Duke of a Gilded Age Read online

  “What a tragedy,” Lady Frederic said.

  “Yes, it was. Milady, I came to inform your husband of his brother’s wish to reconcile, but this changes everything. Not only did Septimus Parker make Lord Frederic his sole heir, but also your husband was in line to become the eleventh Duke of Mansbury. With no other male heirs, however, the title will become extinct.”

  Just then the front door burst open and a policeman yanked a bareheaded, bloodstained young man into view. Belle winced at the man’s injuries. His nose was bloodied, his left eye was purplish, and his lip was split open. Lady Frederic shot to her feet in horror.

  “Wesley! What happened, Officer Hannigan?”

  “Yer son’s been fightin’, Mrs. Parker,” the policeman said.

  Lady Frederic wrung her hands. “Not again!”

  Wesley scowled. “The Irish started it!”

  “Aye, and that’s the only reason I didn’t book ye with the rest o’ the lot,” Officer Hannigan said. “There were witnesses who said the other lads were followin’ him, Mrs. Parker.”

  “Thank you for bringing him home, Officer,” Lady Frederic said.

  The policeman released his iron grip on Wesley’s arm and wagged his finger. “You’re too old to be acting like a brawlin’ child, for pity’s sake. Stay out of trouble!”

  “Thank you, Officer Hannigan,” Wesley said. “I’ll try.”

  After the policeman left, Wesley seemed to finally notice Belle and her father. He smacked the part of his forehead still unmarked by bruises. “And after all that, I forgot the stupid biscuits!”

  He flopped onto a stool, and Lady Frederic shot him an exasperated look.

  “Mr. Oakhurst and Miss Oakhurst, allow me to introduce you to my son Wesley—the eleventh Duke of Mansbury.”

  Chapter Two

  The Inheritance

  SILENCE ENSUED AS WESLEY gaped first at the visitors and then at his mother. “You’re joking.”

  “Not in the least,” Mr. Oakhurst said.

  The attorney explained at length about letters patent, hereditary titles, and the dukedom known as Mansbury. To Wesley, the legal language was incomprehensible. Even though his mother brought him a wet cloth to clean his face, his injuries had begun to sting, ache, and throb—in that order—and he couldn’t concentrate. Worse, Mr. Oakhurst’s daughter was staring at him with ill-disguised disgust—or was it revulsion? Why on Earth was she here? There she sat, in all her ladylike perfection, while he resembled Sunday’s pot roast. In addition, he’d rolled through the gutters during the scuffle and he smelled like Monday’s chamber pot. Even his cap was missing, having been lost during the fight.

  Finally Mr. Oakhurst paused and Wesley managed to get a word in.

  “Sir, forgive me for being blunt, but I was born in a country where everyone is equal. I don’t want any sort of title and I’ve no intention of leaving America. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to wash up.”

  He slid off his stool, moved over to the washbasin around the corner, and shrugged off his tattered coat. It had been tight across the chest even before the fight, and the seams were now split open at the back of his shoulders. As gingerly as possible, Wesley washed his battered face and cut knuckles with soap and water. A glance in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall gave him no satisfaction; he looked as bad as he felt. Miss Oakhurst suddenly appeared in the mirror, just behind him.

  “Are you daft?” she whispered.

  A drip of water hung from the tip of his nose.

  “What? No.”

  “Perhaps you got a knock on the head, then? My father and I have come a long way to deliver good tidings and this is your response? That silly speech you just gave left your mother in tears. Perhaps you don’t care about titles or England, but obviously she does.”

  Wesley wiped the drip off his nose with his sleeve and turned around to face the girl.

  “Ever since my father died I’ve had no peace,” he replied. “The obituary mentioned his brother the duke, and I’ve been mercilessly mocked and teased since then until I don’t want to hear another word about it! I don’t aspire to be a member of royalty whatsoever.”

  Miss Oakhurst’s gaze was unwavering. “You ought to be proud of what you are, Mr. Parker. Although from my perspective, you’re well on the path to becoming a delinquent.”

  Wesley’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know a thing about me. And anyway, why should you care?”

