by Maya Rodale
This was the freedom she had always wanted. She was delighted to spend it with Theo, seated side by side before the fire. She raised her glass of champagne to cheers with his.
“We did it,” she said.
“We did something.”
“I think I have been involved in more scandal in one week than most people experience in a lifetime,” Daisy remarked, settling against Theo.
“And to think, the night is young. We are still young. Who knows what else we might do?”
“Speak for yourself. I’m a scandalous, on-the-shelf spinster,” she said with a laugh. “I couldn’t be happier.”
His gaze met hers. His blue eyes, sparkling.
Daisy didn’t miss how he said we. She didn’t miss how that mention of we made her heart skip a beat. Theo had told her that he would propose to her when she could afford to say no.
It seemed that she could afford to say no. It seemed that their business would find a way to survive and perhaps even thrive in these circumstances. If nothing else, she had friends who would ensure that she landed on her own two feet.
She truly had a choice.
So Daisy couldn’t help but wonder if Theo would propose to her now. Tonight. While they were blissfully alone before this roaring fire and feeling exhilarated from gambling big and winning.
“We could do anything we wanted,” she said.
“We could do whatever you want,” Theo replied. She knew what she wanted.
“I want you to kiss me, Theo.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. His lips found hers for a slow burn of a kiss. Because they had all night.
Or forever? The thought didn’t just occur to her. It’d been in the back of Daisy’s mind ever since he said he would propose, eventually. But instead of considering all the reasons why not, she found herself considering all the reasons why yes.
Theo clasped her face in his hands, threading his fingers through her hair. She leaned into him, letting herself sink into this kiss and all the sensations rocketing through her. The wanting to feel his bare skin against hers. The yearning. The loving. His touch. His mouth. His words, his wit, his daring. Theo all day and this Theo at night.
If this was what forever could be, she was seriously considering it.
But was he considering it?
If he was, wouldn’t now be an excellent time to say so?
Instead, Theo chased away these thoughts with kisses, finding that particularly sensitive spot on her neck that just chased all the thoughts from her head except for the really wanton ones.
She didn’t have to be afraid of those now.
She was a scandalous spinster. She could kiss Theo all night if she wanted to. And tomorrow morning, too. She would. Because being a scandalous spinster felt an awful lot like being a woman who reveled in her own pleasure and freedom.
“I just have to say . . .” Theo murmured between kisses. “That I definitely appreciate this new style of dress.”
It was a tea gown, explicitly designed for ease of movement and to be worn without a corset—and removable without the assistance of a maid. Adeline had come up with the design but refused to share her inspiration. Daisy had some idea.
This. Theo pushing the folds of crimson silk off her shoulders, slipping the layers aside to reveal her breasts.
Yes, she wanted her freedom. But she really wanted it for this. His mouth, hot on her bare, feels-like-a-dream skin. This passion, with this man. The one she wanted. The one she loved.
Loved.
Daisy gasped. Was it at the realization that she loved him or the way his tongue teased the pink centers of her breasts? Or both. Definitely both.
And this. The way the folds of the skirt fell aside so he could skim his fingertips along the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She trembled.
He found that exquisitely sensitive part of her and touched her there, just how she liked it. Because she had shown him, and he had learned from her, and when a woman found that . . .
First, she moaned from the pleasure of it.
And then she entertained thoughts about forever and always.
Because they were so damn good together. Her. And him. Them, together. By day or by night, they were some sort of miracle.
The hour was growing late and they quit the drawing room and stumbled up the stairs to her room. Layers of clothing were strewn around. They fell onto the bed. Hands clasped, fingers entwined, mouths connected for a long, deep kiss. Theo’s skin was hot against hers and she felt his arousal, hard and wanting.
Why didn’t he ask her . . . ?
Because talking was too much to ask at a moment like this, when there was almost too much to feel. But really, why didn’t he ask her?
“Yes,” she gasped to a question he hadn’t asked. But she wanted him to ask.
“Yes,” she gasped to him as he pushed inside her. “Yes,” to the connection of their bodies and hearts and everything, anything. “Yes,” she gasped to the ferocious feelings of pleasure building inside her as he thrust in and out, and in and out, harder and faster as their desire spiraled out of control. “Yes,” she cried out as he reached his own climax. “Yes,” she cried out because they were home, alone, and she wanted him to know just what effect he had on her.
“Yes,” she whispered as she lay in his arms, after. Hearts pounding. Breathing unsteady. She wanted to say yes to a question he hadn’t asked.
What was he waiting for?
What was she waiting for?
Daisy had no good answer to that. So she turned to him and said, “Theo, I love you. Will you marry me?”
The next morning
Of all the strange and unexpected places Theodore Prescott the Third had woken up, in bed with Daisy in the guest bedroom of Harriet Burnett’s town house was definitely the strangest and least expected.
Yet there was nowhere else he would rather be.
It was, however, just a bit awkward descending the stairs in his wrinkled suit, which had spent the better portion of the evening on the floor. He was known for his stylish attire and now he was presenting himself thusly. Also, his hair was a mess.
