by S. G. Rogers
“What marvelous alliteration! I solemnly salute your sagacious soliloquy.”
“Aha! I pay homage to the haste of your homily.”
Wesley doffed his derby hat and bowed from the waist. “I’m decidedly defeated by your deft debate.”
“You can’t be defeated until we conquer the castle together,” she said. “Lead on!”
They made their way to the castle and climbed to the observation deck with a view of the reservoir and surrounding park. Belle admired the whimsical gray granite structure, composed of many towers and wooden pavilions.
“It’s like something from a fairy tale,” she said.
“Surely you’ve seen a great many castles before, in England?”
“A fair few, but none so little and charming. Belvedere seems designed to draw people in, whereas real castles are designed to keep people out.”
Wesley fanned himself with his derby hat. “I’m beginning to feel the August heat in earnest. If you’d like, we can go to the Casino for lunch.”
“Casino?”
“It’s a restaurant,” he explained. “We can get refreshments there.”
“Let’s do.”
They retraced their steps over Bow Bridge and turned onto a path alongside the lake to the east. The Bethesda Fountain lay ahead, the focal point of the lower terrace. In the middle of the fountain, a bronze, winged angel stood on a pedestal to bless the water flowing down to the large round pool. Children clustered at the edge of the fountain, trailing little fingers in the cool, refreshing water.
“This is a very beautiful setting,” Belle said. “It looks like a palace.”
“I wonder if anyone would notice if I took off my shoes and waded in the pool?”
“I wouldn’t try it. Rumor has it the palace guards can be quite severe.”
“Capital offense, eh? Then I’ll just have to settle for a cold drink.”
Wesley escorted Belle up the expansive stone steps to the upper terrace, where the concert grounds and mall spread out under a long canopy of trees. Despite the heat, the mall was filled with people from all walks of life, from recent immigrants to American aristocrats.
“This is the place to see and be seen, I think,” Belle said.
“Yes. It’s like a big democratic festival, isn’t it?”
A few feet away, a little girl with long dark hair began to wail. Her parents tried, without success, to soothe her as best they could. Belle couldn’t understand their language, but she guessed they were of Italian descent.
“Excuse me a moment, Belle,” Wesley said.
He hastened over to the family and began to converse with them in their native tongue. The little girl’s tears dried up as he spoke, and the father nodded in understanding.
“Grazie, giovanotto. Grazie mille.”
Smiling, the mother took her daughter by the hand and the family made their way down the mall. Belle stared at Wesley, dumbfounded, as he returned to her side.
“You speak Italian?”
“A little. I’m sure I butchered the language something awful, but the little girl wanted to find the carrousel. Her parents were lost and about to give up when I told them where to find it. At least, I hope that’s what I said.”
“That was very kind, Wesley. How do you know Italian?”
“With so many Italians in Brooklyn, you learn a little of their lingo if you want to get along. I used to be friendly with everybody until I committed an unpardonable sin.”
“Which was?”
“The Irish discovered I was related to royalty. After that, I became an outsider to most everyone except the Italians, who didn’t seem to care. To them, I was paisan—a friend.”
A path from the upper terrace led to a charming stone cottage known as the Central Park Casino. Belle noticed many expensive carriages were parked out front, on a circular gravel driveway. “I take it this is a rather fashionable place?” she said as they mounted the few steps to the entrance.
“Indeed it is. They’ll let you in, certainly, but they may bar me at the door.”
The restaurant wasn’t that large, but many diners sat outside on the veranda or under the Wisteria pergola at the western edge of the site. As it had grown very hot outside, Belle chose to sit in the cool restaurant and sip iced lemonade. When the waitress returned to take their food order, Belle ordered a light luncheon of fresh stuffed tomatoes and chicken salad. Wesley, on the other hand, ordered a more substantial meal consisting of tenderloin steak, fried potatoes, spinach, stewed mushrooms, and cucumber salad.
While they waited for their food to be served, Belle glanced around the restaurant. The foliage from many potted palms gave the place a garden appeal, and despite the resplendent patrons, the establishment had a comfortable atmosphere.
