The Husband List (18 page)

Seventeen-year-old Alice Ames gasped at Harriet’s audacity. The query
had
been as blatant as Mama’s idea of an Artemis costume.

“I haven’t thought about it,” Jack replied.

“But you would like a son to take on your name and inherit, wouldn’t you?” Harriet asked.

“I don’t know.… Having a son simply to be left my belongings, goods, or carry on my name seems a pretty self-centered reason to bring a child into the world.”

“What reason would you suggest for procreation, then?” Bremerton asked.

“Love,” Jack said.

“Ah, of course,” Bremerton said. “I believe that’s a given for every human being. And while my future title demands that I marry in order to protect the line, I will do so only with the prospect of a deep and lifelong love.” He fixed his gaze on Caroline. “It is what every woman deserves.”

Young Alice sighed sweetly, while Helen made a choking sound. Caroline clenched her hands beneath the table, wishing she were a man and could punch Bremerton’s long nose for this absurd deception. But she could try to push him until his shiny new veneer of caring cracked.

“Yes, it is,” she said. “And every woman deserves to have a voice in her world, or we are little different from the sheep in that pen.”

“I feel horrible for the sheep,” Harriet said with a delicate shudder. “I begged my father to let them wander, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

“I can guarantee they’ve been in less happy places than that pen,” Jack said. “Though I can’t necessarily say the same for the shepherds.”

Caroline laughed.

Harriet looked up at Jack, which was no small feat since they were sitting down. “It’s so kind of you to comfort me.”

“Are you saying that ladies can be likened to sheep?” Alice asked Caroline. She sounded more intrigued than offended.

“I am saying that sometimes we are treated like livestock,” Caroline replied. “We are given no more options than they are.”

“We’re certainly not sheep,” Harriet said, clearly irritated that the conversation was veering away from her. “And I don’t live in a pen.”

“Caroline doesn’t mean it literally, Harriet,” Helen said.

“Then is this about not having the vote? Are you a suffragist with that Susan B. Anthony?”

“I am a member of her association,” Caroline said. “And I have been lucky enough to hear Miss Anthony speak twice.”

Jack smiled across the table at her. “That must have taken some maneuvering on your part.”

“I’m becoming fairly adept at that sort of thing.”

He laughed. “I’ll bet you are.”

Harriet took a quick sip of her ice water and put down her glass with more force than necessary. “I have no desire to follow politics or business.”

“We all have different interests. But I was referring to a choice in love, actually,” Caroline said to Harriet as a large luncheon platter was set down in front of her. She glanced at the slices of crusty French bread and the makings of a sandwich of one’s choice. The meats and cheeses had been arranged like flowers. Caroline had a fundamental objection to flowers of meat, and she was growing to object to Harriet, too.

“We can all choose to love the man we wed,” Harriet said, looking at Jack. “I think it would be very easy to do so.”

“In some cases, yes,” Caroline replied while she busied herself placing her napkin on her lap. If she even glanced Jack’s way, the entire table would know how she felt about him. “But think how much better life would be if we could choose to love before we choose to marry.”

Jack had another life-improving choice to add to Caroline’s suggestion—escaping this table. Luckily, he’d already laid the groundwork for his departure. He needed to use it now, before he committed the apparent sin of making a direct comment. He pulled out his pocket watch, checked it, and closed it with a snap.

“I’m afraid it’s time for me to leave,” he said to Harriet.

“I know you said you had another engagement that you might have to attend to, but you haven’t even eaten,” she said, pouting. “Please stay a while longer.”

Jack wasn’t about to touch a plate that had been served to him by Caroline’s governess, Peek. How Caroline had just missed her in that ill-fitting pink gingham dress and why she was acting as one of the Vandermeulens’ staff were both beyond him.

“It’s unavoidable,” he said to Harriet, doing his best to sound disappointed.

“Let me walk you out,” she offered.

“No … No, I’ll be fine. Please stay with your other guests.” He smiled at Caroline, who, without speaking, conveyed her irritation at his escape. But he had plans for her, too.

“If you insist,” Harriet said. “I look forward to seeing you again, very soon.”

