The Husband List

  “Thank you, Mrs. Longhorne,” Caroline replied.

  She settled in, focused on the outdoors, and willed herself to be calm. There was no stopping Mama from having a ball and throwing her in front of Bremerton. Her smartest move would be to appear accepting so that she had some freedom left to maneuver. She pinned on a placid smile.

  “Girls, you sit, too,” Mrs. Longhorne said to Helen and Amelia.

  The twins, who still stood where they’d stopped upon entering the room, took a sofa along the interior wall.

  “Have you had any thoughts about a theme, Mildred?” Mama asked.

  “I was going to suggest Independence. It seems to fit, as our national holiday is in July.”

  “Don’t you find that somewhat ironic, Mama?” Amelia asked.

  “Ironic? What do you mean?”

  “You would be asking an Englishman to celebrate losing a colony.”

  Mama nodded. “Ah, I see. No, that wouldn’t do at all.”

  Caroline breathed a sigh of relief. Celebrating independence at a fete meant to assure her captivity seemed too close to cruel.

  “When is Bremerton to arrive?” Mama asked Mrs. Longhorne.

  “I read in the Mercury that he will begin his stay with Mr. and Mrs. William Carstairs on Saturday the thirtieth.”

  “Of July?” Caroline’s mother asked.

  Mrs. Longhorne shook her head. “No. June.”

  “Too soon,” Mama said. “I must have the ball almost immediately after his arrival.”

  “Definitely,” her friend agreed.

  “Which means that Rosemeade must be quickly finished.”

  “True.”

  Mama paced to the picture window and looked out for a moment, altering Caroline’s placid view. When she turned back to rejoin her friend, her face was set in the same determined expression Caroline knew she wore when planning a secret foray. She and Mama were much alike in that, if not in their opinion of what best suited Caroline.

  “With such a short time to prepare, I think it would be best to invite guests to attend as their favorite historical or mythological figure,” Mama said to Mrs. Longhorne. “It’s been done dozens of times, but we’ll make up for the stale theme with the food, gifts, and music.”

  Mrs. Longhorne rubbed her hands together. “How wonderful! We’ll have to shop!”

  “That we will,” Mama said before focusing on Caroline. “We’ll need to start a costume for you immediately. You must shine the brightest of all. Who do you wish to be?”

  “Joan of Arc,” Caroline said. The Maid of Orleans had been a fierce warrior for her cause, as Caroline wanted to be. Though Joan hadn’t fared too well, when all was said and done.

  “Absolutely not. You must be alluring,” Mama replied. “Perhaps Demeter, and you can wear a crown of jeweled flowers.”

  But Caroline had no desire to be the perfect and fertile Demeter.

  “How about Queen Elizabeth?” she suggested. “She wore plenty of jewels.”

  Plus Elizabeth had known a thing or two about employing tactics to remain unwed.

  “Athena,” Mama decreed. “Elizabeth has been overdone.”

  “Artemis,” Caroline countered.

  Across the room, Helen giggled. She was student enough to know that strong and determined Artemis had vanquished all who wanted to see her captured, bedded, or wed. Mama, however, was not so well versed. And she already wore the dreamy expression of a woman envisioning an ivory silk gown, golden diadem, and a flowery quiver and bow.

  “Yes, Artemis would be perfect,” Mama said. “Just perfect.”

  Indeed she was, for Caroline had just begun her hunt for freedom.

  SIX

  Hunting freedom certainly lacked in the thrill of the chase. Instead, Caroline had spent the past three days doing her best to blend in with her surroundings so that she could gain the element of surprise. She had been obedient, patient, and subservient to Mama. And being all these saintly things had left Caroline feeling quite impatient.

  Thursday morning, as she sat with her sisters in Mildred Longhorne’s shiny black phaeton headed toward the Newport Casino, everything was annoying her. Even her hat. The wide-brimmed, pale yellow creation was adorned with a white ostrich plume that bobbed in relentless time to the matched bays’ brisk trots. Caroline reached one hand to try to still the feather, but soon gave up.

