Duchess by Design: The Gilded Age Girls Club

by Maya Rodale

  “Do you think she’ll like it?” he asked. Everything depended upon it being to her taste.

  “How could she not like the pride and joy of the Kingston family jewels?” Freddie quipped, looking down at the hard object in the duke’s hand.

  The diamond they admired sparkled in the setting sun. The ring featured one large, princess-cut diamond in a gold setting, flanked by deep blue sapphires. It was nestled into a velvet box after having been reset and polished by Mr. Tiffany himself.

  It sparkled and reflected wealth, prestige, former glory, and grand promises for the future.

  “The roof of Lyon House may be leaking but we still have the family jewels,” Kingston said dryly. “My mother fainted—actually fainted—when I suggested selling some to settle debts.”

  “Priorities.”

  “I do need a ring befitting my future duchess. It must be something that will stand out among Miss Van Allen’s other jewels.”

  “That one is certainly large enough.”

  It would be the wedding of the season. The visiting English Duke would wed New York City’s richest and prettiest heiress, Miss Alice Van Allen. After his near misses with Miss Olivia Watson and Miss Elsie Pennypacker—and his impossibly distracting attraction to Miss Adeline Black—Kingston had finally found a suitable bride to supply him the fortune he needed, and presumably an heir, a spare, and a pleasing face across the breakfast table so long as they both shall live.

  Everything was progressing as planned.

  He should be ecstatic.

  He had yet to formally propose, but he’d spoken with her father and learned that Mrs. Van Allen had already reserved Grace Church for a Sunday in July. There was already talk of the gown, the guest list, and a honeymoon at their cottage in Newport.

  For his part, Kingston was already making specific plans for her dowry, which couldn’t come soon enough. A fire at his stables had recently caused significant damage—the horses and groomsmen were unharmed, thank God, but it was another urgent and crucial expense. Despite his advice, his mother had acquired the desired ermine cape—along with a matching gown and complementary hat. He thought Adeline would at least want the dressmakers and milliners to be paid.

  Adeline . . .

  These were good reasons, noble and honorable reasons to wed a woman he did not love. He would be kind, faithful, and would certainly try to be a good husband to her. He would put her dowry to good use, not just wager it all away. Before he’d met Adeline, Kingston thought that would be enough to bring to a marriage—never mind his title and status, too. But now he felt like he was cheating Miss Van Allen out of something.

  Maybe even cheating himself, too.

  Had he known when he stepped into the elevator with Adeline that she would force him to review and revise every expectation he had for marriage and the rest of his life, would he still have stepped in with her? Would he still have let himself be charmed and enchanted and changed?

  Could he still go on with his plans, even if he had known something like love?

  These questions were the reasons he had not slept and why he still had not popped the question, though everyone was expecting it at any moment now.

  “When will you propose?” Freddie asked. “I imagine there is some urgency.”

  “Soon.”

  As soon as he could stop thinking of Adeline and plan a proper proposal. Or even sooner, so he could stop thinking about Adeline. He had abruptly cut off all contact with her after that kiss—for what purpose did they have to connect, other than to torture himself with wanting to kiss her again? He thought the distance would spare him the torture of wondering what if or if only or other emotional, romantic nonsense.

  He was wrong.

  Grievously, achingly wrong.

  He thought of her constantly.

  “Soon,” he repeated firmly. “Within the week, after they return from Newport. I imagine her mother will want time to plan a ball announcing the betrothal.”

  “Nothing says true love like logistics.”

  “You know love has nothing to do with it.”

  “Wrong,” Freddie said sharply, to Kingston’s surprise. “Love has everything to do with it. Perhaps you don’t love your bride yet, but you are doing this out of love for your dukedom, your family, your tenants, your legacy. Your honor. Your duty. Love.”

  Kingston felt his chest tighten. Love. Of course.

  Leave it to Freddie to surprise him with such an astute observation.

