by Joanna Shupe
Mamie frowned. This was Chauncey’s world: pranks and parties. Clubs and yachts. Had he ever stepped below Fourteenth Street? Had he any idea of the suffering of most New Yorkers?
Of course he didn’t. And without her younger sister’s influence, Mamie wouldn’t either. Ladies held fundraisers for various causes, but one did not witness poverty firsthand. “That poor cat,” she couldn’t help but say.
“Aw, it wasn’t harmed.” He patted her hand. “I forgot how soft you are.”
Soft? Frank would have a good laugh at that. “So your note mentioned a discussion. What was it you wished to talk about?”
“Have you spoken to your father lately?”
A bird landed on the path beside them, flapping its wings in the dirt. “I saw him a few nights ago at dinner. Why?”
“Did he . . . Well, I’m wondering if he mentioned our betrothal.”
“No.” She looked over at him. “Has something happened?”
“There was some talk. Gossip going around. Apparently you went to dinner with your father’s lawyer.”
He waited and so she confirmed it. “Yes, I did.”
“Well, our fathers decided to solidify the betrothal after that. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”
Surprise did not begin to cover what Mamie felt. More like stunned. Betrayed she was not consulted. Despondent that her future had arrived. How could Daddy have done this without letting her know? “No, he didn’t.”
“My father shared the agreement with me last night. Most is standard language, you know. Your father was very generous. He’s planning to buy that old Huntville property on Seventy-Third Street up for sale as a wedding present for us.”
Mamie’s stomach turned over, nauseated at the idea of settling into her role as a society wife. Overseeing a household, raising kids, tutors and governesses, vacations in Paris . . . It felt like a huge current sweeping her down to the bottom of the ocean. “Yes, that does seem generous,” she murmured, her brain struggling to take it all in.
“Indeed.” They walked for a few moments, the quiet sounds of nature surrounding them. She sensed he was working up to something.
Lord, how could this have finally come to pass? She had always assumed her father would speak to her first, give her some hint as to what was to come. Get her input on the terms of the agreement. To proceed blindly, without her knowledge, smacked of rashness. Panic. Was her father worried—?
Of course. Her father hadn’t liked the idea of her and Frank sharing a night out together. The timing was too convenient not to be connected. Did he believe Frank had designs on her? The idea was ludicrous. She would need to speak with him and clear this up, immediately.
“The thing is, Mamie,” Chauncey said. “There are a few clauses in the agreement that are . . . unusual.”
She hated that her fiancé was filling her in on the most important document of her life. Why did men discuss these things without a woman’s—the bride’s—input? Shouldn’t she get a say in how her future was signed away?
Swallowing her irritation over patriarchal traditions, she asked, “Oh? Such as?”
“Things like children.”
“That’s not unheard of, Chauncey.”
“He wants one grandchild every other year for the next eight years.”
She stopped in her tracks, dragging him to a halt. “He put a timetable on grandchildren?”
Chauncey thrust his hands in his pockets. “Yes. He wants four.”
Mamie’s jaw fell open. Outrageous. Positively ludicrous. Her father was not shy about his desire for grandchildren, but this was beyond anything she could’ve imagined. What if she and Chauncey chose to wait a few years, to grow accustomed to one another before starting a family?
A dry laugh escaped her throat. “Why not stipulate the gender of the grandchildren as well?”
Chauncey winced. “Oh, he did that, too. As a request, of course, but hoping for three boys and one girl.”
“Good Lord.”
“Indeed.”
Her father had lost his mind. That was the only explanation for such a clause. “And this was all drawn up in the agreement?”
“Yes, by your father’s lawyer.”
Tripp.
She closed her eyes to absorb the horror. God, what must he have thought, drafting this up? How utterly mortifying. Worse, why hadn’t he told her? He’d obviously known about it. So, why not tell her? Or at the very least warn her.
Because his loyalty is to your father, not to you.
How could she have forgotten? Money and prestige mattered to both her father and Frank Tripp. Not the wishes of one silly twenty-three-year-old woman.
Something suddenly occurred to her. If Frank had known about this, then why ask for the billiards tournament at his home? Visiting the home of an unmarried gentleman at night could ruin her and jeopardize her engagement. What had he been thinking to suggest it?
“And there’s more,” Chauncey said, and Mamie’s chest squeezed in dread.
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“There are clauses included about, ahem, infidelity.”
She could only stare. “Infidelity? I don’t understand.”
“If I—or you—are found to have any . . . partners outside the marriage in the first ten years there is a steep monetary penalty.”
“How steep?”
“More than I could ever pay without going to my father.”
She sighed and rubbed her eyes with her gloved fingers. This whole business was dashed embarrassing. “Is it me? Are you worried I might take a lover?”
Chapter Seven
A hiss escaped through Chauncey’s teeth and he glanced around wildly. “Mamie! You cannot say such words in public.”
She gestured toward the empty path. “No one can hear us, Chauncey. And we’re to be married. We may speak of such words in private.”
“I suppose, if we must. Furthermore, we all know the concern in this particular case lies with me.”