  Town remained relatively quiet. The real summer season would not begin until the first week of July. Still, Bellevue Avenue carried its share of social traffic. Caroline gave the obligatory small wave to the two Hadley sisters, who were also in an open carriage, as they passed each other. The Hadleys returned her greeting. Should they pass each other again, waves would be replaced by polite smiles. On a third passing, they needn’t make eye contact.

  Newport was built on rituals such as these. Daily, at no later than ten minutes past nine, one had to be on the way to the Casino to watch a tennis match or perhaps take a lesson. And so the Maxwell girls were, though only to observe. Mama might unbend enough to allow an occasional bicycle ride, but her girls would never play tennis. At least not that Mama knew about …

  Across from Caroline, both Helen and Amelia were acting like dour little rain clouds, which was indirectly Caroline’s fault. At breakfast, Mama had charged them with being at Caroline’s side for the day. Mama and Mrs. Longhorne would be occupied until well into the afternoon planning the costume ball.

  The twins were destined to fail in their supervisory duties. They knew it, too. It was not a matter of if Caroline would slip away today and breathe some freedom, but when.

  Helen edged closer to her side of the carriage, moving her fluffy pearl pink skirts away from Amelia’s.

  “Would you please hold still?” Amelia snapped. “You know if we must face backward, I need to be on the left side of the seat. It’s bad enough that you didn’t give it to me. Do you need to bounce around, too?”

  “I never bounce,” Helen replied. “And if you hadn’t dawdled, you’d have the seat you want, not that it would make any difference.”

  “What do you mean, no difference?”

  “Backwards is backwards, whether on the left or right. You’re acting like a spoiled child.”

  “I am?” Amelia gasped, kid-gloved hand to her heart. “You dare say that after telling Mama you want to be the goddess Minerva at the costume ball, when you know that being Minerva is all I’ve spoken of since Monday? You’re the spoiled one of us.”

  “I’m the elder. I get first choice in costume, after Caroline, and I’m better suited to be Minerva. I love books and wisdom. You just want to carry an owl.”

  “You get everything you want.”

  Caroline had heard enough.

  “Markham, please pull over,” she called to the Longhornes’ coachman.

  The twins stopped bickering.

  “Caro, what are you doing?” Helen asked.

  “Out,” Caroline said, reaching for the door’s clasp before poor Markham could even get there.

  Amelia—who actually was a tad dramatic—gasped again. “What do you mean, out?”

  “I mean for you to get out of the carriage,” Caroline directed. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m moving to your seat, and the two of you are moving to mine. And the rest of the way to the Casino, we all are going to be Minerva and explore the wisdom found in silence.”

  Markham arrived. He took over his duties from Caroline, and readied to assist them from the carriage.

  “Now, out,” Caroline said firmly as her sisters gaped at her.

  “We never stop the carriage like this. You’re making a spectacle of us,” Helen said.

  “If I wanted to make a spectacle, I’d do far more than this,” Caroline replied. “Move along so we can get to the Casino on time.”

  The girls were standing curbside and Caroline had just risen and was readying to change seats when a gold-gilt carriage that even Mama would deem overdone pulled beside them and stopped. In it sat Flora Willoughby, wit
h Jack opposite her. Caroline tried not to stare as her sisters were.

  “Are you having difficulties?” Mrs. Willoughby asked.

  Caroline couldn’t work up a response. Her silence wasn’t due to the other woman’s tennis attire, even though it was a wonderful near echo of what males were permitted to wear. Seeing Jack had scattered Caroline’s thoughts. After three days without a glance of him, she’d managed to convince herself that he’d left Newport. Life would be duller, but more manageable.

  Yet here he was. Jack, too, wore tennis whites, but where the color accented Mrs. Willoughby’s exotic paleness, it made him look more vital than ever. An odd sensation danced through Caroline.

  Hunger, maybe?

  “No troubles,” she managed to say after focusing solely on Mrs. Willoughby. “Just a slight rearrangement of contents.”

  “Good, then,” Jack’s friend replied.

