by Renee Yancy
Lindy nodded, smoothing the pale rose, cut velvet gown, trimmed with lace insets on the bodice and embroidered crystal roses.
The duke took a closer look at the embroidered crystal roses on the skirt. “His work is fabulous, isn’t it?”
“Actually, I don’t care for Mr. Worth’s designs. I prefer something simpler.”
“Indeed.”
“You may as well know, Your Grace, that my mother has chosen all my gowns, just as she chose my husband. But after we’re married, I intend to use a different designer.”
The duke’s blond eyebrows rose, and he tilted his head to one side, frowning. “That’s quite a challenging statement, Evangeline.” He regarded her with a curious smile. “But I suppose we’ll have time to work out our differences, won’t we? By the way, I’d prefer you call me James.”
“Ah, there you are, Evangeline. How lovely you look.” Mrs. Vanderbilt and her husband greeted them. “Congratulations on your engagement, my dear.” She held out her gloved hand to the duke, who kissed it and swept her a disarming bow. “How lovely to see you again, Your Grace.” She moved on to Vera and Otto.
Lindy did everything expected of her. She made gracious conversation, listened to Mr. Vanderbilt’s stories, and laughed charmingly at Mrs. Oelrichs’s jokes. Mama beamed at her across the dinner table, nodding approvingly as Lindy graciously inclined her head to hear her fiancé’s comments.
But in her head, she was far away in the library at the chateau on Fifth Avenue, alone with Mr. Winthrop and her broken dreams.
Chapter 39
March 1898, New York City
The wedding dress in all its cream satin magnificence hung on a brass stand in the corner of Lindy’s bedroom. And outside her door stood a footman. For insurance, Mama said.
The circlet of fresh orange blossoms brought in by rail from Florida yesterday lay on her dressing table. Lindy absently fingered the sweet-smelling blossoms.
Alone on her wedding day, with only her surly maid, Adele, for company. No loving mother to pin up her hair. No sisters or friends to sweetly exclaim over the bride’s blushing beauty. No laughter. No joy.
Tears wet her cheeks. Even the Lord’s presence had fled this morning. There was no one to call upon. There was only her filial duty to fulfill her mother’s ambitions.
“Tut-tut,” said Adele. She had skinned her black hair into a bun so severe it flattened the corners of her eyes. Lindy shuddered. “Come, mademoiselle, it is time to dress if you are to be at the church on time.”
The fifteen-foot train alone weighed ten pounds. Frills of Alençon lace and silver thread embellished the bodice and seed pearl-encrusted skirt. The sleeves were the latest style, chosen by her mother, ridiculously huge puffs that narrowed at the wrist. She’d have to turn sideways to get through the door.
She laid her head on her arms, ignoring Adele. Had Jack moved past the heartbreak and carried on with his life? She would never know. If only she could bind up her thoughts like the wide silk sash would bind the waist of her wedding gown.
When the French ormolu and porcelain clock chimed ten o’clock, she straightened and swept it off the dressing table so hard it shattered into pieces against the wall. A sour feeling of satisfaction went through her when Adele gasped and jumped back.
A flurry of French words exploded in the hall outside. “Pour qui tu prends? Open this door at once, idiot!”
“I’m to let no one in, miss. Orders of Mrs. Lindenmayer.”
“Quoi? Open it, I say!”
Something scuffled against the door. “Madame, please! Take your hands off me!”
“Let me pass at once, imbécile!”
“Ow! Stop! Ow! Ow!”
“Take that! Crétin!”
Lindy snatched the door open to find the footman cowering against the wall while Claudine beat him about the head with her umbrella handle.
“Claudine!”
Claudine turned and threw her arms around Lindy. “Oh, pauvre bébé, I’m here!” Behind her, the footman rubbed his head dazedly, then recoiled when Claudine turned and glared at him. He beat a hasty retreat, and she sniffed and picked up her bag. “All alone. I cannot believe Madame would—” Claudine burst into a stream of rapid French that Lindy couldn’t follow.
“What are you doing here, Claudine?”
