Glamorous Illusions (6 page)

“Yes, well, the bear—the guide for your Grand Tour—insists that all who are to come have a thorough examination.” He waved me off, as if that was all he could say about such an indelicate subject. “Tonight, I must see to business. We shall dine together tomorrow evening, giving us time to become…acquainted. Then we shall board another train and head north. We'll take a week upon the lake before the tour party departs.”

“So soon?” I managed to say.

“I believe it will be exactly right. Long enough for you young people to get to know one another, but not long enough for things to”—he paused, seeming uncomfortable—“come to a boiling point.”

I eyed him quickly. “Distraction is key,” he said. “And you all shall have constant distraction on the Grand Tour—your minds occupied by the travel itself, by art, culture, language—so you do not dwindle into lesser conversations.”

Lesser conversations. Such as my parentage.
The thought of it made me blush furiously. Why, oh why, had my mother never told me? Given me the opportunity to prepare for this day?

Our train was pulling into the station now. Mr. Kensington—my
father
, I reminded myself, though I highly doubted I would ever be able to call him
Father
—was still speaking of our itinerary. “… trains to New York and then embark on a steamship for the week's crossing. And there,” he said, pausing, blue eyes twinkling, “the adventure truly begins, does it not?”

I paused. “Somehow, I believe it already has, Mr. Kensington.”

He raised his head and regarded me for a long moment then. “Indeed, it has.”

It was ingenious, really. Sneaking me into town while the family was away. Mr. Kensington was greeted left and right, but apparently by mere acquaintances, no one important enough to introduce me to, regardless of their lingering glances. Or was it the other way around? That I wasn't important enough to introduce? I burned with curiosity—how did he intend to explain my presence to the world?

He seemed to be in a hurry. To get to his office? Or to squire me away?

I tried not to gawk as we climbed into a finely polished red Great Smith touring car, driven by a man in uniform and smart cap. “Davis, I'd like to introduce you to my daughter,” Mr. Kensington said. I was stunned by his boldness and turned to look at him. “Miss Cora Kensington,” he continued. “She has been away for some time but is finally home with us. Cora, this is Davis, our driver.”

The tall, thin man took off his hat and gave me a little bow. Still spinning over Wallace's words, I belatedly nodded.
Kensington?
Was that how it was to be handled? I'd be plainly introduced as Wallace's daughter? With the family name? I supposed I thought he might explain me away as a niece or a second cousin. Not be so…forthright. But then he
was
Wallace Kensington. Would anyone do more than blink and nod? At least to our faces?

We pulled up to the grandest home I'd ever seen, upon the widest boulevard I'd ever seen. There were fine homes in Dillon, for sure, but none as large as this one. I glanced around to the hills above us, amazed again that there were no trees or grass for miles around Butte, although it was plain that many had tried to coax them to life. It was haunting, really—the dry, smelter-burned landscape and the massive, perfect houses lining the streets. As though someone had set a fancy town in the middle of a rocky, dusty desert.

The “hill,” as they called it, rose above the heart of the city, riddled with mines and ramshackle houses and a steady stream of people traversing her roads, even at this late hour. But here, on Granite Street, were several blocks of houses as only my father and his companions could have dreamed it. Thirty years ago, this city had been full of tents and log cabins. Now there were two- and three- and even four-story homes of brick and finely milled lumber and tiles upon the roofs, glinting in the moonlight with flecks of copper.

Davis drove us up to and then under the front portico. A butler, two maids, and a footman came out of the house. “Most of the servants are accompanying the children,” Mr. Kensington said, as if embarrassed by this slim accounting of servants.

In quick succession they were introduced, bobbing in deference as they met the long-lost Kensington daughter. Their faces giving away nothing, as if this were an everyday occurrence. My eyes narrowed. Perhaps I wasn't the first or last… If my father had been a philanderer once, what would have kept him from other dalliances?

I shoved the ugly thought from my head—half drawn to the idea of not being the only black sheep in the family, half repulsed—and followed a maid to a corner bedroom upstairs. My father had introduced her as Anna, gruffly telling her to make appointments with the dressmaker and milliner as well as prepare to leave Butte in two days—she would attend me at the lake, as well as in Europe. Anna accepted it all with hardly more than a blink and a bob of a curtsy. She was about my height, as dark in hair and eye as I was light. She eyed my dress and said, “Mr. Kensington has asked that your supper be brought to you in your room. After your long journey, you must be weary and need your quiet time.”

