Chapter 12
Mrs. Vanderbilt’s French-chateau-inspired mansion was unlike anything I’d ever seen, even more impressive than Aunt Maude’s home, if that was possible.
I stood in a second-floor bedroom the night of the fancy dress ball with a dozen young ladies and their maids as we prepared for the quadrilles that would start thirty minutes before midnight.
The home was decorated with tens of thousands of flowers.
Each room had a different color theme with flora draped over banisters, fireplace mantels, doorways, and tabletops.
Gas lighting filled the rooms with a gentle glow and crystal sparkled from candelabras, vases, and statues.
Mrs. Vanderbilt had allowed photographers to come in before the party to fill the newspapers with pictures of the opulence.
“There you are, Clara,” Annabelle said as she appeared at my side. “I’m simply breathless! I just peered over the banister, and the foyer was crowded. There isn’t an empty square inch to be had.”
Annabelle and I had been put into the Louis XV–themed quadrille.
We were both dressed in robes à la Francaise.
My gown was a gorgeous pink silk with box pleats, which fell loose from my shoulders down to the floor behind me.
The front of the gown was open, showing an intricately embroidered stomacher displaying little pink flowers and green vines, and a ruffled petticoat.
Under the skirt I wore panniers over my hips and had pink slippers on my feet.
My hair was styled high on my head with ringlets falling over my shoulders.
“I saw Alec,” Annabelle said as I allowed Gallagher to assist me with long white gloves.
“Alec?” Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t hide the pleasure from my voice.
I hadn’t seen Alec since the morning we’d spoken about finances in Aunt Maude’s sitting room, a month ago. He’d returned to Newport that afternoon and hadn’t written.
“Are you surprised he’s here?” Annabelle looked in the mirror nearby and pinched her cheeks to add color to them.
“Quite.” I finished pulling on the gloves and adjusted them to fit better, trying not to look nervous about Alec. “I didn’t know if he would return from Newport for the dance.”
“He’s traveling to Europe with you, is he not?” Annabelle’s large blue eyes peered at me in the mirror. “And you’re leaving in less than a week. Surely you expected him back soon.”
I had put off thinking about Alec’s return and the trip to Europe. After the last time I’d been with Alec, I tried not to think of him at all. Nothing good would come from our feelings for one another. The month he'd been gone had been good for me.
At least, that's what I tried to tell my heart.
“I’ve been too busy to consider Alec’s plans.” I lifted one of my shoulders, as if it didn’t matter.
“Mama is spending all her time planning our trip to Europe to find a titled husband,” Annabelle said with a sigh. “But the man I want to marry is right here in this house.”
Aunt Maude’s request that I try to persuade Alec and Annabelle to wed was unnecessary—at least where Annabelle was concerned. I was certain that if Alec proposed a second time, she would accept him immediately. If she could persuade her mama to allow the match.
“Five minutes,” one of the maids said above the noise in the room. “You must start lining up now.”
There was a moment of hectic movement as the young women gathered their last-minute accessories and checked their appearances in the mirrors one more time.
I’d spent the past four weeks coming to Mrs. Vanderbilt’s mansion every day to practice the quadrille, and I had become acquainted with several young men and women in the process. Annabelle was my closest friend, though she was not a confidante. I could not take that chance.
“Find your partner,” a dance instructor called to us as we assembled in the wide hallway. There had been three instructors hired to work with us, and they had drilled us incessantly. None of them wanted to displease Mrs. Vanderbilt, and neither did the rest of us.
A long red carpet ran down the length of the hallway, while gilded trim encircled the doors, the molding near the ceiling, and the frames around the massive paintings. Gaslights allowed me to search the room for George, who had volunteered to be my partner for his sister-in-law’s party.
His brown-eyed gaze found mine in the crowd and he smiled.
“You look breathtaking, Clara,” he said as he joined me and offered his arm. He was dressed as an eighteenth-century French courtier in royal purple silk, with a purple plume coming out of his hat.
“Thank you,” I said. “You look quite handsome.”
