Three
The Leander Regatta was one of the premier social events of the season, which was why Gray felt distinctly out of place as he strolled along the boardwalk with his sister on his arm. The Delacroix family had helped found the yachting club generations earlier, but Gray had always been too busy resurrecting the family fortune to frolic in pointless boat races.
A wooden promenade lined the Potomac River and led to the clubhouse. Hundreds had turned out to watch the annual regatta beneath the cloudless blue sky. Flags snapped in the breeze, and the air was alive with laughter and music. The young men competing in the races wore ridiculous striped blazers in their team’s colors, while women sported wide-brimmed bonnets that were literal works of art.
Gray’s brother and sister adored the annual regatta, and since he had recovered from his bout with malaria, he had no excuse to avoid it. Besides, he desperately needed the opportunity to start guiding Caroline and Luke toward a more responsible life. The twins were the product of his father’s second marriage, and they’d been so young when Gray’s responsibilities took him abroad that it seemed each time he returned to America, they were an inch taller and a mile more reckless. He’d recentlycaught Caroline smoking cigarettes on the roof of their house with some of her disreputable city friends, and last week he’d had to bail Luke out of jail for drunkenness.
The hardest thing when he first went overseas was leaving Caroline and Luke behind, for during their early years, it was as though they were his own children. He was twelve when the twins were born, and he guided their first steps, bandaged their skinned knees, and taught them to read. He loved them down to the marrow of his bones, but they had both grown wild, and he didn’t know what to do about them. At twenty-eight, it seemed the only thing Luke truly loved was boat racing, so Gray would dutifully watch his brother compete in this afternoon’s double-scull races.
“Oh, look, there is the Secretary of the Treasury and his wife,” Caroline said as she nodded toward an older couple holding court near the refreshment stand. “Would you like me to introduce you?”
Gray looked at his pocket watch. “Luke’s race begins in five minutes.”
“Bah!” Caroline said. “No one is here to watch the races. This is an opportunity to see and be seen.” She smiled at each couple they passed on the promenade.
The society pages had dubbed Caroline “the Contessa” for the way she effortlessly captured the attention of a crowd. She was the cream of high society: beautiful, flirtatious, and wickedly charming. She was also completely useless. If the world needed a tea party, Caroline would outshine every hostess on the Eastern Seaboard. For anything else, she knew how to summon her maid.
Caroline steered him toward the group of fashionable people near the refreshment stand, but an old acquaintance intercepted them.
“Mr. Delacroix, I’m sorry to hear of your father’s passing,” the middle-aged gentleman said. “Nicholas Delacroix was truly one of our finest.”
“He was indeed,” Gray said. “Thank you for your kind words.”
His father had died six months ago, but the pain was still raw. Gray had been in Ceylon when news of his father’s stroke reached him. He took the fastest steamship home but still arrived the day after Nicholas breathed his last. On that day Gray lost his mentor, his business partner, and the best man he’d ever known.
Few people could understand their bond. Gray’s mother had died when he was an infant, so Nicholas was the only parent he’d ever known. Most of Gray’s adult life had been spent abroad, but even so, he and his father jointly built a global spice empire and resurrected the family fortune that had been demolished during the Civil War.
Gray was only a child at the end of the war, but he remembered what it was to be hungry, frightened, and burned out of his home. His father hadn’t been too proud to roll up his sleeves and tackle manual labor, and Gray had worked right alongside him. It took years of backbreaking exertion and clever business investments, but by the time his father remarried, their family’s coffers were healthy once again. Luke and Caroline never wanted for anything, and his father had been glad of that, but Gray wasn’t so sure. There was honor in a hard day of labor. While Nicholas thought the sun, the moon, and the stars revolved around his adored daughter, Gray couldn’t respect Caroline’s undiluted frivolity. But he and his father were in full agreement about Luke, in whom they were both deeply disappointed.
Gray dragged his thoughts back to the present, trying to ignore the gnawing ache in his chest. He was lonely. He missed his father and never felt at home in Alexandria. He was an outsider here, and mingling with these people was awkward, but he’d get through it, since his sister had asked it of him.
Caroline flirted effortlessly with an admiral home on leave. With her golden blond hair and bright personality, she sparkledbrighter than a diamond. She glided with ease through fashionable society, which was especially impressive since his stepmother had died when Caroline was still young. It was as though Caroline had been imbued at birth with an innate ability to shine in the very best of settings.
“Shall we go watch the first of the races?” the admiral asked. “I gather your brother is competing.”
“Must we?” Caroline asked. “I’d rather discuss the navy’s white dress uniforms. I wish you’d let your officers wear them more often. It would delight every lady in the city.”
Gray eventually nudged Caroline toward the bleachers. The race started a mile downriver, and two-man teams would row their narrow boats until they crossed the finish line here at the bleachers. Luke was rowing with a friend from the Naval Academy. Gray would have thought Luke would be embarrassed to maintain a friendship with Philip Ransom, who’d graduated at the top of his class seven years ago. Luke, on the other hand, had been kicked out of the Naval Academy a semester shy of graduation and never did earn a college degree. But the two men remained friends and crewed a shell each year at the annual regatta. Gray could only hope some of Philip’s sober good sense would eventually wear off on Luke.
The two men raced in Nicholas Delacroix’s prized racing shell, a memento from his father’s racing days at Harvard. After the war, his father never rowed again, but he’d lovingly waxed and maintained the racing boat for his sons to use someday. Gray never saw the point in recreational games, but it seemed to be the only thing at which Luke excelled.
“Here they come!” Caroline said, shooting to her feet and gazing through her miniature binoculars.
Luke and Philip were half a length ahead of their nearest competition. Both men used their whole bodies as they pulled their oars in a smooth, synchronized motion, their shell slicing through the water as the crowd cheered.
Luke’s face was tight with concentration as he rowed to a first-place finish. Both men released their oars and raised tired arms in victory. Gray couldn’t contain his pleased smile. Whatever else Luke’s failings—and there were many—his brother trained hard, and his victory was well earned.
“Let’s go congratulate them,” Caroline urged, squeezing Gray’s arm so hard it hurt.
They wended their way through the bleachers to the staging area where the shells were pulled ashore and the age-old traditions following a race were in full swing. Men from the losing teams stripped off their shirts and surrendered them to the victors. Luke and Philip grinned as they scooped up the sweaty shirts and draped them across their shoulders, proudly wearing their foul-smelling trophies.
“Don’t come any closer,” Caroline laughed in mock horror.
Luke grinned and spread his arms wide. “Darling sister, come give me a hug,” he roared as he chased Caroline. She didn’t have much choice as he dragged her into a sweaty embrace. She squealed in horrified delight until she managed to twist away.
Gray offered a gentlemanly handshake. “Congratulations, Luke. And to you, Philip.”
Both men nodded respectfully, but the hooting and jesting immediately surged back to life as the last-place team finally dragged their shell to dry land. The hazing was merciless as Luke lunged forward to claim their shirts. One of the rowers shook a bottle of champagne to spray over the others and then passed it around for the men to drink straight from the bottle.
