Please join author Jeanette Watts as she tours the blogosphere with HF Virtual Book Tours for Wealth and Privilege, from June 16-July 17.
Ebook Release Date: 2013
Paperback Release Date: 2014
CreateSpace
Genre: Historical
Fiction/Romance
Money. Family. Love. Hate. Obsession. Duty. Politics. Religion - or the lack thereof. Sex -- or, once again, the lack thereof.
Thomas Baldwin finds himself married to a woman he can?t stand, while head-over heels in love with another woman he can?t have. Talk about bad planning. He is something of a kite, buffeted by circumstances which blow him not only through personal crises, but also through some of the most significant events of the late 1800s, including the railroad riots of 1877, the creation of the Homestead Steel Works, the assassination of President Garfield, and the Johnstown Flood. Over time, and with the help of his muse, who dances maddeningly just beyond his reach, he takes control of his life, wresting it from the winds attempting to control him.
A carefully-researched historical novel about life among the privileged class of Pittsburgh during the Industrial Revolution.
Praise for Wealth and Privilege
"Thomas Baldwin is like a Rorschach inkblot test. Some people love him, some people find him unlikeable. Most people can't stand his wife. Others feel sorry for her. I take the fact that people have such a huge variety of reactions to my characters as a sign I succeeded in writing full, rich personalities." - Kirkus Reviews
"Wealth and Privilege is an exceptionally provoking read. The real romance is between the author and the reader" - Page Traveler
Wealth and Privilege Available at
Amazon Kindle
Barnes & Noble Nook
CreateSpace (Paperback)
About the Author
Jeanette Watts couldn't help but notice that all romances seemed to be set in the American West or the South. A staunch Yankee girl, she asked what is unromantic about the North or the East? After living for four years in Pittsburgh, and falling deeply in love with southwestern Pennsylvania, she found it the perfect location for a love story.
Besides writing, she is also a dance instructor, an inveterate seamstress, the artistic director for several dance companies, an actress, and a history buff. Wealth and Privilege took her 10 years to write, because she felt the research needed to be thorough. Everything from big events and famous people to little details like dog breeds and women?s fashions have been carefully researched.
For more information visit Jeanette Watt's website, and follow the Wealth and Privilege Facebook Page.
Wealth & Privilege Blog Tour Schedule
Tuesday, June 16
Spotlight & Giveaway at Teddy Rose Book Reviews
Wednesday, June 17
Spotlight at What Is That Book About
Friday, June 19
Review & Giveaway at Unshelfish
Monday, June 22
Review at Book Nerd
Tuesday, June 23
Guest Post at I Heart Reading
Wednesday, July 1
Review at Book Lovers Paradise
Thursday, July 2
Spotlight at A Literary Vacation
Monday, July 6
Review at A Chick Who Reads
Tuesday, July 7
Spotlight at CelticLady's Reviews
Friday, July 17
Spotlight at Passages to the Past
Read an Excerpt
Chapter
1
Irritating his
mother wasn’t specifically Thomas’ favorite hobby. She did, however, seem to excel at providing
him with opportunities to do so. He didn’t have to try very hard. His very existence was an obvious irritant to
her. It wasn’t because of who he was –
Thomas knew perfectly well it was all about what he wasn’t.
He wasn’t
everything his older brother Benjamin had been; quick and clever and charming
and talkative. The entire Baldwin family
– especially his mother, Eugenia Baldwin, aspiring family matriarch and his
most verbal critic – admitted that Thomas was the much more handsome of the
two. Then everyone shrugged. Pretty is as pretty does.
Thomas had to
agree on that point. He gladly would
have traded his bright blue eyes and much-admired dark hair for the ability to
know what to say to people.
He stood at the
entrance to the ballroom in his parents’ house, surrounded by giggling girls
all wishing him a happy birthday with their dance cards not-so-subtly dangling
from their wrists. Trying to smile, he
offered his hand to accept the little pencils and sign the blasted things.
