What the Lady Wants (14 page)

“I'm sorry,” Delia said, instantly recoiling. “Forgive me.”

The judge turned to Arthur. “So you let your wife fight your battles for you, is that it?”

Delia waited for a moment, hoping Arthur would speak up, defend himself, but he just sat with his eyes aimed at his plate. Delia glanced around the table and saw that everyone was avoiding one another, all their expressions set in stone.

The judge's eyes narrowed in indignation. “Well, is that the case?”

Arthur hesitated and then mumbled, “No, sir. That is not the case.”

Delia reached under the table and took Arthur's hand in hers. His palm was damp and clammy. She wanted to scream, wanted to tell them all that Arthur was perfectly capable of fighting his own battles, but she knew that would only make it worse for him. She'd unintentionally put him in a position where he was torn between her and his father. Instead of helping him, she'd made things infinitely worse. Her heart was breaking for him beneath the weight of her own guilt.

M
arsh was still away. It had been almost three weeks. He was splitting his time between staying in Rochester with Nannie and tending to business in New York.

As she had promised, Delia had been looking in on the children several times a week. She introduced Junior to her nephew, Spencer, and despite his being almost six years younger than Junior, the two took an instant liking to each other, playing checkers and making drawings together. They were competitive, but good-natured about it, especially Junior, who recognized that his years of seniority came with the price of responsibility.

One Saturday Delia brought Junior and Ethel to her house only to find they were fascinated by how different her home was from their own. Junior especially loved the tiger and bearskin rugs. He lay down on the floor in the parlor, face-to-face with the bearskin, making growling sounds. Ethel was captivated by the globe that spun round and around on the brass stand in the
library. But those amusements were short-lived and soon Delia was at a loss as to what to do with them. Ethel and Junior were sitting with their elbows on their knees, their chins resting on their knuckles, eyes looking heavy and glum, when Arthur wandered into the parlor. He turned to the children and then at Delia, who gave him a helpless shrug.

“Who's up for a horseback ride?” Arthur asked, bringing his palms together in a vigorous rub.

The children lifted their chins. “Me! Me! Can we? Please?” asked Ethel, already rising to her feet.

When they went back to the stable, the spring sun beat down on them, and the air smelled of manure and hay. Delia swatted at the horseflies swarming all around as she went in to see the horses. She'd brought carrots from the kitchen and reached in her pocket, holding a carrot out for one of the geldings, loving the velvety-soft feel of his muzzle against her palm. She patted his neck and pressed her nose in close to fill her lungs with his heady scent.

“Okay,” said Arthur, walking a gorgeous Arabian named Tia up to the mounting block. “Who wants to go first?”

Ethel was already jumping forward, hand raised. “Me, me! Let me.”

Junior didn't challenge her. Instead he sat on a bale of hay while Arthur hoisted little Ethel up on the mare and walked her around the arena, warning her to hold on tight. Her pretty little face burst with laughter as she squealed in delight. Junior sat with hands planted back on his knees, chin on his knuckles, watching his little sister. Arthur never let go of the reins and after a few times around the arena it was Junior's turn.

“Now, don't let her know you're scared,” said Arthur, as he helped the boy into the saddle.

“I'm not scared,” Junior insisted. But when Tia whinnied and
stomped her foot, Junior let out a cry, making his little sister laugh.

“Be quiet, you,” Junior said, as Ethel covered her mouth and continued to giggle.

“It's okay,” Arthur assured him as he led Junior out of the stable and into the arena. “Hold on now. Here we go.”

“He's a baby,” said Ethel.

“Shhh.” Delia pressed her index finger to her lips.

Delia watched Arthur with these children and her heart ached. He would make such a wonderful father. She felt a tenderness toward him then that she didn't know what to do with. She loved Marsh with all her heart, but in the moment she questioned if she'd given up on Arthur too soon. She thought she had moved beyond all that and shook her head as if to ward off the thought, cast it from her mind. She recalled all their failed attempts at childbearing and reminded herself that she could never be fully loved by him. How ironic, Arthur bred horses, as many as twenty a year. But together they couldn't produce a single child.

•   •   •

T
wo weeks later, on a Saturday afternoon, Delia went to the Field mansion to pick up Spencer, who had been playing all morning with Junior. When the Fields' butler showed her into the drawing room, she was taken aback. A rush of emotions raced through her body. Spencer and Junior were tumbling about on the floor. With Marsh. She wasn't sure what surprised her more, the fact that he was home or that he was wrestling with the boys. Marsh preferred more dignified activities: chess, reading, visiting museums and the theater. His white hair whipped around and his blue gray eyes grew wide the instant he saw her standing there.

“Delia!” He pushed himself up off the floor, dusted off his knees and straightened his necktie.

“You're home.” She was thrilled to see him, but the children kept her reaction in check. Instead of running to him she concentrated on removing her gloves, one finger at a time, as if it were a monumental task.

“Just this morning. Didn't you get my telegram?”

