An Unlikely Suitor (35 page)

But now, on the edge of the water, with sailboats racing the horizon, with the brush of the breeze, the warmth of the sun, the sticky coolness of the wet sand . . .

She held on to Dante’s arm for the next wave, marveled at its pull, and made a pronouncement. “I’m afraid the sea frightens me a bit. So perhaps I’m not the outdoor enthusiast you take me for.”

He laughed with her. “Actually, neither am I. My family has a camp in the Adirondacks, but it’s a little too woodsy for my tastes.”

She didn’t know which issue to address first. “Where are the Adirondacks?”

He didn’t skip a beat. “They’re mountains to the northwest in New York State. Far different than it is here, with rolling hills and miles and miles of wilderness. But in the autumn the trees turn bright orange and red and gold, as if God swept a paintbrush across the entire lot.”

He may not have liked the wilderness, but his passion for its visual beauty was evident. “I’d like to . . . never mind.”

“Stop it,” he said.

“What?”

“Being logical. Logic is banned this afternoon.”

She squeezed his arm. “And what shall be in its place?”

“Joy,” he said. “Pure joy.”

“And gratitude,” she added.

His eyes were soft as he repeated her words. “And gratitude.”

When he leaned toward her, she didn’t pull away, didn’t even think of pulling away. The kiss was soft and . . . perfect.

She was glad he didn’t apologize.

It was not an afternoon for apologies, but for . . .

Joy.

“He what?”

Lucy hadn’t planned on telling Rowena about the kiss, but it slipped out. “He kissed me. Once. Very tenderly.”

“With your bare feet in the ocean?”

Lucy couldn’t tell whether Rowena felt this was scandalous, but she answered with the truth. “You should try it sometime. It’s a wonderful feeling. It’s very freeing.”

Rowena opened her jewelry box and pulled out a necklace of pink stones that matched her pink and ivory evening dress. She was having dinner with Edward’s family.

“Actually, I have put my feet in the ocean, at Bailey’s Beach, when I was far younger.”

“Not Easton’s?”

Rowena held the necklace toward Lucy, needing help with the clasp. “Bailey’s is where our set goes.”

Oh.

Rowena turned around and smoothed her dress. “How do I look?”

“Lovely as usual.” She retrieved some ivory gloves. “Is this a private dinner between the two of you?”

“If only. No, our parents will be present.” Rowena put on the gloves. “I don’t know how Edward and I are ever supposed to get to know each other when we are never alone for more than a few moments.”

“Never?”

She shook her head.

“So . . . he’s never kissed you?”

She hesitated. “On the cheek.”

Lucy wasn’t sure how to feel: ashamed at her own experience—meager as it was? Or sorry for Rowena, for her lack.

Rowena reacted to Lucy’s silence. “Actually, I have been kissed once by my friend Morrie. We were very young and he was helping me down off my horse and . . .”

“And?”

“He leaned down and kissed me.”

“Did you kiss him back?”

“I believe I popped him on the tip of his nose. As children we spent a lot of time together. And when I had my accident, he watched over me. He’s always been there for me.”

This was the second time she’d mentioned Morrie. “It sounds as though Morrie considers you more than a friend. Perhaps you have feelings for him?”

“No, no. I love him as a friend, and he me. But beyond that? My parents would never approve. They’ve set their sights on bigger fish in Edward.”

“But it sounds as though Morrie is far more suited—”

“I really must go. I shouldn’t be late.”

The ways of the rich were hard to fathom.

This is the man I’m supposed to marry.

Rowena looked across the massive dining table at Edward. He must have felt her gaze, for he met her eyes and offered a timid smile.

Or was it a tentative smile? Patronizing smile? Smile at the crippled rich girl; she’s going to be your wife.

It sounded so provincial, so antiquated, so—

“I hear you’ve brought in a professional designer to create your costumes for Cornelius and Alice’s ball,” Mrs. DeWitt said to Rowena’s mother.

Rowena was curious as to whether or not her mother would go along with their hostess’s lofty version of the facts.

It was the latter. “We were very lucky to get Miss Scarpelli. And because Mrs. Garmin also ordered a costume, two other seamstresses were brought in to help.”

“I don’t suppose they have time to—”

“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Langdon said. “Do you have a costume you can wear?”

“I do. I was just—”

Mr. DeWitt shook a scolding finger at her. “One costume per season, Rachel.” He included the others. “I’m to be Admiral Halsey.”

“Complete with a sword,” his wife added.

Mr. Langdon looked to his own wife. “And what are we?”

“You are Caesar, and I am a lady of the Elizabethan period.”

“ ‘
Et tu
, Brutus?’ ”

It was the first time Edward had spoken, and Rowena relished the opportunity to look at him. “Beware the Ides of March!” she said.

Mr. DeWitt clapped. “Well done, Miss Langdon. Are you a history lover?”

She felt her face flush. “I read a lot.”