  Caroline wasn’t sure what to say next. Rules required that she politely end the conversation. They were not formally acquainted, and Jack wasn’t making the effort. But to his questionable credit, Mrs. Willoughby wasn’t the sort of woman to whom Caroline should be introduced. Which, of course, made the introduction all the more appealing.

  She frowned at Jack. The blasted man grinned in return. But if he thought he held the upper hand, he was sorely mistaken. She stood a little straighter.

  “My name is Caroline Maxwell,” she said to the other woman. “And I believe you are Mrs. Willoughby?”

  Down on the curb, both twins gasped. This time she couldn’t blame them. Caroline was indeed creating that dreaded spectacle, and it was being noted by Mama’s friends in passing carriages.

  “Please call me Flora.”

  Caroline nodded her assent. “Thank you.”

  “Jack and I were just on our way to the Casino. I have decided to take up tennis,” Flora said.

  “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,” Caroline replied. Just as she would enjoy the freedom of the other woman’s clothing. While she didn’t want to stare more than she had already, the outfit seemed to involve no corset at all.

  “Do you play?”

  “Yes, but not this morning,” Caroline said and then laughed. “Which I’m sure you deduced from my morning dress. My sisters and I are going to watch, though.”

  “I’ll give you plenty to watch.” Flora paused an instant. “Perhaps you’d like to join me and give me a few words of advice before my lesson?”

  She knew she shouldn’t, but she so wanted to.

  Jack gave a subtle negative shake of his head, which only cemented her resolve.

  “I’d love to,” Caroline said, relishing the look of shock on Jack’s face.

  “Lovely,” Flora replied. “Jack, would you help Miss Maxwell in?”

  His “of course” clashed with his grim expression.

  Caroline turned her attention to her sisters as she took Markham’s assistance and exited her carriage.

  “I’ll rejoin you at the Casino,” she said to them.

  “Caroline, you cannot do this,” Helen cried as Amelia stammered, “But … But…”

  “You’ll be fine,” Caroline said briskly. “Markham knows the way.”

  That, of course, had not been the genesis of the twins’ objections, though the reassurance did neatly silence them. By the time she had reached Mrs. Willoughby’s carriage, Jack had exited.

  He offered her his hand. She took it and entered the fairytale carriage. Jack held on an instant longer than necessary, giving her fingers a squeeze in what could have been either a greeting or warning.

  Caroline would wager it was a warning.

  She seated herself opposite Flora. Up close, the woman remained ageless in appearance. Jack sat next to Caroline, near enough that his leg nudged hers. She gave him a slight frown and moved over. The carriage pulled away, and Caroline took an instant to watch her sisters return to theirs.

  “I wasn’t quite sure you’d join me,” Flora said as they rolled on.

  “She shouldn’t have,” Jack said.

  Flora’s perfect eyebrows rose. “When did you become a slave to social dictates?”

  “About two minutes ago,” Jack replied.

  The older woman laughed.

  “You seem to have an odd effect on our Jack,” she said to Caroline.

  He was no more Flora’s Jack than Bremerton was her almost duke, but Caroline let this reference slip by.

  “Do you reside here in Newport, Mrs. Willoughby?” she asked.

  “For a month or so, I am going to. I rented The Reefs from the Miss French. I was in need of a sea change from San Francisco, which was where my late husband and I spent much of our time.”

  “Jack told me of your husband’s death. I’m sorry for your loss,” Caroline said.

  “And no doubt a little intrigued … or perhaps shocked … that I’m about to play tennis.”

  “Not at all,” Caroline fibbed.

  “You must learn to meet your opposition’s eyes when dissembling,” Flora said. “Looking down will give you away every time.”

  “Don’t give her any help,” Jack said. “She’s dangerous enough already.”

  “Really? Dangerous?” Flora asked.

  Caroline liked the idea of being seen as a woman with whom to be reckoned.

  “Dangerous to herself,” Jack replied.

  If she’d had a parasol, Caroline would have stabbed his white leather shoe with its point. As it was, an ostrich plumed hat was of little help.

  “So long as he believes that, you retain the upper hand,” Flora said to Caroline. She regarded Jack a little more closely. “Though I think he has his doubts already.”

