by Nikki Poppen
There was so much evidence to the contrary. The girls she knew who had married abroad had not married happily. The excitement of the engagement and the wedding had paled quickly against the realities of English living. The new brides had been wooed solely for the money they brought to empty coffers. Then they were tucked away in the country, forced to kowtow to resident family members who looked down their noses because they weren’t English while their husbands went off to London to spend the fortune. That life was not for her. Even though Gannon had promised something different, she could not risk it.
Audrey picked up the binoculars again and followed the boat’s progress. “We’re gaining, Mother!” she cried excitedly. The finish line was in view, and her father’s yacht had nearly caught the lead boat.
The carriages started pulling over atop the bluffs, disgorging their passengers. People made their way down the long wooden staircase leading to the docks where the ships would make berth. Audrey joined them, barely able to contain her excitement.
At the docks, the judges were already set up high in a raised viewing dais. Audrey pushed forward through the crowd of onlookers. Did she imagine it, or was her father’s boat ahead by the length of a prow?
Her father’s boat crossed the finish a half length ahead of Astor’s. Audrey ran to the edge of the dock where Gannon and her father had come ashore, flushed and excited with their victory. Gannon saw her and swept her up into his arms, kissing her soundly to the delight of the crowd.
“You did it!” Audrey cried. “I saw it all through the binoculars. You were splendid!”
“Camberly is a born sailor. Too bad he loves the land so much” Her father clapped Gannon on the back.
Audrey hugged her father too. Then she was back in Gannon’s arms, looking up into his tanned face, and wishing this moment could be forever, the two of them laughing under the summer sun. A thought nagged at her. It could be forever; all she had to do was say yes.
But she didn’t say it, and the last week of summer slipped away, until it was time to drive the carriage down Ocean Drive to the Southern-styled mansion of the Stuyvesant Fishes for the annual Harvest Ball.
Audrey was nervous. She fiddled with her fan, sitting opposite her parents. She and Gannon had gone over the jilt one last time this afternoon. She had offered to shoulder the blame for the failed engagement, but Gannon had insisted the scandal fall on his shoulders as much as possible. After all, he said with a characteristically charming smile, he would sail for England and never look back.
They would give out that he’d been obliged to honor a pre-existing marriage contract involving a family friend, something arranged years ago by their fathers and only just now unearthed when Gannon’s solicitors were preparing the marriage paperwork. Being a man of honor, Gannon felt he must uphold the previous contract signed by his father.
It was a good story. With luck, even Gannon would come out of it with minimal scandal. How could such honor be faulted?
The white facade of Crossways loomed, and their carriage let them out. Everyone was in high spirits, caught up in the excitement and bustle of Season’s close. Tonight, Newport’s high society would dance until sunrise. Tomorrow, they’d sleep late while their maids and footmen began the task of shutting down the great houses that lined the cliffs.
Tomorrow would be a difficult day. Her mother would be inconsolable, and she would have to contend with it. Gannon would be gone by late afternoon on the night ferry to New York. It was a day earlier than he’d originally planned, but she understood his need to distance himself from Newport, from her, once he’d played his part. She would face Violet’s wrath alone. It was the least she could do after all Gannon had done.
Gannon was waiting for the St. Clairs under the porte cochere, offering his arm to Audrey and looking stiffly formal as they had planned. His usual charm was restrained tonight. They’d decided he had to give off the impression that something was not quite right from the start. Otherwise, his sudden need to break with her would not be believable.
He led her out for the opening Grand March and the subsequent first waltz. “I can’t believe we’re doing this, Audrey,” he whispered through the first turn.
“Doing what? Waltzing?” she tried to tease.
The effort failed. “Calling off the engagement”
“It was never real, Gannon,” Audrey reminded him, trying not to concentrate on the feel of his hand at her back, trying not to think of this as possibly the last time they’d dance together.
Gannon quirked an elegant dark eyebrow. “Never? It seemed real to me, for a few days at least.”
“Yes, of course it was. I didn’t mean that part, of course” Audrey covered her blunder.
