Timeless (11 page)

Clara nodded. “Henrietta Windsor is taking me to Lord & Taylor now, for the final fitting on my dress for tonight. Would you like to join us? Though I know no one else can see you …”

“I’d love to go,” Michele said, feeling a flicker of excitement at the prospect of a 1910 sightseeing trip.

Clara put on an extravagant picture hat adorned with clusters of osprey feathers and set with a veil. Michele gave the hat an incredulous look, and Clara said, “What, have you never before seen a Le Monnier hat? It’s my first. Mrs. Windsor gave me a good scolding yesterday for being seen in public without it.”

Michele bit back a giggle as she imagined Kristen’s and Amanda’s reactions to Clara’s Edwardian ensemble. She followed Clara down the stairs to the Grand Hall, and she was entranced by the sight of the Windsor Mansion in all its Gilded Age glory. While the house in 2010 had a bit of an old-relic feel, like something out of a museum, the 1910 version was like a freshly painted portrait. Everything from the walls to the floors sparkled with newness, and the home was abuzz with activity as some twenty servants scurried about, preparing for the ball.
This is no hallucination
, Michele realized with a firm knowledge that surprised her.
I’ve really done it; I’ve really gone back in time!

As they descended the staircase, Michele spotted four women waiting for them in the Grand Hall. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the most beautiful of the group, one of the most striking girls she had ever seen. She looked around Michele’s age, so Michele figured that this must be the new older sister Clara had spoken of—Violet Windsor.

Violet’s black hair was piled atop her head in a waterfall of curls, and her eyes were the very color of her name. Her eyebrows were perfectly arched, her lashes seemed endless, and her lips formed a bee-stung pout. She wore a floor-length dress of ivory satin, festooned with ruffles and a long train. Even with all
that clothing, Michele could see that she had an enviable figure—tall and slender, with curves in all the right places.
These people sure dress up to go shopping
, Michele thought, taking in Violet’s doeskin gloves, strands of white pearls, and picture hat every bit as elaborate as Clara’s.

An older woman stood beside Violet, and Michele guessed that she was Violet’s mother, Henrietta Windsor. Though Michele figured she must be in her forties, since her youngest child was only ten, she looked significantly older than the women of her age from Michele’s time. Henrietta’s copper-colored hair was streaked with gray, and there was no makeup to diminish the lines and creases in her face, but she was attractive in a regal way. She looked powerful and proud in her black velvet dress and pearls. Her hat outdid both Clara’s and Violet’s, with not just plumes but fake
fruit
on it!

The remaining two ladies were both young maids, one of whom Michele recognized from her first meeting with Clara. They stood deferentially off to the side, in their matching plain long black skirts with tucked-in white blouses. Two footmen flanked the front doors of the mansion. Michele chuckled at the sight of them, thinking that they looked straight out of the movie
Cinderella
, with their striped vests, gray knee-length trousers over white stockings, and black patent leather Louis XVI–style shoes.

When Clara and Michele reached the foot of the stairs, Henrietta Windsor gave Clara a curt nod of hello. Clara quickly dropped into a slight curtsy, clearly eager to win over her foster mother. Violet didn’t acknowledge Clara’s presence with anything other than a narrowing of her eyes, and Michele could
instantly tell that she was hardly thrilled about the new addition to her family.

“We are ready now,” Henrietta announced to the servants. The footmen quickly swung open the front doors and led the two Windsors, Clara, and the ladies’ maids to the horse-drawn carriage awaiting them at the entrance. The footmen helped the women into the carriage, beginning with Henrietta and ending with the maids. The invisible Michele climbed inside after them, squeezing between Clara and one of the maids.

“Wow,” Michele whispered, enthralled by the elegant and cozy carriage interior, which was upholstered in maroon silk and lit by gilded lamps.