“That you will take a mistress?”
Another hiss. “You should not know that word.”
Was he serious? Everyone knew that word. And why was her infidelity not a concern? Women frequently allowed men who were not their husbands into their beds. Not that Mamie would dishonor her marriage vows by being unfaithful, but why was he so sure she wouldn’t?
She waved her hand. “Let’s not quibble over the extent of my vocabulary. May I assume this clause is an issue because there already is a conflict?”
The skin of his neck flushed and he dropped his gaze. “Yes, I have a conflict.”
So Chauncey had a mistress. Hmm. She waited for a stab of jealousy to erupt or her stomach to roil . . . but nothing. His paramour—or paramours, as the case may be—did not bother her in the least.
“And you are unwilling to give her up?”
He adjusted his straw hat more firmly on his head. “Hardly seems fair, not when every gentleman in New York keeps one. You’re a practical woman. You are aware of how these things go. Ours will be no different than any other society marriage. We’ll be happy but respectful. I won’t ever flaunt her in any manner to embarrass you.”
Was he in love with this other woman? Mamie had assumed mistresses were as exchangeable as handkerchiefs. However, if Chauncey had feelings for his paramour that could negatively impact their marriage. “You wish for me to speak to my father. To have this clause amended.”
“Yes.” He sagged in obvious relief. “He’ll understand, as a man of our world, that it’s unrealistic to ask a gentleman to subject his wife to one hundred percent of his bedroom attentions.”
And there went her stomach. She fought the visceral reaction to the idea of what “bedroom attentions” with Chauncey would entail. She could not contemplate one percent of his affections—let alone one hundred.
This is the bargain. This is your path.
She dragged in a deep breath. “I think you’re worried for no reason. My father could hardly enforc
e such a stipulation.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t wish to start our marriage with a lie. You know how these things can be discovered. And I lack the funds to pay a penalty this steep.”
Children . . . intimacies . . . mistresses . . . Her life had suddenly become surreal. She took his arm and began leading him along the path once more. “What’s she like?”
He stumbled then caught his balance. “Mamie.”
“If you are unwilling to give her up then she must mean a great deal to you. I would wish to know who holds my soon-to-be husband’s affections.”
“This is not a proper conversation for us to—”
“Chauncey, please. I’m twenty-three, not some eighteen-year-old miss. You and I have known each other since we were babies. I know you kissed Penelope Van der Meer on the cliffs in Newport.”
“We were nine, Mamie. This is quite different.”
Not entirely. She felt the same about him now as she had then, like a friendly acquaintance. Their marriage would be a partnership toward common goals: stability, child rearing and status quo. “We must trust each other if our marriage is to work.”
“Fine. She’s a singer at a club in the Tenderloin.”
“Pretty?”
“Gorgeous,” he replied quickly, as if he hadn’t stopped to think about it. Then he straightened. “I apologize. I never should have implied . . .”
“What? That you find other women attractive?” A mental image of Frank came to her, with his perfectly polished exterior and wide shoulders. The ways in which he filled out a three-piece suit should be considered dangerous in all forty-four states. “That would be a bit hypocritical of me, seeing as I have eyes as well.”
Chauncey drew to an abrupt halt. “You find other men attractive?”
Were all males so oblivious, or just the ones born north of Forty-Second Street? “Yes, of course I do.”
“I’m uncertain how I feel about this new side of you. You’ve grown quite bold in the last few years.”
Bold? More like enlightened. Her eyes had been opened to the entitlement and waste of her social circle, to the injustice and inequality of their city. How could one’s priorities not completely shift after seeing the need and desperation in a mother’s eyes when she was unable to feed her children? “You are welcome to not sign the agreement,” she told him. “Our fathers will get over their disappointment.”
Chauncey was instantly contrite. “I don’t wish to back out.” He considered her for a long moment. “Do you?”
Yes. “No, of course not.”
“Good, then it’s settled. You’ll talk to your father to change those particulars of the agreement and then everything will move forward as it should.”
As it should. Maintain the status quo. How she hated the very idea of that.
Perhaps her father would reconsider the marriage if they couldn’t resolve this issue. Perhaps the whole thing would be called off. Duncan Greene was not known for bending when he set his mind to something.
There might be a way out of this after all, one that wouldn’t be Mamie’s fault. She tried to hide her hopeful grin. “I’ll speak to him just as soon as I return home.”
“But carefully,” he warned. “I don’t wish to upset your father. He cannot suspect I’m unwilling to go along with the proposal.”
“Does your father know we are meeting?”
“No. When I complained, my father told me to marry you, sire some children and then do as I pleased.”
God, how depressing. “But how am I supposed to object to the clause without letting him know why?”
“You are clever, Maims. You’ll think of something.”
She certainly hoped so, because marriage was speeding toward her at breakneck speed. There had to be a way for her to avoid the collision without breaking her promise to her father—even if it meant throwing Chauncey under the wheels of the oncoming train.
Mamie didn’t often visit her father’s home office. He preferred his solitude there—one of the last places in his home he could claim solely as his own, he said. So she was unsurprised by the lukewarm reception she received upon knocking.