“I came to see you on your wedding day since I was not invited to the wedding.” She scrutinized Lindy with a sympathetic smile. “But I didn’t expect to find you alone, chérie.”
Lindy shrugged. “It’s her way of punishing me.”
“She isn’t alone, mademoiselle. I am here to assist her.” Adele stepped forward, shoulders rigid, and her prim mouth pressed so tightly that her lips had disappeared.
Claudine shrugged. “Quand même, I am here now.”
“I must ask you to leave immediately, madame.” Adele’s back went rigid. “This is outrageous. Mrs. Lindenmayer will hear of this.”
“Oh, get out, Adele.” Lindy stood. “I don’t want you here.” She opened the door. “Go.”
Adele’s lips worked soundlessly, her face quivering. Then she marched out the door and slammed it hard.
“Have you heard from Jack, chérie?”
“Heavens, no. My mother intercepts all my mail.” Lindy sank onto the dressing table bench. “I... I hope and pray he’s moved on with his life.” As I must.
Claudine sat next to her and leaned her head in close. “Your mother can’t take me away from you, chérie. I’m coming with you to England. I’ve brought my bag with me.” She pointed to the overstuffed portmanteau.
Lindy gasped. Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Claudine? Are you sure? You know you hate England.”
Claudine winked at her. “Well, you must travel to Paris for your gowns, non? Without your husband?”
A faint glimmer of comfort rose in Lindy’s heart. At least she wouldn’t be totally alone. “If you’re with me, I think I can bear it.”
Claudine nodded. “Now, chérie, I will help you dress.” Claudine laced up Lindy’s corset and then finished the long row of satin-covered buttons up the back of the gown while Lindy stood in front of the cheval mirror.
Now that the goal had been nearly accomplished, the title almost in the family, her mother had forgotten about her. Did she ever truly care for me? Or was I only a means to an end? A pawn to fulfill Mama’s dreams?
“Come, chérie, the veil.” She held up the clouds of tulle veiling. Using tiny silver hairpins, she attached the wreath of orange blossoms over it.
A heavy knock sounded at the door, and Claudine went to open it. Otto Lindenmayer stood at the threshold, dapper in white tie and tails and striped trousers.
He hesitated, twisting his top hat in his hands. “Are you ready then, Lindy?” His lips trembled.
Lindy sighed. Hers wasn’t the only life ruled by Vera Lindenmayer. “Yes, Papa. As ready as can be expected.”
Her father blinked when Claudine walked forward. “Good morning, monsieur.”
“Er... good morning, Miss Roget. I’m surprised to see you.”
“It is a good thing I came, monsieur. Your poor daughter left alone with that, that pisse-vinaigre! She went off into a spout of unintelligible French.
Otto flushed a deep red, and Lindy sighed. “Claudine,” she said. “Please stop now.”
Claudine looped the train of the wedding dress over her forearm. Papa walked to Lindy and lifted the voluminous layers of the veil with difficulty until he could see her face. “Lindy...”
“Papa, please. Don’t say anything.”
Her father’s head drooped. “I wouldn’t know what to say anyway.”
He held out his arm. She took it, and with Claudine carrying the train, she left her girlhood bedroom for the last time.
At the foot of the great marble staircase, all the servants stood waiting to see her. Percy approached. “On behalf of all the staff, Miss Evangeline, I wish you great joy in your marriage.”
“Thank you, Percy. Thank y
ou, everyone. I hope things will be a bit less exciting after I’ve left.” Titters broke out at this statement.
Percy bowed. “Miss Evangeline, we all want you to know that if you ever have need of any one of us, we’d be glad to leave Madame’s service and come to you.”
A pang went through Lindy, and her throat thickened. “Why, Percy, that is most gracious of you. I greatly appreciate the sentiment. But England is so far away. I fear you would miss America greatly.”
“Nevertheless, miss, you remember what we said.” Percy bowed and stepped back.
Another tiny spark of comfort lit in Lindy’s heart. Her step felt lighter as her father and Claudine accompanied her to the carriage, decked in white roses.
Papa and the groom helped Lindy into the carriage. Claudine carefully tucked the veil inside.
