months? Do you
think I would have my position when I returned?”
It was a rhetorical question. Audrey waited for the
customary answer.
“No, of course not,” Violet supplied. “If I were to disappear, someone else would attempt to take my place.
Every day is a subtle battle, Audrey darling, one I wage
gladly for the sake of seeing my beautiful daughter wellsettled with a husband worthy of her.” Violet turned to
her husband seated across from her and Audrey, his back
to the driver.
“Doesn’t Audrey look wonderful tonight? I think
Worth has done her an especial favor. She’ll outshine
all the other young ladies, and she needs to. Don’t forget, we must have an introduction to the Earl of Camberly, even a dance, one of the first waltzes if possible.
We want people to know Camberly favors us.”
Her father exchanged a long-suffering look with Audrey that didn’t go unnoticed. Violet leaned across the carriage and rapped him with her fan. “A titled son-inlaw wouldn’t hurt.”
“I suppose the next thing you’ll say is that `everyone
is doing it,’ ” Wilson St. Clair added wryly. “Husbands
are not things to be collected like so much bric-a-brac.
They are forever, and one only gets to choose once. I
want my girl to be happily settled with more than a title
to see her through life.”
Violet bristled at Wilson’s scolding. “I’m not talking
about shackling her to a monster. I hear Camberly is
handsome and young.”
“And broke, I don’t doubt,” Wilson groused. “I wish
these English boys would learn to make their own money
instead of marrying for it. Where’s their pride in being a
self-made man?”
Violet groaned. “If they worked, they wouldn’t be
gentlemen. It’s the last distinction left between a gentleman and a rich merchant. I’ve explained this to you
before.”
Audrey stifled a groan of her own. Explained this before was an understatement. Harped on the subject was
more like it. This was oft-plowed ground. “We’re here.”
Audrey drew their attention to the Casino with its clock
tower front, the east side of the building ablaze with
lights for the occasion. People dressed in elegant clothes
filled the promenade as they strolled toward the lights
and the evening’s entertainment.
“Remember,” Violet whispered to Audrey as they were handed down from the carriage, “an earl is addressed as `my lord.”’
Audrey barely heard the comment, so eager was she
to get inside and locate Gannon. If Camberly was to be
present, she was certain Gannon would be too. She had
to find him.
Inside, the balcony overlooking the ballroom floor
was already crowded with viewers who had paid a few
dollars to come and see the wealthy at play. Below, the
ivory interior trimmed in gold finishings was elegant in
its simple decoration.
Tonight’s ball was sponsored by the Rose Club, a
group of wealthy horticulturalists who gathered for the
summer at Newport. They had decorated the ballroom
throughout with luscious arrangements of flowers, several of the copious bouquets featuring the expensive but
popular American Beauty rose. At two dollars a stem
and not as long lasting as their tea-rose counterparts,
they were the trademark of wealthy opulence. Already
the air was delightfully scented with the delicate aroma
of the blooms.
Violet took it all in with a practiced eye, commenting on and complimenting the exquisite decorations.
Audrey hardly noticed, her eyes rapidly scanning the
crowd. But to no avail. By the time the dancing started,
she still had not found Gannon, and her dance card was
full of acceptable partners, approved by her mother’s
judicious eye.
By the fourth dance, Audrey was heartily sick of having the same conversation. Everyone wanted to talk
about the new earl in town.
Between dances, the girls of her set gushed about his
good looks and fine manners. A few even claimed to
have seen him that night, although Audrey had yet to
catch a glimpse of him in the crowded ballroom. During dances, her partners mentioned what a fine billiards
player, horseman, and sailor the earl was reported to be.
He was polite to mothers and sisters-even the ugly
ones-one partner remarked indiscreetly. The earl had
succeeded in making himself welcome to both sexes.
To Audrey’s skeptical mind, that meant only one
thing. A man making such a great effort to travel so far
and to be so ingratiating was looking for a wife. She
suspected she knew just what type of wife the man was
after-a wealthy one who had not yet heard of whatever scandal of infidelity or finance he’d left on the
other side of the Atlantic.
By the supper dance, Audrey concluded that the Earl
of Camberly, whoever he was, did not carry any credentials that recommended him to her.
Gannon Maddox looked up at the ballroom’s skyblue ceiling, exquisitely painted with golden stars. “I’m
quite impressed. The place is lovely,” he commented to
Stella Carrington as they strolled the perimeter of the
vast room.
“There’s a ball sponsored here once a week in the
summer. Other nights, the seats are all put back in for theatre performances,” she told him. “The place can
seat up to five hundred”
“Very impressive,” Gannon said again. “Is everything
in America so large? It seems to be a common theme.
`Cottages’ the size of country estates, incomes the size of
colonial bankrolls”
“I’m afraid so” Stella laughed softly. “In the cities, the
latest rage are buildings called skyscrapers. Lionel tells
me there are plans to build several of these structures in
New York. So far, it’s just all speculation but .. ” Her
voice trailed off, implicitly suggesting the act was as
good as done. She turned the conversation to a new topic.
“How are you doing, Gannon? Have any of the American
girls caught your eye?”