“Thank you for today, Wesley,” she said. “I feel very fortunate to have visited Central Park with you.”
“I’ve enjoyed myself as well.”
“My father informs me that tomorrow after breakfast, Mr. Cavendish and your mother’s new lady’s maid will report to your suite.”
“What for?”
“To pack your trunks. Most of them must be sent to the ship ahead of time.”
A cloud descended over Wesley’s face. “Everything’s changing so quickly. It’s difficult to believe I’m really leaving America.”
“It must be disconcerting, I can imagine.”
“Please don’t misunderstand me, Belle. You mustn’t think for a moment that I’m not grateful. I’m fully aware how lucky I am, and I’m not complaining one bit. It’s just that I feel a little like the proverbial bull in a china shop.”
“I understand. Truly, I regret being rude when we first met. It was unpardonable.”
Wesley chuckled. “I expect I did look like a delinquent.” He tapped the faint bruise remaining under one eye. “Still do, as a matter of fact.”
“Not so.”
“How do I compare to the society gentlemen in your circle then? Do I pass muster?”
Belle lowered her lashes and picked up her glass of lemonade. “Erm…I daresay you won’t be able to escape the attentions of debutantes all over England, even if you wished to.”
A pink flush rose from his high, starched collar. “I’m sorry, I was referring to my manners.”
Belle wished she could evaporate into thin air. He must think me a flirt! She laughed to cover her embarrassment. “Manners, moving in society, and the rituals of courtship are inextricable, Wesley. Your American birth is intriguing. I wouldn’t worry overmuch how you may compare to anyone else.”
Despite her words, she couldn’t help but compare Wesley Parker to Errol. Where Wesley was enthusiastic, Errol was soulful. Wesley could be playful, but Errol was uniformly decorous. Both men were handsome in different ways, but Errol’s perfectly groomed brown hair had never invited her touch. By contrast, she was constantly stifling the urge to push Wesley’s tousled curls back from his forehead. For the first time, she was forced to consider whether or not Sir Errol Blankenship might be wanting. Belle glared at the ceiling fan. You’re being completely unfair to poor Errol, who isn’t here to defend himself—and you’re fickle besides!
“Are you cold?” Wesley asked. “We can move away from the fan, if you like.”
Belle stopped scowling. “Oh, er, no, thanks. I was just thinking how much Errol would enjoy it here. I’ll be sure to tell him about this restaurant in my next letter.”
Chapter Six
Folly
AS BELLE AND WESLEY ESCAPED the afternoon heat inside the Metropolitan Museum of Art, her brief feelings of disloyalty weighed heavily upon her mind. Nevertheless, she allowed her enjoyment of the exhibits to take precedence. As the clock struck five o’clock, Wesley hailed a cab to drive him and Belle back to their hotel.
With a happy smile, she relaxed against the upholstered carriage seat. “I can’t tell you when I’ve had a more wonderful day, Wesley.”
“Nor I, even though it was as hot as blazes.”
> “By Monday evening you may wish the warm temperatures back again. The Atlantic Ocean can be very cold and foggy. We may even see an iceberg or two.”
“Really? Is there much to do on board the ship?”
“Passengers are usually expected to entertain themselves, by and large. Papa brought me a cabin brochure from the Inman Line ticket office. The City of New York is quite big, with a library and gentlemen’s smoking room. It’s designed to hold over five hundred first class and two hundred second class passengers. It can also carry one thousand in steerage, but we won’t have any steerage passengers on the eastbound voyage.”
“Did you get seasick on the crossing?”
“No, but many people did.” She shuddered. “It was horrible for them, and even the most stalwart traveler can become ill in rough seas. At any rate, the City of New York is much larger than the ship my father and I took from Liverpool. Perhaps we’ll feel the movement of the ocean less.”
“Before the Brooklyn Bridge opened, I used to take the ferry to Manhattan with my father. Neither of us became queasy, but I expect an ocean voyage is different.”
“A vast deal different and a great deal longer. Hopefully, the other passengers will prove amiable. If so, we’ll arrange a card game or some other entertainment.” She paused. “My father thinks you should learn to dance.”
