Duke of a Gilded Age (4 page)

Down the street, Liam was tossing a battered baseball in the air and catching it on the way down with one hand. Wesley’s cloth cap was set on his head at a jaunty angle. As the cab drove past, Wesley leaned out the window.

“Hey, Liam!”

The dawning recognition in Liam’s eyes caused his jaw to drop. Wesley lifted his top hat. “Give my best to Colleen, why don’t you?”

With a satisfied grin, Wesley settled back in his seat.
Perhaps being a gentleman has its compensations after all.

In the rarified atmosphere of the handsomely appointed Fifth Avenue Hotel lobby, Mr. Oakhurst and Belle waited for Wesley and his mother to arrive. The floor was covered with a highly polished white marble that echoed the extensive use of marble on the hotel’s exterior. Round columns stretched from floor to ceiling, and a flower stand in one corner did a brisk business. Glossy green potted plants softened every corner, and the hotel fairly thrummed with excitement.

Belle watched the vertical railway doors open and close nearby. People disappeared into the little movable parlor en route to one of the five floors above her head. She nudged her father to get his attention. “That’s truly a marvelous invention. I wrote about it in my letter to Errol last night.”

Mr. Oakhurst tore his attention away from the hotel entrance long enough to glance at the vertical lift. “Did you know this hotel was constructed with the first passenger elevator? Originally it was a vertical screw railway, but I believe it’s since given way to a more modern rope mechanism.”

“Quite clever.”

“Indeed, the widespread use of elevators will enable buildings to be taller than we can ever imagine.”

Belle shook her head in amazement. “You’d think structures would topple over after a certain height.”

“I certainly hope they don’t! Ah, I see the young duke and his mother have arrived. Will you meet them while I alert the manager?” Mr. Oakhurst strode toward the front desk.

Belle gave Wesley an appraising look as the doorman ushered him and Lady Frederic into the lobby. Despite the fact his clothes were in need of a good tailor, the cutaway jacket, vest, and trousers were an improvement over his former disarray. Furthermore, his shiny top hat suited him well. His shoes were abysmal, however, his lip and eye were still swollen, and his hair was indifferently combed. Nevertheless, if one didn’t examine him too closely, Wesley Parker resembled a gentleman. Lady Frederic’s appearance was also much improved, and her demeanor was far more relaxed and cheerful than the day before.

Belle curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Lady Frederic.”

“Good morning, Miss Oakhurst.”

Belle’s curtsy to Wesley was an afterthought. “Hello, Your Grace.”

Wesley stared. “My
what?”

“Your Grace. It’s how you’re addressed by those social classes lower than the gentry. Otherwise, you’ll be addressed as Duke, or sir. Family and very close friends are another matter.”

He looked annoyed. “See here, that’s nonsense!”

Just then, Mr. Oakhurst returned with the hotel manager.

“Good morning, Lady Frederic,” Mr. Oakhurst said. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

Belle tried not to smirk at her father’s use of Wesley’s title.

“Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Darling,” Mr. Oakhurst continued.

The manager beamed. “Welcome to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, Lady Frederic, Your Grace. Come this way, sir, to sign the register.”

Wesley seemed bewildered as he penned his name in the book at the front desk. Belle felt a slight tug of sympathy at his discomfort.
He’s so out of place, I could almost feel sorry for him
.

While Wesley was thus occupied, Mr. Darling directed the bellhops to take charge of the Parkers’ worn trunks. Thereafter, the manager insisted on showing the Parkers to their suite personally.

As Mr. Darling, Lady Frederic, and Mr. Oakhurst headed toward the elevator, Wesley and Belle fell into step just behind.

“I wasn’t sure if I should sign the register as Wesley Parker or the Duke of Mansbury,” Wesley whispered. “I finally settled on Wesley Parker, the Duke of Mansbury, but it dribbled out into the margin.”

“You may style yourself merely ‘Mansbury,’ Your Grace,” Belle replied.

“I don’t like being called Your Grace,” he whispered. “If you don’t call me Wesley, I won’t answer you.”

“Then our conversation will be quite one-sided,” Belle replied. “In British society, rank is everything. You’ll be expected to observe it.”

Wesley attempted to behave as if he checked into first-class hotels and rode on sumptuous vertical railways every day, but in truth he was in mortal fear of saying or doing the wrong thing. Fortunately, Mr. Darling filled the slow steady ride to the top floor with his vivacious conversation.

“The Prince of Wales stayed with us when he was touring North America,” he said.

“Did he? How marvelous,” Lady Frederic said.

“Indeed, the Fifth Avenue Hotel attracts dignitaries and statesmen from all over the globe. We’ve over four hundred employees to serve our guests, you see. Each bedchamber has a private bath and you’ll find a fireplace in every room. Oh, and meals are included during your stay here, except the late supper. For that, there’s a nominal fee.”

“The Duke of Mansbury and Lady Frederic would like to procure a few items of clothing prior to their voyage,” Mr. Oakhurst said. “Where would you recommend, Mr. Darling?”

Mr. Darling flicked a brief glance at Wesley’s dusty top hat.

