Duke of a Gilded Age

by S. G. Rogers

  Belle felt the color drain from her face. “I’m so sorry, Wesley.”

  Unexpectedly, he laughed. “You just used my Christian name. May I use yours?”

  “It’s…it’s Annabelle.”

  “You don’t look like an Annabelle to me.” Wesley frowned a moment in contemplation. “May I call you Belle?”

  She gasped slightly. “That’s what my mother used to call me.”

  “Then it’s settled. Belle is a very pretty name, and it suits you. It’s almost musical.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s my turn,” he said. “May I ask about your mother?”

  “Her name was Lucinda Heathcliff Oakhurst, and she died about five years ago from a fever. It happened so quickly, I could scarcely believe it. Not a day goes by I don’t wish her back.”

  Belle paused outside a bookstore, which was situated inside a converted row townhouse. “Do you mind awfully if we go inside? There will be a library on the steamship, of course, but I’d like to buy a book or two just the same. I’m fond of reading.”

  “Let’s go in. I’d enjoy a look around myself. I’ve never been able to buy anything I wanted before. It’s an odd feeling, but very liberating.”

  Wesley held the shop door open for Belle, waiting as she let down her parasol.

  “So you do know some manners,” she said.

  “More and more every day.”

  After they went inside, Wesley and Belle parted company.

  “I’ll be in the adventure section,” he said.

  “All right. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to leave,” she said.

  On her way toward the ladies’ corner, Belle noticed a large display of books entitled Little Lord Fauntleroy by Frances Hogdson Burnett. The brown cloth covering was stamped in red, black, and gold, and a charming young boy with long wavy curls was pictured under the title. Belle read the display card advertisement describing the plot, then picked up one of the books and went to look for Wesley. He glanced up at her approach.

  “You’re not done already, are you?” he asked, surprised.

  “No, but have you seen this, Wesley?” she asked. “A little American boy discovers he’s the heir to a title. That’s a great deal like you!”

  Far from being delighted, however, Wesley groaned. “Oh, yes, that book is all the rage. The last fellow to call me Lord Fauntleroy got his nose bloodied.”

  “Am I in mortal danger then?”

  “Not from me.”

  She glanced at the book in his hand. “Jules Verne?”

  “What can I say? I’ve lived all my life in Brooklyn; I’m fond of adventure.”

  “Go to it, then.”

  Belle headed off to select several dime novels to go with Little Lord Fauntleroy. To her dismay, Wesley joined her just then.

  “Are you finished?” he asked.

  She quickly positioned Little Lord Fauntleroy on top of the stack. “I believe so, yes.”

  He reached for her books. “Let me carry those to the register for you.”

  “No! No, thanks, I mean. I’ve got them. They aren’t heavy.”

  He gave her a shrewd glance. “You’re blushing.”

  “I’m not! It’s just hot in here.”

  “Belle Oakhurst, you’re not as priggish as you pretend. If you think I can’t tell you’ve got dime novels there, you’re wrong. I recognize the bindings.”

  Belle was annoyed to be discovered. “Fond of them yourself, are you?”

  “No, my mother was constantly borrowing those things from our landlady.” He tilted his head to one side to read the titles of her books. “Although…if you wouldn’t mind lending me A Tale of Two Romances when you’re finished, perhaps we could discuss the finer points of its subtext and characterization.”

  She gave him a severe glance, but her lips could not repress a smile. “You’re teasing me.”

  “Of course. I’m not going to judge what you read. Why would I?”

  “My fiancé disapproves of books like these. I thought you may disapprove as well.”

  “You’re engaged? I didn’t notice a ring.”

  “He asked me to marry him just before my father and I left for America. He didn’t have time to get one.”

  Wesley looked at her askance. “Even a Brooklyn boy knows to get the ring before the proposal.”

  Belle lifted her chin. “It’s hardly any of your business, is it?”

  “Well, that put me in my place, didn’t it?”

  She made a sound of disgust. “Now I understand why you get into so many fights. You have a way of baiting people.”

  “At least I don’t tell them what to read.”

