“No—of course not,” Aelwyn said, taking a long drink from her glass.
Marie held out her glass for another and Aelwyn obliged her. She sat down on the couch where she and Gill had spent many afternoons talking and reading books and felt melancholy. There was no stopping the season; every day brought her closer to the formal engagement, and after the engagement, the royal wedding. Already the dressmakers and seamstresses were fitting her for a wedding trousseau. She had argued that she was not engaged yet, but no one would listen. Everything had to be ready if she was to be married by the beginning of June.
“Aelwyn—have you ever been in love?” she asked.
Aelwyn finished her glass and poured another. “Yes,” she said quietly.
“With Lanselin, was it? In Avalon?”
“Yes.” Aelwyn sighed. “I will tell you one day, but not today. We might need more wine for that story.”
“Was it—did he—was your heart broken?”
Aelwyn looked away. “Yes,” she said again.
“I’m sorry.”
“Marie, I know it is not my place to tell you, but you can’t think that anything can happen with this soldier of yours.”
“I know. But don’t worry, he doesn’t feel the same about me. We’re just friends, and we’ll always be just friends.”
“You’re certain he doesn’t feel the same way about you?”
“I’m sure,” Marie said, thinking of Gill’s stern demeanor that afternoon. How stiffly he’d held her. This time, she couldn’t keep the sadness out of her voice.
The plush, twelve-room parlor suite that Ronan and Vera called home for the month-long voyage boasted the most luxurious accommodations on the boat by far. Even Whitney Van Owen could not hide her surprise at finding Ronan ensconced in such beautiful quarters when she came to visit the first week. “Great digs!” Whitney had exclaimed upon taking a seat by the window nook. “Yours has a library?” she asked, impressed. As well as a dining room, a dressing room, several sitting rooms and a marble bath, Ronan wanted to add, but did not. Best to act as if this was all her proper due, and not some strange twist of good fortune that had finally come her way.
“Mama is incensed,” Whitney confided, her pinkie pointing straight up as she sipped her tea. “So far we’ve only been invited to a luncheon with the queen, and not the actual royal ball. The Duchess of Wiltshire promised that she would get us in, but so far hasn’t been successful in actually landing us an invitation
. Isn’t it tragic? To go all this way, only to have lunch!”
Ronan laughed. She found herself warming up to the girl. Whitney had never been so frank with her before, and she realized with a pang that the reason why her friend was being so voluble now was because she thought she and Ronan were equals, due to the opulence of her current surroundings. If she knew the truth of the Astor finances, she would not have been so forthcoming with her own family’s failures.
“But you are going, I’m sure?” Whitney asked. “Lucky duck!”
With pride, Ronan recounted how her invitation to the Bal du Drap d’Or had arrived by regular post, but once she touched it, it had opened in a spectacular manner—the envelope bursting in a shimmer of light and stars, gold letters spinning in the air to spell out her name.
“Do you think it’s true what everyone’s saying, that the queen will announce the princess’s engagement at the ball?” Whitney asked.
“Princess Marie-Victoria is getting married?”
Whitney nodded. “Mother heard from a friend in London right before we left. She is to marry that Prussian prince as part of the peace treaty—you know, the good-looking one—and they are already preparing the city for a wedding.”
“Leopold? She’s going to marry Leopold?” Ronan raised an eyebrow. She’d set her heart on winning his, but of course he was already spoken for. She should have known better than to hope a common American like her had a chance at a crowned royal. But a girl could dream, couldn’t she?
“Yes, that’s what Mother said,” Whitney sighed. “That princess is another lucky duck!” She set down her cup and gathered her skirts. “You know, Leopold’s brother is supposed to be on this ship, but I haven’t seen him around anywhere. Anyway, I should go. Mother will wonder where I am, and we’re supposed to dine with some friend of the duchess tonight—the campaign for a spot on the guest list continues!” She smirked. “I told Mama to offer her more money!”
“Whitney!”
“Oh please, don’t you know that’s how it works? Don’t be so naïve!”
Ronan bid Whitney good day, and told Vera she would take a stroll around the deck to take in some sea air. Her governess waved her off with a smile. Ronan had noticed she had been decidedly more agreeable since they’d settled into their sumptuous rooms. Luxury had a way of doing that to a person, and far be it for her to begrudge the old girl the pleasure of being catered to, hand and foot, by the stateroom’s butler. Even their assigned table in the banquet hall was located in the “Gold Coast” area of the room nearest the windows, so they could look out over the serene waves of the Atlantic while they dined on oysters and champagne.
The promenade was nicely shaded, and passengers lounged on the jaunty blue-and-white deck chairs, sipping their mint juleps and Pimm’s cups. There were several croquet and pétanque games in progress. Ronan said hello to a few familiar faces: dowager ladies in pearls and lace gloves, older gentlemen in ascots and top hats. Many of them were from the finest families of New York, Virginia, and Newport, along with several Europeans heading home as well.
She found a cozy spot to perch and twirled her parasol, thinking she made a nice picture in her pretty pastels against the blue sky and sea. Even so, she was still surprised when someone said exactly the same thing. “What a nice picture you make!” It was the boy from the docks, the one with the bruise on his cheek and the black eye, although both wounds were healing nicely. His face was starting to come into focus underneath all the swelling.
She murmured her thanks and turned away.