I nodded, but exhaustion was the last thing I felt. Every nerve in my body, every portion of my brain, seemed taut, attuned to all that was new about me. I felt more awake than I had in weeks. As Anna shut the door, I walked around the room that was as big as our kitchen, sitting room, and one bedroom combined back home. I admired finely framed oil paintings, the textured paper on the walls, the elaborate carved ceiling molding atop fourteen-foot walls. The furniture was intricately carved, the rich red sheen boasting of cherry and mahogany. In front of a full-length mirror, I reached up to take the pins from my hair, tired of the sensation of pulling, tightness, when everything else in my life seemed to be tugging at me. I yanked ten out, placing the wires on a table and running my fingers through my hair, watching as it fell in waves across my shoulders.

When I moved over to the leaded-glass window, I paused and looked out to the back of the property. I glimpsed Davis unloading our luggage with the help of another manservant, in what I assumed was a carriage house. But my eyes were drawn to the huge, old oak, the lone live tree I'd yet seen in this town.

I was taking in the sparse leaves, noting how sickly they appeared, as if the giant was suffering, struggling to hold on against the ravages of time and smelter smoke, when I saw the dark-haired young man sitting beneath it. He leaned against the big trunk, eyes closed as if dreaming he were in the midst of a forest. He had fine features—a strong jaw, well-defined eyes and cheeks, wide shoulders. One hand rested on his thigh, and in the other hand, pressed against his chest, was a leather-bound book.

I finally remembered myself and lurched backward, praying he hadn't opened his eyes, hadn't seen me staring.

Who was he? A brother? Were they not all at the lake, taking their leisure? A servant? He was too finely dressed for that. My heart was hammering in my chest. But why? Did I not have the right to look out my window? Was I not a Kensington? At least in name?
Cora Kensington
, I repeated in my head, trying to get used to the sound of it.
Cora Kensington. Hello, I am Miss Cora Kensington.

I felt a pang of sorrow. All my life, I'd been Papa's girl, Cora Diehl. Was I so easily purchased?

Still, I edged around the corner to steal another peek, chanting my new name as if it was the key to enter through a forbidden door.

But the young man was gone.

CHAPTER 8

~William~

She'd appeared as an angel in the window before him. Fair hair falling in golden waves across the shoulders of her dark gown. Wide, light eyes, somber in their steadiness. Lips pursed like a deep pink bow.

And then she was gone.

He waited for a moment, hoping she'd return, then looked away, knowing his uncle would be infuriated if he found him gazing toward their employer's home like a leering toad. If there was one thing Will had learned after helping to escort three groups of the States' well-to-do children about Europe, it was that the young women were off limits and the young men were only friends as long as he was in their father's employ. It went best if he kept to his assigned role—as escort, guide, teacher, protector. Assistant to his uncle.
Bear
-in-training. He and his uncle were hired to illuminate their clients' worlds, expand their minds, engage their imaginations. Nothing more.

“It's enough,” his uncle always said, “is it not? They are the privileged class, and we are privileged to serve them in such a grand endeavor as the tour.”

Will wrenched away from the tree and strode toward the porch swing. But curiosity was getting the best of him. This was the first he'd seen of their group of young clients—other than his old schoolmate Felix Kensington. He hoped she would emerge down below, seeking more fresh air than her bedroom window allowed. Join them for supper. So he could get to know this Cora whom the servants whispered about incessantly. What was going on?

But neither of the Kensingtons joined them upon the porch, or for supper, nor in the map room, where they reviewed their plans for the journey—for the dozenth time—nor for breakfast the following day.

Will began to wonder if he had imagined that he'd seen Cora Kensington at all. He puzzled over the fact that she was not with her sisters, her brother, or the Morgans, the other family taking the tour. That she had tarried here, behind them all. From the study, as morning light poured through a wide bay window, his uncle and he looked up to see a maid go to the front door, greet a doctor, and then lead him up the wide, carpeted staircase.

They shared a concerned glance. Examinations were supposed to have been completed last month. Was she ill? That would be a poor way to begin. The Grand Tour was a lavish but taxing journey. Constantly on the move, constantly taking entertainment, viewing museums, meeting others, attending dances and dinners. They'd dealt with people becoming ill while touring; they did not wish to
begin
with anyone ill in their party.

