An Unlikely Suitor (19 page)

Lucy put the last of her clothes in the dresser and shut the drawer. There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

It was a maid, carrying a tray. “I’m Sadie. I hope you likes potato soup.”

“It’s a favorite,” Lucy said.

Sadie put the tray on the narrow bed. Lucy noticed bread, jam, and some strawberries, along with a glass of milk.

“Thank you,” Lucy said.

“Well, you’re welcome, then,” Sadie said. “But don’t get used to it. This is the last time you’ll be served round here.”

“I don’t expect to be served.”

“Good. ’Cause you won’t be. You’re no better’n the rest of us, you know.”

Lucy was surprised by her tone. “I know.”

“Just ’cause Miss Langdon likes you don’t mean you can put on airs.”

“I have no intention of doing any such thing.” She hated the chip on this maid’s shoulder, because she was proof the attitude was shared. She didn’t consider herself a servant, but she certainly didn’t want to be considered an enemy by those who held that position.

Sadie eyed the hat Lucy had placed on the spindle of the chairback. “I do likes yer hat.”

“My mother made it for me.”

“Would she make one for me sometime?”

“Perhaps.”

Sadie moved to the door, then nodded back at the chair. “You’d best find a new place for the hat, though—at least at night.”

“Why?”

“You’ll be wanting to wedge the chair under the doorknob.”

“Because . . . ?”

“Because the last girl who stayed here didn’t. Servants don’t get no locks on our doors, you know, and Master Hugh . . .” She moved into the hall. “If you want breakfast, be in the kitchen by half past six. ’Night.”

“Good night.”

Lucy sat upon the bed and practically inhaled the food as if it were her last meal. Once that was accomplished, she felt the fatigue of her trip take over. To think she’d started this day in her own apartment over the dress shop . . .

She began to undress, but as she undid the third button on her blouse, she stopped long enough to wedge the chair beneath the doorknob.

One of her father’s proverbs came back to her:
Fidarsi è bene; non fidarsi è meglio.

To trust is good; not to trust is better.

At least for now.

Rowena ran into Sadie, coming down from the third floor. “Is Miss Scarpelli here?”

Sadie nodded upstairs. “Just got her settled into Addy’s room.”

Rowena had never been up to the servants’ quarters. “Which room is that?”

“The one on the west. If you needs her, I could go get her, miss.”

Rowena lifted her skirts. “No thank you.” She began the trek upward.

The third floor held a long hall and many doors, none of them marked. Rowena began knocking on the rooms that faced west. No answer. No answer.

Finally, she heard scuffling inside a room, and the door opened.

Rowena pulled Lucy into her arms. “You’re here!”

Lucy seemed a bit uneasy about the display of affection, so Rowena let her go. “How was your trip?”

“It was lovely. I’ve never traveled first class.”

Rowena doubted she’d ever traveled at all. Rowena entered the tiny room but, finding its only chair small and tenuous, remained standing. “I’ll take credit for that. Mother wanted to send you third-class tickets, but I thought that since you were interrupting your life to come to our aid, and since time is of the essence, it would be to our advantage to have you arrive as rested as possible. She still doesn’t know, because I had my brother Hugh arrange it.” Rowena paused for the
pièce de résistance.
“I paid for it out of my own allowance.”

“You didn’t need to do that.”

“But I wanted to.” She looked at the contents of the room. There was a mirrored dresser, a washstand, and the small chair. Rowena moved to the window. “I do wish you faced the sea. You would have a magnificent view of the ocean and the sunrise.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Connelly was too concerned about my view.”

“Mrs. Donnelly.”

“Donnelly.”

Rowena let the lace curtain fall into place. “I wish I weren’t going out tonight so we could talk. Did you have something to eat?”

“I did.”

Rowena was rather disturbed by how awkward it all seemed. Lucy was so quiet, almost standoffish. “Well, then,” she said. “I expect you must be tired. Have a good night’s sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Miss Langdon.”

Rowena was going to correct her, but instead just offered a nod.

