Chapter One
‘It will be your turn very soon, Jane, just you wait,’ May’s old aunt, Pearl Van Der Berg, said as the christening cake was passed around and the champagne glasses refilled. She patted Jane’s blue silk sleeve.
Jane made herself smile. She felt as if her face would crack from all the smiling that day.
The chorus of wedding bells had risen around her at Connor’s and May’s nuptials last year, and now it grew even louder at her nephew Edward’s debut.
She adored Eddie and his tiny pink toes and laughing gurgles when she played ‘peek-a-boo’ with him, and it was a delight to see how her stern brother became a gooey pile of marshmallow happiness with May.
But for herself… No, thank you. Not yet.
She was too busy for the full-time task of running a household, as May did—overseeing the staff, planning teas, dinners and dances and paying endless, complex calls.
She was always balancing authority, diplomacy and attention to detail with a poised demeanour, keeping a complex world running behind the grand front doors.
Soon, there would even be two houses to see to, as Shore’s Edge, their Newport cottage, would be finished for the upcoming summer season.
Not that Jane was averse to having her own home or her own baby. It would be rather nice to order things herself…some day, with the exactly right person. But she doubted that person could even exist.
And it would definitely have to be with the right person. She’d seen what happened with the wrong person. She’d seen it all around her. Over time, a bad marriage could make a person forget who they were, leaving only a shadow—being managed, not loved.
She also saw the rare joy of finding the right person, as with Connor and May. She certainly had not found her right person yet, despite Connor introducing her to every millionaire in the whole country, and May with all her Knickerbocker cousins.
Once, there had been Benedict. That beautiful ghost was always near in dreams, but forever out of reach.
He lingered in quiet moments: the way it had felt when he’d touched her, the way he’d smiled at her.
There was such tenderness in the memory, but also a little sting.
To feel so deeply and lose it again… She couldn’t bear it.
She smiled at Aunt Pearl and took a glass of champagne from a passing footman’s tray. ‘I do hope so,’ she murmured, and drifted into the crowd.
The house, the great behemoth her brother had built on Fifth Avenue, had never looked brighter or so full of happiness.
Jane could never have imagined such a fate when the vast rooms had first gone up.
It had all been marble and velvet, miles of tapestries, acres of paintings in gilt frames and medieval carvings.
May had changed it all; just like her name, the green freshness of springtime followed wherever she went.
Now there was sunlight, fresh flowers and laughter—lots and lots of laughter.
She watched Connor and May as they stood with her mother, bouncing the baby between them and laughing right now.
Looking at her family being happy made her feel as if she were standing in the warm glow of a sunset.
It was a quiet, full kind of joy that softened the edges of everything.
But she was fearful too, with that much emotion, that much to lose.
‘Jane! There you are. Isn’t that a lovely hat you have on? Are those lace bows the latest Parisian style?’ called Amy Van Der Berg, Jane’s friend and May’s cousin.
Jane turned to smile at Amy, her friend all pink ruffles and bouncing curls.
Amy always brought a bit of fun with her wherever she went, and Jane was so grateful to have found her friendship.
She reached up and touched the narrow white straw brim of her hat, edged in blue tulle.
‘So I’m told, thank you. I can give you the milliner’s name. I haven’t seen you in weeks!’
‘We’ve been getting ready for Newport. So have you, so I hear. The building work on May’s cottage has everyone in such a fever of speculation! It seems the fences and scaffolding have been up for an age, and now at last it’s ready. We’ll have so much fun.’
Jane thought of all the fuss and bother Shore’s Edge had caused, from the first meeting with the architects at McKim, Mead and White, with all the fuss over draperies, carpets and mantelpieces, and was glad it would soon come to fruition.
But she would miss staying with May’s parents at their little old place with its faded shingled roof and overgrown croquet lawn.
‘Yes, it’s very exciting. They say the cool sea breezes in the summer are delightful. ’
Days by the seashore, in a large, grand house, parties to attend and yachts to sail in…
Surely nothing could be more distant from the cramped, dingy tenement of her childhood?
She was very lucky indeed. But she hated the thought of giving up her teaching hours for weeks at a time, missing her students.