Lindy glanced at her father. “Claudine is coming too.”
His eyebrows rose, but he said nothing and handed Claudine in.
Early forsythia flowered in the hedges, and fat green buds loaded every tree on the boulevard under the pale March sunshine. At the intersection of Fifth Avenue and Twenty-Third Street, a dull roar rose outside the carriage.
Papa leaned out the window. “Good gosh all mighty!”
Lindy laid a gloved hand on her father’s arm. “What is it?”
“Most of New York City has come out to celebrate your wedding day, Lindy!”
The day I become chained to the duke for the rest of my life.
A block from St. Thomas’s the carriage slowed to a crawl. Rows of policemen in navy uniforms and caps linked arms to restrain the crowds surging on the sidewalk. Cheers and shouts of “Lindenmayer!” and “Evangeline!” went up.
More officers lined the steps of the church as a few flakes of snow fell. Otto exited the carriage and held out his hand to Lindy. “Here we go,” he whispered into her ear, “steady now.”
She was anything but steady as her heart quaked in her chest, and every nerve in her body trembled. But she squeezed his arm and ascended the stairs with Claudine holding her train. The overpowering scent of roses assailed her when she stepped into the vestibule of the church.
Maddie waited for her there. “My goodness, there you are!” She peered through the layers of tulle. “That is you in there, isn’t it, Lindy?” Then she noticed Claudine. “Well, my goodness, Claudine!”
Claudine handed the train to Maddie and kissed Lindy through the veil. “I’ll see you soon, ma cher.”
Lindy barely nodded, holding herself tightly upright, trying not to think. Otto stepped up and took her arm. The notes of Lohengrin’s “Bridal Chorus” rose. Ushers opened the great doors into the sanctuary.
***
Jack Winthrop sat in the unused third balcony close to the ceiling of the church. He’d snuck in at dawn when the florists arrived to decorate the sanctuary. They had been at their work for nearly three hours now. Garlands of laurel woven with lilies and pink roses cascaded from the dome above the altar. Spirals of ivy and spider chrysanthemums circled the columns, trimmed with white and gold silk ribbon, and every pew had a spray of ferns and white roses, with pink silk ribbons that trailed to the floor. The ten-piece orchestra arrived and proceeded to set up behind the altar, accompanied by singers dressed in white silk.
At ten thirty, the guests began to arrive.
An usher escorted William Strong, the mayor of New York, to one of the front pews reserved for dignitaries. The British ambassador joined him there. Jack had seen his photograph in the newspaper. This wedding had been the talk of the city for weeks. He couldn’t pick up a paper without some mention of it.
Vera Lindenmayer arrived a moment before the bells in the tower struck eleven. Dressed in raspberry satin trimmed with mink, her flushed face matched the hue of her dress. On her head, a ridiculous tuft of feathers bobbed and floated on her lace hat as she addressed various friends and air-kissed relatives. The satisfied smile never left her face.
Eleven o’clock came and went with no sign of the bride. A faint hope arose in his heart. Has she changed her mind? Then the orchestra broke into the opening bars of the “Bridal Chorus” from Wagner’s Lohengrin.
People craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the bride. Guests at the far end of the pews actually stood on the benches so as not to miss anything. The singers stood and began the chorus. The beautiful words taunted him.
Faithfully guided, draw near
to where the blessing of love shall preserve you!
Triumphant courage, the reward of love,
joins you in faith as the happiest of couples!
The Duke of Hampshire came forward to stand with the priest at the head of the aisle. Stolid and unyielding, with a short, clipped mustache, the duke stood in his full military kit with medals upon his left breast and a blue sash across his chest. Jack searched the man’s chiseled features, but no smile of eager anticipation to see his bride crossed the aristocratic face. The violins whirled through the refrain, and the organ crashed again. The bride walked slowly down the aisle on the arm of her father, swathed in a heavy tulle veil. She carried a massive bouquet of white roses, orange blossoms, and ferns.