She shook her head, peeling off the second glove. The boys were rambunctious, jumping around, hoping to lure Marsh back for more wrestling.

He smoothed down the front of his waistcoat. “You boys carry on without me,” he said. “I need to have a word with Spencer's aunt.”

He led her into the music room and closed the double doors behind him. Sheet music on the stands rustled as a breeze blew in through the windows. It wasn't until Marsh put his arms around her and drew her close that she believed he was really there, right before her.

She could scarcely breathe as she whispered into his ear. “I've missed you.”

“I don't like being away from you. I'm no good without you. I need you, Dell.”

She would never tire of hearing him call her name. The sound of it made her go weak. She melted into his words and his touch, letting the spicy smell of his shaving soap envelop her. It was one of life's most perfect moments. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. God, how she loved this man.

He broke away first. He always did. It was just his way. The sheet music fluttered again in the breeze.

She reached up and stroked his face. “Tell me how you've been. Tell me everything.”

He sighed and looked toward the ceiling as he ran his hands up and down her arms, leaving behind a trail of goose bumps.

“That bad, was it?” she asked.

“Nah, I'm fine.”

“And what about Nannie? Dare I ask how she is?”

He sighed again, deeper this time. “You see the beast in someone's eyes when that poison is leaving their body. I never knew just how dark her soul was until I saw her like that.” He shook his head. “Watching her go through that was excruciating, but at least it's out of her system now. They say she needs rest and I'm of no use to her where that's concerned. All I seem to do is agitate her. So I went to New York, took care of some business, and now I'm back.”

“I wish I'd known you were coming home. I was worried when I hadn't heard from you.”

“I wired you last week. I don't know what could have happened to the cable.”

When Delia returned home later that afternoon with Spencer, she asked Williams if any telegrams had arrived for her.

“Just the one,” said Williams, helping her with her satchel and parasol.

“Which one?”

“It arrived last week. Mr. Caton said he would deliver it to you.”

Delia stormed into the library, where she found Arthur stretched out on the divan with the newspaper in one hand, a drink in the other. His left foot was on the ground, skimming the edge of the tiger rug.

“Sorry, it must have skipped my mind,” he said after she'd confronted him. She could hear it in his voice. He was drunk. He got up and teetered his way to his desk and retrieved the telegram. “It's right here.” He handed it to her.

She noticed that it had been opened. “You read it?” she asked, surprised that he would have done such a thing.

“I couldn't help myself,” he said with a mea culpa hand placed over his chest.

Delia quickly skimmed the telegram:

LEAVING NEW YORK FRIDAY NIGHT STOP WILL BE HOME BY SUNDAY STOP I MISS YOU DELL . . .

“It arrived about a week ago,” Arthur volunteered.

“You held on to this for a whole week? You kept this from me?”

He looked away. “I couldn't bring myself to give it to you after I'd opened it.”

“Why would you have opened a telegram addressed to me in the first place?”

“Because”—his cheeks reddened—“I assumed that it was meant for both of us.” He paused and rattled the ice in his glass. “He didn't even mention me.”

She felt his embarrassment and in an instant her anger had been replaced with guilt.

Arthur went over to the bar and fixed himself another drink. He shrugged. “You see, I had to open it. I was so excited to hear from him, I couldn't help myself.”

B
y the end of May, Nannie had been in the sanitarium for almost two months and life had returned to normal. Despite whatever awkwardness might have transpired between Arthur and Marsh, the men now appeared to be as close as ever.

After Marsh returned from Rochester, the two men picked up right where they'd left off. Twice a week or so, they met up for a game of chess. Marsh had even invited Arthur to go fishing. Delia, Arthur and Marsh had resumed their routine, but now with a different undertone. The three of them were often seen dining together or sharing the Fields' theater box. At night they would return to their neighborhood and often Marsh would accompany Delia and Arthur to their home. What happened after that was never spoken of. Delia and Arthur had an understanding; when it came to such matters they could each do as they pleased, no questions asked.

The other night the three of them had returned from dinner and were in the drawing room having a brandy.

“Well,” said Arthur, setting his empty glass down, “I'm going to call it a night.” He stood up and placed his hand on Marsh's shoulder. “See you both in the morning.”

Delia and Marsh sat up talking, finishing their drinks. It was half past eleven, which was an early night for them. They'd been up the night before, talking in bed, until four in the morning and the night before that, it was nearly five a.m. She feared that Marsh would drop from exhaustion, putting in full days at work on as little as two or three hours of sleep a night.

“We could both use a good night's rest,” said Delia as they retreated upstairs to her bedroom. “And that means we go straight to sleep tonight, right?”

“Absolutely. I promise I won't touch you,” he said with a laugh, sliding under the covers. “I won't even think about it. Well,” he said a moment later, “I might think about it. But that's it.”

Delia reached over and turned down the light.

