The Husband List (12 page)

And then she was gone.

Jack quickly returned to the gathering at the top of the Forty Steps. Peek had cornered Caroline’s maid. Jack wasn’t worried. The little redhead had already struck him as independent enough to hold her own in any skirmish.

“Good evening,” he said to Peek once he’d closed the gap between them. “Were you calling to me a few minutes ago?”

“I was,” she replied in a disapproving tone.

“I am sorry I didn’t acknowledge you immediately, but it was a matter of discretion, ma’am,” he said. “I am sure you can appreciate that.”

“I appreciate proper manners far more,” Peek responded.

Jack aimed for a courtly bow. “And I indeed apologize. My name is Jack Culhane. May I have the honor of your acquaintance?”

“My name is Miss Peek. I am very recently in the employ of the Maxwell family of New York City and Newport.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Peek.”

She didn’t offer a return pleasantry, so Jack kept talking.

“The lady who was with me when you called out is a governess for young Beatrice Goelet. I needed to return my friend to the house before she was seen with me,” he said.

“Really?” Peek asked. “And why would that be an issue?”

Caroline’s maid coughed repeatedly. When he looked her way, she shook her head, but he couldn’t decipher the warning she tried to offer.

“The Goelets do not approve of their servants mixing with their compatriots,” he said to Miss Peek. “As a member of a number of the same clubs as the Goelets, I happen to be one. She would lose her position if we were discovered.”

“As it should be,” Miss Peek sniffed. “Such interactions are unacceptable in any civilized culture.”

The iron Peek was not about charm or equality. But Jack had chosen his course and he’d stick to it long enough to give Caroline a running start.

“One cannot fight love, Miss Peek,” he said.

“One most certainly can and should. And I highly doubt that a man of your professed social status could love a governess.”

“Ah, but she is a very special governess,” Jack replied before casting a glance toward the Cliff Walk. Caroline was darting north to Villa Blanca.

“How so, Mr. Culhane?”

He added a dash of status to his tale, since Peek seemed to be a bigger snob than most. “Her family is French nobility, though recently impoverished.”

“The French. Feckless lot,” Miss Peek said down her long nose. This was not an endearing trait.

Buying time, Jack looked to Caroline’s maid. “How about you, miss? Do you believe a man should turn his back on love?”

“Oh, never, Mister Culhane,” she said. “It’s up to each of us to do everything possible to encourage true love. And if by chance you have a brother, I would be glad to make his acquaintance.”

“No brothers, I’m afraid, Miss…”

She made a sketch of a curtsey. “Campbell. Annie Campbell. I am lady’s maid to Miss Caroline Maxwell. And I know all about you, Mr. Culhane, from that article in the newspaper when you rescued the fishermen. Miss Peek just arrived today. She does not know she is talking to a genuine hero.”

In this one instance, he’d happily use his so-called heroism. “Thank you, Miss Campbell.”

Jack refocused on Caroline’s governess. “Now, Miss Peek, was there some reason in particular you wished to speak to me?”

“I was under the impression that your companion tonight was the young lady under my charge.”

“You think Mister Culhane was with Miss Maxwell?” Annie asked. “That’s impossible, Miss Peek. Before I left for my evening off, she had me bring her a packet of headache powder and was in her room for the night. She said something about her mind spinning with knights and earls.”

“Possibly true,” Miss Peek said grudgingly.

“I have no reason to lie. If I did and lost my job, I’d land back home with my parents. That’s reason enough for me to be honest. I love my mother and father, but—”

“That will be enough, Miss Campbell,” Peek decreed. “I have no interest whatsoever in your familial circumstances. We are conversing solely because I believed I saw Miss Maxwell. But because Mr. Culhane is a gentleman…” She trailed off, clearly expressing her skepticism. “… I shall take his word that his companion was a governess.”

Jack had stretched the conversation as far as he could. “That’s generous of you, Miss Peek.”

She nodded. “And now I shall commence my evening constitutional as I had planned.”

Annie heaved a sigh of relief when Miss Peek headed south. “That was a close call. I think I’ll be having a few more of those while working for Miss Maxwell.”

Closer to one a night, Jack thought. And he was amused by the idea until an unsettling realization set in. Maybe he was a romantic, too.

