A Proper Pursuit (20 page)

Competition for good dressmakers was always fierce—their names a closely-guarded secret. I couldn’t allow the two Grant sisters to monopolize Mrs. Riggs’ precious time.

“You’ll need to ask my aunt for the woman’s name,” I said, avoiding an outright lie. “Aunt Agnes is the one who made all of the arrangements.”

For the first hour or so, Nelson and I walked around, arms linked, conversing with his guests as we nibbled appetizers. I often felt excluded as they discussed people and past events that I knew nothing about.

“Everyone seems to know each other,” I told Nelson as we moved from one group to the next.

“Yes, most of our families are longtime friends.”

“Aunt Agnes told me that I was ‘new blood.’ ”

“And very lovely blood, I might add. That’s why they’re swarming around you like mosquitoes. It’s all I can do to swat them away.”

Long before our hostess served dinner I’d grown bored. The girls spent all of their time flirting. And as I watched Haughty and Naughty working hard to be mysterious and coquettish, I felt relieved that I didn’t have to play the field.

None of the men interested me, rich or not. They were the same phonies I’d danced with at the fund-raiser. They might have been nice underneath their facades, but no one gave me the opportunity to find out.

My trip to the settlement house had tainted this party for me. Everything we talked about now seemed unimportant and frivolous, the evening a shameless folly compared to the way that Louis Decker and his friends lived their lives. Nelson noticed that I had grown quiet.

“Will you excuse us?” he asked the group with whom we had been chatting. He pulled me aside and steered me out of the noisy parlor and into the hall.

“You look as tired of all this as I am, Violet. And we haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“Being nice is exhausting,” I said.

“I’ve never heard it put quite that way, but you’re right—this is hard work. Come on.”

We crept out to the garden where Nelson and I had visited on the day we met, and stood side by side on the veranda, basking in the warm, starlit evening. We easily resumed the comfortable conversation we’d enjoyed at the fund-raiser a week ago.

“How have you been keeping busy since I saw you last?” he asked.

Did I dare tell him about the settlement house or my visit to Irina’s tenement? “My grandmother and my aunts have kept me occupied, and I’ve seen a little more of the city since then.”

“Have you been to the fair?”

“No, not yet.”

“Good. I would like the honor of taking you for the first time. I’d love to see what you think of it. By the way, your hands must be sweating in those gloves. You can take them off, you know.”

“No, I really can’t. I’m afraid I’ve ruined my hands.”

“Ruined them? Now I’m intrigued. Let me see.” We laughed as Nelson began tugging playfully on one of my gloves.

“No, really … Aunt Agnes would have a fit!” But he managed to pull off one of them, and I finally relented. “Okay, but I’ll only show you. And you can’t tell anyone.”

“It’ll be our secret.” He lifted my bare hand to the light that streamed from the mansion’s windows. “What’s all over them? Don’t tell me you’ve murdered someone.”

“It’s beet juice. I volunteered to help my grandmother with her charity work, and she had me peeling beets. I peeled an onion too. I hope you aren’t too shocked.”

“I think it’s sweet.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers.

Nelson was the first man who had ever kissed me, and I was surprised by how warm and soft his lips felt against my skin. I wondered how his lips would feel against my own. But it was curiosity that I felt, not desire. Even so, it took me a moment to regain my balance.

“The … um … the place where my grandmother works seems like a different world compared to this one. I confess that I feel a little guilty for enjoying this life of luxury so much more.”

Nelson’s blasé smile vanished. “I know. There’s a terrible gap between the rich and the poor. And there’s an even larger gap socially. My father inherited our wealth from his father, and to be honest, he isn’t as generous to the poor as some of the self-made men who’ve worked their way up from the bottom. Turlington Harvey, for instance.”

“Who is he?”

“Chicago’s lumber baron. The story goes that Mr. Harvey arrived in town with only a toolbox and a lucky penny. But he worked hard and eventually got rich rebuilding Chicago after the fire. Now he gives a great deal of money to charity.”