“It was nice to dream for a while that you loved me, Audrey.” He gave her a sad smile and quickly whipped her around the turn at the top of the ballroom.
“I do love you, Gannon” The words were out in a rush before she could hesitate and lose them.
“You do?” He looked doubtful.
“I meant to tell you the other day in the conservatory before my father came in,” Audrey explained, but Gannon still looked doubtful.
“Well, maybe you do love me, just not enough” The waltz ended, and Gannon straightened his shoulders. “Shall we do it now?”
Audrey swallowed and gathered her courage. They’d plotted to do it early after the first waltz. It didn’t make sense that Gannon would drag out the announcement until the middle of the evening. “Let me look at you one last time.” She reached up and placed her hands on his broad shoulders, making a smoothing motion over the fabric of his coat, her heart breaking. It was for the best; Vienna called. “I wanted to remember you the way you are right now, tall and handsome,” Audrey said softly right before she pulled back her hand and slapped the Earl of Camberly across the face in the middle of the ballroom.
Audrey buckled the last of the straps on her steamer trunk. The rest of the luggage was already in the main hall, waiting for the porter. Excitement, mixed with a sense of bittersweetness, fluttered in her stomach. She was leaving for Amsterdam at four o’clock out of New York Harbor. The intervening weeks between leaving Newport and preparing for this moment had been arduous. She’d more than earned this moment.
Her room was bare; her personal items had either been boxed up for safekeeping or packed in her luggage. Part of her couldn’t believe this was happening at last. Her dream was about to start! Part of her was still trying to reconcile the happiness she felt over the impending journey with the unhappiness that had swamped her since Gannon had left. Had it been only two weeks?
It seemed an eternity since their fateful display at Crossways. Her slap had ensured that her parents came running and ushered them into a quiet salon to discuss the matter that had upset their daughter on the dance floor.
Gannon had masterfully played his part, stoically bearing the brunt of her father’s initial anger over the broken engagement. She had not realized at the time that when he strode out of the salon and into the night, she’d not have a chance to see him again. He had given her a courteous, stiff good-bye befitting the occasion and simply left.
Their ruse had gone well. After a few days, her father seemed to put Gannon’s choice into perspective. He even went so far as to say that Gannon was a man of honor; it was just too bad that his honor precluded the engagement. But Audrey’s mother had been predictably upset. She’d wanted to call out the lawyers and force Gannon to uphold the contract he’d negotiated with Wilson. It had taken all of Wilson’s patience and skill to remind her on numerous occasions that the contract clearly stated the negotiations were only legitimate if they were precluded by no other existing contracts. In this most unfortunate case, there were indeed contracts that predated this one.
Audrey had tearfully nodded her understanding and sad acceptance of the situation. The tears hadn’t been feigned. She had no difficulty conjuring the demeanor suitable for a lost engagement.
She missed Gannon immensely. S
he’d always appreciated his wit and easy conversation. She’d come to rely on his strength and insights, his values and ethics, far more than she realized. His absence left a regrettable void that Audrey doubted could be filled by anyone or anything. Not even her music. It was the first time her music had failed to sustain her completely.
There was a knock on her door. “Miss, your parents are downstairs, and the carriages are here,” a maid called.
“I’ll be down in a moment,” Audrey replied. She cast a last look around her room. There remained only one thing to do. She went to her writing table and opened a small drawer used for pens and ink. She pulled out a slim folder, the kind used for traveling, and opened the cover. Inside was her ticket.
The sight of the ticket made her smile. A large envelope had been waiting for her when the family returned to New York. Inside had been a short letter, nothing more than a couple of lines, from Gannon. It read simply, Audrey, get on the ship. I bought this ticket for you in case your parents prove reluctant. I thought you’d prefer the earlier sailing date. Underneath the sheet of paper had been a ticket that stole her breath. Even now, her breath caught at the sight of it: one first-class accommodation, White Star Line, leaving September 1, four o’clock.