He offered her a quick kiss good night, and as his foot drifted over to her side of the bed, she slipped her leg onto his hip. She kissed him back, and before they knew it, they were locked in a breathless embrace. It was impossible for them to resist each other. They made love that night, and as usual it left them both feeling relaxed and invigorated at the same time. So afterward they lay arm in arm, and Marsh told her about the time his father caught him sleeping on the job.

“We were out in the field and I was supposed to be cradling the crop—that's when you uproot the whole thing after it's done growing. Anyway, I hated cradling and I was beat, so I went under a tree and took a nap. My father caught me and he was furious. He made me sleep outside under that tree for a week. It even rained one night. He wouldn't let me back inside. That was the last time I ever took a nap on the job. He had a tough work ethic, but I'm glad he did. I learned a lot from him. More than he ever knew . . .”

They lay in each other's arms, fading into a comfortable silence. When Delia glanced over at the clock she was surprised by the hour. “It's almost three,” she said. “We should really try and get some sleep.”

But still they found things to talk about for another twenty minutes or so before she heard him starting to snore. She had just closed her eyes and had begun to drift off when she heard him starting to stir. The sun wasn't even up yet as he reached for his trousers.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I'm going home before the servants wake up. They know I didn't come home the other night and I don't want to stir gossip.” He leaned over and kissed her as he shrugged on his jacket. “I'll see you later tonight.”

Delia watched him slip out the door and out into the world. She drifted back to sleep thinking how it was becoming more and more difficult for them to be discreet. Their relationship seemed to intensify daily. He was forever on her mind, and she swore she could feel him thinking about her as well. When they were together, they shared secrets and inside jokes, and while they were apart, she carried him with her in her heart. She'd watch the clock in the afternoons, waiting for him to return from work, anticipating being held in his arms. When the separation grew too maddening, Arthur was always there to distract her with a hand of cards, a horse ride or even just a bit of chitchat.

She was lucky. She had the best of both her men.

•   •   •

A
rthur turned twenty-five that spring and in honor of his birthday Delia threw a coaching party. At noon, a dozen of the city's finest horse-drawn carriages lined up on Calumet Avenue, outside the Caton mansion. The plan was to caravan up to Highland Park for a picnic before coaching back to the city, where
Delia's staff was preparing an elaborate dinner for their forty-seven guests.

Arthur's four-in-hand took the lead with his prized black stallions harnessed and gleaming, and his coachman dressed in his finest red uniform with brass buttons and a matching cap. Abby and Augustus rode behind them with the Palmers in their white carriage. The Pullmans, Swifts, Armours, McCormicks, Leiters, Glessners, Perkinses and several others all followed suit. A carriage of servants tailed behind the caravan.

Arthur sat up on the box, alongside his coachman, while Delia and Marsh remained inside the carriage with its plush velvet seats and matching fringed curtains. It had been at Arthur's insistence that Marsh ride along with them.

When they all arrived in Highland Park they picnicked on the lawn beneath the shade from the nearby trees. The horses grazed off to the side. Delia's staff set out wheels of cheese and crusts of bread, summer sausages and fruit, while several of their guests played croquet and badminton. After the games were done and the last of the wine had been finished, they all climbed into their carriages and made their way back to Delia and Arthur's home.

Delia had transformed her dining room into a floral garden with two long tables draped in lilies and violets. After dinner they moved into the ballroom, where a ten-piece orchestra accompanied the dancing. The whole event was magnificent, and Delia was thrilled to see Arthur so happy. When the orchestra took a brief break, the footmen rolled out an enormous cake and Delia looked on as the candles illuminated Arthur's boyish smile. He so adored the attention.

After the cake was served, a group of men circled around Arthur. They sat off to the side, all a bit tipsy, especially Arthur,
who raised his glass as Lionel Perkins launched into a toast in his honor. As soon as he finished, Gustavus Swift stood and made the next toast. The men carried on, laughing and drinking, oblivious that the orchestra had started playing again and the dancing had resumed.

The hour grew late and some of their guests had already left, but the same group of men still sat off to the side where they'd been the majority of the evening. They were quieter now, slouched down in their chairs, blurry eyed with fresh drinks in their hands. Arthur looked groggy, but still had a smile on his face.

When the orchestra finished its last number, Delia heard a sudden burst of laughter coming from the men. She turned and saw all the men cackling, rocking back and forth, holding their sides. All of them, that was, except for Arthur. He was alert now and after another burst of laughter Delia watched his face turn dark red.

“Arthur, darling,” she called to rescue him. “Can you help me here for a moment?” She reached for his arm and pulled him to the side. “Is everything all right?”

He glanced at her hands circled about his forearm. “I'd say you've already put on enough of a show for everyone. And this”—he indicated her hold on him—“is only making matters worse.” He pulled himself free.

“Arthur—”

“Do you know what they just asked me? Do you have any idea? They wanted to know if I just watch or if I climb into bed with you and Marsh.” He turned and started for the stairs.

“Arthur, wait—they're drunk. They don't know—”

He gave her a sharp look and she realized there was nothing she could say. There was no way to make it better. This was the world they had made for themselves.