Chapter 3
As Ann dressed for her first evening out since Roger’s death, she kept replaying her interview with Rory Belmont.
The heiress hadn’t been at all what she’d expected.
Her warmth and consideration put Ann at ease immediately.
Perhaps too much at ease. It embarrassed her that she’d broken down into tears in front of her benefactor as she talked about losing Roger, but Miss Belmont had been so sympathetic.
She didn’t balk at all and assured her that the PBA would provide the money she needed for the roof.
The woman was saving her and Junior’s future, and all Ann could do was blubber like a baby.
Honestly, she’d expected condescension, not acceptance.
Her parents’ obsession with attempting to climb up the social ladder from middle class obscurity had left Ann deeply dubious about society’s upper echelons.
Her parents had never been successful in their attempts to make friends in high places.
Their efforts had always made her cringe.
Ann had never cared about any of it, and it bothered her to this day that her father wasted all the money he made running three drugstores on trying to live above his means to impress people.
When he passed, Mama had to sell the house to pay off his debts and have something to live on.
Mama wasn’t immune either, given her tabloid obsession.
Even after Papa’s death, she couldn’t let go of the absurd hope that their ship would come in, and they’d magically join the Knickerbocker set.
It was more than a little ironic that Ann got invited to a gala with the crème de la crème of New York society at the lowest moment of her life.
If only her parents knew that the secret to getting high society’s attention was losing everything! It almost made her laugh.
But it was time to set aside her prejudices and preconceptions.
Attending Miss Belmont’s birthday gala was the least she could do after all the PBA was doing for her.
This fundraiser would provide the money to buy her a new roof.
If all went well, she’d be able to finalize things with the contractor next week.
The thought of spending the evening making nice with the millionaires her parents idolized made her stomach clench, but for Junior, she could survive one night in high society.
She put on her nicest black dress, the one she bought for Roger’s funeral, and tried to make her auburn hair look stylish in a loose bun, and she put on the slightest bit of makeup to distract from the circles under her eyes.
Looking in the mirror, she took stock of the changes since she last went out with Roger.
She was thinner. Despite giving birth just two months ago, she’d had so little appetite the weight had come off quickly.
Her face was drawn. Even with the makeup, she could still see the dark circles under her eyes, and when she tried to smile, it looked as false as it felt.
No one is expecting you to be cheerful, she reminded herself. They were expecting to speak with a grieving war widow, and that was exactly what she looked like, despite her efforts to appear at least slightly more festive. It was Miss Belmont’s birthday party, after all.
She fed Junior one last time before heading out for the evening. Miss Belmont had thoughtfully provided childcare for widows attending the gala. With significant trepidation, she got into a cab with Junior and headed to the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel.
As she walked into the room where the party was being held, the opulence overwhelmed her.
The room looked like it belonged in a palace, with its marble pillars and decorative plasterwork.
Electric chandeliers provided low, warm light to the entire event.
Buffet tables dripping with delicacies lined the walls, with ice sculptures in the shape of airplanes flanking a gorgeous five-tiered cake in the center.
A passing waiter handed her a glass of champagne, which she took without thinking and then panicked.
She had only drunk alcohol on four occasions: her engagement, her wedding, and the funerals for Roger and her mother.
Each time, the beverage had left her with an odd floaty feeling she wasn’t sure she liked.
Everyone else had glasses, though, so she held onto hers without taking a sip.
Her hostess caught her eye and came up. Miss Belmont’s dress could most generously be called daring.
Ann could hardly believe it was legal to wear something so revealing in public, but she did look lovely in it.
If only Mama could have seen it! She would have had something to gossip with her friends about for days.
“Mrs. Prince, I’m so glad you could join us. Thank you for coming. I wanted to introduce you to Mrs. Astor who has agreed to make a very generous donation. She wants to have a chance to learn more about the plight of the widows we’re here to help.”
Ann swallowed hard. Did she say Astor? Try as she might have to ignore her mother’s prattling, even Ann knew who the Astors were.