*   *   *

ON SATURDAY morning, Caroline’s mother used her fork to flick her breakfast about her plate as though the food repelled her. Since Mrs. Longhorne’s chef was among the very best, the airy cheese soufflé with accompanying fresh fruit was not the issue. Caroline glanced at Mrs. Longhorne to see if she might shed some light on Mama’s mood, but Mama’s friend was doing her best to make no eye contact. Amelia and Helen seemed oblivious to the raincloud over the table, cheerily making short work of their breakfasts.

“We will be having a dinner party here at Villa Blanca on Tuesday,” Mama said without showing any of her usual joy over a social event.

“A dinner party sounds quite nice,” Caroline replied. Politeness seemed a wise choice.

“Nice?” Mama asked. “There is nothing nice about the situation. Last night at the Royces’ ball, I talked with the Carstairs, who will be hosting Lord Bremerton in just a matter of days. Bremerton has asked them to indentify Newport’s gems of young womanhood, and Lurene Carstairs finds Katherine Royce to be the perfect example. She plans to have a small gathering upon Bremerton’s arrival to showcase Katherine. Needless to say, the Royces are jubilant.”

Mama picked up her fork and stabbed a strawberry. “I knew I should not have let you stay here last night, Caroline. I am sure that Emmett Royce is sitting down and fattening Katherine’s dowry this morning.”

“And I am sure Katherine will be very happy,” Caroline said, engaging in some wishful thinking that this was to be the end of the Bremerton campaign.

“Katherine’s happiness is not my objective,” Mama said. “Yours is. In order to unwind this mess, I invited the Carstairs to a dinner party here on Tuesday night. They will meet you, and I expect you to show them that you are the correct choice for Lord Bremerton’s wife.”

“Of course,” Caroline replied. She had always been very clear on Mama’s expectations, even if Mama still didn’t grasp Caroline’s concept of happiness.

“Mildred and I have withdrawn ourselves from all engagements between now and Tuesday,” Mama said. “We will need the time to properly execute this event. While we are occupied, you three girls will follow your schedules with no deviation.” She shot a stern glance across the table to Caroline. “Especially you.”

Since Caroline had already altered her schedule to include an afternoon lecture at the Redwoods Library and Athenaeum regarding the early monarchs of the Kingdom of Hawaii, she was perfectly happy to comply.

“Yes, Mama,” she replied.

“Fine, then,” Mama said before finally tucking into her soufflé, which had begun its downward descent. After a few bites, she added, “Eddie will be here for the dinner, since your father will not leave the city until the
Conqueror
is finished with its engine work. Any other ship is too slow in your father’s eyes. And since Mr. Longhorne remains in Paris, I will need at least one more single gentleman at the table.”

Mrs. Longhorne looked deflated at the mention of her husband. Apparently considering his family duty done, Charles Longhorne had left for Paris on a vacation soon after daughter Esmé’s wedding, almost four years ago. The vacation appeared to be of the permanent variety.

“I am sure Eddie would appreciate Jack Culhane’s presence,” Helen suggested while giving Caroline an arch look.

“That is out of the question,” Mama said.

Mrs. Longhorne perked up. “Agnes, is he not the one we heard this morning is conducting an affair with the Goelet governess?”

So Jack had decided to distract dour Peek with a tale of love? Caroline did her best to hold back a laugh. Still, a choked sound escaped.

“I am sorry if I shocked you, dear,” Mrs. Longhorne said to her. “That was blunt language in front of three young ladies, but it is the way of the world. One fancy French
oiseau
flits by, and a man is off to another nest.”

“Not
all
men,” Mama said. “Your father is quite exemplary, girls.”

All three sisters nodded in agreement.

Papa was indeed faithful, unless one viewed his penchant for big game hunting as a substitute for a ladybird. But Mama tolerated tiger and zebra rugs far better than she would a mistress.

Mama took a sip of her tea and then proclaimed, “Jack Culhane, however, is not showing himself to be an exemplary man.”

Caroline wanted desperately to argue that statement but knew she couldn’t. The less she spoke of Jack, the better the chances of Mama warming to him. Or at least ignoring him.

“Mama, I have seen Miss Beatrice Goelet’s governess, and she doesn’t seem the type to interest a young man such as Jack Culhane,” Helen said.

Caroline wasn’t certain why Helen would choose to be helpful, but she was happy that was the case.

“What do you mean?” Mama asked.