Her father had purchased her a ticket, swayed by her lack of appetite and sorrowful face, but Gannon’s ticket meant so much more for what it represented: his belief in her and the overwhelming reality that he’d loved her enough to give her up for her dreams.
Audrey caught sight of herself in the long pier glass. She straightened her shoulders and smoothed her cream and blue traveling suit. She looked good. She looked strong. Gannon would appreciate that. With her chin up, she stepped out of her bedroom and took the first step into her new life. She shut the door behind her and whispered to the hallway, “Thank you, Gannon”
Gannon pushed a hand through his hair, his roan hunter, Brutus, shifting beneath him as he looked out over Camberly land from a rise. Below him the wheat fields swayed in the fall wind. There was a nip in the air that reminded him summer was definitely gone. Pride swelled in his chest. This was his domain, and it was safe. He gave a critical glance to the sky. A little rain would be good. Too much rain would destroy the harvest, keeping the wheat too damp for reaping.
“You worry like a farmer.” Garrett Atherton chuckled beside him, correctly noting the reason for his friend’s gaze skyward.
“Too much rain means empty bellies and a long winter,” Gannon said. All the money in the world couldn’t control the harvest.
“It will be a much drier winter for many,” Garrett said.
“That reminds me, we should go down to the village and look over the new roofs,” Gannon said, turning Brutus away from the lip of the rise.
“Andrew can do it. In fact, I think he’d like to. He did a fine job while you were away,” Garrett put in.
“I’d like to see them anyway,” Gannon said tersely. He’d like anything that kept him busy. Since his return a few weeks ago, he’d found that the solution to missing Audrey lay in keeping busy. Fortunately, Camberly was the ideal antidote. There was always plenty to do, indoors and out.
In many ways, Camberly was acting as a balm. He was proud of the improvements Andrew had made per his instructions. He was proud of what people in the village were saying about Moira and the visits she’d paid to invalids. Even at fourteen, she’d stepped up and assumed the duties of the lady of the manor. He loved Camberly, and it felt good to be home. Garrett might laugh that he was more farmer than earl when he was home in the country, but Gannon didn’t care. He rather liked it. He’d had enough of playing a part in Newport.
Would Audrey like Camberly? Was she enjoying Vienna? Was she happy playing the part she’d chosen? These were not new thoughts to Gannon. He’d gotten used to thinking them countless times a day-whenever he looked at Camberly wheat, whenever he listened to Moira’s amateurish efforts at the piano. In fact, it took very little to conjure up thoughts of Audrey. Even the smallest reference would suffice.
The thoroughfare was wide enough for two horses, and Garrett had brought his horse alongside. His friend was staring queerly at him. “I told you no good could come of haring off to America,” Garrett chided.
Gannon furrowed his brow. “What do you mean? I went looking for a fortune and found it. Much good has come from the trip,” he countered.
“You went looking for a wife, and I think you found a fortune and a broken heart instead,” Garrett scolded.
“I seem to recall your rather pointed words about whoring myself like a common doxy. I’d think you’d be thrilled I’ve returned unattached and free to marry elsewhere”
Garrett snorted. “I would be thrilled if you were thrilled. Whoever she was, she gave you no less than you deserved. Still, I’d like to hear about her when you’re ready to talk.”
“Hear about whom?” Gannon said casually.
“Whoever it was who broke your heart,” Garrett replied matter-of-factly.
December, Vienna
“Whoever it was who broke your heart did a good job,” Audrey’s music tutor said tersely, slapping his conducting baton against the palm of his hand.
“No one’s broken my heart,” Audrey retorted stiffly from the piano bench, where she’d just completed a rather sad rendition of a Schubert lieder.
“Really? I beg to differ, Fraulein. Let’s try it again with a little more verve. It’s a lieder, not a dirge. Soft, pastoral is appropriate; utterly melancholy is not”
Audrey launched into the piece again, making an effort to keep the feeling of the piece more upbeat. This time she succeeded, but it wasn’t the first time she’d had to overcome a tendency toward melancholy.
