“Well,” he said, conspiratorially, “we interlopers have to stick together.”
Alva raised her glass and an eyebrow in unison. Regardless of what the Vanderbilts thought, she liked Jeremiah. Felt an instant connection with him. Later she would learn that being the family wastrel wasn’t entirely his fault. Jeremiah had been born with epilepsy, and after his first seizure, complete with frothing from the mouth, the Commodore had put him in an asylum. After his release, Jeremiah picked up a gambling habit and some other vices. But that was years ago and according to Willie, Jeremiah had been behaving himself, and for now anyway, was back in the Commodore’s good graces.
Twenty minutes later, dinner was served, and they’d all moved into the dining room, sitting around a table made of rosewood and mahogany trimmed in bronze. Two footmen brought out enormous serving dishes and tureens, steaming platters of capon, bass and lamb, the various aromas melding together, clashing and at times pungent. Alva had lost her appetite because they’d begun talking—of all things—about Mrs. Astor’s clambake. She would have given anything to be there instead that night.
“I hear they’re bringing the Academy’s symphony in from New York,” said Willie’s mother.
“I wonder how much that will cost them,” said Cornelius, tucking his napkin in his shirt collar.
“Speaking of the Academy of Music,” said Alice, “with any luck we’ll be purchasing a box this coming season. I’m hoping to set up a meeting with the impresario when we return to New York.”
The others thought that was splendid. The Academy of Music was the city’s opera house, the fountainhead of the Knickerbockers’ existence. Alva didn’t respond. She knew Alice had been denied such a meeting for the past three seasons. What made her think this year would be any different? The expression on Jeremiah’s face said pretty much the same thing.
Alva took a good hard look at her new extended family. The people gathered around that table represented more wealth than was fathomable. Even more wealth than the Astors possessed. The Commodore was worth millions, which, upon his death, would be cut up like a pie and served sliver by sliver to his thirteen children and their descendants. The largest piece, of course, would go to his eldest son, Billy.
The Commodore, seated to Alva’s right, was eighty-two, and his mind and vision were beginning to wane. He’d already mistaken Alva’s gown for his napkin, and when he bent over to dab his mouth on her dress, she yelped. The others looked on horrified, but not quite as horrified as they’d been when he splashed about in his finger bowl and then slurped it down the hatch.
Looking around the table again, Alva saw exactly what she was up against. Yes, the Vanderbilts had enormous wealth, but no amount of money could buy the one thing they lacked: breeding. She was all too aware that Billy was using his oyster fork for his salad, Jeremiah had bread crumbs in his beard, Cornelius had his elbows on the table, and the Commodore was chewing with his mouth open.
Though each new generation possessed slightly better manners and greater sophistication, the Vanderbilts hadn’t evolved enough for society. Frankly, they hadn’t evolved enough for Alva, either. It was obvious now that it was going to be up to her to get the Vanderbilts recognized by society.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Caroline
Over my dead body. The day after the clambake, those words came back to haunt William Backhouse Astor Jr. Caroline was passing by the conservatory just as her husband was about to receive a most unusual visitor, an eager-looking gentleman with broad, square shoulders and an obedient stance. Hade announced him as George Pendergrass, General Van Alen’s second.
“Van Alen’s second?” William laughed and looked at Caroline, who was now curious enough to join her husband in the chair beside him as the breeze coming through the open windows stirred the drapes.
Pendergrass ceremoniously handed William a sealed envelope. “General Van Alen asked that I deliver this letter to you personally.”
No one said anything. The sound of water trickling from the marble Apollo fountain in the center of the room was suddenly amplified.
“Very well,” said William eventually. “You’ve delivered his letter, and now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t have time for this nonsense.” He gestured toward the door.
“I’ve been instructed to wait while you read the general’s letter.” Pendergrass stood solid and stoic, hands clasped behind his back.
“Utterly ridiculous,” said William with a wave of his hand. “I won’t be told what to do. Especially not in my own house and certainly not by Van Alen.”
“Very well then, sir.” Pendergrass retrieved the envelope from William. “I’ve been instructed to read it to you, if by chance you refused to do so yourself.” He unsealed the letter, cleared his throat and began:
Sir—
Having learned of the unfortunate events that occurred on your property yesterday, Thursday, the tenth of August, I am gravely offended. You have not only humiliated and insulted my son, but you have besmirched my family’s good name. I demand you retract your statements and offer an apology at once to my son, and to each guest in attendance. Furthermore, I demand that you grant permission thereby allowing Miss Emily Astor to wed my son, James Van Alen Jr. If all of the above, as well as a formal written apology to me, are not forthcoming within the next twenty-four hours, I will have no choice but to challenge you to a duel using Colt pistols as our weapons. The time and place to be—
“Enough!” William shouted, making Pendergrass take a half step back.
A duel? Caroline shook her head. It was preposterous.
“I refuse to waste my time listening to one more word.” William looked at Pendergrass and added, “You tell General Van Alen he’s every bit as pompous as his son.” He snatched the letter from Pendergrass, crumpled it into a tight ball and deposited it back into Pendergrass’s hand. “There’s his apology. What he chooses to do with it is of no concern of mine. However, if he’s looking for suggestions, I can offer a prime location as to where he may shove it.”
Caroline listened to her husband hurling insults about General Van Alen, and when his language became too colorful, she excused herself, doubting that anyone noticed she’d left the room. With the sound of William’s bluster echoing off the walls, Caroline went upstairs to check on Emily, who had not stepped out of her room since the clambake.
When she knocked on the door, there was no answer. She tried the knob, surprised when it turned. Letting herself in, she saw Emily on her side, facing the wall. She didn’t stir at all, and at first, Caroline thought she was asleep. But then Emily craned her neck, rolling onto her back.
“I haven’t heard from James since the clambake. It’s over. I’ve lost him. Lost him for good.”