Sofia lay on her bed, in the bedroom she usually shared with Lucy. In the bed that was empty
of
Lucy.

I always wanted to have a bed to myself.

And so, toward that end, she spread her arms and legs wide, claiming the mattress as hers and hers alone.

Within moments she pulled her limbs close. Venturing beyond her space was almost frightening.

“Sofia? Are you all right?” Mamma called from the next room.

Sofia hesitated. Was she all right? She’d always wanted to be free of Lucy’s shadow. Now she wasn’t the youngest daughter; she was the only daughter.

And as such . . . shouldn’t she act more grown-up? What did that entail exactly?

Offer Mamma the bed. That’s what Lucy would do.

An inner argument began. They each had their own bed; there was no need for them to change. Mamma preferred her mattress on the floor, and—

“Sofia? Answer me. Are you all right?”

Before she could deny it, Sofia heard herself say, “I miss Lucy.”

Mamma left her mattress and joined Sofia in the bed. She held up her arm, drawing Sofia into its safety as she’d done a thousand times before.

“Shh,
piccolina.
It will be all right.”

Sofia would be a grown-up tomorrow.

L
ucy hesitated a moment before entering the Langdon kitchen for breakfast. She braced herself for disapproving looks and comments. She couldn’t blame them. She was the intruder—an intruder who’d been invited by the family, who’d already received special privileges.

Lucy was startled when a maid came through the door and nearly collided with her.

“Oh!”

“Pardon me,” Lucy said.

“You in or out?” the girl said.

“I’m coming in.”

The girl nodded to a door across the room. “The help eats in there. You’d better hurry before the men eat all the bacon.”

Lucy crossed through the kitchen and entered a dining room. Seated around the table were servants in uniform. All talk stopped. A silver-haired man at the head spoke. “Mrs. Donnelly, would you do the honors, please?”

“Certainly, Mr. Timbrook.” She rose from her chair. “I would like to introduce all of you to Miss Lucy Scarpelli, who arrived last night.”

“First class,” a young man said under his breath.

“Claude . . .”

Mrs. Donnelly continued. “She’s come to repair Miss Langdon’s wardrobe.”

“I have a button or two that needs sewing,” another man said.

“She can sew my buttons anytime.”

Mr. Timbrook slammed a hand upon the table. “Silence! Have you lost your manners? There will be no talk like that at my table.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Sorry, Mr. Timbrook.”

The head man pointed at a chair. “Here, Miss Scarpelli. Please take a seat and have some breakfast. The days are long and hard here, and proper sustenance is essential.”

Lucy sat in her assigned seat and the dishes of eggs, bacon, and toast were passed.

Mrs. Donnelly renewed the conversation. “Have you been a lady’s maid long, Miss Scarpelli?”

“Oh, I’m not a maid; I’m a seamstress at Madame Moreau’s Fashion Emporium. I helped create a wardrobe for Rowena and her mother. I mean, Miss Langdon.”

As soon as she finished talking, Lucy knew she’d said something wrong. The faces around the table—which had softened slightly after Mr. Timbrook’s admonition—had hardened again. Even Haverty’s face lost its friendly edge.

“Maybe you should go eat with them, then,” the cook said. “If you’re so important as all that.”

Although she’d only spoken the truth, Lucy realized she’d set herself apart—on purpose, if she was honest with herself.

“It’s because she’s used to first-class treatment,” a maid said. “She’s slumming it, eating with us.”

Mr. Timbrook chastised her. “Miss O’Reilly, that will be enough.”

“She’s the one who started it, sir, acting like she’s better’n the rest of us.”

Lucy tried again. “I didn’t—”

A young boy ran into the room and handed a note to Mr. Timbrook. All talk ceased until he read it. He carefully folded the note and slipped it under his plate. “Miss Scarpelli, you are wanted in the morning room at once.”

Sounds of derision accompanied her exit.

Let them make fun of her. She
didn’t
belong with them.

She didn’t belong with the Langdon family either.

So where
did
she belong?

