Alva kept a smile on her face, but she was sinking. Oliver, whom she’d tried to avoid, sought her out, crossing the room with such swagger she would have thought he was six feet tall.
“I hope you’ve found it in your heart to forgive me for delivering your husband to you in such a compromised state last night.”
“You’re forgiven,” she said, though she didn’t mean it. “I have just one question for you: Who was the girl?”
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“A gentleman?” she laughed, forgetting herself for a moment. “I thought you were a scoundrel.” Now why did you go and say that? And why is he smiling like that?
She excused herself and went back to worrying about Willie K., keeping an eye on him throughout the night: Who was he talking to? Was he standing too close to Lydia? Was he laughing a little too gaily at something Tessie just said? Where was he now? Who was with him? It was agony.
After the cake had been served and the last guests left Petit Chateau, Willie K. came up to Alva and stood behind her. All night long she’d been waiting for him to come to her, pay her some attention, and now that he had, she didn’t want it. She knew he was going to place his hands on her shoulders even before he did it, and it took all her will not to shrug them off.
“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” he said.
“Have I?” She was grateful that her back was to him. She could feel heat coming up on her cheeks. He was acting as if nothing were wrong, as if he hadn’t been out half the night with Oliver and some girl. And even if he’d been a perfect gentleman and Oliver was the scoundrel, shouldn’t Willie have apologized? Explained himself? She’d wanted to confront him, but women—wives—didn’t do that.
Though Willie didn’t say anything, didn’t apologize, he must have known she was upset because, with his fingers gently kneading her shoulders, he said, “I’ve been thinking about Newport. About what you were saying about building a new cottage up there.”
“Oh?” For years now, she’d been begging Willie for a new cottage in Newport. She had tried reasoning with him, explaining that she was bored, that she needed something more stimulating. Something for herself. She’d pleaded, being sweet as punch, and it had gotten her nowhere. She’d tried bullying him into it, too, and still he’d refused.
“I think it’s time,” he said.
If that wasn’t the sound of a guilty man, she didn’t know what was. She turned and looked at him.
“How would you feel about designing a brand-new place?” he said. “From the ground up.”
Before she could stop herself, she was hugging him, thanking him. He was no fool, but neither was she. Alva had just gotten what she’d wanted, her reward for being the good, obedient wife.
CHAPTER FORTY
Caroline
It had been a week since Caroline finished Society as I Have Found It. By then others had read it, too, and the mocking of Ward McAllister had begun, as uproarious as the construction next door. The press was merciless, running headlines such as This Nob Is a Snob and The Frappé Flop. One article in Town Topics suggested that Mr. McAllister is canoodling with Mrs. Astor. Caroline was horrified. For many reasons, but especially that one, she had been avoiding Ward, forgoing a week of balls, dinner parties and opera performances. She didn’t want to be seen anywhere near him, and what’s more, she didn’t know what to say to him.
She thought he would have been devastated by such criticism and public shaming, but if so, it wasn’t at all apparent to Caroline the day he finally appeared at her home.
He looked prim and crisp, a yellow boutonniere in his lapel, a new walking stick in hand. He was full of apologies, not for what he’d written about her, but for his not having called on her sooner.
“But don’t you know, I’ve been in such demand with my book.” The steady pounding next door hadn’t let up since he’d arrived. “That racket is maddening,” he said, turning toward the window. “Now tell me”—he faced back around—“how have you been? I’ve been splendid, don’t you know. All the fanfare has been exhilarating.” He smiled, as if he hadn’t picked up a newspaper or visited a gentlemen’s club during the past two weeks.
He was chattering away and pacing before finally settling into the chair opposite Caroline’s. She braced herself for the inevitable question, and sure enough, he leaned in on his walking stick and said, “Now tell me, what did you think of my book?”
Caroline was silent.
“You have read my book, haven’t you?” He was incredulous at even having to ask.
Caroline had never lied to Ward and she wasn’t about to start now. “I have.”
“And?”
She could see how very eager he was for praise. Caroline looked into his eyes and said, “I think you’ve gone too far.”
“Oh, I know,” he chuckled, seemingly unaware that she was warning him. Or maybe he just didn’t want to acknowledge it. “Bookstores can hardly keep it on the shelves.”
Caroline looked at him, amazed. He seemed lost in a cloud of his own making. Well, she was about to shatter his illusions, tell him exactly what she thought of his pompous memoir and how offended she’d been by the things he’d written, when William and Coleman Drayton burst into the drawing room.
She was startled. Why on earth are the two of them together? William detested Coleman’s company. A jolt of adrenaline shot through her. Caroline was on her feet, her heart racing. “What’s happened? What’s wrong? Is it Charlotte? The children?”
William turned to McAllister. “If you’ll excuse us, Ward.”
“Oh dear, no.” Caroline felt her legs go weak as she dropped back down in her chair.
“I have to be running along anyway,” Ward said, cocking his bowler just so. “I have a meeting with my publisher.”
After he left and Thomas had closed the double doors, Coleman took a seat beside Caroline, his leg anxiously jouncing up and down. Together they watched William walk over to the fireplace and rest his elbow on the mantel.
Their silence was unnerving. “Will someone please say something? Tell me what’s going on.”
William cleared his throat and finally said, “I’m afraid that Coleman has some distressing news about Charlie and the state of their marriage.”
“Oh?” That was it? She felt relieved. Every marriage had its problems. She and William were proof of that. This idea of marrying for love was such a modern concept. Caroline couldn’t comprehend it. Marriage was a practical union, a means by which to continue the family bloodlines, perpetuate the family wealth. Helen understood that. She and Rosy had made a fine marriage and family together. But Carrie had followed her heart and Jack had, too. Her son had recently become engaged to Miss Ava Lowle Willing. Caroline didn’t approve of the match, but she did see that Miss Willing had a positive effect on Jack. For once he seemed interested in something other than food and had reduced his husky frame down to a slender, fit physique like the rest of the Astor men. Caroline realized with a stab of guilt that it had been love and affection her son was starved for, not food.