by Maya Rodale
“You make it sound so simple.”
“We could probably make it far more complicated but honestly, who has the time? We have things to do.”
Beatrice finally let go of the breath she had been holding and it came out in a burst of soft laughter. It would be a mess! It would be complicated! But with real love and their determination, they could fashion themselves a happy-ever-after.
She was going to do the thing she was scared of most in the world, for the thing she loved most in the world, with the man she desired most in the world. If there was ever a man she would take this chance on, it was him.
It could be a disaster. But she had already survived disasters, hadn’t she?
It could also be glorious.
“How soon can you make the dress?”
“I can do it before you change your mind if that’s what you’re asking.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Dalton’s Department Store
His office
Dalton was packing up the few personal effects of his office on the top floor when Beatrice, a vision in pink silk, strolled in like she already owned the place. His heartbeat quickened like she hadn’t refused him.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said by way of greeting. Ever since he’d placed that advertisement in the newspaper, he’d known he could expect her to waltz in with an offer. She wasn’t one to accept defeat or stay home for the rest of her life. She was too ambitious, too determined for that.
So, he’d expected her.
“Here I am, at long last. How do you like my dress?”
She did a slow turn to show off every flutter and fold of the Wild Rose Pink silk grown. He had an appreciation for women’s fashion and noted the artistry. But what really had his heart stopping was an appreciation for what it meant for Beatrice to walk down Broadway wearing his exclusive color.
He dared to hope this wasn’t just a business meeting.
“You in my silk looks better than I imagined. And trust me, I had imagined. Though most of my fantasies involved removing it.”
She quirked a smile. “You’re going to sell a lot of this silk now. You’ll make a fortune. Another one.”
“Too bad I’m quitting.”
“And selling.”
“I’m assuming you’ve come to make an offer.”
She came to stand just before his desk and pressed her palms on the surface and leaned forward. His gaze dropped to her breasts straining against that silk.
“Of course. And not just any offer, either. I’m going to make you the best offer you’re going to get from anyone in Manhattan, and thus, the world.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Three thousand dollars.”
Dalton laughed. The store generated millions in revenue each year, and each season only garnered more sales and more profits. This store had made him the third greatest fortune of the Gilded Age. He sold three thousand dollars’ worth of gloves. On Thursdays. At lunch.
“Macy offered me five million. Wanamaker offered me upward of that.”
“Oh, I’m not offering just three thousand cash dollars. I’m also going to give you something money can’t buy.”
“Now I’m intrigued,” he said, but his voice was rough, betraying all the heart-racing hope and tightening in his chest. Beatrice, here, in that color, hinting at offers and promises was enough to make him explode with hope.
“I’d like to propose a partnership.” She perched on his desk now, a vision of pink silk and pink lips. He was very interested in partnerships. “Let’s call it Dalton Goodwin. I’ll own the store outright and do what I like with it. And I will also be your wife.”
“Are you proposing marriage to me? Is this some ploy to get my store?”
“I also offered three thousand dollars,” she said. “No, Dalton, this is not a ploy to get your store. I still have my name, my land, and a tidy sum from insurance. I could rebuild Goodwin’s starting this afternoon if I wanted to. But if you’re selling anyway, why not sell it to me? You know I would do great things with what you have built. You know your legacy—our legacy—would be in good hands.”
This was true.
She was so much more inspired than Wanamaker.
“But I don’t care what happens to my store anymore,” he said. “I’m really only interested in you. And me.”
“I won’t promise you children,” she said. “I won’t promise that I will be home in time for dinner or that I won’t speak of business at the breakfast table. But I will love you, Dalton, in the way that only I can. Fully and completely, unapologetically and without reservations. I know you, Dalton, like no one else does. The man you were and the man you are. And I want to be with you to see the man you become. So if you think you can share me, I think I can share a little bit of me, too.”
Well, if this wasn’t everything he’d ever wanted. Beatrice, the best most beautiful and rule-breaking version of herself coming to him, offering herself to him. Offering a lifetime of love and laughter and being together. On terms he could very much accept.
But he’d been wounded before. His heart was pounding. And he was nervous that this was too good to be true. She was honest with him about what their marriage might look like, so he’d test her with the same.
“I mean it when I say I’m quitting. I intend to devote my time and fortune to philanthropic efforts,” he said.
“I know some philanthropically focused society women who will be delighted to welcome you into their fold.”
“You’ll have to support us financially. I’m going to give my fortune away.”
“I think I can manage.”
“I have plans to sell the mansion and live more simply.”
“Castles are overrated.”
“You’re proposing a marriage.”
“A merger, a marriage. Whatever you wish to call it. You and me. Together. In sickness and health, in business and pleasure, but definitely happily ever after.”
Dalton stepped from behind the desk to stand before her. He breathed her in. This bold, beautiful woman wanted to be with him just for himself and not for his prestige or power or fortune. She wanted to be by his side while he took new risks. She wanted to be in his bed, for the rest of their lives.