He checked his pocket watch and grimaced. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had barely enough time to make it to the train station as it was. But before he left to start the new life his uncle had arranged, Jack wanted one last glimpse of Miss Lindenmayer’s face, and even that had been denied him.
He clenched his fists. Soon his uncle would ask if any impediment or reason existed as to why this marriage shouldn’t go forth. He imagined shouting out his protest from the balcony. All heads would turn to gape at him as he begged Lindy not to go through with it.
But his uncle had assured him Lindy was at peace with the marriage, and nothing would stop it. New York City held nothing else for him.
This was it then. The first day of the rest of his life without her.
From the balcony, he took the side staircase and exited the church by a little-used door. Hailing a hansom cab, he set off for Grand Central depot.
***
Papa’s hand tightened on Lindy’s arm as tears welled and ran down her face under the veil. The heavy train pulled like lead weights at her legs. Somehow, she managed to put one foot in front of the other and keep going. At the altar, the duke held out his arm, and Otto transferred her hand to the duke, who took it and turned toward the altar. Thank God she didn’t have to look at him during the entire service.
The candle flames blurred into golden halos behind Reverend Winthrop as he began the service. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to witness the union of this man and this woman...”
She closed her eyes while Reverend Winthrop droned on about the significance of marriage and the meaning of the wedding vows. Inside the cocoon of her veil, she remembered Jack’s dear face and the morning after the ball when he had declared his love for her. It had all gone so wrong.
The duke gave her a tiny shake. “Evangeline,” he whispered.
She started, realizing Reverend Winthrop had spoken to her.
“Please turn and face each other,” he repeated in a strong voice.
Trembling, Lindy handed her bouquet to Maddie, who gave her an encouraging smile.
The duke took her gloved hands in his and stared at her.
“Repeat after me,” said Reverend Winthrop.
“Do you, James Alexander Bentley, Ninth Duke of Hampshire, take Evangeline Marie Lindenmayer, to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, 'til death do you part?”
“I do.” The duke’s voice rang through the sanctuary, sure and confident, as a hum of approval went through the congregation.
Reverend Winthrop turned his gaze to Lindy, and her heart quailed at how like Jack his eyes were. But these brown eyes stared at her with a merciless gaze, and her throat thickened.
“Evangeline Marie Lindenmayer, will yo
u take James Alexander Bentley, the Ninth Duke of Hampshire, to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, 'til death do you part?”
Her throbbing pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the soothing violins, and she swayed on her feet. The duke’s fingers tightened on hers.
Reverend’s Winthrop’s brows knit together. “Evangeline?” He spoke in a low tone. “Are you unwell?”
The arrogant smile playing about the duke’s mouth disappeared. He leaned toward her. “What is the matter with you?”
“Evangeline?” Reverend Winthrop cleared his throat and started again. “Do you take this—”
“I heard you.” Lindy wrenched her hands out of the duke’s and lifted her veil. A gasp went through the congregation.
The duke shook his head. “Don’t do this, Evangeline.”
Lindy ripped the veil off her head and threw it to the floor. “Do I take this man?” Her voice rang through the sanctuary. “As a matter of fact, I don’t.”
Chapter 40
Mama shrieked like a steam whistle and fainted dead away. The violin’s limpid notes veered off into a jarring screech as a cacophony of cries and exclamations swirled through the scented air.
All color drained from the duke’s face. His lips quivered as he clenched his jaw, making the tendons in his neck stand out like cords. “You’ll pay for this,” he snarled. He ran toward his mother, who had collapsed into the pew. The bridesmaids huddled together like a gaggle of confused sheep, eyes wide and their mouths agape.
“What’s the matter with you, Evangeline?” Reverend Winthrop grabbed her arm. “Have you lost your senses?”
Lindy wrenched her arm out of his grasp. “I’ve regained my senses, actually. And just in time.” She turned and faced the guests. “Go home now.”
A clamorous buzz rose as the guests dispersed, shaking their heads or whispering behind their gloved hands to each other. Well, I’ve done it now. New York society would never get over this. She could almost see the headlines on the society pages of the morning newspapers: “Dollar Princess Jilts Duke at the Altar!”