She heard the girls’ footsteps, the stomping, the groan of the drawing room door, and when she opened her eyes again it was just her and Hade, who stood at her side, still holding her teacup. He had witnessed the children’s occasional temper tantrums, their adolescent outbursts, but this was the first time he’d ever seen one of them talk back to her. She was embarrassed, and knowing she couldn’t ignore what he’d seen, she turned to him and said, “I’m sorry you had to witness that. I don’t know what’s gotten into Charlotte.”
“Miss Charlotte can be a very high-spirited young lady.” He offered a subtle bow as he handed back Caroline’s teacup.
“Hade?” She looked at him and hesitated for a moment before asking, “Are you afraid of me?”
Hade offered a faint half smile and with his deep voice said, “I highly respect you and admire your strength, but no, madam, I am not afraid of you.”
Caroline sipped her tea, still pondering. “Hade?”
“Yes, madam?”
She paused as she was about to do something unnatural for her. She was accustomed to everyone asking her for advice and now she was the one who needed help. “Was I too hard on them just now?”
She watched his shoulders pull back as he drew a sudden breath, suggesting that he also found this break in her formal veneer unprecedented. Perhaps even uncomfortable. It was the first time the two of them had discussed anything other than menus and household needs. After a thoughtful moment he said, “Your daughters are of a certain age. They’re growing up. Bound to make mistakes. That’s how we learn, isn’t it? I recall my own daughters making a few mistakes when they were growing up.”
Daughters? Hade has children? She realized she had never considered his life prior to him coming into hers. And what about Mrs. Hade? There had been a wife—or maybe there still was an estranged one. She’d never before thought of Hade as someone’s husband. She simply couldn’t think of him that way. It was no different than not thinking about what was under a priest’s robe, or what her parents had done to conceive her. She could not think of Hade as a red-blooded man. It would require a complete reframing of someone she’d always thought of as only her butler.
“I myself was known to make a mistake or two when I was their age,” Hade said now, bringing Caroline back to the moment. “Sometimes we need to allow our children to falter.”
“I see.” She felt a bit shocked. Though he hadn’t come right out and said it, she realized that Hade had just told her, Yes, you were too hard on them. Aside from her husband and, of course, her mother, Caroline was used to everyone agreeing with her, telling her what she wanted, or what they thought she wanted to hear. Everyone tried so to please and impress her. Perhaps they were all afraid of her. But not Hade. It was strangely refreshing to have someone finally tell her the truth. Yes, Charlotte had spoken her mind, but that was all anger and disrespect—meant to wound her. But just now Hade had dared to calmly point out that she—Mrs. Astor—had been wrong.
Until that moment, she didn’t realize how much she’d missed being treated like Caroline, like Lina. In a world where everyone wanted something from her, whether it was an introduction for their daughters or an invitation to her balls, it made her wonder who she could trust. Which acts of kindness shown her way were sincere? Which were only to curry favor? Most of all, though, she wondered if anyone truly liked her.
She needed a friend, a true friend. And Ward McAllister didn’t count. Though he knew her better than most—though she confided in him and at times swore he was the only one who truly understood her—Ward could be just as bad as the rest. Especially lately. There was a time when they were equals, partners in preserving society, but now he only saw her as Mrs. Astor, not Caroline, not Lina. Ward knew that without her, the self-proclaimed social arbiter would have nothing to arbitrate. And truth be told, she needed him as well to help her uphold society. So they leaned on each other, two sides coming together to form an apex. They knew they had to move as one lest the whole thing collapse.
“Will there be anything else, madam?”
Caroline refused to look at him. She felt so exposed, so flustered, and had already made herself far too vulnerable. All she could do was close her eyes and dismiss him with a wave of her hand. And yet, when she heard the door close behind him, she wished she had asked him to stay.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Alva
NEW YORK, 1878
After countless court filings and emergency family meetings, Jeremiah finally backed down and settled the lawsuit for $600,000—$200,000 of which was in cash with the remaining $400,000 placed in a trust controlled by Billy.
Willie, with his $2 million safe at hand, surprised Alva one night, coming home with a set of blueprints for their new home. Handing the baby off to the nurse, she eagerly looked over Willie’s shoulder at the plans he’d rolled out on his library desk.
“Now see this here?” He pointed to the upper right-hand corner. “This is where the ballroom will be, and this over here is the dining room. You’ll be able to comfortably seat fifty guests in there. Maybe more.”
She clasped her hands, truly tickled. “Oh, Willie K.!” At last she’d have a home she would be proud to entertain in, a home she could decorate any way she liked. A place to dazzle and impress—a most important asset if she was going to make her play for the reins of society. She walked around the desk to view the blueprints from every possible angle, and with each new glance, her excitement grew.
At least it did until the following week when she was invited to luncheon at Cornelia Stewart’s palatial mansion on Thirty-Fourth Street and Fifth Avenue, across the street from the Astors’ brownstones. It was the first time Alva had ever been inside Cornelia’s home. As the liveried butler showed her into the drawing room, Alva was greeted by Cornelia, another redhead, though her hair was more coppery than Alva’s. She wore a strong floral perfume and an enormous emerald brooch. Cornelia’s late husband had been the dry goods merchant Alexander T. Stewart. His store was still thriving, one they all frequented. In fact, the muff Alva had with her that day had been purchased at his store.
Alexander had been a wealthy man, but not as wealthy as Willie and yet just look at how they lived! Alva was positively spellbound. The whole time Cettie Rockefeller was talking to her, Alva was admiring the Parian marble. While Ophelia Meade told her a bit of gossip about Mr. Brandon’s latest mistress, Alva was making note of the gilded whitewood furnishings and the fresco ceilings that had been commissioned from Mario Brigaldi, a prominent Italian artist.
Later, while seated at a long table, Alva struggled to stay engaged in the conversations around her, to get through her vermicelli soup, the lobster rissoles, roasted lamb and Neapolitan cakes. She was still taking in the details of the magnificent dining room while envy churned in the pit of her stomach. The plans for her new house that had once delighted her now seemed bland in comparison to the Stewarts’.