She nods to Alice. Ward’s eyebrows rise, wrinkling his brow.
“And nothing for me? I’d claim to be wounded, but then again, I didn’t get you ladies any gifts either, now did I?”
There’s a glint in the older man’s eye that makes Alice suspect he is, in truth, offended at the oversight. She’ll have to watch to make sure that bit of irritation doesn’t grow into something bigger.
Once the carriage door is shut and they’re on their way downtown, Ward drops the small talk, lowering his voice into an octave meant for business.
“Mrs. Astor will be in attendance today. Easy enough for me to make an introduction. Rather harder to avoid it, don’t you know.”
“And yet I’ll find a way,” Alice demurs firmly. “I’d really rather not cross her path.”
“I’ve snuck you both onto the guest list for her ball,” he notes.
“And we’ve declined.”
Cora lets out a surprised squawk. Her eyes have been following the two of them like she’s in the crowd at a summer tennis match.
Alice ignores her. Again. “The next engagement must be the Vandemeers’ dinner party. You know how James is—if he’s not first in line, he’s not interested. In order to draw them in more deeply, they must be seen to be our preferred hosts, our preferred everything.”
“Seen byallto be preferred. Including Mrs. Caroline Astor? Society will see your declining her invitation as a purposeful snub. Perhaps even a scandalous one.”
“You never should have included us in the first place,” Aliceputs in, more sharply. “Then we wouldn’t be in a position to cause scandal.”
Ward’s face reddens. “I’d thought it a strategic move. Clearly you disagree. But I assure you, I would not have taken the risk of offending my Mystic Rose by intervening for anyone else.”
The risk. Of course. The reason he’s entered into this arrangement with the likes of Alice in the first place. To secure a safety net beneath his ever-precarious social position. When one relies on the generosity of richer patrons, the kind who savor nicknames like “Mystic Rose,” for goodness’ sake, one is forever at the mercy of their whims. But all of that is set to change in only a few months’ time.
“I know how much you esteem her,” Alice offers.
“Respectis a better word,” Ward says wryly. “In the way that an explorer respects the grizzly bear he encounters in the wild.”
“You see?” Alice cocks her head. “You’ve put it better than I could. Mrs. Astor is no mere chorus member in this production of ours. How could she be, when everything in this world turns upon a word from her? Better just to leave her out of it. She needn’t know we were even invited.”
“Oh, she knows already.” Ward sighs. “At least she will as soon as she receives your regrets.”
Alice softens. Presses her hand into his, her form of an apology.
He squeezes, accepting it.
“I’ll send a further letter of explanation,” she says. “Cora’s brother died yesterday. Shot by Hungarians as he attempted to stop them from entering the mines. We are both in mourning for the next several weeks.”
“How shocking.” Ward tips his hat to Cora. “My sincerest condolences.”
Cora smirks, but her face drops as the carriage slows behind the train of others arriving at Grace Church’s Gothic Broadway entrance. “Oh hell, I’ll need to look tragic, then.”
“Indeed,” Alice says dryly. “And you may consider watching your language while inside a public place of worship. It might be different for Lutherans, but this is—”
“Episcopalian,” Cora grumbles. “Let’s get this over with.”
As they parade inside the building, leaving Ward behind at the doorway to attend Mrs. Astor’s arrival, Alice recalls past services here as if from the other side of a dream.
She was much smaller then. The pew backs much taller, the windows and ceiling endlessly high. Filing in along the stiff-faced clerics, exchanging dry, wordless greetings with everyone already seated in their carefully negotiated pews. Squirming in her scratchy lace-collared dress, her governess pinching her to make her sit still, her mother’s sweet voice rising as they began the hymns. Her father heartily shaking hands with well-wishers and business associates.
With Robert Ames. With Witt and Vandemeer and Ogden and—
“Are you all right?” Cora whispers in her correct accent as they take a seat in a pew toward the middle of the church.
“Yes, obviously,” Alice mutters back, in case anyone is listening. “Only praying for your dear brother’s soul.”