Once they emerged from the Windsor Mansion gates, Michele caught her first glimpse of turn-of-the-century New York. She let out a gasp of amazement. It was entirely different than she had imagined. The looming apartment and office buildings and upscale shops around Fifth Avenue were gone, replaced with grand marble and limestone homes. In fact, a dramatic redbrick and white stone mansion, with gables and balconies facing both Central Park and Fifth Avenue, now stood at the site of Caissie Hart’s apartment building next door.
That must be the old Walker Mansion
, Michele thought. It reminded her of a French château.

Gone were the modern cars zooming through the labyrinth streets, but the cobblestone roads of 1910 were just as clogged with traffic. All kinds of carriages, a few old-fashioned buggies, and several boxy cars like Henry Ford’s Model T filled the streets. Policemen, both standing and on horseback, were at the center of packed intersections, trying to manage the lines of vehicles as
the extravagantly dressed pedestrians waited to catch a safe moment to cross. Above, a steam locomotive chugged on elevated train tracks. The rumble of early automobiles, the ringing of trolley bells, and the clip-clop of horses were like a strange symphony to Michele’s ears.

The Windsor coachman persevered through the traffic, then stopped at Broadway and Fourteenth Street. Michele gave the street signs a double take, unable to believe that this was the area known as Union Square. The Union Square Michele knew from film and TV was an unexceptional, thoroughly modern part of the city, surrounded by trendy restaurants, the W Hotel, office towers, and New York University buildings. But
this
Union Square was something else entirely. Surrounding the expanse of the square were blocks and blocks of resplendent department and specialty stores, bringing to mind the famed shopping boulevards of Paris. Elegant carriages lined every curb, with liveried footmen standing on the sidewalk before them. Michele recognized a few of the names on the store awnings, like Lord & Taylor and Tiffany & Co., which looked even more lavish than its current incarnation on Fifth Avenue.

“Here we are, then, Ladies’ Mile,” the coachman announced, leaping out of the driver’s seat to help the women out of the carriage.

Clara and the Windsors exited and Michele jumped down after them, then followed as they walked into Lord & Taylor. As soon as they entered the store, two young men in formal uniforms appeared at Henrietta’s and Violet’s elbows, showing off their latest wares and urging them to try on the newest gloves and jewels. Michele thought that this was pretty pushy
and annoying of them, but only Clara seemed overwhelmed. Violet and Henrietta were perfectly at ease with the badgering salesmen.

“Clara, please do not linger or we won’t have much time to ready ourselves for the ball,” Henrietta suddenly called sharply. Clara flushed and quickened her steps to meet their pace.

A liveried salesman handed an enormous garment bag to one of the Windsor ladies’ maids, who led Clara into the dressing room. Several minutes later, Michele watched as Clara emerged in a shimmering beaded gown with a white satin over-skirt and bodice over a white and cream brocade underskirt.

“Wow!”
Michele mouthed to Clara, who smiled shyly. Out of the corner of her eye, Michele noticed Violet’s expression sour at the sight of Clara in the stunning gown.

“That will do,” Henrietta said disinterestedly. She turned to give instructions to her other maid, and when she was out of earshot, Violet commented, “Well, it is very nice—for Lord & Taylor. But you must know that all the
best
gowns come from Worth in Paris. That’s where my gown for tonight is from, of course, as well as Mother’s. I
wonder
why Father didn’t order your gown from there as well.”

“I am very grateful for all your father has done for me,” Clara answered stiffly.

“As you should be,” Violet replied. “I advise you to make the most of it, for we don’t know how long this charitable whim of his will last. After all, you are not family.”

Clara lowered her eyes, clearly hurt. Even though Michele knew that Violet couldn’t see her, she couldn’t resist throwing a dirty look her way.

“Clara, please change so we can leave,” Henrietta called in her same chilly tone.

Clara headed back into the dressing room, one of the ladies’ maids trailing her to help her change. When she returned to Henrietta and Violet in her afternoon dress, for a moment she hesitated, as though unsure of whether to follow them or run away.

