But Whitney wasn’t finished. “And you might as well use our rooms, too. I’m sure your rooms are nice, but Mother booked the royal suite—best room in the house—and it’s paid for already. Can’t let the whole thing go to waste. It’s booked for the whole season. Mother won’t care. She’s ready to buy the whole stinking town, but our money’s not worth anything here, apparently. Hopefully we’ll have better luck on the Continent.”
“You’re giving me your dress?”
“Not just the dress, everything! Didn’t you hear me? The whole caboodle! I’ll have the bellman bring it up to the rooms. It’s all wrong for Italy, I’ll have to get a whole new set,” Whitney said, perking up at the thought of new purchases. “I mean, wear your mom’s clothes if you want, of course, but just in case you change your mind, someone should wear this wardrobe.”
But Ronan shook her head. “Whitney—you’re being much too kind. There is no need. I can wear my old dress, and I brought my own clothes.”
“No I’m not, I’m not being kind, just angry they’re such snobs. Thinking we Americans aren’t good enough. But you’ll show them, won’t you, Ronan? Show them we’re just as good as any of them. Make a splash, will you?” she said, as the footman came scurrying back to tell her that her mother was waiting imp
atiently. “Oi!” she called to the scandalized hotel clerk. “This is my friend Ronan Astor—she’s to stay at our rooms. And bring my trunks back up, while you’re at it!”
“Whitney! Stop! I can’t possibly accept all this.”
“Yes you can! You can treat next time we’re in Paris—ooh, it’ll be your turn!” she said merrily. “It will give us an excuse to get together again—you’re so much fun! We’ll stay at the Ritz! Okay?”
“I…” Ronan felt faint, not knowing how to tell Whitney she could not possibly return the favor.
“It’s done!” Whitney said. “Paris in the spring is lovely!”
Ronan stopped fighting. Why was she arguing in the first place? Pride? But what was pride, compared to a fabulous wardrobe and the best room in the hotel? “Well, all right, as long as you insist.”
“I insist.” Whitney kissed her on both cheeks in a breathless rush. “Knock ’em dead. I’ll send postcards from Florence. Hopefully the Tintorettos are worth it.”
The royal suite was aptly named, sprawling over the entire top floor. Its walls were covered with sumptuous velvet, while delicate silk curtains kept out the worst of the afternoon sun. Whitney’s trunks were stacked neatly in rows, ready to be opened; ready for the staff to do their work. Ronan’s heels made a sharp click as she entered the room. The floor was mahogany, shipped from West Africa, dark amber swirls with lighter areas in the heartwood. She kicked off her shoes and removed her hat while Vera gushed at the expanse of luxury. The smell of rosemary and lilac pervaded the air; clusters of flowers were arranged on every table. Through the archway was the bedroom, where the enormous bed was set with three mattresses, so high that it required a small stair for access. She wondered what would happen if she woke up during the night, or if she needed to exit the bed quickly. Would she fall?
There was a roaring fireplace across from the bed, and a pair of armoires flanked the hearth. In the room’s center, below a candle-lit pendant, arranged upon a brightly woven rug (most likely Tibetan) was a table chess set. On either side of it was a silk upholstered chair. She sat on one of the chairs and picked up a chess piece at random. Turning it over in her hand, she saw it was the queen. She smiled.
However did she land so many wonderful things? First the luxurious suite on the ship, and now the best room in the best hotel in London. Ronan had been prepared to scrape by on nothing for the season, but so far it was as if everything had been handed to her on a royal platter. She was made for this life. Providence was shining down on her, and she was glad she had turned down “Heath.” She could not live any other way but in the best way possible.
When Lady Grosvernor arrived that afternoon to call on her, finally, she insisted Ronan call her “Aunt Constance” and nodded approvingly at the pretty lilac gown she was wearing. “I just ordered the same dress in peach for my Melisande,” she told her over buttered scones.
Whitney’s wardrobe was even better than Ronan could have dreamed. It was full of the prettiest day dresses and glamorous evening gowns, made of gossamer silks and satins softer than butterfly wings; suede gloves lined with fur; and a full riding outfit, with gleaming black boots and a new leather saddle from Hermès. There were hats for Ascot and Covent Garden, as well as nightdresses and robes, a full tray of jewels, and several standing wardrobes that opened to reveal shoe closets. There was one trunk that was bigger than all the others, simply marked DO NOT OPEN UNTIL ROYAL BALL and Vera said it was probably because it had some deep magic in it. The two of them were beside themselves in anticipation to see what it looked like, and had to restrain themselves from opening it immediately. Ronan had sent her own shabby trousseau down to storage, but she did not share that with her guest.
Ronan was glad to find that this “old friend of the family” (whom she had actually never met) was a woman her mother’s age, with a warm and friendly demeanor. She was not at all like the frosty English ladies who had raised their eyebrows at her on the ship. Lady Constance had a charming way about her, with her bright dark eyes and neat dark hair. “You are such a great beauty, like your mother,” she said.
“Thank you,” Ronan said simply.
“Your mother and father and I had such a wonderful time during our first season,” Lady Constance sighed, as if remembering. “Oh, to be young again.”
Ronan took a sip of her tea. “I’ve heard,” she murmured, thinking of her mother’s old stories.
“And do you find the rooms to your liking?” Lady Constance asked, after the usual polite chitchat about the weather in New York, the health of Ronan’s parents, and the weather in London.
Ronan allowed that the rooms were fine—in fact, the finest in the house. She wasn’t sure how much Lady Constance knew about their finances, but she supposed it was better for everyone to think the Astors were on top of the world. The royal suite on the top floor was practically a little mansionette on top of the building, with a full garden terrace and dizzying views of the city. She and Vera had done a little jig after the butler and footmen had left.
“The season doesn’t really start until the ball, but there are a few entertainments that you might find amusing. I’m sorry you missed my dinner the other week; we had the prince as our guest,” said Lady Constance.
“Leopold?” she asked eagerly. “You hosted the prince?”
“And his brother—what’s his name? I can’t remember! The prince is so terribly charming! It’s a pity you missed it!”
Was I invited? Ronan wanted to ask, but didn’t.
“Anyway this week, Lady Warwick—a friend of mine—is having a little dinner, and is looking for fun young people to invite. Would that be something you might be interested in?”
“I’d love that, but I have to check the diary,” Ronan allowed, trying to appear nonchalant.
“Wonderful! I will see what I can do, as she’s a bit choosy about her guests. I myself have to attend a hunting party this weekend—such a chore. But I will try to entreat her to invite you.”