“Do you ever feel guilty that we have so much and the immigrants in the tenements have so little?”

“I do.” He was gazing back at the house, not at me. Light spilled from the windows, and we could see his servants preparing dinner in the kitchen. “I should probably get back,” he said. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. And by the way, I’m glad that I came to the party with you. This is a lot less work than coming unescorted and fighting off suitors.”

He laughed and reached for the doorknob.

“Nelson, wait. I need to put my glove back on.”

He still held it in his hand. He looked at me, and for a moment I thought he might kiss me. Then he smiled and held my glove open for me. I slid my hand into it and he offered me his arm.

I liked Nelson, but I still didn’t observe the feverish symptoms of love in either of us. I longed for love and romance. Perhaps I had read too many of Ruth’s novels, or maybe Aunt Birdie’s unchanging refrain had influenced me, but I wanted to fall madly, crazily, head-over- heels in love. I couldn’t stop thinking about her description of my parents:
“Their passion was ignited the night of the Great Fire, and
the fervor of their love was as all-consuming as the flames… .”
Was I naïve to want the same thing?

Once again, I strolled around the party on Nelson’s arm while he played the part of host. I was struck by how comfortable and natural he was with his role as the wealthy young heir to the Kent family fortune. He was very skilled at making polite conversation, pretending he was interested in everyone’s stories, laughing at their jokes. One would never know that he considered it a chore.

And I was very comfortable with him. If he had proposed to me that evening I might have said yes, in spite of my promise to Aunt Agnes and in spite of the fact that I wasn’t in love with him. Nelson Kent was a handsome, charming man. He had a wealthy family, a magnificent home, scores of servants—all of the things I had dreamed of having while studying in Madame Beauchamps’ School for Young Ladies. Except for love, that is. But love had been the midnight musings of schoolgirls. Love had never been part of Madame Beauchamps’ curriculum.

We finally moved into the enormous dining room and sat down at the dinner table, all twenty-four of us. Nelson cleverly swapped my place card with another so that I would be seated alongside him. The other women wore lovely gowns and had arranged their hair in elaborate styles, but I thought that the prettiest girl in the room was the young parlormaid, Katya, whom I’d met during my last visit.

She wore a long gray gabardine maid’s uniform with a ruffled white apron and had tucked her wheat-colored hair beneath her white cap. Even without adornment, Katya resembled a Slavic princess, her natural beauty simple and unpretentious. I watched her remove our soup bowls when we finished the first course and saw that she had an inborn grace that hadn’t come from walking around with a book on her head. Then I noticed that Nelson was watching her too.

“Your grandmother’s servant is lovely.”

“Yes … yes, she is.” His voice sounded sad.

I recalled the suspicion I’d had the last time I’d visited, that Nelson and Katya were secretly in love, and for the first time all evening something intrigued me. I decided to pay close attention to them—as any good detective would do—and find out if my suspicions were correct or merely a figment of my imagination.

Each time Katya emerged through the servants’ door, Nelson looked up at her—if only for a moment. He enjoyed the rear view just as much when she returned to the kitchen. For her part, Katya kept her eyes properly lowered as she served each guest—except for when she served someone directly across the table from Nelson. Each time, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from briefly glancing up at him.

They clearly were watching one another, and their furtive game continued throughout the lengthy dinner. Then, for a single shocking moment, their eyes met. It happened as Katya reached to remove Nelson’s plate. He turned and looked up at her, directly into her eyes. Their faces were inches apart, and the warmth of their mutual gaze could have melted the silverware.

“Thank you, Katya,” he murmured.

That was unheard of! Servants were supposed to be ignored during dinner parties, treated as part of the furniture. Madame Beauchamps had lectured extensively on how to handle servants:
“One must treat them kindly but firmly. Never be overly friendly. You
may call them by their first name, but they must refer to you as Miss or
Madam. Eye contact is necessary only when being firm with them or
when reprimanding them. Servants must always avert their eyes. Each of
you must always, always, remember your place.”

Nelson and Katya both knew the rules. Clearly, I was not imagining a relationship.

