The Art of Love: Origins of Sinner's Grove (11 page)

George looked away and sat silently for a few moments, as if collecting his thoughts. Finally he turned to Lia and took one of her small hands in his. “I care about you far too much to try to lie my way out of anything you’ve told me today. I honestly cannot dispute anything you’ve said. But here’s a story you perhaps don’t know.” He released her hand and leaned down, clasping his own hands between his legs. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to know your mother. She was a beautiful woman, inside and out. As a child I remember her hugging both Em and me and calling us her ‘perfect little pair of angels.’ We had no idea that she pictured us together, but apparently it’s what she always wanted.

“Before any of us came along she married your father, of course, but did you know that my father had also vied for her hand? From what I’ve picked up over the years, he loved her desperately and was heartbroken when she chose Richard over him.”

Lia shook her head in wonder. “I never heard that. Ever.”

George continued. “My mother had always adored my father so he quickly married her and did his best to keep his desolation secret. But you can imagine the kind of sweet agony my father was in all those years, all those social and family gatherings, all those occasions where he was close to his beloved Catherine but could never have her.”

“Did my father know?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps on some level he did. But I don’t think they ever confronted each other about it. Men just don’t talk about those things. But my father had his little triumphs, like having a son where your father had only daughters…no offense, of course.”

Lia pursed her lips. “None taken. Go on.”

“Sad to say, my father also reveled in the fact that your father, with all due respect, was a terrible businessman, that he couldn’t sustain his lifestyle on his own.”

“That’s true enough. My father has always hated the thought of having to be ‘in trade’. He was born a century too late, I think. That’s why he forced Em into marrying Hiram.”

“He forced her?”

George sounded incensed, like a knight errant ready to do battle for his lady love.
Mayb
e
he was born a few centuries too late, too
. She shrugged. “As good as. He told her the family honor was at stake, that she was the only one who could save the day.”

“And so he made her marry a troglodyte,” George muttered.

“A very rich troglodyte, but yes, a troglodyte all the same. But George, I’m not sure what that, or your father’s love for my mother, has to do with us.”

“It has everything to do with us.” The pitch in his mellow voice turning sharp. “My parents, like yours, wanted Em and me to tie the family together. But for my father, it meant—it
means—
something more than a simple ‘wouldn’t it be nice if’ kind of scenario.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look. He was devastated when your mother died birthing you; in his own way, he grieved as much as your father did. He couldn’t come out and admit it, of course, but it was there in everything he said and did in relation to your family. He still bears that grief, even today. My mother, bless her, chose to look the other way, and continues to act as though nothing is wrong. It’s how she gets by, I guess.”

“But how—”

“I know it’s crazy, but my father thinks that if our generation connects and has children, that will bring him and your mother back together, in a symbolic way, of course. That’s why he was furious when your father married Em to Hiram Sizemore. And why he insists that I make good on your mother’s wish with you.”

“In that respect he and my father are two peas in a pod. But I want to know why, George? Why do
we
have to fulfill a wish that neither of us had anything to do with?”

George rolled his shoulders as if ready to do battle. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Obsessive love does strange things to people. It can make them mean as snakes, and that’s what my father has become. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but your father is once again in financial trouble. Big trouble. Not only is he close to ruin, but so is Em’s husband.”

“What?!” Lia was stunned. “Are you sure about that?”

“Your father leveraged virtually his entire investment portfolio in a railroad spur line that went belly up and now his creditors are knocking. He’s already used up the funds Sizemore gave him back when Em got married. But Sizemore’s had some shady dealings in the horse-racing circuit. Not only is he on the edge financially, but he’s liable for some criminal acts. Lia, Em’s husband could go to Sing Sing if any of it gets out. My father’s collected enough evidence to destroy both of them and I think part of him loves the idea of having your father under his thumb. It is beyond twisted, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Lia looked down to see that her hands were shaking. “My God,” she said. “Let me see if I understand this: your father is willing to bail out my father to see this wedding happen, but if you don’t go through with it, your father will ruin my father and Hiram Sizemore. Doesn’t he care about the position he’s putting his own son in?”

George shook his head. “I told you what obsessive love can do to a person.” He laughed ruefully. “But here’s the rub: I’m just like him.”

“You are nothing like him,” Lia said.

“Oh, but I am. I’ll be honest with you. If it were only your father, I’d say the hell with him and gleefully watch him fail. He took Em from me and I’ll never forgive him for that. But I can’t bear to have her, after all she’s sacrificed, go through the pain and humiliation of Sizemore’s fall.” He shook his head and looked down again. “I just can’t bear it.”

Lia rose from the bench and took George’s arm in hers. She looked at him for a long moment. “You are a good man, Mr. Powell. A very good man. And I thank you for your honesty.”

“So what’s it going to be?” he asked.