  “I don’t care about you personally. Your mother, on the other hand, is a lady and should be treated as such. You really ought to apologize to her and accept your heritage with gratitude and humility.”

  “And you really ought not be so stuck up!”

  He peered past the brim of Miss Oakhurst’s hat, which seemed to be quivering with righteous indignation. A stab of pain pierced his heart when he realized his mother was indeed clutching a handkerchief to her eyes. Although he resented this young slip of a girl lecturing him in such an arrogant fashion, he couldn’t argue with her sentiments. His mother did deserve better. Wesley jammed his hands in his pockets, brushed past Miss Oakhurst, and cleared his throat.

  “Forgive me, Mother. I spoke without thinking just now. If it would please you, I’ll accept the title. I think it’s what Father would have wanted.”

  When his mother’s smile shone through her tears, it almost made up for the insufferable look of triumph on Miss Oakhurst’s face.

  As soon as the visitors left, Lady Frederic picked up her skirt and twirled around the flat in glee. Finally, she sank into a chair, out of breath.

  “I can’t wait to go back to England!”

  His mother was so happy that Wesley couldn’t suppress a smile. “When are we leaving?”

  “I’ve asked Mr. Oakhurst to book us on the next available steamship to Liverpool. Until then, we’re to move to the Fifth Avenue Hotel in Manhattan. Heaven knows I don’t want to stay here a moment longer than I must.”

  Wesley gaped. “The Fifth Avenue Hotel, did you say?” He dug into his pocket to produce the few coins Mrs. Zinna had given him. “I don’t think this is enough to pay for our rooms.”

  “Mr. Oakhurst left us plenty of money to settle our bills here, and he’s arranged a line of credit at the hotel. Get out our trunks and help me pack. A cab is coming to fetch us tomorrow morning.”

  “All right, but afterward I have to go tell Mr. and Mrs. Lombardi they need to hire another delivery boy. I’ll also have to resign my teaching position, but I suppose I can write the school a letter.”

  Wesley dragged a dusty old steamer trunk from inside a closet. Lady Frederic, humming, began to gather up her meager belongings to arrange inside.

  “Look, can’t we take a later ship to England?” he pleaded. “Mr. Oakhurst is all right, but his daughter’s a bossy prig.”

  “I hope her priggishness rubs off on you, Wesley. If you’re to move in British society, you must learn how to behave. Since you were born in America, many people will expect you to be uncouth.”

  Wesley shrugged and examined his grubby fingernails. “Well, I am uncouth.”

  “No, you’re not! Make an effort to get along, Wesley. Providence has finally seen fit to smile on us, and I intend to take advantage of the opportunity.”

  The Oakhurst’s cab drove onto the Brooklyn Bridge on its way toward Manhattan. Belle stared out the window, nursing hurt feelings. I can’t believe Wesley Parker called me stuck up! That was abominably rude.

  “The new Duke of Mansbury behaves more like a stable boy than a duke, and he smells worse than the back end of a horse,” she said.

  “Annabelle, that’s uncharitable.”

  “Accurate, nevertheless.”

  “Wesley Parker is a young man who’s had to make his own way since his father died. After he’s suitably attired, I think your opinion of him will improve.”

  “His bruises and cuts will heal, and perhaps you can buy him some decent clothes, but nothing will mask his dreadful American accent or brutish manners,” Bel
le said. “Errol dislikes Americans, and I’m not so sure I don’t agree with him.”

  Mr. Oakhurst laughed. “I find the Duke of Mansbury’s accent charming.”

  “The novelty will soon wear thin unless you can install a veneer of civility to go with it.”

  “An excellent suggestion, Annabelle. I’ll rely on you to assist him.”

  “What?”

  “You can teach him the rules of gentlemanly behavior and help him practice his social graces. In addition, he must learn to dance. Since you’re a dance instructor at Monsieur Caron’s studio, you’re the perfect candidate.”

  “I’m certain Monsieur Caron would welcome another pupil,” she said.

  “There may be little opportunity for extensive lessons, Annabelle. As soon as His Grace takes up residence at Caisteal Park, he’ll receive invitations to balls and parties. Perhaps Lady Frederic will even host a reception herself. The new Duke of Mansbury must be ready.”