Only a maid's whispering to another, later in the day, relieved him of his concern. Miss Kensington was apparently off to a dressmaker and shopping for the day. If she wasn't too ill to attend a fitting, then she was likely not ill at all.
Cora
, he said in his mind. Like
coral
. Would she find a dress in that color? It'd be a fine choice for her. Much better than the brown that made her look so pale.

“Will,” his uncle barked. “Pay attention. We are in Paris. Tell me of the principal delights of the World's Fair of 1883.”

Will's eyes narrowed. The old man was trying to trip him. “The
Exposition Universelle
of 1889 was a sight to behold.”

His uncle let a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“The Eiffel Tower was built as an entrance to the fair,” Will said, “of puddled iron lattice, principally designed by Gustave Eiffel. In 1889 alone there were over two million visitors to the Tower.”

“Good,” said his uncle. “Go on.”

“Buffalo Bill hosted one of the most popular attractions, bringing in Annie Oakley for his ‘Wild West Show.' There was an African village with over four hundred native occupants, which also proved popular.”

“And who came to see such a marvel on the Champ de Mars?” his uncle asked, quietly reminding him of another fact he wanted worked in.

“Many, but the Prince of Wales, Paul Gauguin, Vincent van Gogh, Henry James, and Thomas Edison were among them.”

“Very good,” his uncle said with begrudging admiration. Will had learned more than his uncle gave him credit for. It helped, too, that Will was mesmerized by the Tower. He couldn't wait to see it again.

Uncle Stuart walked to the maps pinned to the wall, with notes tacked to it at appropriate junctures, outlining their excursions, their lessons, their entertainment. “Now tell me of the Kensington and Morgan family connections on which we shall rely.”

Will knew it was imperative that he remember these relationships, given that it would be his uncle or him who would introduce the young people to long-lost relatives, friends, and business associates of their fathers'. Will was puzzling over Count Montague and his connection to Mr. Kensington when the Kensingtons appeared in the map room doorway.

“Come now,” his uncle chided. “Count
Montague
,” he said, as if just repeating his name would jog Will's memory. Inwardly, Will winced, knowing the tone made him appear as a chastised child before the Kensingtons. He couldn't bear to look their way.

“He is a cousin via a great-uncle by marriage,” Mr. Kensington filled in for Will. Will smiled his thanks, barely glancing in Cora's direction.

“Not that he'll know that,” Mr. Kensington went on. “He'll only be interested in housing my children in exchange for trying to purchase ten shares of the Montana Copper Mine,” he said with a grin, clapping Will's shoulder. “Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet my daughter Miss Cora Kensington. Miss Cora, this is Sir Stuart McCabe, your bear, and his nephew, William McCabe.”

Stuart gave her a stately bow and then took her hand and kissed it. Will did the same afterward, ignoring the unseemly blush climbing her neck and cheeks. It was almost as if she'd never been formally introduced to a man before, so uncomfortable was she. Will backed away quickly, admiring how beautiful she was in her gown. He'd seen similar fashions on women in the papers out of Paris—such a fashion statement would be exclaimed over by their hosts. And her eyes were the same striking glacial blue as her father's, ringed in long light-brown lashes, tinged with blonde. With her hair done up and the color high in her cheeks, she'd have no shortage of dance partners as they made their way through the various balls of the tour. Her embarrassed glance told him he'd been staring too long. Will offered her a smile, then forced himself to look away.

“Is this our route?” she asked, moving between them to the maps on the wall.

Will's uncle nodded at him, giving him permission. “Indeed,” Will said, stepping to her side. He reached up to point at the map. “We shall take a train to New York, and a steamship directly to England. Shortly thereafter, we shall cross the Channel to France. Your father told us that you all have spent more than enough time in England.”

She paused, glancing downward, not at all the response he'd expected. Had something bad happened to her there? He pressed on. “We shall sail up the Seine to Paris. It's a grand way to come upon the city for the first time. After some time in the city and a visit to Versailles, we'll then journey south, to Provence.”

Her eyes were already scanning ahead of where he gestured. “We end in Italy?”

