AT THE LAST minute Margaret decided that Anna could not be trusted with decisions about petticoats and footwear and hats, and so three women and two little girls climbed into Cap’s fine carriage with the help of taciturn Mr. Vale for the trip north to Madison Square. For a moment Anna considered retiring and leaving the whole endeavor to Margaret, who liked visiting shops, after all. But the little girls were so excited to have her along. Anna realized with something like guilt that she had rarely been out of the house with them.
And of course, at home in the quiet of an almost-empty house she would have nothing to distract her from thinking about Jack, who was on a train headed this way. Rather than watching the clock she would concern herself with little girls and the Lilliput Children’s Emporium.
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ANOTHER SET OF doubts rose up for Anna when they waved good-bye to Sophie, as the carriage bore her away to Park Place. On her way to spend the afternoon with Cap and whatever visitors came to call, overflowing with curiosity and, in some cases, malice. Even if no one called, Cap would take joy in arguing about every detail of the events to come.
“Because he can’t touch me,” Sophie said. “The next best thing is to make me mad.”
It was entirely possible, Anna thought, that the joy of having Sophie nearby would be eclipsed by the reality of not having her close enough. Even illness could not banish sexual desire completely, though she had doubts that Cap would find the strength even if the possibility presented itself. And thus the anger, which must have an outlet. It had been terrible to see them both so unhappy in the year of Cap’s self-imposed separation, but in some ways this resolution—together but not together—was just as hard.
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ONCE THE ENGAGEMENT had been publicly announced, Cap put his plans into action in anticipation of visitors—the curious, the gossip mavens, the disgruntled relatives—who would come to call. The Astors and De Peysters and the rest of the old Knickerbocker families would not come; Cap had effectively removed himself from their understanding of the world, and they would not see him if he were to meet one of them face-to-face on the street. Cap didn’t care, of that Sophie was sure. She herself had no interest in formal visits with the commodore’s widow, but she did resent the rejection of Cap, who was going away and would not be back again.
The parlor had been transformed since the formal announcement of the engagement. Most of the furniture had disappeared, leaving just two seating areas: one for Cap on the farthest wall between two windows, and the other twenty feet away. The heavy draperies had gone the way of the missing furniture and all the windows stood open, so that the parlor was filled with soft spring light and a tripling breeze. It was unorthodox and alarming and utterly pleasing to Sophie, not in the smallest part because it reminded her of New Orleans, where houses were built to welcome fresh air rather than keep it out. She thought of all that heavy, valuable fabric and at the same time of Jack Mezzanotte’s sisters, who would know how to put it to good use. She wondered what the gossips would say if she were to make a gift of Mrs. Verhoeven’s silk and brocade drapery to Italian needleworkers.
“Something for them to focus on other than your pretty face,” Cap had said when she asked about the missing furniture and finery.
“Something more to be outraged about,” she came back.
“Don’t begrudge Aunt Undine her only source of entertainment.” He said it with a grin, but Sophie knew he was worried about his mother’s sisters, or at least, two of them. The less difficult of the two was Eugenie, who believed that because she had married a first cousin and retained the family name, her son Andrew should be Cap’s heir. Undine was more difficult. She objected to everything, it seemed, on principle. And she never conceded.
Sophie might have simply forbidden visitors and given the importance of rest as her reason, but she was choosing her battles carefully.
“And it’s hard to censure him when his spirits are so much improved,” Anna pointed out, voicing that exact thought Sophie had not wanted to contemplate. The fact was that Cap overflowed with renewed energy at least in part because of overindulging in laudanum. When she confronted him he assured her that all would be well as soon as they were married and on their way; he would put himself in his wife’s care, and follow every direction.
At that she snorted a laugh, and he returned a lopsided grin.
And so sitting apart they received visitors: his Belmont aunts and uncles and some cousins, many old enough to be his parents. With the exception of Bram and Baltus and Cap’s uncle Conrad, most of the family members who visited were ill at ease or suspicious or both. None of them had the nerve to come out and say what they were thinking, or even why they had come. There were no congratulations to Cap, though most of them managed to greet Sophie politely.