After dinner we moved from the dining room to a small ballroom, where an orchestra had begun to play. With the lovely Katya out of sight, Nelson became my charming suitor once again.

“Would you like to dance, Violet?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Nelson was a wonderful dancer. We were comfortable in each other’s arms. As we waltzed around the dance floor for the next hour or so, I talked to him as easily as I had talked to Ruth Schultz.

“If you could choose,” I asked, “which would you rather be: the captain of a pirate ship or the captain of a warship?” My question made him laugh out loud.

I happened to look up as Nelson laughed and spied Katya watching us. She had come into the ballroom presumably to collect the used punch glasses. But as Ruth’s romance novels had phrased it:
Her
love and her longing for him were written in her eyes
. Clearly, it broke her heart to see us together. She loved Nelson. I was certain of it. The question was, did he love her?

“That’s a great question!” Nelson said when he stopped laughing. “I would have to say the captain of a warship.” He swung me around, and Katya disappeared from view.

“A warship?” I repeated. “Now you have to tell me why.”

“Well, let’s see… . I love working in the business world, and it’s very much like commanding a warship. It’s all about taking charge, conquering new territory, building an empire. And also about accumulating wealth if you’re the one who wins the war. And I like to win. Besides, some of the colonies I subjugate might be interesting places to visit.”

“Have you traveled a lot?”

“Of course. It’s expected. I’ve made the obligatory tour of the continent.” He spoke casually, as if it was nothing special, yet I couldn’t fault him. His sense of entitlement was part of him. He hadn’t chosen to be born into wealth any more than Katya had chosen to be born an immigrant.

“I would love to hear about your travels. Tell me about the loveliest place you’ve ever visited.”

“Let’s see … There were so many, but I would have to say Italy. Especially Lake Como. It’s a long, narrow lake surrounded by mountains and dotted with charming villages. You would love it.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, for one thing, you would fit right in. You’re as lovely as an Italian princess. The Mediterranean men would all flirt with you. I would love to take you there. You would be a fun traveling companion because you see things differently from other women.

“You view everything through fresh eyes. And you’re very imaginative. That’s obvious from the charming questions you ask. You aren’t vain either. Most women I know are very self-focused. They want the whole world to look at them, and in the process they miss seeing the world.”

The song ended and we sat down on a small loveseat to rest. I had enjoyed staying by Nelson’s side all evening, but I didn’t realize that people were getting the wrong impression of us until one of the young men I’d met last week came over to ask me to dance.

“Give someone else a chance, Nelson. We want to get to know Miss Hayes too.”

Nelson turned him down. “Sorry. She’s all mine.”

“Oh, I see how it is. When’s the wedding?” He stalked away.

“Does it worry you that people are talking about us?” I asked.

“Not in the least. I like you, Violet. In a few short hours, I’ve gotten to know you better than the girls I’ve known all my life. You’re different from them. Don’t you agree that we work well together?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

I had to admit that I was content with him. Fair-haired Nelson was a prize by anyone’s standards. But I suddenly had a disturbing thought. Was I merely a distraction? What if he had chosen me as a suitable woman who would keep his family from noticing his love for Katya?

“We enjoy each other’s company,” Nelson continued. “And we seem to enjoy the same things. You told me that you like this life of luxury, didn’t you? I think we could be happy together.”

Again, I had to admit he was right. Forgive me, but I loved this life—the fine food, the gracious home, the beautiful clothes. I never could live with the smells and distresses of the slums. But the weight of guilt that this confession caused me was as enormous as the gap between Irina’s home and the one I stood in. I couldn’t understand how people like my grandmother and Louis Decker could be so selfless. I never wanted to peel another onion as long as I lived. And if I did marry Nelson Kent, I could be as generous with my money as the other Chicago socialites were, couldn’t I?

“What about love?” I asked Nelson.

“What about it? People in our social circle don’t marry for love. There is usually an attraction, perhaps even fondness. But in most cases, marriages are all about family alliances and power and finding a wife who will be a social asset.”

“Does that fondness ever turn into love?”