Once out of the kitchen Lucy realized she didn’t know where she was going. The boy who’d brought the note was running ahead of her. “Boy?”

He stopped and she caught up with him. “Will you show me the way to the morning room, please?”

He eyed her warily. “Don’tcha know?”

“I’m new here.”

“Come on, then, but you better hurry. When the family wants you, they wants you now.”

Good to know.

Rowena stood at the window in the morning room and looked out upon the lawn. Servants were busy pruning, picking weeds, and manicuring the yard, yet she barely noticed their movement. In a few minutes, Lucy would come into the room and be formally introduced to Newport. In a few minutes their friendship would truly commence.

Rowena heard a knuckle against woodwork and turned to see Lucy in the doorway. She rushed forward, extending her hands in welcome. “Lucy! Your first day in Newport begins.”

Lucy looked a bit overwhelmed but took Rowena’s hands and let Rowena kiss both of her cheeks.

The awkwardness from the night before remained. Was it the lavish setting? Or being away from her family?

“Did you sleep well?” Rowena asked.

“I did.”

Would Rowena ever get more than two words from her? She led Lucy to a settee. “As you can imagine, I’ve been extremely distressed because of the damage to my wardrobe. You are a lifesaver coming here to make things right.”

“I’m very glad to be here.”

Silence fell between them, and Rowena started to panic. This wasn’t the way she’d dreamed it would be. Not at all. What could she do to make Lucy feel welcome? What could she—

Lucy smoothed her skirt upon the cushion. “I’m ready to get to work. Have you missed any engagements because of the damage to your clothes?”

“Just one dinner. But today I’m supposed to go on a picnic with some friends.”

Lucy nodded. “The mauve seersucker?”

“A torn sleeve.”

“Then let me get to work.”

“Excellent.”

It was all so formal, as if Lucy were a servant and Rowena her mistress. Rowena had brought her here to work, yet her unspoken job was to be Rowena’s friend. But how could they transition from one to the other?

Rowena was at her wit’s end. She let her hands fall into her lap. “This feels incredibly awkward, and I wanted it to feel comfortable, like two friends getting the chance to spend time together. Back in New York we talked like sisters.”

Lucy looked around the drawing room with its satin wallpaper, thick patterned rugs, and filigreed woodwork. “This is not New York.”

Ah. So that was it. “Actually,” Rowena said, “this room was supposed to evoke France. Father nearly died when Mother insisted the oak paneling be painted white. It doesn’t match the rest of the house at all.”

“It’s very . . . fancy,” Lucy said.

Rowena offered a laugh. “That it is.” And in hindsight, perhaps it wasn’t the first place they should have met. Checking her motives, Rowena asked herself if she’d chosen this room
for
its opulence. Was she trying to show off to her friend?

Perhaps more than a little. It was no wonder Lucy was acting formal and distant. “I know,” Rowena said, standing. “Let’s go up to my room. It’s much homier.”

But before they could exit, her mother entered the room. “Look, Mother, Miss Scarpelli has arrived.”

“None too soon.”

“I came as quickly as I could, Mrs. Langdon. And I’m eager to get to work.”

Rowena took Lucy’s hand. “That’s where we’re going now, Mother. I’ll show Lucy all that needs to be done.”

“You can’t cancel your picnic,” Mrs. Langdon said. “Edward will be there. He’s expecting you to come.”

“I won’t miss it, Mother,” Rowena said. “Lucy has assured me the seersucker will be repaired in time.”

Mrs. Langdon looked skeptical, but Lucy let Rowena pull her from the room and followed her up the stairs to the second floor. Rowena wished she was capable of running up the stairs but, as usual, moved slowly, lifting her skirt with one hand and holding the railing with the other. Each step gained the attention of both feet before she moved on to the next. It was incredibly tiresome.

But Lucy didn’t seem to mind the slower pace. While her feet did the walking, her gaze moved from left to right, up and down. Her interest made Rowena look at their home with new eyes.

