She lifted the lid off a beautiful serving dish that had terrapin soup inside it. After taking a whiff of what was certainly going to be a delicious dish, she returned the lid. “If anything, you should take the delivery of these meals as a sign you’ll be able to take the rest of the day off, since obviously you’re not going to need to prepare any meals today.”
“I can’t stop making the pies I was preparing for supper, and the rack of lamb is already basting in the ice chest.”
“It would be a shame if a marvelous rack of lamb went to waste,” Gwendolyn agreed.
“A crime is more like it,” Mrs. Boyle muttered, returning to her pie crust.
“But there’s no possibility we can eat all this food,” Ethel said. “Even if Walter were here, it’s too many dishes, which leaves me with the dilemma of what we should do with it. I hate to chuck it into the refuse pile.”
“Terrapin should never be chucked into a refuse pile,” Mrs. Boyle said, abandoning her rolling pin again.
“Indeed, but I have no idea how to handle the madness that has swept into Sea Haven,” Ethel said before she nodded to Gwendolyn. “That’s why I’m relieved you’ve come to visit. You seem to have a very managing way about you. Any suggestions on how I should dispose of what is truly a feast of magnificent proportions?”
Gwendolyn began wandering around the kitchen, stopping when a thought sprang to mind. She turned to Ethel.
“Dare I hope you’re acquainted with Mr. Ward McAllister?”
Ethel arched a brow. “I’m a Knickerbocker, dear, as well as a Townsend.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, and also take that to mean you’re familiar with Mr. McAllister’s love of throwing spur-of-the-moment picnics at his Newport residence, Bayside Farm. I believe he’s always telling people he’s asked to “get up” a picnic several times during the Newport Season, something he apparently relishes doing.”
“He does savor entertaining at his farm, although he always makes certain everyone knows what a trial it can be, assigning everyone what dishes to bring for his picnics,” Ethel said.
Gwendolyn’s lips curved. “Then he’ll jump at the chance to not have to worry about that because you’ll be supplying all the food.”
“Rumor has it Mr. McAllister’s staff isn’t always pleased about all the extra work his spontaneous picnics involve,” Mrs. Boyle said, dusting her hands together. “But I’ll volunteer to help set up, as well as bring a few of our maids and footmen to help. It’ll be my pleasure because it’ll allow me to get my kitchen back and”—she directed a smile to Ethel—“it’ll put you in Mr. McAllister’s good graces, which may have him offering to assist you with the final details for the ball you’re hosting in a few weeks.”
“You’re hosting a ball?” Gwendolyn asked.
Ethel nodded. “It’s a Townsend family tradition to host a ball in Newport. And if Ward McAllister agrees to help me, it’ll be one of the balls of the Season.”
“Then may I suggest you get on your way to speak with Mr. McAllister?” Gwendolyn said. “I overheard him saying yesterday at Bailey’s Beach he planned to scour his farm for flowers today and then spend the rest of the morning arranging those flowers for Mrs. Astor, who apparently enjoys it when Ward sends her his arrangements.”
“Caroline does appreciate Ward fawning over her, but don’t tell him I said that.” Ethel settled her gaze on Gwendolyn. “Thank you, Miss Brinley, for your brilliant suggestion. I had a feeling you’d know what to do. Any thoughts on how I should explain why Walter isn’t in Newport when I said he was expected today?”
Gwendolyn shot a glance to the window, where weak sunlight was streaming through, and smiled. “Simply tell everyone, if you’re asked, he was delayed due to inclement weather, which could have very well been the case if he’d intended on returning today because it didn’t stop raining until I was on my way here. With that settled, while you resolve matters with Mr. McAllister, I’m going to spend time with the children.”
Curiosity flickered through Ethel’s eyes. “Because . . . ?”
Gwendolyn began moseying around the kitchen, lifting a lid on a bowl that had crabcakes nestled inside. “Walter made a valid point on Sunday,” she began, returning the lid and moving on to a large tureen that held some type of shrimp soup. “He told me I wasn’t putting much effort into his situation, and he was right. I’d allowed myself to become distracted with the concerns of other gentlemen.”
She abandoned the soup and turned to Ethel. “That’s why I spent the last few days speaking with as many ladies as I could, running them down in the shops on Bellevue Avenue, sitting beside them at numerous outside cafés, and mingling with them at the evening festivities. The only problem with all that, though, is I’m not discovering very much about these ladies, because all they want me to know is that they’ll make excellent mothers, which hasn’t exactly been helpful.”
“How is that not helpful? Walter’s main priority is to provide the children with a mother,” Ethel said.
“True, but all the potential candidates are now focusing on that one requirement, trying to convince me their greatest ambition in life is to become mothers. With that said, I’ve yet to be convinced any of these ladies are qualified to become an instant stepmother, because no one seems to want to expand on their maternal instincts when I question them.”
“You’ve been questioning society ladies about their maternal instincts?”
“How else would I be able to point Walter in the right direction?”
“But they’re society. They don’t learn maternal matters at any of the finishing schools they’ve attended.”
“Perhaps not, but one would think they’d at least expand on any experience they may have with children. I’m not a mother, but I have younger siblings, and because of that, I’m comfortable dealing with the idiosyncrasies of youth. I imagine most of these ladies have siblings, or at least young cousins, but not once has anyone mentioned that to me. When you add that in with how I haven’t been able to get Walter to tell me anything about what he expects in a wife except he would like to rub along nicely with her, I had no choice but to rethink my tactics. That’s why I need to speak with the children.”
Ethel scratched her nose. “Why do I get the distinct impression you’re not happy about Walter’s only requirement in a potential wife?”
“Walter should expect more, and I’ve decided I’m going to find that more for him.”
“But Walter and Vivian simply enjoyed a somewhat distant relationship, and neither of them seemed bothered by that in the least.” Ethel took a step closer. “And while it’s commendable you’re hoping to find something more for my son, Walter is not an overly emotional gentleman. He takes after his father, Thomas, in that regard. He’s also consumed with business, which means a lady who might hold him in great affection will find herself disappointed with their marriage because Walter won’t make himself readily available, especially if he’s in the midst of a new investment venture.”