Daisy was hastily attired in a soft blue day dress, her skin luminous, and she had attempted to style her hair.
“I see congratulations are in order,” Harriet remarked when they appeared in the dining room where she and Miss Lumley were sipping tea.
But she was also eyeing the large stack of letters—product orders—that had arrived in that morning’s postal delivery. Some of it would be irate letters lamenting their work of the devil, the downfall of morals of young people these days, etc., etc. But some of it would be orders and cash.
“Our scheme seems to have worked,” Daisy said.
“Which one?” Harriet asked.
“All of them, it seems,” Ava answered. She could scarcely conceal the smile behind her teacup. “Honestly, Harriet. Just look at them.”
“‘Just pretend to be engaged,’ she said,” Theo remarked. “‘We’ll go our separate ways,’ she said.”
There was mirth in his eyes and laughter in his voice.
“And then I asked him for real,” Daisy said. Then she dropped onto a seat at the dining table and poured a cup of tea. As if ladies proposed to gentlemen all the time and it was not remarkable in the slightest.
“I gather he said yes,” Harriet remarked.
“Oh, I had hoped this would happen . . .” Ava gushed happily, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed with joy. She did love a romance.
“He said yes,” Daisy answered her friends, but her gaze was fixed on Theo.
“I said yes,” Theo said, again. Because when the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with asked you to do just that, there was only one thing to say. Yes.
“Before or after she saw this?” Harriet asked as she handed that morning’s newspaper to Daisy. “Page six, halfway down the page.”
It was a paragraph in one of the three gossip columns in the paper. It had undoubtedly
already been read by a significant portion of Manhattan by the time Daisy set eyes on it.
The wedding between Theodore Prescott the Third and Miss Daisy Swan had been scheduled for this Sunday at Grace Church. The groom would like it to be known that he intends to be present to say “I do” and hopes from the bottom of his heart that the bride will be there, too.
“Well, that doesn’t leave much time to get a dress,” Daisy said with happy tears in her eyes.
“Never mind the dress. I’m just going to take it off,” Theo said with a rakish grin. And then he earnestly spoke the sweetest words. “You are always beautiful to me, Daisy, no matter what you wear. I love you. I want to make you the happiest girl in New York.”
Epilogue
Five years later
After their wedding at Grace Church, Daisy and Theo first opened a new shop on Fifth Avenue. After that was sufficiently successful, they let an apartment at a new building uptown. The Dakota was a newly constructed building of apartments that had attracted well-to-do professionals like themselves. They felt right at home with their new baby, a girl named Harriet.
It was just another morning in their household—the baby, nearly a year, gurgling in her crib. Daisy and Theo dressing for the day—they had spent the previous evening undressing each other and now their clothes were all strewn about the room. Sally, her longtime maid, would arrive soon to help with the household and the baby. But for the moment it was just Daisy and Theo and everything.
“Where are my favorite shoes? We are launching the new rouge today and I would really like to have my favorite shoes. I was wearing them last night because . . .”
“I know you have a launch today. I placed advertisements for it in all the best newspapers, remember?”
“Of course I remember.”
By mutual agreement, Theo had left Dr. Swan’s to start a business of his own, one that created and placed advertisements for various companies. It was a particular passion and talent of his that more and more businesses sought out. Of course he left Dr. Swan’s in Daisy’s immensely capable hands and she brought on some particularly ambitious and talented friends from the Ladies of Liberty Club.
“Do be home early if you can. My mother is coming to dinner tonight.”
“Is she bringing the earl?” Theo asked.
Mrs. Evelina Swan had obtained a divorce. Given the fraud perpetuated by her husband, it was really the sensible and least scandalous thing she could do. As a single woman abroad, she flitted from house party to house party until she landed an earl of her own. He even had a castle.
“She never leaves home without him,” Daisy replied.
“That’s a good line. I should use it,” Theo murmured.
“Theo . . . Shall we invite your father? Try to make it a family affair?”
They regularly invited his father to dine with them. His secretary always replied that unfortunately Prescott Senior had an engagement that could not be missed. Theo still wasn’t just a pretty face; he understood that meant his father still didn’t respect him.
Which was fine. Sad, unfortunate, and a terrible waste but . . . fine. Because Theo had true love and a family of his own. He had something else to fill his heart and his days and sustain him.
“Why not send him an invitation? One of these days he might even say yes.”
Theo could also afford to be generous. He was outrageously successful professionally. But that paled compared to the fact that he’d found a woman who loved him for who he was.
He had found happily-ever-after and it was this: he and his wife getting dressed for the busy day ahead, tending to the baby, planning for family suppers . . . It was the simple little things, but with love.
“Oh, and on Wednesday I shall have to miss supper,” Daisy said. “The ladies and I are protesting.”
“What are you protesting now?”
“The lack of women’s suffrage, of course. They are planning a parade. I think perhaps I’ll even hand out samples of lip paint to the women marching. I’ve just created the most perfect shade of red. I’m calling it Lady Be Bold.”
“Perhaps I’ll join you,” Theo said, pressing a quick kiss on her red lips. “You know I’ll always be by your side.”