It wasn’t that
he disliked dancing, really. He just
loathed having to go through the process of begging for dances, and inflicting
himself on the expectant young ladies who smiled sweetly and patiently at
him. He wasn’t a bad dancer, but he
wasn’t a brilliant one, either. And
hanging over him like a cloud was that dreaded requirement to make small
talk. He could see his mother glaring at
him from the chair where she was holding court on the far side of the
hallway. He hadn’t said anything for a
while, as a fresh batch of young women wished him a happy birthday and smiled
up at him while he signed his name. With
a mental sigh, he searched for something to say.
“So, am I
supposed to make more mature small talk, now that I’m a quarter century old?”
He almost
flinched as the cluster burst into peals of merriment, entirely out of
proportion for such a lame little joke.
But no doubt it was very much in keeping with the instructions each girl
received from her mama before leaving for his birthday dance. “Now, sweetheart,
I know he bores you, but the Baldwin family is worth a fortune. Smile for him. Laugh at his jokes. Make a good impression, for goodness’ sake.”
He should feel a
sense of comradeship; after all, his mother had delivered a similar lecture to
him. “Now, Thomas, please try and be
charming tonight. No slipping off to
avoid signing dance cards. It’s your
birthday party. Smile. Say something. Make a good impression, for goodness’ sake.”
But when he
looked into their eyes, he never found a kindred spirit looking back. He saw a
sort of demure ambition that made him want to run and hide. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a viable option. He suffered through each glance, and felt
himself slowly suffocating.
It was a typical
Baldwin family function. Aunt Eleanor
had arrived first, her daughters Ella and Margaret in tow, determined to
undermine the placement of every piece of greenery the servants had placed
without her express approval. For some
mysterious reason, his mother followed behind, drinking in their every
word. Thomas’ favorite cousin Edgar also
came early, since of course he wanted to have a few words with the musicians
before the dancing started. He was
outgoing, fun-loving, charming (just like Ben had been), and the natural leader
for the dancing party games that would replace the regular dancing after
midnight supper. He kept such a
collection of Germans in his head, he was eagerly invited to parties all over
Pittsburgh. Then the rest of the family
and friends started arriving. Quiet
Uncle Alfred and Aunt Rebecca came with their four stoic sons, Albert, Osric,
Stefen, and Peter, followed by a merry party led by Edgar’s always gay siblings,
Lily and John.
Old friends of
the family, the Masons (with their dark-haired daughter Janey), were followed
by business friends of his father’s, the Burkes and the Thompsons (with their
marriage-aged daughters, Meredith and Elsie).
Thomas was glad to see the Garretts brought along Grandma Lizzie, who
declared years ago that if she were fifty years younger she would’ve married
him. She always claimed the first
polka. But they also brought slender
nineteen-year-old Rose, whose brown eyes always seemed to be telegraphing to
Thomas that she shared her grandmother’s intentions – and not for a polka.
The flow of
people became a flood. He thought he
caught a glimpse of the Mellon boys, which meant his father must be thinking
about getting a loan for something. His
mother didn’t like Mrs. Mellon, so they were only invited to parties when his
father specifically wanted something.
Coats and
overshoes came off and went away. Ladies
dis-appeared to primp, and returned.
Then the ball cards appeared for the ritual torture of single men and
ladies, and the mothers of single men, of course.
Eventually, the
ball cards were signed, Edgar gave Thomas a significant eyebrow, and the
birthday boy led his guests into the ballroom.
Thomas danced the first waltz with his mother, the first polka with
Grandma Lizzie. Then began the parade of
quadrilles, gallops, waltzes and schottisches, which Thomas dutifully danced
with every single lady in the room. He
found himself wondering if the Prince Charming in the children’s fairy tale
felt as much like a prize bull as he did.
************************
It was blessedly
quiet in the conservatory. If Thomas
lis-tened very hard, he could hear the orchestra playing a lively polka. His head ached mildly and his ears were
ringing from the incessant giggling of his various feminine partners. Just once, he thought, he wanted to hear a
woman laugh. A deep, hearty, belly
laugh. He’d marry a woman if he could
stand the way she laughed.
As if on cue,
his mother appeared in the doorway of the conservatory. “Thomas?
I told you, no running off to hide to-night. You’re the host, for goodness’ sake. What are you doing here?”
“I had to get
away for a moment, Mother,” he said, trying not to sound petulant. “My head aches something awful.”
“Don’t talk to
me about headaches, boy,” his mother answered sharply. “You’re giving me quite a headache right
now.”
