The Pursuit of Lucy Banning,A Novel (Avenue of Dreams)

by Newport, Olivia

  “How thoughtful of you to look after him,” Flora said blandly. She turned to Lucy. “Your brother seems to have found himself a project.”

  “Mother, please,” Lucy said, her voice low.

  Unflapped, Leo offered an arm. “Come along, Mother. I wonder if you realize John Glessner is here with his wife. She’d probably like to see the new ink drawing you hung in the parlor.”

  Lucy was left standing with Will, silence hanging between them.

  “Leo tells me you’re going through a difficult time,” Will said. “If I can be of any assistance, I hope you’ll call on me.”

  “Ah, so he told you I’ve broken my engagement. It’s quite scandalous. I’ve embarrassed my parents no end.”

  “I’m sure you did what you thought was wise,” Will said. “Your parents will come around.”

  “You seem optimistic.”

  “They want you to be happy, I have no doubt.”

  Lucy forced a smile. “Wait until they see the gift we’ve come up with. We commissioned a ewer from a glass factory in Venice. It’s been months in the making. It’s painted in a Renaissance-style floral design in the loveliest shade of green. The gold vermicelli background is magnificent—I can’t wait till they open it.”

  “It’s sure to be a stellar moment.”

  Lucy smiled and felt herself relax for the first time in days. “I’m going on like a ninny about a piece of glass. Never mind me.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Will said. “You have an eye for fine art, that’s all.”

  Daniel sauntered out of the dining room. Looking past Lucy, he locked eyes with Will.

  “Good evening, Mr. Jules,” Will said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “You do seem to keep popping up,” Daniel said.

  “Daniel, there’s no need to be rude,” Lucy admonished.

  “Every time I turn around, there’s Will Edwards. For instance, at the fair dedication. You need some air, and suddenly he needs some air.” The timbre of his voice rang sharp, and his face flashed shades of fury. Lucy glanced around, smiling awkwardly at the wife of one of her father’s partners who seemed disconcerted by the rising voices.

  “Daniel, are you sure you feel all right?” she asked, taking his elbow and trying to steer him toward the stairs. “Perhaps you need to sit down.”

  Daniel was unmoved. “Are you trying to get rid of me?” He lowered the volume of his voice, but his words carried a distinct growl.

  “Of course not,” Lucy said quickly. “I’m just concerned for you.”

  “It’s a bit late for that, I’m sure you would agree. How convenient that you’ve relieved yourself of the baggage of Daniel Jules, and in steps Will Edwards.”

  “Daniel, please!” Lucy spoke sharply, though quietly. “This is not the time or place.”

  “Oh, so now you have become concerned about social expectations. You deceive and disappoint your parents, you toss me aside without regard for the feelings of the people who care for you, and now—”

  Will stepped forward and put his arm on Daniel’s shoulder. “Mr. Jules, I must insist that you stop this tirade. This is an ungentlemanly outburst I’m confident you will regret in the morning. I will not stand by and listen to you treat Lucy this way.”

  Daniel glared at Will, and Will was unyielding. Finally Daniel broke his stare and drifted toward the parlor.

  Shaken, Lucy whispered, “I’ve hurt him so deeply.”

  Penard stepped into the foyer and announced dinner was served.

  18

  Miss Lucy, your book!” Charlotte pulled the art history textbook out of its hiding place in the bookcase and handed it to Lucy.

  “I don’t know where my brain is.” Lucy sighed. “This class is almost finished. I can’t go batty now. Where did I leave my satchel?”

  “The closet, behind the green gown.” Charlotte stepped quickly across the room and opened the closet door.

  Lucy smoothed the skirt of her beige dress. The placket in the bodice had a subtle yellow check and the buttons were brown, but otherwise the dress had no ornamentation and only modest drape, nothing extravagant. Charlotte had styled her hair in the plainest manner possible under a tan hat featuring only a simple ribbon. Nothing about her appearance should attract attention, which was just the effect she hoped for.