Miss Belmont introduced her to a matron in the most richly embroidered gown Ann had ever seen.
She made a mental note of the style and pattern to see if she could make something comparable herself.
Not that she’d ever have reason to wear such a thing, but it would be such an interesting creative challenge.
“Mrs. Prince, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Mrs. Astor said as Miss Belmont drifted back into the churning center of the party.
“I lost my Jack on the Titanic, you know. Grief is a funny thing. Every time you think you’ve surmounted it, it comes back to break your heart.
I can’t imagine finding myself grieving and in need at the same time. My heart goes out to you, my dear.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Astor,” Ann said in as steady a voice as she could manage. Was this real? How was it possible that one of the grande dames of New York society cared about her plight and sympathized?
“I greatly appreciate the assistance the Pilots’ Benevolent Association is providing,” Ann added, trying for courage she didn’t entirely feel.
“You see, I’m losing my home and have to move into a house I inherited from my mother that is in poor repair.
The funds from the PBA will help me get a new roof so that my newborn son and I are safe from the elements. ”
“Heavens above! I’m glad we could help you, dear. That sounds very distressing,” said Mrs. Astor, hand on her chest.
“It’s been a difficult year.”
“Let me introduce you to my friend, Alva Belmont,” Mrs. Astor said. And so, she was handed off to another society matron to whom she recounted her story.
“Terribly tragic, my dear. Terribly tragic,” said Mrs. Belmont. “You know who else should hear this? Just one moment. I’ll go get her.”
In similar fashion, she was handed off from one matron to another until she felt like she could hardly stand to say another word. Mercifully, a series of speeches and toasts to the birthday girl gave her a reprieve. Excusing herself to the ladies’ room after the speeches, she made her escape.
When she returned to the party, she managed to stay in merciful obscurity until a tall young man made his way over.
There was something about his merry face that was irresistible.
His lovely blue-green eyes sparked in boyish glee as he came up to her.
He looked lithe and strong and moved with easy grace.
He wore an Air Service AEF uniform, she noted with a pang, just like her Roger.
“Do you, by any chance, have a leaky bathroom faucet that needs fixing?” he asked with an Irish lilt and a sideways grin.
She stared in bafflement. “Do you always start conversations with strange women by asking about home repairs?”
“Quite frequently, yes,” he said with a wink that set off butterflies in her stomach. Now why would that be?
“How very odd of you. And, pray tell, do ladies generally respond positively to such an introduction?” Forgetting herself, she took a sip of champagne, then tried to disguise her surprise at the taste.
“Mostly no. But say, is there something wrong with your champagne? I’d be happy to get you a new one.” He reached out for her drink.
She must have made a face despite her efforts to pretend this was normal. “No, I’m sure it’s fine. I’m just not used to it. I don’t usually drink.”
“Ah, but tonight you’re making an exception?” He raised an amused eyebrow.
Her stomach did a flipflop, and she cleared her throat. “Yes, I suppose I am.” She took another tentative taste. “I’m not sure I like it.”
“Perhaps I could give you an excuse to put it down, Mrs.…?” He plucked the champagne out of her hand and handed it to a passing waiter.
“Prince. Mrs. Ann Prince. And you are?”
“Asking you to dance, Mrs. Ann Prince.” He took her hand and led her to the dance floor. “I’m Bill O’Donnell, by the way.”
A thousand thoughts ran through her head as she followed. Could she dance? Was it proper? What would all the grand old ladies think if they saw a widow dancing? What would Roger think? Was it wrong of her to want to give in to this invitation?
But it was too late. They had already assumed the position for a waltz, and before she could think better of it, their feet were moving.
A rush of joy ran through her. She’d forgotten how much she loved to waltz.
A part of her thought she was never going to waltz again, but here she was, twirling in a ballroom in the arms of a handsome man.
Oh dear. He was handsome, wasn’t he? She should never have agreed to this. It was too disloyal to Roger.
“Mrs. Prince, I’m sure everyone has been asking you for your story.” His sympathetic smile made her stomach flip, and the last thing she wanted to talk about was her troubles.