Jack replied with a noncommittal thank you and said good-bye to everyone else. As he made his way past the sheep pen, he stopped near the so-called shepherd guarding the gate. He was a young man of stocky build, and not especially suited to wearing a big white bow.

“You don’t look happy,” Jack said. “Would you like a new job?”

The younger man cocked his head. “What would it be payin’?”

Ah, so the not-quite-real shepherd was Irish. “If it gets you out of that ridiculous costume, do you even care?”

“Not so much, sir,” he said. “But I’d be a fool not to be askin’.”

“Where are you from?”

“Dungloe, County Donegal, sir.”

Jack grinned. That was a stone’s throw from Da’s old home.

“But how much are you payin’? You still haven’t told me.”

And he was persistent like Da, too. “Twenty-five dollars a month, and room and board, of course.”

“That’s twice what I’m makin’ now.” The pretend shepherd tugged the bow from his neck and threw it in with the sheep. “Done.”

He fell in step beside Jack.

“What’s your name?” Jack asked as they walked toward the front of the house.

“Fintan O’Toole,” he said.

“How old are you, O’Toole?”

“Seventeen. Eighteen next month.”

“No wife?”

“Ha! I can hardly support meself. Well, now I can, but I’m still wanting no wife.”

“O’Toole, you’re now my personal secretary.” He glanced the younger man’s way and thought he might be wise to cover a few of the job’s requirements. “You can read, can’t you?”

“Aye.”

“And you like beer?”

“I’d never be drinking on the job, sir,” O’Toole said.

“That’s good, but do you like beer?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Then you’re going to be one very happy personal secretary.”

O’Toole grinned. “I’m near thrilled already, just getting rid of that bow.”

Once they were at the carriage, Jack dug into the carriage box. He’d tucked a telegram from Gustav Miller about the Philadelphia brewery in there. Jack handed it to O’Toole.

“Bring this to Miss Caroline Maxwell. She’s the woman in lavender sitting at the same table as Miss Vandermeulen. Tell her it just arrived for her.”

“Aye, sir,” O’Toole said as he glanced at the paper. “Am I waiting for some sort of reply? Though I can’t think what Miss Maxwell might be saying since this is addressed to you.”

Jack smiled. “That’s half the fun of Miss Maxwell, seeing what she might do next.”

*   *   *

CAROLINE GAZED diffidently at the French bread in front of her. She had no appetite. And for a man who’d recently made a rescue at sea, Jack had quickly forgotten the time-honored tradition of women and children first when abandoning a sinking ship. Heaven knew this meal was that and worse for Caroline.

“Do you enjoy watching polo, Miss Maxwell?” Lord Bremerton asked.

“When my brother is playing, I do,” she replied.

“Perhaps you could extend that pleasure. I’ll be playing at the Westchester Polo Club immediately after this. Would you do me the honor of watching?”

He seemed to be determined to play the chivalrous swain.

“I’m afraid I’m otherwise occupied today,” she said.

“But Caroline, you know we were all to go to the polo field this afternoon,” Harriet said.

“My mother has need of me at home,” she fibbed.

“Ah, I see,” Bremerton said. “And I fully understand. As we chatted about last night, we all must meet our families’ expectations.”

What a lovely threat disguised in sunshine, Caroline thought. She was about to reply when a young man who looked suspiciously like one of the shepherds approached the table.

“Miss Maxwell, begging your pardon, but this telegram was just delivered for you.”

Caroline never received telegrams, especially from shepherds.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting it. “Will you be nearby if I need to respond?”

“I’ll be right by the house, miss.” The young man executed a sketchy half bow and retreated.

Caroline unfolded the paper, read it, and put on a businesslike face.

“I’m afraid I need to step away from the table for a few minutes,” she said.

“It’s not anything to do with the family, is it?” Helen asked in an alarmed voice.

“No, nothing at all,” Caroline said as she worked back her wooden folding chair and rose. “It’s from an acquaintance I made in London last year. She has asked me to attend her wedding, which is taking place quickly, before her betrothed must go to India on government business.”

Bremerton, who had risen with her, said, “Who is the bride? Perhaps I know her?”