  Although Belle pretended otherwise, she had the distinct feeling Wesley Parker had just got the better of her.

  Belle and Wesley arrived at the hotel suite a short time later, only to discover the sitting room resembled a department store stockroom. Arnold, Constable & Company had already delivered the day’s purchases, and Lady Frederic was directing where the bags, boxes, and parcels were to be put. Several hotel maids were on hand to hang up the new clothes and press out any wrinkles that may have occurred during transit. Wesley and Belle exchanged an alarmed glance, stepped around the activity, and joined Mr. Oakhurst in the corner. He greeted them with a smile.

  “I hope you both enjoyed your walk?”

  “It was quite stimulating,” Wesley replied.

  “Thank you, Papa. We bought some books.”

  “Wonderful. Your Grace, it’s five o’clock. Perhaps we can convince your mother to let the hotel employees sort this out while we go down to an early dinner?”

  “Let’s brook no argument,” Wesley replied. “I’m famished.”

  To Wesley, the Fifth Avenue Hotel dining room was more reminiscent of a palatial ballroom or banquet hall than an intimate place to have a meal. The floor was covered with large black and white marble tiles laid out in a checkerboard pattern, and the fluted half-columns protruding from the walls added architectural interest. Elegant chandeliers hung around the perimeter from the high, paneled ceiling, shedding illumination on long communal dining tables draped with white linen tablecloths. The silken jacquard damask napkins at each place setting featured a central embroidered medallion with Fifth Avenue Hotel inscribed thereon.

  Because the dining room had just opened for dinner, the Parkers and Oakhursts had a table largely to themselves. Not including dessert, there were seven courses to choose from, with several different kinds of soup, fish, boiled dishes, cold dishes, entrées, roasts, and vegetables. Unused to so much abundant food, Wesley agonized over the menu. Finally, he ordered chowder, an entrée of beef filet with mushrooms, mashed potatoes, and baked tomatoes. He ate everything set in front of him and still had room for a serving of custard pie afterward.

  Belle selected roast chicken for her entrée, along with sweet potatoes and stewed tomatoes. Mr. Oakhurst was delighted with his roast beef and potatoes, which looked so delicious that Wesley vowed to order it next time. A glance at Lady Frederic confirmed she was enjoying her lamb cutlets.

  “You look somewhat restored, Mother,” he said. “When Miss Oakhurst and I came in after our walk, you seemed distracted.”

  She breathed a happy sigh. “That’s putting it politely. When I saw all our new things, I began to feel overwhelmed. Truly, I’m not sure how I’ll manage the crossing by myself. I hope there will be a steward or stewardess on the ship whom I can call upon.”

  “There are both, but you don’t have to manage alone, milady,” Mr. Oakhurst said. “I’ve contacted the Mrs. A.E. Johnson Employment Agency on your behalf. If you’d like to interview candidates for a lady’s maid, you can begin tomorrow after breakfast.”

  Delighted, Wesley laughed. “My mother is to have her own maid?”

  “The agency also has several highly qualified valets for your consideration, Your Grace,” Mr. Oakhurst said.

  “A valet? Like Passepartout in Around the World in Eighty Days?” Wesley snorted.
“That’s silly.”

  “You must hire someone to attend to your wardrobe and personal needs,” Lady Frederic said.

  “You’re not serious?” Wesley shook his head in dismay. “What if I don’t want a valet? I can dress myself, thank you very much!”

  Belle looked up from her dessert of vanilla ice cream and peaches. “The proper sort of valet can also advise you in matters of dress, etiquette, and even manners. You should interview the candidates carefully.”

  “You do the interviews then.”

  “It’s not as easy as that,” Belle said. “The employment agency will screen the candidates, but you must select the one who is most amiable.”

  A ripple of annoyance ran down Wesley’s spine at this newest development. I’m now obliged to hire someone to tie my shoes, am I? His wardrobe might be made of the finest materials, but his pants still went on one leg after the other and he scarcely needed help with that. Furthermore, a valet sounded suspiciously like a nanny, to his way of thinking.