Thomas managed a
small smile. “I’m sure I am,
Mother. Please don’t lecture me about my
manners. I had to sneak out. Otherwise, that flock of girls would have
wanted to come along to comfort me, and I wouldn’t get any quiet.”
Eugenia saw her
opportunity. “Well, if you’d only pick
one of the crowd that’s been hovering around you, then you could have one
companion to comfort you.”
Thomas groaned. “Mother…”
Eugenia
interrupted, “Don’t ‘Mother’ me. Honestly, I do wish you could be just a
little more like your brother.”
Benjamin had
been six years older than Thomas, and was seventeen when Southern rebels fired
on Fort Sumter. Ben im-patiently
followed the Rebellion for a year, while both parents loudly and frequently
forbade his enlistment. But when the
call went out seeking men of good character for a volunteer cavalry, it was
more than Ben could stand. His parents
were horrified, and livid – for a month, until Ben’s unit was called out of
drill practice and sent to Antietam. Ben
became a hero in the field – and be-came a hero again when he died someplace in
Tennessee called Stone River.
His mother had
worshipped her first-born son thoroughly enough while he was alive. He was completely sanctified in the twelve
years and two months since his death. So
much so, Thomas had trouble separating the facts of the brother he remembered
from the fiction his mother created.
“Benjamin never
had so many girls following him around as you have – you’ve always been the
handsome one - but at least he could talk to them. Somehow, he got all the charm, you got all
the looks.”
Thomas had been
hearing that particular phrase as long as he could remember. Sometimes he entertained himself wondering
what clever answers Ben would have given their mother. “So you’re saying I’m as ugly as an old shoe,
eh, Mum? You’ve wounded me!” Ben could – and did – say anything to their
mother, and she would only smile. Thomas
could say the same things, and usually got a sigh and a frown instead. He wished he could have been blessed with the
charm, instead of the looks.
“I’m not
Benjamin, mother. And if he were
standing here with us, he’d roll his eyes and say ‘Thank goodness for that!’ ”
His mother
wasn’t listening. She’d passed on from
one of her favorite subjects – comparing him to his brother – to her other
favorite subject – complaining about his father. “I told your father that compared to Benjamin
you were backward. But he couldn’t seem
to find any time to help me raise his children.
I had to try to bring you up all by myself.” Thomas wisely held his tongue.
“You’d think I
was a widow, for all the help I got with you.
Fathers are supposed to teach their sons how to talk to women. All your father can teach you is
business.” The combative gleam in her
face told Thomas she was coming full circle; he was about to become the
recipient of her ire once again. “But
you’re not trying, Thomas,” she frowned at him, a puzzled look twisting her
face. “Maybe I’ve taught you how to
treat girls too well. I don’t fault you
for being a gentleman, but maybe you’re being too much of a gentleman.”
Thomas was
amused by his mother’s attempt to analyze his failure to secure one of the
pretty brainless creatures who’d been pursuing him all evening. It never occurred to her that he just didn’t
like them.
“Too much of a
gentleman? For most of my life, Mother,
you’ve been drilling it into my head how to be a complete and proper gentleman.”
“Well, at least
be enough of a cad to let a girl know that you like her!” his mother snapped
impatiently. “I don’t care how you do it
– but it’s about time you did! Just what
do you suppose will come of the Baldwin name if you don’t keep the family
going?”
Thomas smiled a
small, ironic smile and did some quick mental arithmetic. “Assuming Aunt Mary and Aunt Rebecca don’t
have any more children? Well, even if I
leave no offspring, there are three more Baldwin males in my generation, and
two of them are already married. Then
Father’s cousins Henry and Margaret have two boys. So that’s five other Baldwins in the city of
Pitts-burgh alone. Henry has brothers,
too, doesn’t he? Relatives in
Cincinnati? The Baldwin name is in no
danger of extinction. As to our little
branch and our little empire, well, after we’re all dead the surviving Baldwins
can fight over it. Or none of them will
want it, and they’ll put all of it up on the auction block.”
Eugenia stared
at her son with confusion while he assessed the family tree, then she dismissed
him with a wave of her gloved and bejeweled hand. “Rubbish,” she snorted. “Olympic Ironworks up for auction? Bah!”