“The renowned Knox Hat Shop on the ground floor has a marvelous selection of men’s hats. You may have noticed it on the left just before you entered the hotel. Also, a fine collection of emporiums, boutiques, and department stores can be found on Ladies’ Mile, which encompasses part of Sixth Avenue, Fifth Avenue, and Broadway. I recommend Arnold, Constable and Company, 115 Fifth Avenue. The store is nicknamed the Palace of Trade, and you may even see the Vanderbilts, the Carnegies, or the Rockefellers shopping there.”

The illustrious names didn’t particularly impress Wesley, but he nodded politely. At length, the upward motion of the moving parlor stopped, the doors opened, and the manager led them down the hallway to a suite of three large rooms overlooking Madison Square Park. Miss Oakhurst immediately ran to the windows to admire the view. While his mother inspected the suite, taking everything in with obvious pleasure, Wesley stood in the middle of the sitting room, bemused. He’d never seen such luxury before, nor imagined it. The sitting room alone was more spacious than the flat in Brooklyn. Dentil moldings accentuated the high ceiling, and tapestry-patterned paper covered the walls. Impressive wooden valances sat atop the windows, which were framed by elegant, heavy velvet drapes. An enormous oriental rug covered the polished wooden floor, and a fringed horsehair sofa, an ornate coffee table, and two chairs made up a cozy sitting area. Nearer the windows was a substantial rosewood desk, where letters could be written or business conducted. A crystal vase on the fireplace mantle displayed a profusion of fresh flowers and ferns, and a smaller cut-glass bowl on the coffee table held an arrangement of hothouse roses, lilies, and cockscomb. The floral fragrances combined to perfume the air.

A basket of fruit on the coffee table made Wesley’s mouth water. Since his father died, he’d grown accustomed to eating the bruised, small fruit sold in Lombardi’s at a discount. He picked up a fresh red apple, marveling at its size, color, and perfection. It almost looked as if it was made out of wax, but the aroma proved otherwise. As he returned the apple to the basket, he noticed a fancy beribboned box marked
Maillard’s
. Mr. Darling followed his gaze.

“Chocolates, compliments of the house, of course,” he said. “Maillard’s is located on the ground floor of the hotel. President Abraham Lincoln adored their bonbons. In addition to chocolates, you can buy perfectly marvelous chocolate ice cream there.”

On the table was also a light green booklet entitled
Visitor’s Guide to the City of New York.
Mr. Darling gave it a tap. “There’s a great deal of useful information about shops and restaurants inside this pamphlet.”

The bellhops arrived with the luggage just then. Wesley was struck by how worn and battered the old trunks looked, especially in contrast with the luxurious splendor of the room. While Mr. Darling spoke to Mr. Oakhurst and Lady Frederic about arranging transportation for their shopping excursion, Wesley joined Miss Oakhurst at the window.

A tremendous view greeted him. Metal tracks for horse-drawn trolley cars cut through the granite Belgian block pavement on Fifth Avenue, several floors below. Across the street, a long line of hansom cabs was parked alongside Madison Square Park. The large rectangular park was a very pretty sight with its looping pathways and historic monuments nestled amongst large sycamore, oak, and elm trees.

Wesley blew out a long, slow breath. “I’m completely out of my element here.”

Miss Oakhurst cleared her throat. “Not at all. Your clothes are a vast improvement from yesterday.”

He inserted a finger in between his collar and his neck in a futile attempt to loosen the fit. “They’re my father’s things and I feel silly in them.”

“You don’t look silly. I think your suit is rather handsome, even if it’s borrowed.”

“Thank you.” He paused a moment. “I can tell you don’t altogether approve of me.”

“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove of you.” She studied him a moment. “I spoke out of turn yesterday. I should’ve been more courteous.”

“I apologize for my comments as well. Perhaps we got off to a bad beginning.”

“Definitely so. I agree.”

“I could really use a friend, Miss Oakhurst.”

“All right. As a friend, I must inform you that you need new shoes and a haircut.”

Wesley roared with laughter. His mirth was contagious, and Miss Oakhurst began to giggle. Mr. Oakhurst, Lady Frederic, and Mr. Darling glanced over.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” Mr. Oakhurst said.

Chapter Three

Fifth Avenue

“M
R
. D
ARLING
, W
E
N
EED
T
O
S
ETTLE
I
N
,” Wesley said. “May we have lunch for four sent up?”

“I’ll attend to it personally.”

“Excellent. And after lunch, will you let me know when our carriage is ready to take us shopping?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Wesley smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Darling. I’m in your debt.”

As the manager left, Wesley discovered Miss Oakhurst, Mr. Oakhurst, and his mother staring at him in shock. He stared back, perplexed.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, dear,” Lady Frederic said. “I’ve just never seen you give orders before. Well done.”

“Perhaps Miss Oakhurst has lent me her considerable courage,” Wesley said.

Unable to resist any longer, he picked up the apple and bit into it. As he did so, he savored its abundant juice, firm texture, and sweet taste. He brought the fruit with him as he explored the bedchamber that was to be his for the next few days. The four-poster, king-sized bed was covered with a patterned silk coverlet that coordinated with the curtains. As Mr. Darling had promised, the room possessed a handsome fireplace, framed by carved wooden trim pieces and a mantel. The adjoining bath was sparkling clean and elegant, with a marble pedestal sink, scented shell-shaped soaps, electric lighting, and gold-plated fixtures. Wesley cast a longing glance toward the claw-foot bathtub, but a good long soak would have to wait until the evening.