  “When you put it like that . . .” was all he could say. This was verging precariously into the territory of emotion.

  “Enough of the sentimental talk,” Freddie said. “Let us go out to celebrate your impending betrothal and the end of your freedom. I know just the place.”

  They were nearly ready to depart when there was an urgent knock on the door.

  “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “No.”

  The knocking was accompanied by the sound of a commotion in the hall.

  Freddie tilted his head. “Does that sound like—?”

  “Oh bloody hell, it does.” Kingston closed his eyes.

  Or maybe he winced.

  He definitely cringed.

  A chorus of women’s voices rose up in the hall. English-accented voices. Two of them bickering and one voice rising above with a “now now” of mothers everywhere.

  The door burst open.

  Sisters.

  His two sisters and his mother. Here. In New York. Unexpectedly.

  He knew that silence from telegrams was too good to be true.

  “Mother. My dear sisters. You are not in London. Where you live.”

  “We simply had to see New York!” That was Nora, pushing into the room and heading straight for the window to admire the view.

  “I thought about it, darling . . .” his mother began, as she removed a hat decorated with an atrociously colorful assortment of plumage and he wondered how many exotic birds relinquished their lives so that his mother could feel fashionable.

  Ah, Miss Van Allen was having an effect on him already.

  “. . . and I decided that I just couldn’t let my only son make such a monumental decision as to who should replace me as the duchess on his own. A mother’s guidance is needed . . . or something.”

  “We wanted to see New York,” Clara explained, flopping down onto the settee and making herself right at home.

  “And Clara was plotting to elope with some impoverished academic, who studies philosophy of all the useless things,” Nora said. “She had to be stopped.”

  “We’re in love!”

  “There were also creditors plaguing us,” his mother murmured.

  “Plaguing you?”

  “Yes, and your secretary refused to extend credit to my dressmaker and I simply couldn’t be the only one who wasn’t wearing a fox-fur stole. We are Kingston; we have standards to uphold.”

  “And what rare bird supplied the feathers in this hat?”

  “Oh, who even knows? Do you like it? They’re all the rage in London.”

  “The hat pins are studded with precious gems,” Clara added.

  “It all looks very expensive.”

  “All the best things are.” The duchess patted his cheek affectionately. As if he were still a small boy and not a grown man tasked with controlling her spending and serving as head of the family and saving a dwindling empire.

  “Mother, did Father ever make you feel like a caged animal? Is that why you want an ermine cape and a fox-fur stole?”

  His three female relations paused to stare at him, mouths agape, in stunned silence.

  “Wherever would you get an idea like that?”

  “Just something that occurred to me one day.”

  Beside him Freddie murmured, “Sounds like something Miss Black would say.”

  Kingston turned sharply to his cousin; why did Freddie know what Adeline would say? He hadn’t realized his cousin knew her so well. He also hadn’t anticipated such a tho
ught would result in a fiery burst of jealousy but there it was, burning him up.

  What was it to him if she and Freddie had . . . something? His cousin might not be faithful to his wife, but Kingston would be. He meant to sacrifice his happiness to fulfill his duty to those who relied on him. It was his honor. His duty.

  He’d made his choice. He had done the math, weighed the options, and made his decision. Kingston’s hand fisted around the diamond ring in his pocket as if it were a lifeline, which it was.

  Marry me, Miss Alice Van Allen.

  For the feathers. For the birds. His mother had needed some diversion from her train wreck of a husband; he could not begrudge her some millinery.

  So Clara and Nora could marry for love, respectably. For the tenants and the roofs.

  It was all more important than his own happiness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Many New Yorkers enjoy taking refuge from the hustle and bustle of the city in one of the rooftop theaters popping up around town.

  —The New York World

  Later that evening

  Kingston was a duke in need of a diversion. Between his impending, unwanted betrothal and the unexpected arrival of his mother and sisters, a drink was definitely in order. He gladly accepted Freddie’s offer to join some friends—the Rogues of Millionaire Row, the press had dubbed them—for a rollicking night on the town.