Vienna was lively, filled with intellectual life and culture. The conservatory had lived up to all her expectations and she to its. Her marks at midterm were excellent. She loved her study of music theory and the great composers. But while Vienna seethed with life about her-dazzling parties and salons and culture-the void left by Gannon still gaped.
She’d sat down to write to Gannon on a few occasions but never sent the letters. Perhaps he wouldn’t want to hear about Vienna. Perhaps it would be too hurtful, or perhaps it didn’t hurt anymore. Maybe he’d moved on and relegated her to the past.
He’d said he’d wait, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. She had no business expecting him to hold to that promise. It had been an emotional time. Audrey brought the Schubert piece to a close.
“Much better, Fraulein. We’re finished for the day”
Audrey breathed a sigh of relief. She needed a walk about the city to clear her head and to cheer her. She pulled on a coat and went to stroll around the park near the school. It was only two o’clock. There was plenty of time to enjoy the afternoon.
A man and woman drove past in a fashionable buggy, laughing. A child ran across her path, chasing a ball. All around her, people were together, and she was alone.
She scolded herself for wallowing so deeply in selfpity. She wasn’t alone. She had her classmates. She had her music. She had the attentions of a fine patron of the arts in Vienna, Louis de Rocherer. But he didn’t have hers. No one had hers. Except Gannon.
Audrey started to run, unmindful of the stares thrown her way. She wasn’t sure what she meant to do. She didn’t want to be sure. She didn’t want to think. She ran back to her living quarters and threw a few things into a bag. She hailed a cab for the bank. She made a withdrawal and headed for the train station. She was going to England. She was going to Gannon. If he would still have her.
The Yule log gave off the heady scent of pine brought indoors, reminiscent of Camberly Christmases past. Gannon surveyed the drawing room, full of villagers and merchants alike enjoying the celebrations. Tonight, Camberly’s doors were wide open to all, long trestle tables groaning with silver and food: puddings and roasts and dressings and vegetables and holiday sweets, gingerbread and mince pies.
Swags of greenery draped the enormous, man-
sized mantel of the drawing room fireplace. People whirled to the steps of a country dance. Moira came to him, tugging on his hand and looking a wondrous mix of woman and child in her new blue velvet gown. He recognized its lace as some of the trimmings he’d bought with Audrey in Newport. “Brother, come dance with me. You’re the only one not dancing.”
Gannon could not resist her. It was Christmas Eve, and he hadn’t danced since the Harvest Ball. He let Moira lead him into the fray. People cheered at the sight of the earl among them. Gannon felt his spirits lift. He sashayed Moira up the column. He tried not to think of Audrey, he tried to keep his thoughts fixed on Moira’s dancing dark eyes, but a movement beyond the phalanx of dancers caught his eye.
Chocolate hair. Great, now he was hallucinating. But the vision came again, this time with eyes that met his, the color of a robin’s egg. Andrew was with her, gesturing. The vision was moving toward him. Heedless of the confusion he caused in the dance line, he moved toward it, hardly daring to believe his eyes. Audrey was here. She was dressed plainly and looked as if she’d traveled hard.
“Audrey? Is it you?”
“Gannon.” She flung herself into his arms, laughing, crying. Around them, people stared. A few tut-tutted at the use of the earl’s first name.
He tightened his arms about her, his joy overflowing. “What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t do it without you, Gannon,” Audrey confessed, her face lighting at the sight of him. “It was all wrong without you. I am here because I can’t be anywhere else. Will you still have me?”
Gannon answered her with a kiss that spoke the volumes of his soul and the depth of his devotion, while the people of Camberly cheered their approval.
A theatre in London, almost a year later
Audrey St. Clair, now known to her new friends better as Lady Camberly, rose from the piano bench and swept the standing audience at Royal Albert Hall a deep, gracious curtsey. The audience was generous with their rapturous applause. Tears of joy pricked Audrey’s eyes as roses were thrown to the stage. She moved to gather them up, noting that many of them were American Beauties.