Oddly, the others at the table seemed embarrassed for her, and she realized they assumed she was well-read because of her handicap. She suddenly feared Edward would think she was too bookish. “I like outdoor pursuits too.”

“Like sailing?” Mrs. DeWitt asked.

Rowena shared glances with her parents, and her father answered for her. “Rowena prefers to stay on land.”

Another awkward silence as assumptions were made. How she wished she could blurt out what was
not
being said about her injury. She knew they were curious, and who knew what rumors they’d heard about its cause—or its severity.

“I may prefer to stay on dry land, but I do love taking leisurely strolls.” She looked to Edward, hoping he took the hint. It was a lovely evening for a walk. Alone. Or if not tonight, perhaps tomorrow?

He remained silent.

“So what is your costume, Miss Langdon?” he asked.

The discussion that had skimmed the subject of her infirmity was over. They were safely back to the costumes. “My costume was inspired by Jane Austen’s novel
Pride and Prejudice
.” She looked directly at Edward. “I will be Elizabeth Bennet.”
And you, Edward? Would you be my Mr. Darcy?

“You should see the stiff collar they have planned for me,” her mother said.

“I’m sure it’s nice, but it won’t match the drama of my sword,” Mr. DeWitt said.

Rowena took a bite of her cod. It was hopeless. As the discussion changed to the new home the Havemeyers were building, she envied Lucy and her Dante. Lucy had only been in Newport a short while, and already she’d met a man, taken long walks with him alone, enjoyed extended conversation, and even received a kiss. Rowena had been told that Edward was to be her intended three months ago, and they’d only touched as a matter of his being the gentleman, helping her out of a carriage or walking her into dinner. As for a kiss?

Just the once. On the cheek.

She’d often tried to imagine what it would feel like to be kissed on the lips. . . . She’d actually dissected the idea of kissing to a great extent the past year. What an odd custom. Family members and friends kissed each other’s cheeks, mothers kissed their babies’ foreheads, and the occasional gallant man kissed the back of a lady’s hand. But kissing lip to lip . . .

She’d never done it fully. With emotion. Not once. How many twenty-one-year-old women could say that—or would admit that?

But almost more disturbing than her lack of a proper kiss was the fact that Edward had shown no indication that the idea of giving her one had ever crossed his mind. She may not have been an astounding beauty, but she was an attractive woman. Morrie had even told her she was pretty and had scolded her to stop thinking otherwise.

“But it sounds as though Morrie is far more suited
 . . .”

Before Rowena allowed Lucy’s words to settle in, she mentally checked the table banter. They were talking about the first United States Open golf championship just held in Newport.

“Who won?” Edward asked.

“Horace Rawlins—by two strokes.”

“Willie Dunn should have won it,” his father said.

“Because he’s a better golfer?”

“Because he’s an American. Rawlins is British.”

The subject was changed again. “Who do you think will run for president next year?” Mr. DeWitt asked.

“Aren’t you for that McKinley fellow, Father?” Edward asked.

“Indeed I am. McKinley’s pro-business. We have a responsibility to back men like him.”

Edward nodded.

Rowena felt sorry for him. Obviously Edward was under his parents’ thumbs as much as she was. But as the conversation continued on a political theme, she felt her thoughts drifting. Since she wasn’t allowed to vote, elections were not her concern. Besides, as a woman, she was not expected to know of such things—and was nearly required
not
to—so she let herself ponder Lucy’s wisdom about Morrie instead.

Was Morrie more suited to her than Edward?

She’d known Morrie since both were children. Before the accident she’d been a wonderful runner and the two of them had contests to see who could run the length of the Cliff Walk the fastest. The winner was always Morrie, but only by the smallest margin.

When she’d been recovering from her injury, it was Morrie who’d come to sit with her, entertaining her with games and funny stories.

Following, there’d been a few years when they’d missed their playtimes in Newport, a few years when Rowena’s family had forgone the Newport season and
Porte au Ciel
had remained empty. She could never forget the first summer they’d returned. She’d been sixteen at the time, a girl blossoming into womanhood. And Morrie? He’d changed too. He’d grown tall and muscular, and suddenly playing together was not allowed. And yet he’d remained her confidant and continued to know more of her secrets—and her true self—than anyone else in the world.

I really should marry him.

Rowena dropped her fork.

Marry Morrie? That was ridiculous. Even if Rowena thought of Morrie in
that way
, her parents would never allow it. Although Rowena was no catch, her parents didn’t want her to marry
down.

Timbrook brought her a clean fork.

“What do you think of that, Miss Langdon?” Mr. DeWitt asked.

Think? Wasn’t she raised to be vacant of thoughts and opinions?

She had no idea what they were talking about and hadn’t the energy to catch up. And so she said, “I have no opinion.”

The conversation resumed without her.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” Sofia asked.

Lucy gave her a scathing look.

Oh. That.

Sofia unbuttoned her blouse, readying herself for bed. She knew she’d gone too far that afternoon, leaking to Mamma about Dante and the notes. She didn’t know why she said such things, yet they always seemed to slip out.