Lia thought back to the sense of righteous indignation she’d felt at the beginning of the conversation, and the confidence she’d had in appealing to George’s common sense. He did have common sense. But he was also a man in love—it just didn’t happen to be with her. Could she do this thing that felt so wrong? But could she
not
do it and watch not only her father’s life, but her sister’s and even her own life crumble as well? She saw how all three of them—George, Emma and her—were nothing but pawns put in untenable situations. If they refused to participate, it would mean utter ruin for the people they loved. It shouldn’t be that way, but she didn’t know how to make it better. “I think there is a wedding in our future,” she said, with none of the joy that would normally accompany that phrase.

CHAPTER TEN

July 25, 1896

O
n a warm, bright day less than two weeks after her conversation in the park, Lia took a deep breath, tried to push her fears aside, and became Mrs. George Britland Powell II. She and George exchanged vows in the First Presbyterian Church of New York City, known among her father’s upper crust friends as “Old First.” Her father hadn’t set foot in it or any other church since her mother’s death, but George’s parents were prominent members. It felt like even more of a farce knowing how much money had changed hands to ensure the most spectacular wedding event of the season.

More than two hundred wealthy people attended the nuptials. Lia could count on two hands the number of guests she actually knew. Neither she nor George had bothered inviting many friends; she didn’t know what George thought about it, but she was embarrassed by the hypocrisy of it all.

The pretense hadn’t stopped their parents, however. Apparently her father and father-in-law had carefully screened the guests for their community status, business connections, and manner in which they might benefit either the Bennetts or the Powells down the road. It sickened her.

Lia wore the silk gown fit for a princess, complete with intricate beading and long flowing train. She had drawn the line at wearing a tiara, however. Instead she wore her long, curling dark hair in a swept-up style in the hope that she wouldn’t appear too inconsequential standing next to George who, at six foot two, was nearly a foot taller than she was. Her bridal veil was delicate, with tiny lace edging. She felt almost comfortable behind it, as if she were safely removed from the curious onlookers. But she knew the feeling was temporary, and when George finally lifted the veil, it would signify much more than the loss of a wisp of tulle.

George looked regal himself in a dark gray cutaway suit; unlike Lia, he was completely at ease in formal attire. He was a superb illustration of that phrase, “to the manor born.”

And Emmaline. Standing to Lia’s left, discharging her duties with self-contained grace and style, she looked to Lia like an exquisitely shaped, richly toned sapphire, while Lia felt like a pale, washed-out citrine. Lia watched as George followed Emmaline’s every move. She couldn’t blame him, and only hoped others didn’t notice.

The wedding breakfast after the ceremony was held at the Powell’s mansion on Central Park West. By rights, Lia’s father should have hosted or at least paid for the event. But George the elder had declared that his wife Margaret was “the perfect choice” to plan the entire affair, and Lia had gladly left it in her now mother-in-law’s capable hands. The Powells insisted on paying for everything, and Lia had cringed when her father made the token resistance everyone knew was a sham. In the end, her mother’s dream of joining the two families had come true, except that Lia felt, deep in her heart, that her mother would not have wanted it this way.

At the reception, Hiram drank too much, as usual, and grew bellicose, as usual. With apologies to the family, Emma took him home. It was probably the one time, Lia thought, that Em was glad her husband had acted out.

Eventually, inevitably, the time came for Lia and George to leave. Because of George’s busy work schedule they were going to pass on a honeymoon, which Lia didn’t mind at all. But he had been kind enough to reserve a room for their wedding night at the new Waldorf Hotel on Fifth Avenue. It was a lovely place, built on the site of Astor’s former mansion, but Lia was too preoccupied to appreciate much of what it had to offer.

An iced bucket of French champagne and a silver bowl filled with hothouse strawberries was waiting for them when they arrived. George immediately poured two glasses and handed one to Lia before drinking his down in one long gulp. Refilling his glass, he turned resolutely to her.

“I don’t know if I told you, but you looked stunning today,” he said.

Lia looked down at her plum-colored traveling dress. She’d already forgotten her wedding ensemble. She was taking the whole absurd situation just one step at a time.

“Look, I want to be candid with you about…about what goes on in the bedroom,” he said.

Lia cocked her head. “Are you talking about…um…what happens between a man and a woman in a physical sense? I believe I know the mechanics.”

George frowned. “No, that’s not what I meant, although I’m certain that even if you didn’t know, we would muddle through. But the thing is, I wanted to say that even though the road to this point has been…less than optimal, well, I am a normal, functioning male, and since you are a beautiful woman, I don’t foresee any problems in…um, having marital relations and making a child together.” He let out a breath and took another long swallow of the high-end liquid courage.

“Have you been rehearsing that?” Lia asked with a smile. “As long as we’re being honest with each other, I will tell you I am a bit nervous, but I find you physically attractive as well, and I am hoping that that will be enough for us.”

George smiled back, relief evident in his expression. “Well then,” he said. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom.

Two hours later, lying next to her husband, who was snoring lightly in his sleep, Lia understood two things clearly. One was that George was indeed capable of performing husbandly duties that could result in a child, and the other was that the act held none of the magic it would have held, had they been in love with each other.