For the first time he truly felt like the most powerful, unstoppable man in the world.
“In all the stories, it’s the man who proposes,” he pointed out.
“You and your rules,” she sighed. “I think all that matters is we end up together and make our own happy-ever-after. Don’t you?”
Dalton pulled her into his arms and said, “I do.”
His mouth met hers and they kissed, like it was everything he’d ever wanted, like his heart was going to explode with the pleasure of it, like nothing else in the world mattered. Not the bustle of Broadway outside his office window, not the six floors of commerce and desire below them, not all the years they had missed out on.
All that mattered was this moment, here and now, and the promise of forever.
“Wait—” he said as something occurred to him. Dalton stepped back and reached into his desk drawer for a certain blue velvet box. Then he dropped to one knee and opened the box to reveal a diamond ring. He was all in favor of the unconventional if it meant being with Beatrice, but he couldn’t completely shake tradition.
“Shall we, Beatrice?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “Yes, we shall.”
Dalton slipped the ring on her finger. And they kissed, mouths and hearts colliding, losing track of where he ended and she began. They kissed like it was the only thing that mattered.
Epilogue
New York City, 1899
Four years later
Dalton never ceased to be in awe of the sight of Beatrice standing before the windows of her office, formerly his. She had such a commanding presence as she surveyed the city outside—the crush on Broadway and the former construction site across the street where Goodwin’s used to stand.
She cut
a fine figure in her deep blue tailored day dress and jacket.
This was the version of Beatrice Dalton-Goodwin that the world got to see. The impressive businesswoman, the fierce advocate for women’s rights, a lady always ready to lend a helping hand to others.
And then there was the version of Beatrice that only he got to know. For instance, he happened to know that underneath she wore the most wicked and wonderful undergarments in that Wild Rose Pink silk. The pink silk, soft skin, quiet whispers and moans version that was for him and him alone.
As if sensing him, she turned and smiled and said, “Oh, hello, Dalton.” It still took his breath away.
She took a long, indulgent look at him in his suit and he grinned. The missus did like the way he looked in a suit; almost as much as she liked how he looked without it.
“Shall we?”
“We shall.”
They linked arms and he proudly escorted her from the office to the sales floor, down the impressive central staircase, past housewares and ladies attire and home furnishings and personal accessories. She’d made some changes to the store and the decor, all to keep up with changing times, all of which ensured that the store—now called Dalton-Goodwin’s—was still the premier shopping destination in Manhattan and thus the world. There was still no name on the building; everyone just knew.
Dalton didn’t miss it and the store was now her domain. He had found his after and he’d never been happier. His days were now kept busy with his philanthropic endeavors. It was hard work spending the third greatest fortune of the age, but he was up to the task. They were off to a launch celebration now for one project that was of particular interest to them both.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Dalton. Mr. Dalton.”
Shopgirls greeted them by name, with smiles as they passed through the main floor, with perfumes, cosmetics, drinks, and other little things. They joined the crush of customers browsing and pursuing as they made their way from the register to the door, carrying their purchases in distinct pink bags. There was no need to print the name of the store on them. Everyone just knew.
“It looks like you have quite the crush,” he said as they could barely get across Broadway, to where Goodwin’s used to stand. A crowd of mostly women had gathered. He recognized Beatrice’s friends, but there were many women who simply must have seen the advertisement in the newspaper about today’s event.
“We should have shut down the street.”
“You might have to yet.”
Something special was happening today.
A christening, of sorts.
A ribbon cutting.
Four years earlier, Goodwin’s had been burned to the ground in an act of arson by an angry man who couldn’t handle losing out to a woman. He had tried to send a message to Beatrice and all the other women like her: shut up and go home. A lesser man or woman might have been scared, but Beatrice and her friends were made of stern stuff.
The rubble had been cleared.
Plans had been drawn up by Marian Morgan, architect. Construction had commenced and gone on and on and on, and now the building was finally done.
The original Goodwin’s could never be replaced. But in its place rose another building, magnificent in its own way. It was a residential building called The Goodwin full of apartment flats, exclusively for single women.
Ten floors of small apartments that were safe, clean, and affordable. The Goodwin would provide a room of one’s own for shopgirls, typists, secretaries, and future lady bosses, or any woman who needed a safe place to lay her head while striking out alone in the world.
Upon arrival, Beatrice and Dalton were swarmed by her friends Harriet, Ava, Adeline, Daisy, and Eunice.
“Should we smash a bottle of champagne against it, like a ship?” Ava asked.
“And waste a bottle of champagne?” Harriet retorted. “Absolutely not.”
“Good point.”
After some speeches and congratulations, Beatrice cut the giant Wild Rose Pink ribbon. The crowd cheered. After, Beatrice pulled him aside with a mischievous gleam in her eye.
“Meet me at the store later?” she whispered. “Let’s say housewares, at closing hour?”
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you,” he murmured. And then Dalton swept her into a kiss that had the crowd cheering and girls pretending to swoon.