  Charlotte handed her the satchel and hung a wool cape around Lucy’s shoulders. “Paddy will be around the corner with the carriage by now.”

  “I know, I’m late.” Lucy blew out her breath. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  Outside Lucy’s suite, Charlotte turned to the narrow back stairs, and Lucy continued down the marble front stairs. Lucy resisted the impulse of habit to glance in the parlor on her way out—why invite conversation if her mother should be in the room? She stepped out the front door, closed it securely behind her, walked down the steps, and turned to the right. Paddy would be waiting for her around the next corner, parked headed toward Michigan Avenue, as he was on most Tuesday afternoons.

  Finding Aunt Violet sitting inside the carriage was a pleasant surprise.

  “Step right up!” Aunt Violet said.

  Lucy chuckled as Paddy closed the carriage door behind her. “Where are you off to?”

  “Ladies auxiliary at the church,” Violet answered. “Paddy’s going to drop me there, then take you to school. I hope that won’t make you late.”

  “I’ll manage.” She would have to move swiftly when she got to campus, but it was worth a few minutes with Violet.

  “Have you recovered from Daniel’s outrageous behavior at the party?” Violet asked.

  Lucy smiled. “Leave it to you to get right to the point.”

  “It’s only a few blocks to the church. I don’t have time to dillydally.”

  Lucy sighed heavily. “I’m glad neither my parents nor his parents witnessed that scene. It would have spoiled the whole evening for them.”

  “Is he still insisting on using his room at the house?”

  “Yes, but less frequently. In the last two weeks, he’s only been there for dinner twice. In the mornings, if I know he’s there I have a tray brought up to my rooms so I don’t see him.”

  “Wise solution. Sooner or later he’s going to have to accept how you feel.”

  “I’m sorry to have hurt him.”

  “Daniel is a likeable enough young man when he wants to be,” Violet observed. “He’s doing well at the bank. Many young women would welcome his attention, as I’m sure he will discover soon enough.”

  “I know. Just not me.”

  “No, not you. Will’s the one for you.”

  “Aunt Violet!”

  “Don’t be coy with me, Lucy Banning.”

  “Will is Leo’s friend. I assure you, he has nothing to do with what happened with Daniel.”

  “I believe that. But you still have a heart, and he deserves it, in my opinion.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes and looked out the window.

  Daniel leaned forward in the carriage cab and signaled the driver. Even inside the carriage, it was cold enough to see his breath. The driver—hired for the day and well paid to brace the frigid air up top—kept a discreet distance behind Violet’s carriage. Daniel’s own carriage would have been far more comfortable, and he kept a wool blanket there, but it also would have been far more recognizable. The anonymous-looking cab, with mismatched wheels and cracked roof, was indistinguishable on Michigan Avenue among the dozens that flowed north and south all day long.

  Lucy had deceived him for months. Her conniving to enroll at the university had begun even before his proposal in July. He could see that now. What could she have been thinking, accepting his proposal one month and registering for a class the next? He paid her every attention, offered her every luxury, yet she was not satisfied.

  The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced she had help. He wanted to know who. Now he did. The horse pulling Violet Newcomb’s carriage stopped in front of the church, and af
ter its owner was discharged, resumed a trot. It seemed to Daniel that the driver was overly comfortable with the route toward the university.

  The minutes immediately after class were the most disorienting for Lucy. She was used to meeting Daniel for tea in the late afternoons, and a month after the breakup, she still found herself wondering if he would get to the teahouse before she did. As she stepped out of the stone building into the December cold, she shivered with the habitual nearness of the man who had waited his life for her. Had she not broken their engagement, he would have been keeping vigil with a pot of tea. Kissing her cheek in welcome. Offering aid as he put her in a carriage.

  Lucy squeezed her eyes shut for just a moment to banish the image. She walked toward the street, then down two blocks where Paddy was waiting for her, and stepped into the carriage. Inside, she closed her eyes and surrendered to the clip-clop of the mare and the sway of the carriage.

  Daniel sat in the glacial carriage for more than two hours while Lucy was inside the university building. Now he signaled the driver once more.