Author’s Note
If one is going to write a series about girl bosses of the Gilded Age (as I have set out to do), it seemed inevitable that I would include cosmetics. But I was hesitant to write a novel about makeup, given what a fraught topic it can be among women—then and now. Does it perpetuate unrealistic standards of beauty or does it empower? Once I gave myself permission not to know and to just explore it, I found ample historical material to support Daisy’s dream of launching a cosmetics company in the Gilded Age—with the help of a man.
I was first inspired by the book War Paint: Madame Helena Rubinstein and Miss Elizabeth Arden: Their Lives, Their Times, Their Rivalry, which detailed the invention of the modern-day cosmetics industry through the life stories of Helena Rubinstein and Elizabeth Arden. While their husbands were involved in their businesses, these women really ran the show.
But before Helena and Elizabeth, there was Harriet Hubbard Ayer, one of the great beauty and business entrepreneurs we’ve never heard of. In the 1870s, she was the reigning queen of Chicago’s social scene who spent her time throwing parties and redecorating her houses. But by the mid-1880s she was a destitute, divorced single mother supporting her two daughters in New York City. She sought employment from Sypher’s, an antiques dealer whom she used to make all her purchases from. Given her extensive knowledge of both antiques and their clientele, she was an incredible success. On one of her business trips to Paris, she bought the recipe of a face cream reportedly used by the famous French beauty Madame Recamier. Back in New York City, with a loan from a man named James Seymour, she launched Madame Recamier’s Toilet Preparations, Inc., at her kitchen table.
It was a runaway success, in no small part due to the advertising copy she composed, paid endorsements by actresses, and the allure of her high society status. In Some Like It Scandalous I have given these talents to Theo.
Harriet’s life provided a template for Daisy’s—up to a point. James Seymour wasn’t content with having his loan repaid to him; he went on to have her committed to a sanitarium in an effort to seize control of her business (which Theo would NEVER do). She escaped and went on to reinvent herself as the editor for the women’s pages of Joseph Pulitzer’s newspaper, The New York World. She died at just 54 years of age—after helping launch the modern beauty, advertising, and women’s media industries. Her life story is a fascinating one and you can read more in her biography Dispensing Beauty in New York and Beyond: The Triumphs and Tragedies of Harriet Hubbard Ayer by Annette Blaugrund.
As I have been researching the Gilded Age and reading biographies of forgotten women, I began to notice something: all these impressive, successful businesswomen kept popping up in each other’s stories and they were doing the most fascinating, successful things and living incredibly vibrant, dynamic lives. We tend to assume “a young lady would never” when in fact so many women did. We just never were taught about it in school. With all of my historical novels, and this series in particular, I hope to shine a light on the history that’s been hidden from us.
On that note, the professional women that Daisy mentions in early chapters are real (with the exception of Adeline Black, my heroine in Duchess by Design, who is inspired by the real-life Madame Demorest who created and oversaw a veritable fashion empire in the later half of the nineteenth century). Fun fact: she was besties with Jane Croly (see next page). Even a side character like Eunice at the theater has a real historical counterpart in Bessie Marbury, a theatrical agent and producer in this time period. Fun fact: in real life Bessie was also friends with Elizabeth Arden. They are all connected!
The character of Harriet Burnett is inspired by the real-life Jane Cunningham Croly, the journalist who founded the Sorosis Society, which is the real-life model for the Ladies of L
iberty Club. According to The New York Times this club “inaugurated and epitomized the women’s club movement and was itself one of the most influential organizations for women in late nineteenth-century America.” Their purpose was to further the educational and social opportunities of women. The members included activists, writers, female physicians and ministers, a fashion magazine editor, businesswomen, and even Emily Warren Roebling, the woman who oversaw the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge. While Sorosis membership tended to be upper-class white women, I have made the choice to diversify my fictional ladies’ club with the inclusion of the real-life African-American millionaire businesswoman Madam C. J. Walker (she has an amazing story—look it up!).
Jane Cunningham Croly founded the club in 1868 after being barred from a New York Press Club dinner—at Delmonico’s. She responded by showing up with her fellow lady club members and disrupting the men’s lunch (horrors) at a time when it was considered highly improper for women to dine in restaurants without a male escort. To the credit of Delmonico’s they did let the women dine and even hosted their anniversary meeting each year. But a stigma about women dining without a man persisted. In fact, it was the 1969 protest of the Plaza Hotel’s Oak Room’s refusal to serve women lunch that introduced Gloria Steinem to the women’s movement.
Speaking of scandals in restaurants—the scene where actress Annabelle Jones applies lip paint was inspired by the famous French actress Sarah Bernhardt, who in the 1880s scandalized people by applying lip paint in public. But it also got people talking and helped pave the way for the use of cosmetics in the theatrical world and then on film. From the beginning, actresses had been relied on to help promote cosmetics and other products.
Lastly, what really got me fired up to write this story was a scene that never made it into the final version. Legend has it that lipstick only really took off in 1912 when Elizabeth Arden herself handed out samples at the suffragist marches, thus making the bold red lip as much a symbol of women’s empowerment as the white suits the suffragists wore.