Alva moved over to the mirror, holding up her elbow to examine the scab that had formed. She’d been fighting with herself to keep from picking at it, which was proving harder to do than keeping her promise to Emily.
For all of her flaws—and Alva knew she was no angel—she did take promises seriously. Mrs. Astor would never know that Alva had saved her daughter’s life. There was no going back on that, which just meant Alva would have to find another way to get the Grande Dame’s attention.
CHAPTER SIX
Caroline
The orchestra was warming up, musicians tuning their violins, violas and other instruments. Christine Nilsson, in an ivory silk faille gown, stood off to the side, practicing her vocal scales—Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha, ah-ha-ha-ha-ha. Caroline’s first footman, dressed in elegant green livery—ordered specifically for this event—was stationed at the front door, ready to inspect invitations before admitting each guest. A second footman, also dressed in livery, was off to the side, waiting to adhere white boutonnieres to the gentlemen’s lapels. Sixty round tables with gilded chairs were stationed on the lawn, overlooking the cliffs. Each table was graced with a white damask tablecloth, the edges fluttering in the breeze, the napkins weighted down with fourteen-karat-gold cherub rings. A spread of silverware flanked the china at the place settings, and a dozen American Beauties sat at the center of each table. It was a flower that Caroline had introduced to this country, and at $2 a stem, American Beauties were a rare extravagance. Few hostesses could ever convince their husbands that the expense was necessary.
Normally Caroline’s parties didn’t begin until eleven in the evening, but her clambake was called for five o’clock, with supper being served at eight, followed by dancing till dawn and two buffets, one at midnight and a second one at six a.m.
Even at this hour, the day’s heat was nearly unbearable. Caroline stood at the foot of her yard with Ward McAllister, waiting to receive their guests. Among the first in line was Caroline’s brother-in-law.
John Jacob Astor III stepped forward. He had bristly muttonchops and a mustache that had already turned gray despite his dark brown hair. He took both her hands in his. “Caroline” was all he said.
She didn’t expect more. Her reply was simply “John.”
Her sister-in-law, Augusta, was next. She had a squarish, boxlike face but beautiful blue eyes that drew you in. “The letter . . . ,” Augusta said, her mouth twisted up, giving Caroline a pitying glance, the rest implied. “I prayed for you. And for William, too.”
There was something ever so smug in her delivery, as if she had taken some pleasure in writing that letter. Caroline pressed her lips together and raised her chin, remembering the Augusta who once loved hunting and gun collecting before trading all that in for the Bible. How many times had Augusta forced Waldorf to his knees, making her son repent for singing or playing hide-and-seek in the dumbwaiter with his cousins on a Sunday?
Waldorf was next in line. He had grown into a handsome, politically ambitious man, now in his twenties with his eye on the United States Senate. “Aunt Lina,” he said, planting a perfunctory kiss on her cheek before walking off, just as dismissive as his parents had been.
Caroline turned to her other guests, pleased to see everyone enjoying themselves; admiring the view along the cliffs, women gingerly removing their gloves just long enough to nibble a clam or prawn before replacing them, men holding their boaters in place while playing bilboquet or croquet. Young ladies fluttered about with dance cards fastened to their wrists, penciling in the names of gentlemen to whom they’d promised dances when the ballroom opened.
After receiving so many guests, Caroline was hoping William would join her on the lawn but he was nowhere in sight. Instead, she somehow found herself walking alongside Ward McAllister and Mamie Fish—of all people. Although she’d wanted to keep an eye on Mamie, knowing she had hopes of rising up in society and taking Caroline’s place. She wasn’t threatened, though. It would take a much shrewder and more powerful woman than Mamie Fish to replace her.
Caroline now observed Mamie with great curiosity. She was wearing a gown so heavily embellished with diamonds and pearls that she appeared to have a difficult time walking. The brim on her hat was wide enough to provide shade for Caroline and Ward, too. Caroline would have expected this from new money, but that day, she noted that the smart set wore gowns that were equally ornate. Everywhere she looked Caroline saw more sparkled beading, rays of sunlight glinting off the jewels. Everyone was fascinated with those Worth gowns. Nowadays gemstones and trinkets were becoming as essential to a society lady as her calling card.
Caroline looked down at her own dress, regretting that she’d changed. For once, her mother had been wrong. Times were changing and Caroline was torn, caught between two worlds: her mother’s and her own. Admittedly, she didn’t know what to do with her own world. As the head of society, she’d been so busy preserving the etiquette and traditions from the past that establishing any sense of modernity hadn’t occurred to her. She had many strengths and talents when it came to her role, but being an innovator was not one of them. She sometimes felt like someone with no imagination and absolutely no artistic abilities standing before a blank canvas. She had no clear vision for the future. She certainly couldn’t have predicted that women would ever dress as eccentrically as they did now. And what if she, too, had appeared that day in a Worth gown? So what? It might have been refreshing, might have shown her guests a lighter side of her. Her mother wouldn’t have approved no matter what she wore, and with all the gossip about her marriage, if ever there was a time for Caroline to sparkle, it had been then.
A group of gentlemen in linen summer suits and straw boaters were off to the side playing battledore and shuttlecock. Mamie’s husband, Stuyvesant Fish, was among them and had nearly collided with August Belmont. The two of them were now batting away and still missing the shuttlecock. Well, that got Mamie laughing. And oh, that laugh! People turned to see where all the noise was coming from.
Caroline could take no more and excused herself, heading for the stone stairs overlooking her yard. Doing a lighthouse sweep of the lawn for William, Caroline observed her youngest, Jack, plucking canapés off a footman’s tray. The boy’s appetite was insatiable. He was only twelve but ate more than most grown men. And to think, of all her children, he’d been the smallest at birth, weighing a little over five pounds. She sometimes blamed herself for trying to fatten him up, but the doctor assured her he was just a growing boy. Still, Caroline worried and summoned his governess. “Keep Jack away from the hors d’oeuvres. He’s going to make himself sick, eating like that.” The governess scampered across the lawn to reprimand Jack, who’d gotten hold of one last prawn before being tugged away.
Caroline still couldn’t locate William. She hadn’t seen him since the guests began arriving, which wasn’t a good sign. She feared he was in a drunken stupor and that people were talking about his affair. The only way to quash the gossip was for the two of them to appear together, unified, with smiles in place.