  It might just be his last hurrah.

  A farewell to his bachelor days.

  Tonight they eschewed the formal society entertainments and headed for more democratic haunts where one might hear music or see a show, have a drink, and take in the vibrancy of the city. The crew of rich, rowdy men—plus the duke—dropped in at the Casino Theater on Broadway and Thirty-ninth Street. They took in a musical show—The Belle of New York—and then they headed up.

  Kingston had never seen anything like it. A garden had been established on the roof of the theater for public enjoyment, where anyone might procure a beverage, enjoy entertainments and other company, and simply enjoy the (relatively) fresh air and quiet, both rare finds in the heat and din of the city. It was a welcome respite for the stay-at-homes, otherwise known as those who could not afford to leave the city for, say, a Newport cottage. This was not an exclusive enclave of the Four Hundred or a private pleasure ground for men; it was open to all.

  From this vantage, the city rose up around him, some buildings meeting him at eye level and others demanding he look heavenward. On the street, one could easily feel overwhelmed and downtrodden by the force and size and stink of the city. But to stand at this height and look out at those increasingly towering buildings—built by nobodies, with nothing but ambition, desperation, and hard work—was to feel the desire to conquer the town and to get excited by the possibility of it.

  When one experienced something new and exciting on one’s travels, the instinct was to share it with someone. Kingston was no exception. The problem was that he wanted to share this with Adeline. Isn’t that view of the sun setting over the skyline stunning? No, there is nothing like this in London. Can you imagine having the vision to build something like this, that has never been done before? Yes, I imagine you can, Adeline...

  Freddie and his rogues had wandered off to pair up with whatever lovely ladies they could strike up a conversation with. From his position near the balustrade, Kingston watched them laugh, flirt, carouse, and generally act as if behavior had no consequences and fortunes lasted forever. He spotted a few of the gents he’d met at the club or at various parties, and they, too, were clearly on the prowl for women with whom to spend the night.

  This place, this night, was about a moment’s pleasure. Not one’s duty, not forever.

  “Kingston!” Freddie calling out to him. “Look who I found!”

  He looked over to where Freddie was waving at him in a manner too enthusiastic to be dignified, but admittedly there was no other option for getting someone’s attention in this crush.

  It wasn’t as if this was Mrs. Astor’s ballroom, after all.

  Freddie, being Freddie, was not alone. Nor was he devoid of female company. He stood in the middle of three dark-haired beauties whom Kingston happened to recognize.

  Adeline. She stood stiffly, with Freddie’s arm around her waist. She was with her friends Rose, the world’s most wonderfully bad chaperone; and the no-nonsense Rachel (Miss Abrams, to him though).

  Of course. Of all the rooftop gardens in Manhattan, they had both gone to the same one. On the same night. At the same bewitching hour of dusk, between daylight and darkness. Had he been a more superstitious man, he’d have thought it fate. Instead, in a sign that the city was getting under his skin, he thought it so very New York.

  “Isn’t it our lucky night?” Freddie grinned.

  Lucky night indeed.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” Kingston remarked to Adeline. Just seeing her transformed him from forlorn, foreign-born bachelor to just a man standing in front of just the girl his heart desired.

  “We need to stop meeting like this,” she said with a little laugh.

  “Do we?” He lifted one brow. At least Rose appeared charmed.

  “We’re out for a last hurrah,” Freddie explained with a devilish grin. “Before my cousin pops the question and gets himself committed.”

  There was a beat of awkward silence.

  “Congratulations are in order, I suppose,” Adeline said.

  “It’s too soon for that,” Kingston replied, meeting her gaze.

  “Have you not yet proposed?” she inquired, and he couldn’t tell if she was just repeating her lines from their first encounter or genuinely asking. He was struck by how much it mattered.

  “He’s got the ring. But he hasn’t got the girl,” Freddie interjected. “He’s dragging his feet for some reason.”

