She went inside to look for him, passing her butler, standing regally in the grand foyer. “Mr. Astor is in the library with Miss Charlotte,” Hade said without her even having to ask.
Sure enough, there was William, in the library, sitting in his leather armchair with a glass of whiskey at his side. Charlotte was with him, the two of them playing cards.
Of all her children, Charlotte was William’s favorite. He made no attempt to hide it. He called her Charlie, and unlike the others, William had taught her to fish, golf, how to shoot and clean a gun. In many ways, Charlotte was more like a son to him than Jack.
“Who’s winning?” Caroline asked, sliding the pocket door shut behind her.
“We’re tied,” said William.
“Not for long.” Charlotte played the king of spades and that was that. Game over.
“Good thing this wasn’t poker,” said William. “She’d have cleaned me out.”
“Oh, poker!” Charlotte lit up. “Let’s play.”
“Oh, no. No you don’t,” said Caroline. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re entertaining guests, and you, young lady, should be outside. You too,” she said, eyeing William.
“Oh, Mother, must I? Those people are so boring.”
“Charlotte.”
“I agree with Charlie. Must we?” William laughed as he gathered up the cards.
Part of Caroline would have loved to stay and play a hand or two with them, avoid the small talk outside, the exchange of pleasantries, the adoration as well as the scrutiny. “Yes,” she said, “you must join the party. Both of you.”
“Well,” said Charlotte, “maybe I’ll go down to the stables first and see what Duncan is—”
“Charlotte!”
“Oh, Mother.” She burst out laughing. “Don’t worry. I’m teasing. I would never do that.” She dramatically stood up, palms faced out. “Look—I’m going back to the party—see? I’m going.”
After she left, Caroline turned to William, who was roaring with laugher, pointing. “You should have seen the look on your face.”
“You shouldn’t encourage her. She’s becoming a little too familiar with that coachman. I don’t like it,” she said, noticing with some minor irritation that someone hadn’t put a book back where it belonged on the shelf. Is it so hard to line them up according to height? she thought as she crossed the room to fix it, the orchestra music filtering in from outside. “What are you waiting for?” she asked. “You should be mingling with our guests.”
“They’re your friends.” He set the cards aside. “Besides, I doubt any of them would notice if I was out there or not.”
“You promised, remember?” Caroline was about to say something else when the pocket door slid open and in walked James Van Alen. Hade appeared behind him, breathless—as if he’d rushed down the corridor after him—apologizing for the interruption.
William waved off the butler’s concern, and Caroline braced herself. There was only one reason why Van Alen would dare approach William, and she couldn’t bear to witness it. “I’ll leave you two gentlemen to your business.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” William glowered at her.
Of course, this was the moment he wanted her by his side. Obviously, William knew what was coming, too. Their dislike of James Van Alen was one of the few things they agreed on these days. Though she was certain that William was blaming her for inviting Van Alen to the clambake. At that moment, she was blaming herself, too. In a rare show of wifely obedience, Caroline dropped into the chair near the window.
“Forgive me,” Van Alen said, adjusting his monocle. “I was hoping I might have a word, good sir.”
“I’m occupied,” William said, polishing off his drink.
“But it is a matter of great importance.”
William sighed. He was a prankster with a vicious streak, and just then he had that look in his eye. Caroline knew Van Alen would soon regret ever stepping foot inside that library. “Well, in that case”—William motioned to the butler and held out his empty glass—“a refill for me, Hade, and one here for Mr. Van Alen.”
Van Alen politely raised his hand. “Ah, actually, I don’t drink—”
“Don’t tell me you’re not a whiskey man,” said William, incredulous.
For all of Van Alen’s faults, Caroline and William both knew that drinking wasn’t one of them.
“Ah, yes,” said Van Alen, poorly hiding his trepidation. “Whiskey. Capital idea.”
“Oh, and, Hade, leave the bottle,” William said as he handed Van Alen his drink.
After Hade disappeared, William raised his glass. “To your health, young man.”
Van Alen took an obligatory sip.
“It’s not a cup of tea, you know,” said William. “If you’re going to drink, drink.” He clanked his glass against Van Alen’s. The young man winced after taking a healthy swallow. “Now that’s more like it,” said William, who continued talking at length—something about the best whiskey he’d ever had—and kept gesturing for Van Alen to keep drinking.
“Well then, Mr. Astor, Mrs. Astor,” he eventually managed to slip in, offering a slight nod to them both, “I wanted to talk with you about my intentions for your—”
“Excellent intentions, I am sure. Let me top that off for you,” said William, reaching for the bottle.
“No, no, I’m quite fine, thank you.” Van Alen covered the glass with his gloved palm.
“Oh, nonsense.” William pushed Van Alen’s hand aside and refilled his glass.
“Thank you, sir.” Van Alen took another sip. “The reason I wanted to speak with you is—”
“Now there’s a man who appreciated a good glass of whiskey.” William cut him off, pointing to a photograph of his grandfather resting on the fireplace mantel. “John Jacob Astor,” he said with a puff of pride. “Yes sir, he appreciated his whiskey.”
“I believe Emily mentioned that.” James smiled weakly. “And speaking of Emily, I wanted to ask you about—egads,” he said while William refilled his glass yet again and motioned for Van Alen to drink up, which he reluctantly did.
“Now as I was saying.” Van Alen adjusted his monocle. “I’ve been seeing a good deal of your daughter and well . . .” He paused and took another sip for courage. “Well . . . well, you see . . .” He began to ramble, repeating himself. “Mr. Astor, I’ve grown awfully fond of the girl. Awfully, awfully fond of her. Actually, it’s more than a fondness and—”