Caroline mentally berated herself for committing the very amateur error of providing unneeded detail. Years with Mama had taught her to opt for short answers, but the lure of Jack without Harriet appended to him had distracted her. “I don’t think you’d know her, Lord Bremerton. My friend is a very private person.”

“And I am sure that if you wait until you return to Mrs. Longhorne’s house to respond, the difference will never be known,” Bremerton said.

“True, but the social whirl is so much these days that I might forget.” She stepped away from the table. “Please eat without me. I would feel wrong holding you up.”

Caroline was winding her way through the other tables when she saw Peek in a pink gingham dress heading her way. In point of fact, the governess was intently tracking her. Caroline wondered who inside the house now wore Peek’s standard severe black dress. Whoever the woman was, she had a smaller stature than Peek’s. The governess looked ready to explode out of her pink gingham. But she was nothing if not determined.

“Miss Maxwell,” Peek called. “A moment, please!”

Caroline feinted right, but then went left around the last table. Peek was detained by one of the guests, who was holding out a fork and making some comment about its cleanliness.

Once Caroline had cleared Peek, she made her way across the grounds at as quick a pace as she could without actually running. The farther she got from the picnic, the more her smile grew. She reached the false shepherd, who waited for her at the top of the potted-daisy path.

“Where will I find Mr. Culhane?” she asked him.

“In his carriage, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“’Tis my pleasure,” he replied, this time with a sweeping bow.

Laughing, Caroline approached Jack’s carriage. A few servants milled about, but no one who she felt concerned would gossip. Jack’s coachman helped her into the carriage and then closed the door after her. She settled next to Jack.

“That was one tidy escape,” she said.

“Jealous?”

“A little,” she confessed. “I couldn’t think of a way to leave for good without conjuring up a story that would alarm Helen.”

“It sounds as though you need more practice with your maneuvering.”

“With Lord Bremerton around, I’m destined to get it. And speaking of maneuvers…” She held out her hand. “I believe you have something of mine?”

Jack reached into his coat pocket and dangled her pearl choker from his fingertips. She reached for it, but he repocketed it.

“I had intended to exact a price for their return later this afternoon,” he said.

She was optimistic it would involve more kissing. “Such as?”

“A walk.”

“A
walk
?” That was not even close.

“Yes. A normal daytime excursion, such as two friends might take. Touro Park, maybe.”

“Is that what we are, Jack? Friends?”

He smiled. “I hope we are.”

“And I hope you don’t kiss all your friends as you did me last night.”

“Very few.”

She wanted to ask if he’d ever kissed Harriet, but that was her own growing envy coming to the fore. Jack’s behavior with Harriet was completely circumspect.

“Then we are more than friends,” she said.

He sat silent for a moment. “We are what we are, Caroline.”

She moved closer. “And what is that?”

“At the moment, on dangerous footing,” he said, inclining his head toward the window. Peek paced outside, but she hadn’t yet spotted Caroline. If she had, she’d be pounding at the carriage door. Caroline lowered the shades three quarters of the way, to cut Peek’s view.

“Our footing might seem dangerous to you, but it’s the most solid thing I have in my life right now,” she said.

“At least the Englishman has decided to be civil.”

“Which is all the worse. You see what Bremerton is doing today, don’t you? He’s being all charm … the perfect suitor. And he’ll continue that charade. My mother and father are going to be drawn in, just as everyone else has been. And if I don’t marry him, I’ll look like the most ungrateful daughter ever.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you?” Jack asked. “You didn’t mention that he proposed last night.”

“He has said he will. I am, in his words, ‘the most suitable heiress.’ And I will do what I must to become the least suitable.”

Jack sat silent. He wore the impassive face she had thought was gone forever after last night. Her frustration was so hot that if she didn’t release it, she would burn.

“You don’t have any idea what I’m going through, do you? You’re here and you’re helpful and you certainly kiss very well, but you don’t see things as I do,” Caroline said. “I’m subjected to Harriet pursuing you. I watch her simper. I listen to her drop marriage hints. I’m sure it doesn’t bother you at all to see Bremerton, but that’s because you don’t love me. I, on the other hand, love you, Jack Culhane, and that makes all the difference!”