“Mamie.” Her father lowered a stack of papers and squinted at her through his spectacles. “Is it urgent?”
“Hello, Daddy. Yes, I’m afraid it is.”
He sighed and tossed the papers on the desk. “Best come in, then. Have a seat.”
Mamie loved her father, but he had to be handled carefully. In business, he was decisive and ruthless, unafraid of anything or anyone. At home, he definitely wanted things done his way. Therefore, in Mamie’s experience, it was best to let her father think her good ideas were his own . . . even when they weren’t.
Getting her father to break this engagement would not be easy, but she had to try.
“Are you terribly busy?” She lowered herself into the chair across from his desk.
“Always, but I’m happy to make time for you when you need me. Tell me the problem.”
“I just returned from a walk with Chauncey.”
“Excellent.” His eyes brightened considerably at that news, his mustache twitching. “It pleases me to hear of you two spending time together.”
“Yes, I’ve always been fond of him. I was surprised, however, to hear that the details of the wedding agreement had been arranged.”
“The arrangement is my responsibility, Mamie, one I have ignored for far too long.”
“Was there a reason you suddenly moved forward with it?”
“No.” He rested his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingers. “It’s past time for you to be married. I preferred not to rush you but it’s been nearly five years since your debut.”
She didn’t believe him. This wasn’t about her debut or age. Something deep in her bones told her this was about Frank Tripp. “Should I not have a say in what I’m agreeing to?”
“You are aware that’s not how these matters are handled. But you needn’t worry—I set aside a large sum of money for you that Chauncey cannot touch. Ever.”
Interesting Chauncey hadn’t mentioned that. All he cared about was the ability to retain his mistress. “That’s very sweet of you, Daddy. Thank you.”
He inclined his head. “No daughter of mine is ever going to be penniless. Chauncey’s a fine fellow but not all men can be trusted. Unfortunately, you often don’t learn of the bad seeds until you’ve eaten most of the apple.”
“What of the other clauses?”
“Standard, mostly. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“According to Chauncey, there is need for concern. You put a timetable on your grandchildren?”
He shifted in his chair, his big body adjusting to sink deeper into the leather. “It’s perfectly reasonable. Better to get them out of the way in the beginning, as your mother and I did.”
“You assume we wish for a family right away and that I’m able to conceive.”
“There is no need to be crude, young lady. You might talk that way with your mother but I would prefer it if we did not discuss such delicate matters.”
She struggled to hide her irritation. He acted as if she’d described the act in gory detail. She longed for the day when women could describe these matters openly with their families. Secrets merely led to ignorance. “I don’t wish to be told when to start a family, Daddy. That decision is between my husband and me, no one else.”
“Sometimes it’s better to state these things ahead of time. Trust me.”
“Marriages are different now than when you and Mama were married. We prefer more time to get to know one another—”
“Get to know one another? You’ve known him since birth. Don’t be ridiculous. Have children right away, then you may each do as you wish.”
This was the opening she needed. “Is that why you put in an infidelity clause, because you don’t trust us?”
“No, I put that in because I don’t trust Chauncey.”
“Has he given you reason to doubt his faithfulne
ss?”
“Of course not. I have no specific knowledge of his . . . tendencies in that area. But I do know men.” He waggled a finger at her. “They’re not capable of fidelity.”
“Including you?”
He snapped upright and shot her a withering glare. “Tread lightly, Marion. You are still my daughter and I am still your father. Do not disrespect me or your mother while you are in this house.”
“I meant no disrespect. I’m merely pointing out that you are overgeneralizing. Chauncey’s not a womanizing rake. Have you ever heard of him embroiled in a scandal, like fathering a baby out of wedlock or ruining a girl?”
“No, I have not. But he’s no stranger to the casinos and dance halls of the Tenderloin.”
“Which has little to do with his future as a husband.”
“Are you willing to risk your marriage on that?”
No, she was hoping to avoid marriage altogether. To that end, it was time to bring this around to Chauncey’s unsuitability. “Chauncey has been honest with me. He said he has many lady friends and has no intention of dropping them merely because we’ve married. He’s asked that we eliminate the infidelity clause altogether.”
Her father’s lips tightened as he searched her face. “Is this about Frank Tripp?”
She inhaled sharply. How had her father drawn that conclusion? “O-Of course not,” she stammered. “I barely know Mr. Tripp.”
“I see. I’m beginning to understand. You are trying to pin this infidelity clause business on Chauncey when it is really you who wishes to abolish it.”
“Daddy! How could you say that?”
“Because I’m well acquainted with Frank Tripp. I don’t trust him, not with you. Is he filling your head with all kinds of promises for after your marriage?”
She could only stare at her father. Where was he coming up with these accusations? “He’s doing no such thing. You have misunderstood me.”
“I don’t believe I have. If this were about Chauncey, you would demand that clause remain in the agreement. What wife wants her husband to be unfaithful?”
This had taken a disastrous turn. “Chauncey has a woman, one he keeps. And he said he has no intention of giving her up after our marriage.”