A New York Christmas (3 page)

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I was daydreaming.” She should add some explanation. She smiled. “We have been looking forward to this for so long it hardly seems real now that we are here.”

Phinnie shot her a smile.

“We will show you some of the sights of New York,” Harley Albright offered, and there was no question in his voice. “Miss Cardew will have arrangements to make, and I daresay Celia will accompany her. She knows everyone. Perhaps you would allow me to take you to luncheon at Delmonico’s, or the Hotel Astor? A walk in Central Park, if the weather remains clement?”

It seemed like a thoughtful offer, and it would be terrible to be here in this so very vital city and not see as much of it as possible.

“That is most kind of you,” Jemima accepted. “I should be delighted.” She knew Harley was several years older than Brent, but she had no idea if he worked
in the family business or had as much leisure time as he wished. America was different. She had the idea that everyone was always busy, unlike half of London society, but that might be incorrect. “If I am not intruding?” she added, and then wished she had not. The look on his face was gentle but mildly patronizing.

“Not at all, Miss Pitt. You are our guest, and I should be delighted to show you something of our city, and perhaps a little of our history. There are parts that are very beautiful, others less so, but still of interest. We have just this year opened our subway, which is like your underground railway system. It has twenty-eight stations across town and has made an amazing difference. We really are one city now.”

She saw the pride in his eyes, the absolute certainty, and knew that anything but acceptance would be discourteous.

“Then I am very happy to accept,” she said cordially.

“We have so many people to meet.” Brent took over the conversation, looking at Phinnie as he spoke. “I am looking forward to showing you off to my friends. I don’t mean to rush you, but they are all so keen to make your acquaintance, and they are people we shall know for the
rest of our lives.” He let that observation hang in the air for a moment, so she might take the full meaning of it.

Phinnie lowered her eyes. “I look forward to it.”

Jemima knew he was letting her know that all New York high society was to be their social circle, and first impressions mattered.

Miss Albright mentioned a few names, ones that Jemima had heard even in London, or at least read in the court and social columns of
The Times.
Harley added a few more, and Brent continued with details of who was married to whom.

The Albrights were letting them all know exactly where they fit in: at the top of the social hierarchy. It was a welcoming and conversational way of stating their family’s position, and their thinly masked pride in it.

Jemima looked occasionally at Phinnie and tried to read her expression. After doing so the third time, she was satisfied that Phinnie was happy and excited, and very little awed by the prospect of living up to such distinction. Her eyes shone with trust as she looked at Brent, and there was a flush of joy in her cheeks. This evening she looked truly beautiful.

Did Jemima envy her? Perhaps.

Did Celia Albright envy her? That was a harder question
to answer. Jemima looked across the table and caught the older woman’s eye. There was humor in her, and a sadness. Had she ever found anyone she could have loved, and who had been equal to the Albright heritage and pride? Or had she loved and lost someone whose heart she had never touched?

As she sat at this family table, she suddenly felt keenly that she was the only stranger. The world she wanted was far bigger, more dangerous, and perhaps also lonelier. Might she end up like Celia, somewhat on the edge of things? And was it her own naïvety, looking for a love like that between her parents, that put her there?

“Do you have an opinion, Miss Pitt?” Mr. Albright was saying. It had been a political question about Europe and Jemima had caught only the end of it.

“Not yet,” she replied with a smile. “I would like to learn a great deal more before I form one.”

He looked impressed. “How wise of you,” he said approvingly. “I should have known Mr. Cardew would pick a young woman of fine judgment to accompany his daughter on the way to her wedding, since—” He seemed about to add something more, then quite clearly changed his mind; it was obvious from the sudden silence
that followed. The thought of Phinnie’s mother now hung in the air like a presence.

“Maria would be very proud of you, Phinnie,” Celia said gently, breaking the awkwardness and yet somehow making it worse.

Mr. Albright almost smiled at some memory he did not offer to share.

Harley raised his eyebrows, and his voice when he spoke was chilly.

“Maria contributed nothing whatsoever to Phinnie’s charm or spirit. They are entirely to Phinnie’s own credit, as we all know. Even Maria would not claim to have had anything to do with it.”

A dull stain of color marked Celia’s face and she struggled for a moment to keep her temper.

“That may be so, Harley,” she said. “But truly, any woman would be proud of such a daughter.”

Jemima was acutely embarrassed, both for Celia, who had been so publicly criticized, and for Phinnie.

Brent reached out his hand and laid it over Phinnie’s on top of the table, where the gesture would not be missed.

“You are about to become part of my family,” he said
to her, but sufficiently loud for everyone to hear. “You will be mistress of the house, and mother to whatever children we may have. We shall all be proud of you.” He looked at Harley, then at Mr. Albright. He did not look at Celia.

Jemima wished she were anywhere else. The reference to Maria Cardew—who, it seemed, was alive after all—had been turned from a passing remark into a painful issue, and poor Celia had been publicly and very sharply reminded that her own place as hostess in the Albright house was about to end. How long she had claimed that status Jemima was not sure. Presumably since Mrs. Albright had died, but she did not know when that was.

Was the title “Aunt” literal, in that she was Mr. Albright’s sister, or was the truth that she was some more distant relative, perhaps a cousin? Did she even have another place to go? How many female relatives were used that way, as unpaid servants, and only until someone else took over?

Phinnie looked slightly uncomfortable, but her happiness was too intense to be seriously disturbed by Celia’s predicament. “I can think of no greater honor,”
she said quietly. She turned for a moment to Brent, then away again, as if to ease the emotions that had been aroused and continue with the meal.