“Indeed,” he said, frowning over the wonderment in her tone. Had her father told her nothing of what lay ahead? It was best if the group began with a certain amount of preparation, knowledge. “After Austria, we shall spend a great deal of time in Italia, from the top of the boot to the bottom of the heel, as my uncle likes to say. Torino, Verona, Venezia, Firenze, Siena, Roma, and beyond.”

“It's the cradle of the Renaissance, the heart of our trip,” his uncle said, leaning in front of Will to smile at the heiress.

“And the best place to spend concentrated time,” Will said wistfully. It made him long for Italia, speaking of the place. There, of any place in the world—and he'd seen much of it in the family business—he felt a call to return, as often as possible. But it would be months before they reached her borders.

“It's very far from here,” she said, so softly Will barely made out her words.

“Indeed,” he said, trying to soothe her anxiety with an encouraging smile. “But that is part of its draw. It's like nothing you've known before.”

She gave him the tiniest of smiles in return. “You make it sound magical.”

“Indeed,” his uncle said. “Clearly our favorite,” he added, giving Will a look, telling him to fall silent. “Though we strive not to prejudice you before your arrival. This journey is about discovery, Miss Kensington. Of yourself, of others, of the world.”

Her smile grew a little larger. As if she were thinking,
You have no idea
. It made Will curious, but he held his tongue. His uncle saw it too. He glimpsed the question in the older man's eyes, but both remained silent. In time, they'd know more of Miss Kensington and her siblings, as well as the Morgans. As guides, it was part of their journey of discovery too. Nothing brought people together, nor allowed such intimacies, as swiftly as traveling in a group.

But when, over supper, it was clear that Miss Kensington had not known that another family would be joining their party, nor that her father would not be with them the entire way, Will was fairly burning with curiosity.

Cora's knife clattered to her fine china plate and stared at her father. “You…you are not coming with us?”

Mr. Kensington slowly wiped his mouth and then gave them all a merry smile, meant to cover the embarrassment of the moment. “Why no, Cora. Surely you know that the Grand Tour is for young people alone. It is part of your coming of age. That is difficult to accomplish if your
parents
are hovering nearby. But please don't fret… Sir Stuart and his nephew, as your guides, will see to your safety. Along with a troop of servants. You'll find yourself more than adequately cared for.” He looked as though he wanted to reach across the massive table and pat her arm. But even if he could have, her stiff demeanor and the distant look in her eyes revealed that she didn't want anything of the kind. What had transpired between them? Did she not wish to go? Was that why she was belatedly joining the others? Why she seemed to know nothing of their plans?

She sat straight, and Will admired the slight shadow beneath her clavicle, the long stretch of her graceful neck—then he cursed himself for noticing. He glanced at his uncle at the end of the table, but he was industriously chewing on a piece of bread, staring at his soup as if trying to ascertain its ingredients. But Will knew he was chewing over Cora's words as much as the bread.

“Mr. Kensington,” she mumbled, glancing down at the table. “I fear I am most dreadfully weary. May I be excused?”

Mr. Kensington?
How odd that his daughter would call him that.

“Certainly,” he said, rising. Will and his uncle did the same.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said with a courtly nod.

“Good evening, Miss Kensington,” they said in unison. Only her father called her by her given name.

When he was sure she was safely upstairs, Uncle said, “Mr. Kensington, if the girl is sickly, perhaps—”

Mr. Kensington let out a snort. “The girl's as healthy as a horse. Had the doctor check her out this morning. She's merely suffered a great deal of change in the last weeks, which has left her…at odds.” He cleared his throat and glanced down at his plate.

From there, he proceeded to tell them the full story—that Cora was the product of an illicit affair with a maid. Mr. Kensington had only recently met her, after the only father she'd ever known was stricken by ill health.

“I had no choice,” he said, as if he needed to justify himself. “They were on the verge of losing the farm—and this shall not be a winning year for farmers. There would be no opportunity for her to return to Normal School. And when I heard her father was ailing…” He shrugged, took a bite, chewed, swallowed. “I went to collect her. It was best for her. And my responsibility to act.”

Will sat back, dumbfounded.

Cora, wearing that drab brown dress, fretting over the only father she'd ever known, adjusting to the idea of being the illegitimate child of a copper king—

It took everything in Will not to shake his head and groan. They'd negotiated difficult family dynamics before on tour, but this situation was so laden with dynamite powder, they'd likely explode before they even left Montana.