  Lucy signaled to Paddy to stop along Michigan Avenue. He complied but greeted her with puzzlement.

  “We’re still six blocks from your home, Miss Lucy,” Paddy said as he dutifully held the door open.

  Lucy wrapped her cloak around her. “I feel like walking. I know Aunt Violet will be waiting for you at the church. Go on and get her. I’ll get home on my own.”

  Paddy shrugged, which made Lucy smile. Clearly he had learned it was futile to dispute her choices, just as he reasoned in vain with her aunt.

  Lucy stood in front of the brand-new Lexington Hotel at Michigan and Twentieth. Made of brick and terra-cotta, the building had been erected hastily in order to be ready for the onslaught of visitors to the fair in a few months. Rising ten stories from the sidewalk, it boasted luxury suites for residents who would be at home in the Prairie Avenue neighborhood two blocks away, as well as rooms whose occupants would change every few days during the fair. If she walked far enough north on Michigan, Lucy would encounter the armory building finished the previous year—a building she wished had never come to existence. Following labor unrest that led to riots and violence several years earlier, the wealthy residents of Prairie Avenue lobbied for an armory in their neighborhood. Its decorative exterior was deceptive. Though designed by a well-known architectural firm—Burnham and Root, the driving force behind the coming fair—the building served not beauty but fear. Lucy’s wealthy neighbors insured protection of their property should the working class around them once again roil. The thought of it made Lucy’s stomach churn, and she decided in that moment she would turn east to Prairie Avenue before the armory, perhaps at the Calumet Club at Eighteenth, where her father enjoyed his leisure hours.

  Daniel’s cab slowed, but traffic on busy Michigan Avenue would never permit a carriage to crawl at Lucy’s speed on foot. Daniel knew the route she was likely to take. It would simply be the reverse of a stroll they often took on Sunday afternoons when they left the Banning home and ambled along the row houses on Michigan Avenue. Confident, he gave the driver instructions to proceed at a normal speed. As he passed Second Presbyterian, Daniel saw Violet Newcomb entering her carriage. She would go to her own row house now, he knew. At the Calumet Club, Daniel gave the order to stop.

  He got out.

  Lucy’s pace was hardly a saunter. It was more like a bolt for home. Walking dispelled anxiety for her, but it was undeniably cold in the waning late afternoon, and darkness came early to Chicago in December. By the time she reached the church, the ladies’ carriages had dispersed, for which Lucy was grateful. She would not have wanted to stop and be polite, but neither would she have wanted to be coaxed into a carriage. Keeping her cloak from flapping in the wind off the unsettled Lake Michigan, she put her head down and persevered.

  “Hello, Lucy.”

  Lucy gasped as Daniel stepped out from the shadowy wall of the Calumet Club. Recovery came swiftly.

  “Hello, Daniel.”

  “It’s rather brisk for most people, but I know how much you enjoy an invigorating walk.”

  She nodded. “You know me well.” She moved to go around him and continue.

  Daniel blocked her effort and offered his arm. “May I walk you home?”

  “That’s not necessary, thank you.”

  He did not move his arm. “It would be my pleasure. Please?”

  Stifling a sigh, Lucy took Daniel’s arm.

  “I should apologize for my behavior at the party,” he said.

  Daniel had never been a man of apologies. Perhaps his fury toward her was dissipating. “Thank you, Daniel. That means a great deal to me.”

  He put his fingers over her hand tucked into his elbow. A harmless gesture, yet it seemed overly familiar. When she twitched in response, though, he increased the pressure, as if to say there could be no thought of removing her hand.

  They moved along Eighteenth Street toward Prairie Avenue. In two short blocks, I’ll be home, she thought.

  “I hope we can be friends, Lucy,” Daniel said.

  She glanced up at him and answered tentatively, “I hope so too.”

  “We’re adults, reasonable people.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “There’s no reason to distress our parents any more than we have—or more precisely, more than you already have.”

  Lucy was silent as they walked the next block. She had promised to accept full responsibility, so she couldn’t argue with his choice of words.