  Belle struggled to stem her resentment by focusing on the magnificent view of the East River. A myriad of picturesque sailing ships, cargo vessels, and ferries traveled up and down the waterway, creating white froth in their wakes. She glanced back at the receding Brooklyn shoreline with a sigh of resignation.

  If Wesley Parker and I are to be thrown together, I suppose I must try to make the best of it.

  “The cab will be here shortly,” Lady Frederic called out. “Are you ready?”

  From behind the privacy curtain that walled off his sleeping area from the rest of the apartment, Wesley fumbled with the buttons on his waistcoat. “Almost. It’s funny, but I feel like I’m dressing for a stage performance.”

  He knew the garments didn’t exactly fit; he was taller than his father had been and broader through the shoulders. Nevertheless, clad in the black cutaway jacket, brocade waistcoat, and striped trousers, he stood straighter than before…until he banged his head on a pipe.

  Rubbing his forehead, Wesley pushed the curtain aside. His mother didn’t say anything for a few moments, and he began to think the worst.

  “I almost had your father buried in that suit,” she said finally. “I’m very glad now that I didn’t. You look a proper gentleman, Wesley, apart from the bruising.”

  He tugged down the sleeves of the jacket, trying to cover his bare wrists. His mother gave him a misty smile.

  “You’ll have to have an entirely new wardrobe tailored for you, of course. But you can’t walk into the Fifth Avenue Hotel dressed like a vagabond.”

  She gestured toward the top hat resting on the kitchen table. “I’ve dusted your father’s hat off. It’s a bit shabby, but it’ll have to do until you purchase another one.”

  “But I don’t want to wear a topper! Men wear derby hats these days.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you, Wesley. You’ll wear it.”

  Wesley ran his finger across the brim of the hat. “My friends and I used to make fun of gentlemen who wear toppers.” A grin at the memory caused him to wince from the pain of his split lip. “Ouch.”

  “Serves you right. No more fisticuffs, young man.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Lady Frederic busied herself gathering up her frayed gloves and a somewhat moth-eaten reticule. Wesley suddenly noticed her hair was arranged in a more elaborate style than usual, and her face had lost its strained expression. She’d set aside her mourning black and had donned an old, sky blue dress with flounces and slightly yellowed lace. The skirt was quite wide, and Wesley was baffled.

  “How do you hold it out?” he asked, gesticulating with his hands.

  His mother gave him a cool glance.

  “A gentleman doesn’t concern himself with what’s underneath a lady’s gown. For your information, however, it’s called a crinoline.” She cast a critical eye at her reflection in the looking glass hung on the wall. “Crinolines are hopelessly out of fashion, of course, but I’ve nothing else to wear.”

  “You look splendid and quite…pretty.”

  “That’s very kind, Wesley.”

  Her smile cheered him up considerably. “See here, if we can afford it, you shall have all new clothes,” he said. “I can make do with Father’s things for a while.”

  At that, Lady Frederic laughed. “Weren’t you listening when Mr. Oakhurst was explaining your inheritance?”

  “Not really. I was in too much pain.”

  “Well, we needn’t concern ourselves about money any longer.”

  “After being poor, I can’t imagine ever taking money for granted.”

  A knock at the door just then heralded the arrival of the cab.

  “I’ll get the trunks,” Wesley said.

  But as he bent down, Lady Frederic put a firm hand on his shoulder. “A gentleman doesn’t handle his own luggage.”

  Astonished, Wesley gaped. “Our trunks won’t move themselves!”

  “Let the driver do it,” she said. “That’s how he earns gratuities.”

  Wesley admitted the driver and stood aside while the man hoisted the first trunk onto his shoulder. Gentlemen aren’t permitted to do a great many things. So far, being a gentleman doesn’t sound fun.

  “I’m going upstairs to relinquish the key to Mrs. Thackeray.” Lady Frederic gave the apartment one final glance. “I’m not sorry to leave this place. Your father was never happy here, and neither was I.”

  Although Wesley hated the apartment too, a surge of nostalgia gripped him. Now that he was facing an uncertain future, the small dwelling suddenly represented a safe harbor. For good or for ill, he was about to say farewell to the last place he’d seen his father alive. He tried to keep his feelings hidden, but his mother must have sensed his turmoil. She slipped a soothing hand around his elbow.

