“Glory hallelujah,” Patrick said in exhaustion, but Natalia threw a bucket of cold water on their jubilation.
“We can’t proceed until I pry the password out of him in order to vote by proxy,” she warned. “The count supplies the bank’s auditor with a unique password for each shareholder vote, and I can’t register his vote without that password.”
It took four more exchanges in which the count wanted Natalia’s opinion on French cooking and to complain about the food served at his outpost. Only then did the count send his password for the September vote, which was Stradivarius.
“That’s all we need,” Natalia said. “Please forgive him for his quirks. I knew we would get there in the end, but these exchanges must be managed delicately. His feelings can be hurt so easily.”
They thanked Mr. Smitty for his patience, and Gwen provided a generous tip on top of the staggering fees Count Sokolov’s verbose messages cost to transmit and receive. Just before they left, the telegraph sprang to life one more time. It was a short message.
Tell your cousin that when I have perfected my juniper perfume, I shall name it Gwendolyn in her honor.
32
Patrick tried to sleep late the morning after the epic telegraph session, but it was impossible. Thirty-eight people were crammed into the house, and even before dawn there were footsteps thudding on the staircase, doors slamming, and the shrieks of children romping outdoors.
On the neighboring bed, Liam groaned and pulled the blanket over his eyes. “Could someone please go shoot those kids?”
“Let’s hold off on that while I make nice with Gwen’s family,” Patrick said while clipping his suspenders into place. He liked Natalia and Aunt Martha. He hadn’t seen much to admire in the rest of them, but perhaps there was still hope. It wasn’t fair to hold Gwen’s family against her, and it might be possible to establish a modicum of mutual respect with some of them.
Because he wanted Gwen. Quite badly. She was perfect for him, as if God had designed the ideal woman to light up his life. Where she was weak, he was strong. She brought a softness to his world he didn’t even know was missing until she came into it with her warm, gentle humor.
The only stumbling block was centuries of class differences between them. Would he be able to crack the door into her world? Would her family permit it?
He headed outside to make an attempt.
Dozens of people were already gathered on the upper terrace overlooking the shore, but Gwen was not among them. He scanned the adults, looking for someone with whom he might strike up a cordial conversation. Most of the men sat on lawn chairs facing the sea. A couple of them nodded a greeting when Patrick approached, but most ignored him. Only the stout man with the walrus mustache stood to welcome him.
“Bertie Abernathy,” he said as he reached out to shake Patrick’s hand. “It’s probably a challenge to keep us all straight. Remind me again who you are?”
“Patrick O’Neill. I’m handling some legal work for Liam.”
The jovial look in Bertie’s eyes cooled a bit. “Oh yes, the lawyer. Say, if you’re going to be staying for a while, would you like to borrow a dinner jacket? Old Frederick would never breathe a word, but he likes everyone decked out appropriately at meals.”
“No, thank you,” Patrick said, feeling every eye on him.
The men turned back to a discussion about breeding horses, and Patrick struggled to find common ground as he scanned the estate.
Then he spotted Gwen down on the beach with some children. She wore a white cotton dress with a crown of flowers in her hair. Children clustered around as she showed them how to make crowns of their own from sea oats and hawthorn berries. The sound of her laughter carried up to him, making his heart ache. She seemed so natural here, like she belonged.
He didn’t, but he owed it to her to try. He wandered over to join a group of the younger cousins seated around a picnic table and reached for a chair to join them.
“Don’t touch it!” Edwin shouted.
Patrick’s hand froze. He had no idea what he’d done wrong, but every man stared in rapt attention at a loaf of bread and wedge of cheese on the table. Oddly, there were several ten-dollar bills weighed down beneath a plate. All four men held their breath as they stared at the center of the table.
One of the cousins leaned over to whisper what was going on. “Edwin bet us all ten dollars that the beetle will go for the cheese instead of the bread.”
Patrick looked again. Sure enough, a tiny green beetle was inching toward the center of the table. Everyone watched the beetle’s clumsy progress with breathless anticipation.
These were the people Gwen thought were so wonderful? He crossed his arms and withdrew a few steps to watch the beetle’s slow journey. Maybe he shouldn’t be so judgmental. Ten dollars meant nothing to people this wealthy, so the gamble was probably harmless. Sixty seconds later, the outcome of the bet was determined when the beetle hauled itself onto the bread plate to a chorus of cheers. Money started changing hands, but Edwin was annoyed to have lost and smashed the beetle with his fist before brushing it away.
Patrick remembered the first moment he laid eyes on Gwen in his office. There had been a beetle squatting on her chair. She had cradled it in her palm, then carried it to the window and set it free.
He swallowed back his annoyance. Gwen managed to rub along okay in the Five Points even though it wasn’t natural for her, and he would try to do the same here.
He wandered toward Joshua, the young college student from Yale, and invited him for a stroll along the beach. Joshua looked momentarily puzzled but agreed.
They walked on a path through the sea oats. They were close enough to the water to feel the spray from the surf as it rolled onto the beach, and sea gulls wheeled overhead.
Patrick scrambled for common ground. “I’m curious why you decided to go to Yale instead of Blackstone College,” he asked the younger man.
“Blackstone College still has the reek of new money,” Joshua said.
Patrick quirked a brow. “Really? I think it reeks of science and hope for the future.”
“You sound like Gwen,” Joshua said with a note of humor.
“There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
Joshua glanced at Gwen, who was scavenging on the shore amidst a cluster of children. Now she wore a seaweed necklace in addition to her crown of flowers, and Patrick thought she’d never looked prettier.
“She’s always been a bit of an odd duck,” Joshua said. “And that husband of hers—everyone knew he was after her money. We all felt sorry for her. Bertie tried to warn her about Jasper before the wedding, but there was no talking to her. Like I said, she’s an odd duck.”
Patrick said nothing. Gwen had more decency in her pinky finger than any of these men of leisure who lounged on the seashore while the rest of the world worked.
“What sort of plans do you have for after college?” he asked.
“I don’t want anything to do with the bank, that’s for sure,” Joshua said. “I like art. I spent last summer studying landscape painting in France and won third prize at an exhibition. Did you see the watercolor of the estate that’s hanging in the common room?”