Not willing to be sidetracked, she returned to the subject. “Thomas, there are fifteen girls on that
dance floor who would be perfectly suitable additions to the family. What exactly are you looking for?”
Thomas gazed
steadily at his mother. “Before I answer
that, would you tell me just what makes those particular fifteen suitable?”
His question
flustered Eugenia. “Why, they’re all
pretty girls,” she stammered.
“Victoria’s the heiress to a fortune in coal fields, Yvette’s from one
of the oldest families in the city.”
“So, then the
criteria are beauty, money and family?
Does it have to be all three, or merely one or two of them? If I find a beautiful serving maid, will that
do? What if she’s homely, but rich? What if she’s beautiful, but dreadfully poor,
but she comes from an old family?
British royalty, maybe? I understand a lot of the nobility are
frightfully poor and looking for rich Americans to support them. Maybe that’s what I’m doing wrong. I should be in London, wooing a Duke’s
daughter. Maybe a Duke’s daughter would
be the only woman who could compare with my formidable mother.” Thomas reached
over and picked an orchid, presenting it to her with a kiss on the cheek.
Eugenia looked
down at the flower, then up at her son, and sighed. “I don’t understand you, Thomas. You’re nothing like your brother was. Every time you open your mouth I have trouble
believing that you’re my flesh and blood.”
“Biologically
speaking, Mother, you had to be there when I was born …”
That was a
mistake. The reprimand came sharply back
into Eugenia’s voice. “I also have
trouble believing my son can speak in such a crude manner to any woman – even
his own mother,” she said sharply. “Is
that how you keep young ladies at bay?
With that – that frank language?”
“Now, Mother,”
Thomas reasoned, “do any of those young ladies seem to be at bay? They’re all over me like bloodhounds at a
foxhunt.”
Eugenia frowned
at him. “You’ve never been on a
fox-hunt.”
“I’m using my
imagination, Mother.”
Eugenia was
blessed with very little imagination, and did not care for his. Nor did she take kindly to this latest turn
in the conversation. She knew that she
did not argue logically, and that she did not fare well in any argument with
her son. She was, however, enough of a
tactician to realize that escaping with the last word was an acceptable
substitute for victory. “I’m heading
back to the party now. I expect you to
follow me. And if you don’t choose a
fiancée soon, keep in mind that I will choose one for you.” With her head high, she turned her back, and
left the room in a dignified swish of taffeta.
Threats. Every time he argued with his mother, she
ended the argument by delivering a threat, then leaving the room. Angry, he wanted to break something. But the hothouse didn’t have much to offer
besides plants. Plopping down on a
bench, he scooped up a handful of tiny decorative stones and hurled them one by
one into the decorative pool in the center of the conservatory. Then he hurled the rest at the wall of palms
which obliterated the view of the rest of the greenhouse.
A startled cry
of pain arose from the direction of the palms.
In confusion,
Thomas stood up and stared at the palm leaves.
“Hello?”
A pained but
amused voice rose from behind the curtain of fronds. “The breeding of money has always been
ugly. I didn’t realize it had also
become dangerous.”
Thomas jumped
forward and parted the curtain of palm fronds.
Standing in the middle of the path was a woman, dressed in dark red,
holding her handkerchief to a small cut on her face. Thomas could see that several of the stones
he’d thrown had lodged in the ruffles of her overskirt.
“What are you
doing back here?” Thomas stammered.
The woman smiled
ruefully. “Mostly demonstrating my
boundless talent for bad timing. I was
hoping to find someplace quiet for a moment.
I had no idea I was merely the advance guard before your tête-à -tête
with your mother and – ” she surveyed the red spots on her handkerchief with a
deep chuckle, “directly in the line of fire.”
Thomas
flushed. “I’m terribly sorry. I – thought I was alone.”
“Of course you
did,” the woman answered. “Your family
throws magnificent parties, and only those of us with no manners whatsoever
would dream of sneaking away in the midst of such gaiety. Well,” she amended with an amused twist to
her mouth, “that is, I’m sure others sneak off, but not alone.”
Thomas sighed
despondently and sank back onto his bench.
“It always comes back to mating rituals, doesn’t it?”