I’d discovered that George was much more shy than I’d realized.
He didn’t gravitate toward groups of people, or people he didn’t know, but kept to himself or spoke to close friends.
During our daily practices, he’d either spoken to me or gone off into a quiet corner to read.
At twenty-one years old, he was a similar age to the others who danced with us, but he seemed older. Much older.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
I had to lean in closer to hear him, since the noise in the hallway had grown louder as people’s excitement grew.
“A little more than I’d like to admit,” I said.
He also leaned close—so close, I could smell the scent of his cologne. His ear was next to my mouth. “What did you say?”
As I repeated myself, he turned, and our faces were only an inch apart.
His gaze focused on mine and warmth filled his eyes. “I don’t know if you can hear me, Clara, but I’m in love with you, and I want to marry you.”
I heard him clearly—and my heart hammered.
Even if I had not heard him, the look on his besotted face would have told me everything.
We’d spent hours together, both here and at Aunt Maude’s where he continued to call on me.
And when we weren’t practicing the quadrille, we saw each other at social events.
There was an easy camaraderie with George, and I’d known for the past couple of weeks that he was in love with me.
But I pretended I hadn’t heard him. Instead, I smiled and lifted my shoulders as if I didn’t know what he’d said.
He looked like he was going to try again, but one of the instructors clapped his hands loudly. “Quiet! Please be quiet. We have some last-minute instructions for you.”
The others stopped talking and George straightened next to me.
My pulse beat an erratic rhythm as I took the arm he offered and listened to the dance instructors tell us what they wanted us to do.
George Vanderbilt, a man from one of the wealthiest families in the world, had just proposed marriage.
To me. Keira O’Day, a guttersnipe from Five Points.
Would he still want me if he knew the truth?
What about Mrs. Vanderbilt? Or Mrs. Astor?
I’d heard that she would be present at tonight’s event, a coup that would elevate Mrs. Vanderbilt’s standing in polite society.
What a scandal it would be if anyone learned the truth, that Mrs. Vanderbilt had invited a young woman from Five Points to dance at her ball.
Annabelle touched my shoulder from behind me and when I turned to look at her, she gave a pointed glance at George, her eyes wide and questioning. Had she overheard what had just happened? What about the others?
The hall clock struck once, indicating the half hour, and the instructors motioned for the members of the first quadrille to descend the steps. Our group would be the second, so we moved forward to take the place of the dancers who had just left.
My nerves thrummed as George and I stood at the front of the group.
My gloved hand was wrapped around his elbow, and he pressed it close to his side.
When I looked up at him, his gaze was filled with tenderness and longing.
He smiled, and I knew that before the night was through, he would speak of marriage again.
I would try to avoid the conversation, but it would be impossible to give him the cold shoulder. He was too dear to me for that.
Finally, it was our turn to descend the stairs. My legs were shaking so hard, I was afraid I would fall down the steps—but George was steady at my side. He grinned with pride as we entered the foyer, where the overflow from the ballroom watched.
I tried not to look for Alec, but I couldn’t help it. There were so many people, it was almost impossible to discern one from the next.
George led me out of the foyer and into the center of the massive ballroom.
The walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors and draped with yards and yards of floral garland.
Where had they found so many flowers in March?
It was inconceivable. The newspapers claimed that Mrs. Vanderbilt had spent over $250,000 on this one party.
There were three orchestras in the house, but the one in the ballroom would play the French minuet for us. We’d practiced for hours upon hours, until I dreamt about the dance in my sleep. Yet with all eyes upon me, I was suddenly drawing a blank and couldn’t remember a single step.
George caught my eye as we took our place. He offered me an encouraging smile, with a slight nod.
I took a deep breath, feeling calmer in his presence.
We began to dance, and my body quickly took control.
I held a fan in my hand and used it as part of the quadrille.
We stepped, hopped, turned, and bowed in a beautifully choreographed pattern.
George continued to smile as we met and then moved apart and then met again.
He seemed completely unaware of all the people watching and only had eyes for me.