“Dance?”
“Perhaps you already know how.”
“No. There are very few fancy parties in the Brooklyn neighborhood where I grew up.”
“Every gentleman should know how to dance. I can help you learn to waltz or polka, but we’ll need more people to form a quadrille or practice a promenade.”
“I hope you won’t laugh at me if I prove to have two left feet.”
“I expect you’ll be a wonderful dancer.”
“What makes you think so?”
She flushed with embarrassment. “The movements of your arms and hands are quite graceful.”
Wesley cleared his throat. “You’re trying to prop up my confidence.”
“Not at all, I assure you. But if you’d rather not—”
“No, no, I didn’t say that. I’m merely reluctant to make a fool of myself. If you’re game, then so am I.”
“Good. When our voyage gets underway, we’ll find a quiet spot to practice…assuming neither of us becomes queasy.”
As Wesley changed his clothes for dinner that night, he hummed under his breath. The thought of learning to dance with Belle excited a sense of fear as well as a thrill of anticipation into his heart. Despite her encouragement, he felt about as graceful as a newborn colt. He brushed his hair vigorously, in a vain attempt to flatten the curl. I hope I’m up to the task of impressing her.
He emerged from his room to discover his mother waiting for him. She tsked when she saw his tie. “You only imagine you don’t need a valet.”
Her deep purple satin gown rustled as she crossed over to retie his silk four-in-hand. Wesley tried to stand still as she fussed with him. “Mother, Mr. Oakhurst has asked his daughter to teach me to dance. We’re going to practice on the ship.”
“That’s a splendid notion, and the Oakhursts are terribly thoughtful.” Lady Frederic finished with his tie and brushed off his lapels. “Now you look perfect.” She peered at him. “I hope you aren’t becoming too attached to Miss Oakhurst.”
Wesley covered his surprise with a bewildered sort of laugh. “Why would you say such a thing? Belle—I mean Miss Oakhurst—and I just met.”
His mother’s shrewd eyes seemingly missed nothing.
“Oh dear. Wesley, she’s a lovely girl and very pretty, but she’s engaged to be married.”
“I know that. She’s mentioned her fiancé several times.”
“After we’re ensconced at Caisteal Park, you’ll likely see each other infrequently, if at all.”
“She can’t possibly live more than a few miles away.”
“Geography isn’t the point.” Lady Frederic sighed. “Let’s not quarrel, dear. Enjoy visiting with Miss Oakhurst. She’ll be married soon enough, and after you taste the delights of society, you’ll forget her altogether.”
Out of respect for his mother, Wesley bit back a sharp retort. He escorted her down to the dining room, where the Oakhursts were waiting. Belle had changed into a dinner gown of green silk with dainty pink rosettes scattered across the fabric. When she smiled, the sight of her dimples made Wesley’s stomach lift. Forget Belle? Impossible!
After breakfast the following morning, Mrs. Neal and Mr. Cavendish reported for work. Wesley was amused to see Mr. Cavendish had traded his bulldog walking stick for one with a nifty compass embedded in the handle. As Lady Frederic and Mrs. Neal discussed which gowns and accessories would be needed on the voyage, Wesley showed his valet the new clothes he’d purchased.
“Very nice.” Mr. Cavendish picked up Wesley’s old top hat. “But this won’t do at all.”
“That hat was my father’s. I bought a derby instead.”
“And a perfectly marvelous hat it is, for New York City. Bowler hats, as they are called in England, are fine for the banking set, but not for the aristocracy. And styles in top hats have changed from your father’s day. We’re going to have to nip down to the hat shop to purchase something more suitable.”
Mr. Cavendish reached into the valise he’d brought with him and produced a set of barber’s tools in a leather case. “First, however, we’ll give you a haircut.”
“Do you take your scissors everywhere you go?” Wesley asked, taken aback.
“Not usually, no, but I observed your hair was unkempt when I was here for the interview and therefore came prepared.”