  “Jack is a stubborn man,” Caroline said. “He’s going to believe what he believes, evidence regarding my capabilities to the contrary.”

  “I can see why you like her,” Flora said to Jack.

  “She’s my best friend’s sister, nothing more,” Jack replied.

  “Of course, dear,” Flora said, her blue eyes alight with laughter.

  Caroline had to smile, too.

  Flora returned her attention to Caroline. “And as for the tennis outing, my Clem made me promise to move on with my life. ‘No widowing-up,’ he said to me. He felt I’d wasted enough of my youth when I married him. He was older than I by a handful of years.”

  “Only if that hand has thirty fingers,” Jack muttered.

  “He was very youthful,” Flora said sternly.

  Caroline watched out of the corner of her eye as Jack shifted uncomfortably.

  “My apologies,” he said. “I’m sure he was.”

  “Better,” Flora said. “That’s our heroic Jack.”

  She looked at Caroline. “You did read about his exploits in the Mercury on Tuesday, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” Caroline said. She wouldn’t share that she’d also purloined the paper and hidden it in her room.

  “I was so proud, but it was no less than I would expect,” Flora said. “But back to my beloved Clem. I am doing as he wanted me to. No widow’s black crepe. No year closed away. In his honor, I’m taking center stage.”

  And doing it with enviable flair, Caroline thought.

  “So why no tennis for you today, Caroline?” Flora asked.

  “My sisters would tell my mother, who does not want me to be perceived by potential husbands as the sporting type. Much as I enjoy tennis, these days I am choosing to save Mama’s censure for better things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Nothing so dire. Just solitary sunrise walks, museum trips, the occasional shooting practice with my brother, Eddie…”

  “And kissing random men,” Jack said. “Let’s not forget that.”

  Flora smiled. “Ah, now we have the reason for Jack’s displeasure.”

  Even though she could feel the rising heat of embarrassment, Caroline refused to give in to it. Nor would she back down.

  “Not so random, Jack. I’ve kissed only you,” she said.

  Flora
’s laugh was light and musical, drawing disapproving looks from the occupants of the other carriages lined up for entry at the Casino.

  “This gets better and better,” she said. “I hope I see more of you here in Newport, Caroline.”

  Caroline hesitated. She could learn many things from Flora, but socializing with her was an impossibility.

  “Oh, I know I won’t,” Flora said with a wave of her hand. “I’m aware I’m the sort that would make your mama grow all protective.” She gave a slight shake of her head. “And apparently our Jack, too. But it has been a pleasure.”

  “Yes, it has,” Caroline agreed as they rolled up in front of the brick building with its gaudily striped awnings. “Your home is at Bancroft Avenue, is it not?” Others might find that a rude question, but Caroline knew Flora would not.

  “It is,” she replied, smiling.

  “Rosemeade is at Ruggles Avenue. Once my mother, sisters, and I are back in residence, we’ll practically be neighbors.”

  “Then there’s every chance that you might one day stroll by. Should you, please stop in. I’m finding the grounds quite inspiring.”

  Caroline returned the older woman’s smile. “I would never turn down the opportunity for inspiration.”

  Beside her, Jack was growing restless. “You’re going to be late for your lesson, Flora.”

  “I am certain my instructor will wait a heartbeat or two,” she replied.

  “No doubt.” Nonetheless, he rose and exited the carriage.

  He held out his hand. “Caroline?”

  When she was back on solid ground, once again he kept her hand. He leaned close and said, “Let me know when you’re feeling random again.”

  As she withdrew her hand, her knees wobbled. Perhaps the ground wasn’t so solid, after all.

  * * *

  CHARLES VANDERMEULEN had never won a tennis match against Jack, though this morning he had come close. It wasn’t that Charles had developed any level of skill on the grass court. Jack had simply lost his ability to concentrate. This lack hadn’t come with the dawning realization that the Vandermeulens had followed him to Newport, but with Jack’s acceptance that Flora was right. He had underestimated Caroline Maxwell, a mistake he would not make again.