The staircase and the walls along the way were a dark walnut. The spindles were intricately carved and so close together as to nearly be one piece of continuous wood. These same spindles had caused Rowena and Hugh no end of frustration as children when they’d tried to drop grapes or olives down upon their parents’ guests. Many a plump olive had found itself wedged in place.

The paneled walls extended two stories beyond the second, culminating in a stained-glass skylight featuring a woman floating among a puffing of clouds in a striking blue sky. Rowena and Hugh had named her. Hugh had suggested Gertrude—which was so
not
right—but Rowena had won out with Anastasia. Birds flew past Anastasia, carrying sprigs of flowers and leaves in their beaks.

Lucy paused at the railing on the second floor to look down, and then up. “It’s like being in a tunnel leading to heaven.”

“Father would be pleased to hear you say that. He named our home
Porte au Ciel
.”

“Gate to Heaven?”

Rowena was pleased. “You know French?”

“In this case it’s similar to Italian:
porta al cielo.
”

“Mmm. How lovely. I wish I could speak another language. My tutor tried to teach me French, but I have no talent for it whatsoever. As for the house, my grandfather built the first version forty years ago, then after he died, Father made it larger and grander—though this house is like a poor cousin’s barracks compared to the two Vanderbilt palaces that have sprung up in the past few years. Father has insisted he will do nothing to compete, that to do so would be gauche and so . . .” She realized she was talking too much. She opened a door off the wide hall that ran along three sides of the atrium. “Welcome to my abode.”

Lucy walked inside and smiled. “After seeing the other parts of the house, it’s not what I expected. It’s very warm and inviting.” She looked at Rowena. “It suits you. It matches your character. It’s very . . . right.”

Somehow the compliment bothered her. “I don’t feel very right. I think all sorts of bad thoughts.”

“I can’t imagine you doing any such thing.”

Rowena nodded, accepting full responsibility for this flaw. “Be assured I may do the right thing, but not always with a willing heart.”

“At least your actions are right. Most people don’t
do
much of anything.”

“You’re very kind.”

Lucy shook her head. “But I’m not. I’m rarely kind at all. My biggest fault is that I say what I think.”

“That’s a good attribute.”

“Not when I speak without thinking through how the other person may feel about it.”

Rowena remembered a quotation. “ ‘Discretion is the better part of valor.’ ”

Lucy stopped her exploration of the bird figurines on Rowena’s mantel. “I have no idea what that means.”

Rowena bit her lip as she thought about it, then burst into laughter. “Neither do I. But someone famous said it once.”

“Someone more famous and smarter than us.”

Rowena wagged a finger at Lucy, though she was smiling. “Don’t disparage my intelligence, Lucy. Without the full function of my body, it’s what I must lean on the most.”

Lucy offered the slightest glance at Rowena’s leg, making Rowena regret bringing up the subject. She knew Lucy was curious, but that was a discussion for another time. First things first.

“Actually, Mother and Father have the large bedrooms. I purposely chose this smaller one because I enjoy the golden tones of the oak.” She moved toward the fireplace and extended an arm toward the painting above the mantel. “Besides, how can I resist having a marriage scene from the Renaissance watching over me?”

Lucy peered at the painting, studying it.

Rowena offered commentary. “It looks like a formal Italian wedding with the men in long robes and the pages in tights.”

“Not like any Italian wedding I’ve been to.”

Of course not. It was a painting of aristocracy. Rowena chastised herself for bringing it attention.

But she’d kept the best for last. “Here’s my true inspiration.” She pulled the sheer curtains aside and thrust open the window to showcase her view. “See what you’re missing by having your window look to the west?”

Lucy leaned against the sill and took it all in. The breeze made wisps of her hair dance as the curtains fluttered.

“It’s the most lovely view I’ve ever seen.”

“To which I take absolutely no credit.” She remembered a verse she’d had to memorize for Sunday school. “ ‘By the word of the Lord were the heavens made; and all the host of them by the breath of his mouth. He gathereth the waters of the sea together as an heap: he layeth up the depth in storehouses. Let all the earth fear the Lord: let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of him. For he spake, and it was done; he commanded, and it stood fast.’ ”