“Usually.” The woman eyed him with impartial curiosity
for a moment, then with a great rustling of red silk settled herself on the
bench beside him. “So is it marriage you
object to? Or the specifics of
mating? I’ve known people who’ve
objected to one, and I’ve known people who’ve objected to the other.”
Thomas toyed
with a palm frond. “Oh, it’s neither
one. It’s just….” He stopped.
He could feel his face getting warm, and suddenly he could not look in
her direction.
She laughed; a
warm, rich, deep laugh. Thomas
remem-bered his recent longing for a female who didn’t giggle. His heart beat faster, and he looked
studiously at the palm he was now shredding into thin strands.
“No, I don’t
suppose this conversation falls on your mother’s list of acceptable topics to
discuss at social gatherings.”
Thomas looked up
at her in surprise. “How did you know…”
In looking up, he fell straight into a pair of warm, black eyes that seemed to
see all the way through him. Further
disarmed, he dropped his gaze again.
“My mother gave
me the same list,” she answered, laughing again. It was a deep, musical sound. Warm and rich. Thomas listened, transfixed. He’d read descriptions comparing a laugh to
honey, but he’d never heard such a sound before. Until now.
Unaware of his
musings, she continued, “I’ve spent
deli-cious and scandalous years since I received that list, trying to break
every rule on it.”
Thomas stared at
his companion, too fascinated to be embarrassed. The face looking back at him was an open,
honest face. Her black eyes twinkled
with good humor. A full, moist set of
lips curved in a confident, almost conspiratorial smile. She was dressed in a deep claret red. Ruby earrings drew the eye downwards to a
ruby necklace on a long, graceful neck.
Her shapely shoulders were framed by the top edge of her black-shot red taffeta
bodice. Her dark hair sparkled from the
red-jeweled pins keeping an elaborate pile of curls in place.
She exuded
wealth – she also exuded an intelligence and independence that made her seem
appealingly exotic to Thomas.
She smiled, and
his eyes were drawn to the frank sensuality in her smile. “Well?”
she asked, bringing him out of his scrutiny.
“Well what?” he
asked, unsure of how to answer her question.
“You’ve studied
me pretty thoroughly. What conclusions
have you reached?”
Thomas
blushed. She laughed. “Do you always embarrass this easily? She asked.
“No. I mean, yes.
I mean,” Thomas stammered.
“Well, which is
it?”
Thomas returned
her direct gaze. “Do you know that
you’re a very disconcerting person?”
His guest nodded
agreeably. “Yes, I am,” she admitted
easily. “Which is very rude of me, I’m
sure.”
“Oh,
no,” Thomas hastened to dissemble.
“Certainly not.”
Her eyes
twinkled. “You’re only saying that
because it’s polite,” she pointed out.
“But isn’t it also rude to contradict people? Besides, it’s not honest. Why isn’t honesty considered polite?”
At ease again,
Thomas laughed. “You win. You’re terribly rude. And you’ve got the oddest way of looking at
things.”
“There, wasn’t
that refreshing? You just said exactly
what you were thinking, without censoring yourself. I bet it’s been a very long while since
you’ve done that.”
“Well, I
certainly hadn’t said a single honest thing all night, until I came in here,”
he smiled.
His smile faded
away, however, at the sound of giggling voices approaching from the hallway.
“It sounds like
you’re not done with censorship for the night,” his guest observed.
Four girls burst
loudly into the conservatory.
“Thomas!?” They squealed merrily,
then their gazes turned hostile as they saw his companion. “Your mama sent us to find you and bring you
back to the party.”
Stiffly, Thomas
stood up, then glanced down inquisitively at the enigmatic woman in red. She smiled up at him.
“Thank you so
much for escorting me to your conservatory,” she lied calmly. “I’m sure I’ll
feel better once I’ve sat for a little while.
I do hope your guests will forgive me for imposing on their dance
partner.” She turned a warm, yet
some-how condescending smile upon the gaggle of girls standing in a clutch
a
round Thomas, each maneuvering to be touching him in some fashion.
Her look subdued
the noisy little crowd. Collectively,
they dropped their eyes. “Of course,”
“Sorry you’re not feeling well,” they murmured, gloved fingers still locked
onto Thomas.
He looked at the
woman on the bench almost imploringly.