Amy laughed and waved her gloved hand dismissively. ‘Oh, pah! Who notices the breezes? There’re dances and teas and lawn tennis.’ Her expression changed, became deeply serious. ‘And I hear that a duke will be visiting, all the way from England. Can you imagine?’
‘A duke?’ Against her will, Jane felt a spark of interest. There were often dukes in the poems and novels she read, medieval, chivalrous lords who were towering figures of authority; lords of sprawling castles, with lands and vassals at their command.
Their presence alone silenced crowds, commanding not just respect, but fear or fascination.
But she doubted modern dukes were out there jousting or defending their fair ladies’ honour. They sounded like dull things, but it might bring a spark to boring parties for the summer.
‘Yes, staying with his relation, Lady Louisa Parker, for the summer season. It’s all anyone can talk about, besides your new house! Haven’t you heard of him?’
‘Oh, not yet.’ Jane had been too busy at the school lately to hear much gossip. She stayed up late planning lessons. ‘With the baby and the new house and everything, it’s been busy. I’m sure the Astors and the Schuylers have been fighting to host him!’
‘Yes, indeed, them and everyone else. Too bad for Alva Vanderbilt that Marble House isn’t finished yet. They say he is actually young. And handsome. And unmarried!’
Jane laughed. ‘That should certainly have all the hostesses in a fizz.’ She thought of Benedict, another man with a golden English accent.
She remembered the way he’d looked at her as if she really mattered, the curve of his sudden smile, the sound of his voice saying her name for the first time.
It had just been a brief crossing of paths, but it still shimmered with something rare, something that had briefly made the world feel brighter; sweet, wistful. She wondered if he remembered her too.
Amy sighed dreamily. ‘Wouldn’t it be so much fun to be a duchess, Jane?’
‘I’m not so sure.’ Oh, yes, it sounded fun enough: being part of a family that had history stretching behind it, a certain place to belong; tiaras and waltzes, and curtsying to royalty. If only that was all there was to it.
But Jane saw how hard May worked on her houses and her social obligations in New York.
It must be ten times harder to maintain the expectations of an ancient title and no doubt huge estate.
A duchess was expected to be dignified, composed and impeccably well-mannered at all times.
Every word, gesture and glance reflected on her husband, her title and her class.
She was never flustered, never improper.
She was a hostess and social strategist, planning lavish balls, dinners and charitable events; managing connections, curating alliances and ensuring her name maintained its place at the top of the social hierarchy.
And of course bearing a male heir to continue the family line. A duchess’s children were future dukes, duchesses or other well-married assets. It sounded exhausting.
‘A title would certainly not do our families any harm,’ Amy said, her elfin face shrewd.
Jane thought of how hard May had worked to raise the O’Neills into society and ensure their acceptance against all the odds.
No one would ever slight the O’Neills if they were connected to a duke.
‘I suppose not, true. But I’m far too busy to compete with Regina van Joort and Florence Livingston, not to mention you.
You’re all far prettier and much more stylish than I could ever be.
’ She was too tall, too athletic, dark and Irish to be a proper duchess.
Amy laughed. ‘Pretty? Jane O’Neill, everyone says you are by far the prettiest lady above 40th Street, as statuesque as any empress.
And it’s easy to be stylish. One visit to Worth or Doucet, and you’re all set.
’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘They do say English ladies are terribly dowdy. Bonnets instead of hats, and navy bombazine of all things!’
Jane wondered if Benedict had a dowdy English wife now, and shook away the thought. ‘Tell me more about this duke,’ she said, hoping for distraction.
‘They say he is quite reserved and quiet, even cold. But I am sure he just needs the tender touch of the right lady to bring him out.’
A man stepped through the doors, causing a stir with the ladies nearby with his dark, Heathcliff-like looks. Jane saw to her shock that it was Paul Brosnahan, her one-time suitor. A man she had deeply hoped never to see again.
He ignored the giggling ladies nearby, his gaze sweeping the room until he found what he was looking for: her. It was like being watched through a window she hadn’t even realised was open. He smiled with unmistakable expectation, as if he had been waiting for just this moment.
‘Oh, my word,’ Amy whispered. ‘Isn’t that Paul Brosnahan? I heard he made a tremendous fortune out West somewhere. He’s richer than the Astors now!’