  “Come along, my dear,” Lady Frederic said. “Staying here won’t bring your father back. If his spirit is anywhere, we’ll find it at Caisteal Park.”

  Lady Frederic left Wesley on the sidewalk while she went to the landlady’s apartment to drop off the key. The reflected August heat caused beads of perspiration to form on Wesley’s upper lip, but fortunately his mother reappeared almost immediately. While the driver loaded the last of their trunks, Wesley helped his mother into the cab and sat next to her.

  Down the street, Liam was tossing a battered baseball in the air and catching it on the way down with one hand. Wesley’s cloth cap was set on his head at a jaunty angle. As the cab drove past, Wesley leaned out the window.

  “Hey, Liam!”

  The dawning recognition in Liam’s eyes caused his jaw to drop. Wesley lifted his top hat. “Give my best to Colleen, why don’t you?”

  With a satisfied grin, Wesley settled back in his seat. Perhaps being a gentleman has its compensations after all.

  In the rarified atmosphere of the handsomely appointed Fifth Avenue Hotel lobby, Mr. Oakhurst and Belle waited for Wesley and his mother to arrive. The floor was covered with a highly polished white marble that echoed the extensive use of marble on the hotel’s exterior. Round columns stretched from floor to ceiling, and a flower stand in one corner did a brisk business. Glossy green potted plants softened every corner, and the hotel fairly thrummed with excitement.

  Belle watched the vertical railway doors open and close nearby. People disappeared into the little movable parlor en route to one of the five floors above her head. She nudged her father to get his attention. “That’s truly a marvelous invention. I wrote about it in my letter to Errol last night.”

  Mr. Oakhurst tore his attention away from the hotel entrance long enough to glance at the vertical lift. “Did you know this hotel was constructed with the first passenger elevator? Originally it was a vertical screw railway, but I believe it’s since given way to a more modern rope mechanism.”

  “Quite clever.”

  “Indeed, the widespread use of elevators will enable buildings to be taller than we can ever imagine.”

  Belle shook her head in amazement. “You’d think structures would topple over after a certain hei
ght.”

  “I certainly hope they don’t! Ah, I see the young duke and his mother have arrived. Will you meet them while I alert the manager?” Mr. Oakhurst strode toward the front desk.

  Belle gave Wesley an appraising look as the doorman ushered him and Lady Frederic into the lobby. Despite the fact his clothes were in need of a good tailor, the cutaway jacket, vest, and trousers were an improvement over his former disarray. Furthermore, his shiny top hat suited him well. His shoes were abysmal, however, his lip and eye were still swollen, and his hair was indifferently combed. Nevertheless, if one didn’t examine him too closely, Wesley Parker resembled a gentleman. Lady Frederic’s appearance was also much improved, and her demeanor was far more relaxed and cheerful than the day before.

  Belle curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Lady Frederic.”

  “Good morning, Miss Oakhurst.”

  Belle’s curtsy to Wesley was an afterthought. “Hello, Your Grace.”

  Wesley stared. “My what?”

  “Your Grace. It’s how you’re addressed by those social classes lower than the gentry. Otherwise, you’ll be addressed as Duke, or sir. Family and very close friends are another matter.”

  He looked annoyed. “See here, that’s nonsense!”

  Just then, Mr. Oakhurst returned with the hotel manager.

  “Good morning, Lady Frederic,” Mr. Oakhurst said. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

  Belle tried not to smirk at her father’s use of Wesley’s title.

  “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Darling,” Mr. Oakhurst continued.

  The manager beamed. “Welcome to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, Lady Frederic, Your Grace. Come this way, sir, to sign the register.”

  Wesley seemed bewildered as he penned his name in the book at the front desk. Belle felt a slight tug of sympathy at his discomfort. He’s so out of place, I could almost feel sorry for him.

  While Wesley was thus occupied, Mr. Darling directed the bellhops to take charge of the Parkers’ worn trunks. Thereafter, the manager insisted on showing the Parkers to their suite personally.