  “What reason could that be, I wonder?” Rose said, pointedly.

  “I honestly could not imagine,” Rachel added.

  “It defies logic and reason,” Adeline said.

  “Drinks?” Kingston offered. “Would anyone care for a drink? Some champagne, perhaps?”

  He dispatched Freddie to procure a bottle of champagne. With any luck, he’d get distracted from his task and leave Kingston alone with Adeline and her friends.

  Rose and Rachel flanked her like guardian angels who would lose their wings if they so much as glanced away from their friend. There would be no stealing away alone with Adeline tonight, much as he may desire to. Her lovely, charming, and somewhat terrifying friends made that abundantly clear.

  “Well, if it isn’t the Duke of Kingston,” Rose said stepping forward to enclose him in their circle.

  “The most eligible bachelor in town,” Rachel added.

  “The stuff of dreams and fantasy,” Rose continued.

  “Stop,” Adeline said, cheeks adorably pink. “Stop! You are all embarrassing me.”

  “I should be the one embarrassed. What high standards I am held to. I couldn’t possibly live up to them. Unless I am succeeding at being the stuff of your dreams and fantasies?”

  Adeline’s cheeks reddened considerably now, confirming that yes, he was the stuff of her dreams and fantasies. His chest might have swelled with pride.

  “Seems like it’s my turn to tease you,” he murmured.

  “Adeline has told us all about you,” Rose cut in, coming to the rescue of her friend.

  “Has she now?” He leaned in. This he wanted to hear.

  “If we don’t change the subject, I think I might actually die of mortification,” Adeline said. But everyone ignored her.

  “Oh yes,” Rachel said, eyes bright with mischief. “She raved and raved about the fine tailoring of your suit on the day you first met.”

  “My suit, not what’s inside of it?”

  “Adeline has her priorities in order,” Rachel countered.

  “Yes,” Adeline echoed. “Priorities.”

  Her cheeks were now pink in a way that suggested she wasn’t envisioning the
fine tailoring of his suit, but what it concealed. Stuff of dreams and fantasies indeed.

  It meant something to know that this something between them was not one-sided. An infatuation of his own was more easily dismissed than a real and deep attraction between the two of them.

  But it was too early in the evening for such a discussion.

  “What brings you all out this evening?”

  “Can’t working girls have a little fun after sewing all day?”

  “On a fine night like tonight, how can one stay in?”

  “If anyone deserves a little fun, it is the ladies of the House of Adeline,” he said. “I see your dresses everywhere I go now—ballrooms, social calls, Fifth Avenue after church on Sunday. I am always reminded of you.”

  “What torture that must be for you,” Rachel said.

  “You have no idea,” he replied.

  “Oh, isn’t he a romantic one,” Rose commented.

  “Stop, you might make us swoon,” Rachel said.

  “Don’t you all carry smelling salts in those famous pockets of yours?”

  “I would think you might, Duke, with all the swooning ladies you leave in your wake,” Adeline said.

  “Alas, I don’t have any with me tonight, so take care not to be overcome with desire or emotion,” he replied. “But I see plenty of women here tonight wearing House of Adeline dresses, so perhaps someone else has some tucked away.”

  “We can hardly keep up with the demand,” Rose said proudly. “You don’t even want to know how long our waitlist is.”

  “Our appointment book really is full now,” Miss Abrams added. “In case you were in the mood for another dress fitting.”

  He laughed.

  “Congratulations on your success. May your appointment book always be full.”

  He meant it: he had every wish for their good fortune. There was no overlooking the fact that these women had worked hard—from the long hours diligently stitching and sewing each gown, to the great risk of creating something new and presenting it to the world—and they deserved to enjoy their success.

  To think, these women had started with nothing, truly. Adeline was right—he had thought being broke was when his club membership came due, he did not know the fear of not having a place to live or a way to earn his bread. Only now did he even stop to consider what that must feel like for them.