Jemima wanted to say something polite and meaningless that they could all grasp on to, but she felt that it was not her place. There was obviously some family issue to do with Maria Cardew that no one wished to address openly yet was always just under the surface. She wondered what it was.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Every touch of knife or fork to the plate was audible. Even the movement of fabric against the padded seats of the chairs could be heard.

“I imagine Christmas will be celebrated wonderfully in New York,” Jemima said at length. “It is a time of new beginnings, and so is probably especially appreciated here.”

Harley looked at her blankly. “I had always thought of Christmas as a time of tradition above everything else,” he remarked. “It is nineteen hundred years old!”

“It is a time of rebirth of hope, and gratitude,” she replied, remembering something from a sermon she had heard, under protest, a year ago. “I believe it carries the
promise that we can start again, wherever we are.” Her look challenged him to argue with her, if he dared refuse the olive branch she held out.

“Of course it is,” Mr. Albright said firmly. He smiled very slightly, but with a flash of approval in his eyes, for her tact, and perhaps also for her theology.

“We celebrate it with bells and garlands and music, just as you do,” Brent agreed. “And, of course, wonderful food. It is a time for families to be together and rejoice.”

That was not what Jemima had meant, but she let it go. They spent the rest of the meal recounting Christmas experiences and traditions that were special to the Albright family. Maria Cardew was not mentioned again, although the late Mrs. Albright was remembered often. It seemed that Harley had been especially close to her, and clearly still missed her presence.

Jemima was sorry that Phinnie would not have an older woman to guide her around the pitfalls of society. She was profoundly grateful for her own mother’s advice, and even more for that of her aunt Emily, who was less of a rebel than Charlotte. It was very good to know the rules, even if you did not intend to follow them.

Much later in the evening, when she had already bidden everyone good night and was crossing the upstairs landing on her way to bed, she met Celia Albright.

“Do you have everything you need, Miss Pitt?” Celia asked.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” Jemima replied sincerely. “I’m sure I shall sleep very well. You have been most kind.”

Celia did not move, as if there were something else she wished to say.

Jemima also hesitated. It would have been a dismissal to have left, and she already felt a sympathy with the older woman, even if it was for a situation she only imagined.

“If you are worried about Phinnie, she may be too excited to sleep, but she is very happy and well suited also,” Jemima added.

Celia gave a tiny gesture of resignation. “I’m sure. She will not miss Maria because she never really knew her. A pity, because she was a beautiful woman. Oh, I don’t mean her face, although that was lovely too. I mean her courage, her gentleness, her laughter. Whatever else you hear about her, Miss Pitt, don’t judge her unkindly. Emotions can run”—she searched for the
words—“in ugly paths sometimes. Assumptions are not always correct.”

“Assumptions about Mrs. Cardew?”

“I haven’t seen her or heard from her in many, many years, but I believe she was a good woman at heart, in spite of appearances.” Celia bit her lip. “Sleep well.” She turned away and hurried along the corridor and around the corner, her head high, her thin shoulders stiff.

Jemima went to her own room and closed the door. The curtains were drawn across the window, perhaps to keep out the cold on the glass as much as anything else, but she had liked the sight of the bare trees. It was something familiar and beautiful in a strange new place where she was very much alone.

She thought about Phinnie, madly in love with Brent and on the edge of a new life, with no one but Jemima here by her side. What on earth could have made Maria Cardew leave her only child, little more than a baby, and surely needing a mother desperately? Jemima could barely even imagine the loneliness of that child, the bewilderment, the confusion. Why would any woman do such a thing?

The only thing she was sure of was that, whatever happened, however much Phinnie irritated her, she must try harder to be the friend the girl needed now. She ought never to feel abandoned again.

F
or the next three days there were social events to attend where Phinnie was proudly introduced to some of the cream of New York society. There was a soiree with an excellent violinist, and of course the sort of pleasant conversation Jemima was used to from parties in London. It was like being on a most elegant stage, everyone acting as if he or she were the star, with polite laughter, sophisticated wit, calculated remarks. Jemima was both disappointed and relieved that it was so familiar, with no hint of adventure to be found. But she could see how well and how easily Phinnie would settle in, and that was all that truly mattered.

The weather was cold but still pleasant, and there were sightseeing trips around Central Park, which was quite attractive, rather different from the London parks. For a start, it was enormous, and far more naturally
scenic in spite of being in the very middle of the city. There were no formal gardens such as Jemima was used to, but some very beautiful walks nonetheless.

There was also a visit to the Metropolitan Opera; very grand indeed, and the music was superb. On the fifth evening there was a ball, and for the first time Jemima was acutely envious of Phinnie. She radiated happiness and had acquired a polish to her beauty that turned more than just Brent Albright’s head. Suddenly Jemima ached to have someone look at her the way Brent looked at Phinnie, to feel the safety and warmth of being so loved.

She forced these thoughts from her mind and smiled as if she were enjoying herself. She danced with whoever asked her, even though it was more out of courtesy than desire.

On the following morning, to her surprise, Harley caught up with her as she was crossing the hall to go back up the wide, sweeping staircase to her room.

“Miss Pitt,” he said urgently, putting his hand on the carved newel post as if he intended to be there some minutes. “Are you engaged this morning?”

Surely he must know she was not? Celia Albright was taking Phinnie to a dressmaker to have further
gowns made for her, with the winter season in mind. She had brought many with her, but one should not appear twice in the same outfit, if in company with people from another recent event. For Phinnie, the only child of a very wealthy man, cost was of no importance at all. Jemima herself had no need of more gowns, and while her family was now financially comfortable, it would remain so only if expenses were regarded with care.