The valet brought a chair into the bathroom and bade Wesley take a seat. After he draped a towel around Wesley’s shoulders, Mr. Cavendish styled his hair with aplomb. Wesley turned his head to admire his new haircut in the mirror. “You tamed the curl!”
“Yes, indeed. There’s no excuse for you to go around looking like a Teeswater ram. Shall we head downstairs?”
“Mr. Cavendish, did Mr. Oakhurst warn you that I’m new at all this royalty business? I only found out about the title a few days ago.”
“He did happen to mention that, Your Grace. I’ll do all I can to smooth your transition. And please, call me Cavendish.”
Wesley accompanied Cavendish to the Knox Hat Shop on the ground level of the hotel. After the clerk took a measurement of Wesley’s head, he produced a black silk top hat with a ribbed band encircling the brim. The crown was very slightly larger than the brim, lending the hat a jaunty look.
“It’s the very latest fashion,” the clerk explained.
The hat fit perfectly, and Wesley was pleased with the way the hat sat on his newly cropped hair. “I like it.”
“We’ll take two,” Cavendish told the salesclerk. “If one should meet with an unfortunate accident, we don’t want to be caught short.”
Wesley decided to wear the hat out of the shop. His derby was packed in the hatbox, along with the spare top hat, and Wesley paid the bill without even wincing at the total. Cavendish carried the package with him as he and Wesley returned to the hotel room. Lady Frederic was writing a letter at the desk while Mrs. Neal was packing garments nearby as carefully as Easter eggs. Mrs. Neal spared Cavendish a worried glance.
“The porter will be calling at three o’clock, Mr. Cavendish. He’s to pick up the large trunks bound for the steamship. You need to mark which trunks you want in the cabin, and which will be checked into the baggage hold.”
Cavendish gave her a stately bow. “Thank you, Mrs. Neal, we’ll be ready.” He turned to Wesley. “I have this in hand, Your Grace, if there is somewhere else you’d like to be this afternoon. Perhaps you can arrange an outing with Miss Oakhurst?”
“If you insist, Cavendish. I’ll go check with her at once.” Wesley paused. “And thanks.”
Wesley backed out of the room and strode down the hall toward the elevator. He couldn’t wait to show off his new hat to
Belle. Cavendish has proven to be invaluable so far. Perhaps I need a valet after all.
Belle sat in the sitting room reading A Tale of Two Romances, but her mind kept wandering. She glanced at her father, who was sorting through a sheaf of papers at the desk.
“Papa, when you’re finished, would you like to visit the Statue of Liberty? I’d love to see it up close.”
“I’m afraid I can’t just abandon the Parkers. What if they should need me for some last minute details?”
Belle swallowed her disappointment. “Of course, Papa. I understand.”
A knock sounded at the door, and she jumped to her feet. “I’ll get it.”
She opened the door to discover Wesley standing in the hallway. He removed his hat and bowed. “May I come in?”
“Certainly.”
As Wesley entered the room, Belle got a better look at him. “You’ve had a haircut!”
“And purchased a new top hat.” He gave it a flourish. “Cavendish has acquitted himself admirably on both accounts.”
Mr. Oakhurst rose. “How may I help you, Your Grace?”
“Since my valet is packing my trunks for me, I’ve the rest of the day free. Would you and Miss Oakhurst care to do some sight-seeing?”
“What a capital idea, Your Grace!” Belle exclaimed. “Do you suppose Lady Frederic would enjoy a visit to the Statue of Liberty?”
“I don’t see why not. Mrs. Neal seems to be on top of things and I think a little fresh air would do my mother a world of good,” Wesley said.
“I’m at your service, Your Grace,” Mr. Oakhurst said.
“My mother and I will meet you in the lobby shortly,” Wesley said as he headed for the door.
Belle did a pirouette and danced toward her room. “I’ll get my hat.”
From the Battery, the Oakhursts and the Parkers boarded one of the hourly ferries to Bedloe Island. The ferry wasn’t particularly full, so they had their pick of seats. Wesley and Belle sat together toward the prow of the vessel, watching the Statue of Liberty grow closer. Belle glanced over her shoulder toward her father and Lady Frederic, who were deep in conversation several rows back.