  “Leo’s friend, for instance,” Daniel said.

  “Will Edwards?”

  “Yes, Mr. Edwards. I shouldn’t get too close to him if I were you.”

  What is he getting at?

  “I would be careful about becoming involved with Mr. Edwards,” Daniel reiterated.

  “I’m not ‘involved’ with Will Edwards.”

  “That’s good, because if you were, people would be hurt, and I’m sure you don’t want that to happen.”

  Lucy was counting the steps to her house now—and hoping Daniel was not planning to stay for dinner. At the front door, finally, he let go of her hand.

  “I’m glad we had this little talk,” he said. “I have a train to catch. Good-bye, Lucy.”

  Lucy watched his disappearing form, unbending and proud. At least a full minute passed before she breathed normally again. The door opened behind her and Penard spoke.

  “Are you all right, Miss Lucy?”

  I don’t know. Am I?

  19

  Such a busy season it’s been,” Flora said as Archie, the footman, set her soup in front of her. “I can’t tell you all how happy I am to have a normal family dinner tonight and not be rushing off to a party.”

  “How is it that we have everyone home tonight a mere five days before Christmas?” Leo asked as he picked up his roll.

  “Thank goodness the major parties are behind us now,” Flora said. “The Kimballs had a lovely gathering, and I was honored to be invited, but the Pullmans were a bit too extravagant, in my opinion. When on earth will they stop adding on to that house? My goodness, have you seen the new conservatory?”

  Richard spooned his soup. “Is it true the Fields once spent seventy-five thousand dollars on a birthday party for their son?”

  “Don’t slurp, Richard,” Flora admonished. “Yes, that’s true, a Mikado ball when he turned eighteen. But it’s poor taste to discuss it.”

  “Francis Glessner gave a nice dinner,” Lucy said. “I was served in the library, and it was delicious to feast my eyes on their book collection along with the dinner.”

  “Would you believe Mrs. Pullman is having another party?” Flora said. “On Thursday she is having a group of ladies in for a midafternoon Christmas tea. I promised Charlotte would help serve.”

  Lucy’s eyes flashed at Charlotte for a fraction of a second. She was likely the only one to notice the maid’s breath catch among the clatter and clinking of the soup course.

 
“What do you mean, Mother?” Lucy made sure to keep her tone even.

  “There’s nothing mysterious about it,” Flora answered. “The Pullmans’ housekeeper asked for some assistance for the affair, and when Penard approached me with the question, I saw no reason not to oblige. After all, their servants were here for the anniversary party last month.”

  Lucy sipped a spoonful of soup in a manner that appeared far more casual than she felt. “I believe Thursday is Charlotte’s day off,” she said.

  “Oh, she’ll be paid nicely, I’m sure,” Flora said, unaffected. “It will be well worth her time, if I know Mrs. Pullman.”

  Lucy set her spoon down and laid both hands on her lap. Charlotte stepped forward to remove her soup bowl.

  “Charlotte,” Lucy said, “I wonder if anyone mentioned this arrangement to you.”

  “No, Miss Lucy.” Charlotte’s soft response came as she stepped away from the table again.

  “Mother, perhaps Mrs. Pullman doesn’t really need Charlotte after all,” Lucy said. “It’s only an afternoon tea. Surely one less maid won’t be the end of things.”

  “I don’t know what you’re making such a fuss about,” Flora said. “It’s the holidays. It’s a busy time. It comes as no surprise to any of the staff that they may be asked to serve in extra capacities.”

  “My point is simply that I think Charlotte should have been asked,” Lucy said. “Perhaps she has plans for her day off.”

  “I’m sure she’ll appreciate the extra pay. Won’t you, Charlotte? You could use a few extra coins, isn’t that right?”

  Charlotte’s eyes were demurely aimed at the floor. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “She’ll want you early in the morning, I’m sure.”

  Lucy let her shoulders slump. What else could Charlotte say under the circumstances? She could hardly explain she was planning to see her baby son on Thursday and would have to wait a full week if she didn’t go on schedule.