  Being a gentleman is getting worse and worse as I go along.

  Chapter Four

  Mr. Cavendish

  A COURIER FOR THE EMPLOYMENT AGENCY arrived at the hotel suite the next morning with two separate folders—one for Lady Frederic and one for Wesley. Each folder presented five different candidates for their consideration. Wesley groaned as he leafed through the valet résumés. The candidates all had a lengthy history of service, both in America and abroad, and a long list of references. Each was willing to travel at a moment’s notice, and none had any family to speak of. Wesley gave his mother a perplexed glance.

  “How am I supposed to interview these candidates?” he asked. “What do I say?”

  “Ask the valets about themselves. As they speak, observe their demeanor and mannerisms. Personally, I’m looking for someone cheerful.”

  “Cheerful would be good.”

  “Yes, and whomever we hire ought not be prone to seasickness.”

  “That would be helpful.”

  Wesley answered a knock on the door. He opened it to reveal a matron with a hairy chin.

  “Begging your pardon, but the agency sent me to interview for the lady’s maid position,” she said.

  “Oh, hullo,” he said. “Won’t you come in?”

  He left the door open to make admitting subsequent arrivals easier. His mother conducted her interview in the sitting area. At loose ends, Wesley picked up one of his books to read, but he scarcely managed to finish the first page when the valet candidates began to arrive. He ushered the applicants over to the desk for a ten-minute interview. Like clockwork, valets and lady’s maids arrived every twenty minutes. Wesley listened with an air of polite attentiveness as the valets enumerated their qualifications. He asked a few questions, but was unable to elicit much more than yes or no responses. When the last candidate finally left, Wesley breathed a sigh of relief and closed the door.

  “That’s it for me, Mother.”

  His mother was absorbed in reviewing the résumés and her notes. “Did you like anyone in particular?”

  He shrugged. “They’re all deadly dull, but I’m sure any one of them would do.”

  “You’re hiring a valet, not a companion. I spoke with two maids I liked a great deal. In fact, it will be difficult for me to choose between them.”

  “I hope you’re not going to hire the first one. I found her hair very disconcerting.” He tapped his chin.

  “Oh, Wesley!”

  He flopped into an armchair and reached for the box of chocolates. Just then there came another tap on the door. Wesley’s arm froze, mid-air.

  “Were you expecting anyone else?” he asked.

  “Why no. Perhaps it’s Mr. Oakhurst.”

  “Good. It’s nearly lunch.”

  Wesley opened the door to discover a slender, dapper man standing there, beautifully dressed in a gray frock coat, matching vest, and perfectly creased trousers. He held a crisp white paper in his right hand and a bowler hat in the left. His steel gray hair was impeccably groomed, as was his pointed goatee and waxed mustache, and the silver handle of his walking stick under his arm was shaped like the head of a bulldog. The man was so well turned out that Wesley assumed he was a hotel guest who’d arrived at his suite by mistake.

  “May I help you with something, sir?” Wesley asked.

  “My name is Mr. Cavendish, if you please,” the man said. His English accent was cultivated and beautifully delivered. “I’m here about the valet position.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. The employment agency didn’t tell me there was a sixth applicant.”

  “I’m not from the agency, I’m afraid. I heard about the opening through the grapevine and I thought I would apply in person. May I come in?”

  “Well…all right.” Wesley let Mr. Cavendish into the suite. “This is Lady Frederic, and I’m Wesley Parker, the Duke of Mansbury.”

  Mr. Cavendish bowed to Wesley’s mother in a regal fashion. “Good morning, milady.”

  “Good morning,” Lady Frederic replied.

  Wesley could tell his mother seemed as puzzled by Mr. Cavendish as he was.

  “Excuse me, Wesley,” she said. “I’m going to freshen up before lunch.”

  Lady Frederic disappeared into her bedchamber, leaving Wesley to conduct the interview.

  “Er…come this way, Mr. Cavendish,” Wesley said.