“The governess is elderly,” Helen said. “I think she must be at least forty …
much
older than you.”

Everyone at the table was aware that forty had come and gone for Mama. And everyone—including Mama—knew that she turned as soft as butter with a little flattery.

“Yes, well…” Mama took another sip of tea before setting down her cup with a resigned sigh. “I suppose if I don’t make a place for him, Eddie will just tow him along and upset the numbers. Jack Culhane will do.”

Caroline hid a smile. He would do perfectly.

NINE

Tuesday evening, Jack exited the hired coach that had brought him from the harbor to Da’s Touro Square house. The old brick villa bordered on bleak, and the sharply pointed wooden fence guarding it didn’t help, either. But to Jack’s tired eyes, the place looked like paradise. He paid his driver and made his way to the front door.

Wilton, one of the former owner’s staff who Jack had kept on, greeted him once he’d stepped inside.

“Good evening, sir. Your father is in residence,” the elderly butler/doorman/valet announced. “He is currently in the library.”

Jack would have sooner believed that an impostor had wheedled his way into the house than that Da would be in Newport during the workweek. Either way, he headed toward the library. Wilton, who was remarkably spry given his bowed posture, followed Jack down the threadbare Persian runner that covered an equally scarred floor. The butler somehow reached past Jack to open the door.

There, behind the heavy mahogany desk, was none other than Da. He had a cigar in one hand and tumbler of whiskey in the other. Jack looked away from the cigar. Cigars now reminded him of Heinrich Krantz, and Krantz was the reason he currently required a two-hour bath and ten-hour sleep. It had been a hot, stinking two days spent shoveling manure, but Jack wasn’t about to back down.

“Hello, Da. Having trouble finding something to read?” Jack asked.

Unlike the last time Jack had been in this room, random piles of books now dotted the floor and the shelves stood gap-toothed.

“I was having more trouble finding you,” his father replied. “I came in before dawn Sunday and not a soul in this house knew where you were. It’s time you hired a personal secretary, or better yet, a minder.” His brows rose as he looked more closely at Jack. “I’m thinking you could use one.”

Jack sat opposite Da in a deep leather chair. “No doubt. So why are you unshelving the books?”

“Curiosity,” he said. “Harry Benton has no love for books, and he has even less love for banks. I’m looking to see if there’s money hidden, because sure as I’m breathing, Benton didn’t buy these to read.”

“Any luck?” Jack asked.

“Not yet,” Da replied. “And as long as we’re asking questions, would you like to tell me why you reek of dung?”

Jack had cleaned up the best he could before boarding the late afternoon Newport-bound steamer, but he was numb to the scent of manure.

“I spent the past two days mucking out stalls,” he said.

Da tipped back his head and laughed. “That’s a fine one. Did you lose a bet?”

“No, I’m buying another brewery.”

“You have a strange way of going about business, son.”

Jack smiled. “I suppose I do.”

Da nudged his whiskey glass in Jack’s direction. “Drink up. You need it more than I do.”

Jack shrugged. “Hard work never killed a man.”

“True enough,” his father said. “But that’s not why you need it.”

Taking Da at his word, Jack downed the rest of the whiskey. Its warmth as it made its way to his gut felt damn near life-giving.

“So you’re here for a reason, right?” he asked his father.

“Aye,” Da said. “Curiosity again. I decided I wanted to see this place, after all.”

Jack shook his head. “You’re going to have to spin a better tale than that. You might care about money, but you don’t care about houses. If you did, you wouldn’t be trying to fob this one off on me.”

“As it turns out, you won’t be needing it. Harriet Vandermeulen’s father will be building you a grand place as part of her dowry.”

In almost any other circumstance, Jack would have enjoyed his father’s grin. But at the moment, he was bone-tired, blistered of hands, and short on a sense of humor. “You’re saying that Harriet’s father came to talk to you?”

“Aye,” Da replied. “He’s thinking you two would be a good match, and he wanted me to know that he’d be making it worth your while with houses both in the city and here.” He hesitated before adding, “You’re well off enough on your own, but falling in love with a rich girl isn’t a sin, you know.”

“Oh, for…” Jack said before trailing off. He rubbed his forehead. A headache was setting in, but more of his father’s whiskey would evict it. He’d just have to find which stack of books was hiding the bottle.