It was eleven o’clock, and the Windsor Ball was in full swing. Michele sat unseen at the foot of the grand staircase, watching the dazzling ladies and distinguished gentlemen floating through the front doors and into and out of the ballroom. It seemed to Michele that all the guests were striving to outdo each other with their Halloween costumes, each one more spectacular than the last. She ached for her mom to be there alongside her to watch this procession of high society in costume as historical figures, goddesses, kings, queens, and gypsies. Yet no one managed to steal the spotlight from the Windsors.

George Windsor was dressed as Louis XVI, in an embroidered cream satin coat over an ornamented white shirt, with silver satin knee breeches and silk stockings. His costume was complete with a powdered wig under a feathered tricorn hat, and a diamond sword, which he carried proudly with him throughout the house. Michele giggled at how ridiculous her great-great-great-grandfather looked—but somehow, it worked in this setting. Standing proudly on his arm, Henrietta Windsor was costumed as Queen Elizabeth I, complete with a realistic red wig and extravagant neck and wrist ruffs. Her embroidered
black velvet gown was set off by a long black velvet train falling from her waist, lined with red satin. She dripped with diamonds: a diamond crown atop her head, long strands of diamonds draped from her shoulders to her waist, a diamond-and-ruby pendant resting against her décolletage, and diamond-and-ruby brooches and bracelets.
This is unreal
, Michele thought as she watched Henrietta turn to greet a woman referred to as Mrs. Vanderbilt.

George and Henrietta’s eldest son was away at university, and little Frances was too young to attend the ball, but Violet made for a spectacular representative of the Windsor offspring. While Clara’s marchioness costume was a beauty, Violet was a smashing success as a Venetian princess. Her snowy white satin gown, embroidered with pearls, highlighted her striking black hair and violet eyes. A long train of royal blue velvet and satin draped from her shoulders. Ropes of pearls stretched from her neck to her waist, and it was clear from the longing gazes she garnered from the young men, and the envious stares coming from the girls, that Violet was the belle of the ball.

An orchestra in the ballroom played classical pieces, and American Beauty roses wreathed all the main rooms, their sweet smell perfuming the whole first floor of the mansion. Michele left her perch on the stairs to wander into the ballroom and watch the dancers. A colorful swirl of gowns swept across the floor, while debutantes whispered and tittered together in a corner and the elders watched carefully from the balcony above.

And then everything stopped.

A man entered the ballroom, arm in arm with Violet. He was dressed simply compared to the other costumed guests.
He wore white tie and tails and held up to his eyes a Venetian mask of black, white, and gold. There was something strangely
familiar
about him, from his tall, broad-shouldered body to his thick dark hair, to the slow curve of his smile as he looked down at the beauty on his arm. Where had Michele
seen
him before?

He turned toward her, and that was when Michele saw that behind the mask was a sparkling deep blue. Sapphire eyes.
His
eyes … the boy from her dream.

Michele felt the blood drain from her face, her heart racing unbearably fast. The music and the sounds of the party became inaudible and everything in her vision blurred—everything except him. Then his eyes flickered in her direction. For a moment he froze, and then he slowly lowered his mask.

“It’s really him,”
Michele whispered in astonishment. Her eyes drank in every detail of the achingly handsome face of the boy who had haunted her dreams—now here, in the flesh.

Suddenly, his eyes locked with hers—and Michele could have sworn she saw a flash of recognition cross his face. Could he
see
her? But how? She felt nearly paralyzed with shock as she watched him. Who
was
he? How could a figment of her dreams just turn up in real life like this?

Michele watched as he murmured something in Violet’s ear, then left her side and started to walk toward Michele. She felt spasms of terror inside her, alternating with thrills of excitement, with every stride he took. When he finally reached her, he stood in front of her, a few steps away, looking at Michele as though he had been waiting years for her. No one had ever looked at her that way before.