“If there’s nothing else I can do for you, then?”
She smiled up at
him, and he detected subtle mischief in her face. “It would be rude of me to keep you from such
delightful company,” she answered.
He opened his
mouth, and closed it again, unable to think of anything he could say in answer.
Hoping his eyes could convey his
respect, he bowed to her, then allowed the gaggle of young ladies to drag him
away.
The foursome
could barely contain their curiosity until they were out of earshot.
“What were you
doing with her?” Elsie Thompson asked, appalled.
Confounded by
the question, Thomas responded, “The lady had a headache. I showed her to the conservatory so she could
sit where it was quiet for a while.”
“Well, I can
imagine why that sort would have a headache,” Meredith Burke sniffed. “Reading too many books, I suppose.”
“Mama says she’s
no lady.” Janey Mason chimed in.
“What kind of a
lady would actually attend that college in Waynesburg?” Rose Garrett sneered. Thomas wondered to him-self if it was
ladylike to sneer. He assumed not.
“Attend,
nothing,” Elsi
e Thompson added importantly.
“I hear she has a degree from there!”
“So tell me,” he asked as casually as he
could, “who is this woman you say is no lady because she has an advanced
education?”
“Why, don’t you
know,” Rose Garrett gasped, “That’s
Regina Waring. The Mrs. Waring!”
Regina
Waring. The Mrs. Waring. Everyone in Pittsburgh, Allegheny, and, heck, all
of Allegheny County had heard of her.
Perhaps the entire industrialized world knew who she was. Wife of the eccentric Henry Thorougood
Waring, who swore proudly, frequently, and publicly that no one, man or woman,
in any country, could compete with his wife’s business acumen.
While
fashionable women whispered in their parlors about Regina’s unseemly – no,
unwomanly – behavior, Regina was wel-comed behind the closed doors of board
rooms where powerful men made deals – and made money.
Together, the
Warings had turned Henry’s father’s flour mill into an industrial empire. Opportunity was everywhere in Pittsburgh, at
least for good businessmen with something to sell. With the country expanding westward and the
railroads spreading fast, the demand for goods like flour was large. So were the profits of those who could meet
those demands. The Warings had turned
those profits back into more flour mills, into an immense glass-works along the
southern bank of the Monongahela River, and into copperworks somewhere close to
Johnstown, east of Pittsburgh up in the Laurel Highlands.
The Warings,
Thomas reflected, made their fortunes the same way his own father had. Except that Thomas’ mother made party
arrangements, not business deals. Thomas
was intrigued, and crushed. He had just
fallen in love at first sight with a married woman!
Thomas’ mind had
run out of useful information about the dashing Regina Waring by the time his
escorts finished dragging him back to the ballroom. Absentmindedly, he danced with each of the
young ladies in turn, leaving the other three to put their heads together and
whisper.
He was dancing
the York with little blonde Meredith Burke when he saw his lady in red enter
the room.
Upon second
viewing, he concluded she was the most stunning creature he’d ever seen. Her dark red contrasted sharply against the
pale, gay swirls of color standing in clusters near the door. She was neither
the tallest nor the shortest woman present, but she carried herself with an
elegance every other female in the room was lacking.
His eyes
couldn’t memorize the sight of her fast enough.
The red dress flattered her figure most emphatically. The long, curved lines of her bodice
advertised a tiny waist, calling an enticing invitation to masculine
hands. Her skirts tumbled to the floor
in playful waves, tucked here, billowing there.
An irritated
cough called his mind back onto the dance floor. Meredith was regarding him indignantly, as
they silently went through the motions of the dance. Thomas leaped on the opportunity she had just
afforded him.
“You’re not
altogether well tonight!” he exclaimed solicitously. “How thoughtless of me to keep you out
here. We can finish this dance another
time. Let me fetch you a glass of water
for that cough.” Deftly, overriding her
protests with his own protests of concern, he maneuvered his partner to the
corner where the other three had their heads together, and deposited a now very
indignant Meredith among her friends.
Excusing himself, he dashed to the door.
He reached the
stairs, and stopped to watch in fascination as Regina descended. There was an animal grace about the way she
moved, a thinly veiled power; and in her smile, a frank sensuality Thomas
found mesmerizing.