Love was much, much sweeter than revenge.
Author’s Note
One of the themes in my Gilded Age Girls Club series has been reclaiming “girl stuff” that is so often deemed frivolous and inconsequential. Like romance novels, traditionally lady-centric stuff like dresses with pockets, lipstick, and shopping, is often dismissed even though—or maybe because—these things have been so empowering to women. Not just in how they make a woman feel, but because they put money in the pocket of her dress.
So, shopping. The Gilded Age is the Golden Age of the department store. Innovations like the fixed price, the ability to browse with no obligation to buy, stunning visual displays, and female salesclerks made them friendly and welcoming places to be. Many of them also offered amenities like nurseries, beauty parlors, post offices, restaurants, and libraries. As the stores got bigger—and they were massive palaces of retail—they became a destination, a place to go for the day.
As these stores increasingly appealed to women, they also became safe spaces for women to go—on their own, or at least without a man or a chaperone. Thus the department store was the first public space where respectable women could go independently without ruining their reputations. The Ladies’ Mile—a stretch of Broadway around Union Square—was the first area in New York City where respectable middle-class women could go out on their own. Once people got familiar with women being out in public to go shopping, they began to push the boundaries and go everywhere else.
Similar to department stores, women’s clubs were also popping up in this time period. The Ladies of Liberty Club is modeled on The Sorosis Society. According to the New York Times, this club “inaugurated and epitomized the women’s club movement and was itself one of the most influential organizations for women in late nineteenth-century America.” Their purpose was to further the educational and social opportunities of women. The members included activists, writers, female physicians and ministers, a fashion magazine editor, businesswomen, and even Emily Warren Roebling, the woman who oversaw the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge. These clubs gave women opportunities to learn, to practice speaking in public (!), and to normalize the idea of women getting out of the house and taking an active role in public affairs. It was no small thing.
Retail is the perfect business for a woman like Beatrice, who is desperate to get out of the house and do something. She’s inspired by two real-life women: Consuelo Vanderbilt and Margaret Getchell. Consuelo, as many people know, was forced to abandon her true love and marry the Duke of Marlborough by her mother, Alva, a force in high society. The marriage ended in divorce years later. It should be noted that Alva also divorced, remarried, and went on to be a prominent supporter of the suffrage movement.
Beatrice’s work was inspired by Margaret Getchell, whose biography is called America’s First Lady Boss, so you can imagine how fast I bought that one! In the early 1860s Margaret was hired by Richard Macy himself as an entry level clerk. Thanks to her talent for math, she was soon promoted to bookkeeper and trained other clerks, and before long was promoted to an executive position due to the many innovations she implemented that made Macy’s a success, such as adding new departments, creating stunning visual displays in the windows, adding a soda fountain, and convincing Mr. Macy to use his personal red star logo as the company’s logo. She also dressed cats up in baby clothes for a popular window display and basically unleashed American’s obsession with cat pictures. Margaret was the superintendent of a million-dollar business with two hundred employees—but she gave up her salary when her husband was made partner and worked unpaid until her death in 1880, at just thirty-eight. The character of M
argaret in this book is another tribute to her.
Margaret’s personal motto was “Be everywhere, do everything and never fail to astonish the customer,” which I gave to Wes Dalton. He is loosely inspired by real-life guy Alexander Turney Stewart who was called the Merchant Prince of Manhattan and whose retail business earned him one of the great fortunes of the age. He died one of the richest men in New York (behind a Vanderbilt and an Astor). After his death, John Wanamaker bought his store on the Ladies’ Mile and reopened it under his own name. I will also note that Stewart was a poor Irish immigrant when he started out. A small windfall—an inheritance from his grandfather—gave him the capital to start his business.
Some other characters who have real-life counterparts: Harriet Burnett is inspired by Jane Cunningham Croly, founder of the women’s club movement in the United States. Harriet’s partner, Ava Lumley, is inspired by Elsie de Wolfe who was the first professional interior decorator. Adeline the dressmaker has parallels to Madame Demorest, who popularized the paper pattern, published a monthly magazine, and decided fashion for American women for decades. Daisy Swann, the cosmetics inventor, was based on Harriet Hubbard Ayer, Helena Rubinstein, and Elizabeth Arden. Martha Matilda Harper is real—she pioneered the franchise hair salon and invented the reclining shampoo chair. The briefly mentioned architect Marian Morgan is inspired by Julia Morgan, one of the first female architects and the designer of Hearst Castle.
Josephine Shaw Lowell was real, as was her “White List,” which highlighted the companies that were treating their female employees right. In other words, instead of a boycott she started a “buycott” to attempt to harness women’s purchasing power to make a positive difference in the world. Lastly, I got the idea for my Detective Hyde from the New York Times obituary of Isabella Goodwin, a police matron who went undercover as a maid in a boarding house to help nab the suspect of a bank heist. (Someone please write this as a standalone romance.)