  He sat at the desk and glanced through the man’s proffered résumé quickly. Mr. Cavendish had lengthy service as a valet to a baron in England, a Lord James Overton. Thereafter, he had an equally long history as a valet to a banker in New York.

  “Why did you leave England?” Wesley asked.

  “Despite my remonstrations to the contrary, Lord Overton insisted on dying. Since he’d left me a small sum in his will, I decided to travel around the world. The money ran out when my steamer reached port in New York, but as luck would have it I met my future employer, Mr. Jenkins, on the voyage.”

  “Mr. Jenkins didn’t die too, did he?”

  Mr. Cavendish’s mustache twitched. “That would indeed be an unusual coincidence! No, he dismissed me and I’ve been seeking employment since.”

  “Why did he dismiss you?”

  “He objected to my drinking.”

  The twinkle in the man’s eyes made Wesley wonder if he was altogether serious…or sober. “How very unreasonable of him.”

  “Well you know how it is; some people have no tolerance for vice,” Mr. Cavendish said.

  “Do you have any other vices you’d like to mention?”

  “I’m obsessively neat, a bit of a bookworm, and exceedingly economical. I suspect the latter part is why I never married. Oh, and I’m a sports enthusiast.”

  “Really? Do you like baseball?”

  “It’s only the best sport in the world! My only reluctance in taking employment overseas is that I’ll miss the World’s Championship Series this October.”

  “That’s me as well. What’s your team?”

  “The Brooklyn Bridegrooms. I think they’ve got a fair shot of winning this year.”

  Wesley leaned forward. “Who do you like to start? Terry or Caruthers?”

  “Terry by far and away has the most strikeouts.”

  “Yes, but Caruthers has more wins.”

  Wesley and Mr. Cavendish talked baseball with enthusiasm for the next few minutes, but a glimpse of the luggage in the corner of the sitting room suddenly reminded Wesley he was supposed to be conducting an interview.

  “Oh…by the way, do you get seasick?” he asked.

  “Not after the first day or so.”

  Wesley scribbled Mr. Oakhurst’s name and room number on the résumé and slid it across the desk. “Mr. Cavendish, may I ask you to take your résumé to my solicitor? He can discuss with you the salary and terms of employment. You do understand we’re sailing this Saturday?”

  Mr. Cavendish picked up the paper. “I’m prepared to leave immediately, Your Grace.”

  Wesley stood a
nd shook the man’s hand. After Mr. Cavendish left, Wesley couldn’t suppress a pleased grin. A seasick valet who likes to drink…why I might not see him the entire voyage. How extremely excellent!

  Mr. Oakhurst stepped out to the steamship ticket office after breakfast, so Belle wrote another letter to Errol. In it, she described her impressions of Manhattan, the hotel, its décor, and the food. The letter was deadly dull, she decided, but she’d seen so little of the city she couldn’t write anything more diverting. Belle took the letter down to the post office in the lobby and was delighted to discover a cable from Errol. She returned to her room to read it, reveling in his sentiments of undying affection. It’s so thoughtful of him to send me a cable. I’m so fortunate!

  As time moved forward, however, she began to chafe at being cooped up indoors. She hadn’t come all the way across the Atlantic to read or write mundane letters, but neither could she sightsee by herself. Not only would it be improper, but it would also be dangerous to set off in a strange city alone. She picked up the Visitor’s Guide to the City of New York and began to read the history behind Central Park. At last, her father returned to the suite and Belle ran to meet him at the door.

  “Hello, Papa. Did you conduct your business?”

  “Yes, indeed. I booked first class passage for the Duke of Mansbury and his mother, as well as passage for one lady’s maid and one valet.” A mischievous smile crept across his face. “And, I paid to upgrade the both of us to first class as well.”

  Belle threw herself into her father’s arms. “You’re simply the best Papa, ever.”

  “How often will we get to travel with a duke, eh? We may as well enjoy ourselves, and we both can be more useful to the Parkers if we’re on the same level with all the other saloon passengers.”

  “Forgive me for asking, but can we afford it?”

  “We’ll manage.”

  “I promise to be exceedingly useful, pleasant, and never say another cross word!”