He wasn’t the
only one. Thomas was astonished to
recognize the members of the small male crowd that stopped her half-way down
the stairs; George Westinghouse, the enthusiastic genius inventor of the air
brake; Tom Carnegie, who was building a steel mill up the Monongahela in
McKeesport for his brother Andrew; Jacob Vandergrift, the local oil and gas
king, and, of all people, his own father!
Thomas couldn’t
believe his ears as the foursome all clamored for a dance. He could pick out his father’s voice,
claim-ing, “Since Henry couldn’t join us tonight, you’ll have to let me fill in
for him!”
“Oh, no!” Three other voices rose as one, then broke
into separate protestations as each man pressed his claim upon her.
Thomas stood,
rooted to the spot, as the group resumed their descent, each of the four
gentlemen insisting on the next dance.
Richard Baldwin
rarely took any notice of his only surviving son, who was his ever-present shadow
in all affairs regarding the running of the family empire. But even he couldn’t miss the sight of
Thomas, standing bug-eyed at the bottom of the stairs. “Thomas! Come meet the most beautiful capitalist in
America.” Richard grinned foolishly at
the lady. “Thomas, this is the incomparable Regina Waring. Regina, this is my boy Thomas.”
Boy? Thomas was thrown by his father’s term. It made him feel backwards – more
specifically, like he was twelve years old.
Regina smiled at
him, holding out a slender black-gloved hand.
“We’ve met already. Your son had
– lost something.” Thomas caught that
twinkle of humor in her eyes. “Have you
found it again?”
“Yes, thank
you.” Thomas responded, understanding
her veiled reference to his temper, and looking desperately for some-thing
clever to say. “I believe I have,” was
all that he could think of.
The two looked
at each other for a brief second.
Detecting that there was nothing more to say, Richard jumped in,
thinking to cover for his awkward son.
“Excuse us, Thomas,”
he said, taking Regina’s hand from where it still lay in Thomas’ grasp. “I’m determined
this lady has the next dance with me!”
Thomas didn’t
hear the friendly protest of his father’s friends. Already, the clever phrases it was too late
to say came bubbling to his lips; “Why,
yes, it was kind of you to help me look for it.” “I couldn’t help overhearing that you are
missing your usual escort tonight.
Rather than start a war among these fine gentlemen, may I fill in?”
He looked after
the departing group, and watched as Regina and Tom Carnegie separated from the
rest and joined the dancers.
Married. The most musical laugh
he’d ever heard, and she was already married.
His father was already better acquainted with her than he could ever
hope to be.
As Thomas stared
after his muse in red, a conference was taking place halfway across the
ballroom. Frustrated and angry at
Thomas’ desertion, Meredith Burke sought out her mother.
“Mother! Janey, Rose, Elsie and I found Thomas alone
in the conservatory with Mrs. Waring.
And now, he won’t even look at us!
He abandoned me in the middle of a dance so he could stand and stare at her. Look!”
She pointed him out, halfway up the stairs, gazing dumbfounded into the
crowd of dancers. “He’s still standing there staring at her!”
Marjorie Burke
was a practical woman. She was the
daughter of a barge driver and a laundress, who married a man with a little
money and a lot of drive. Her ambition
in life was to marry all her children off to families wealthier than their
own. Meredith was the last of four;
she’d succeeded with the first three.
Marjorie was not about to lose sight of her goal now. Thomas was the choicest bachelor any of her
daughters had gotten close to.
She followed her
daughter’s gaze to where Thomas stood, rooted to the ground as he watched the
ever-dazzling Mrs. Waring whirling about in the arms of a carefully attentive
A.W. Mellon. Mrs. Burke’s figure
stiffened in dislike. It was bad enough
that woman turned the heads of every married man in the city. Now she was keeping the unmarried men from
paying their attentions to the marriageable girls in the room!
“Well, my girl,”
Mrs. Burke said briskly to her daughter, “It looks like it’s going to take some
rather drastic measures if we’re going to pry one more victim from Mrs.
Waring’s lovely fingertips. I have a
very melodramatic idea,” she said, firmly taking her daughter’s arm and
guiding her outside on the terrace for a brief lecture in the icy February air,
where no one would be apt to overhear them.
Tara Taylor Quinn
