The Magnolia Palace(40)

She locked eyes with him and he nodded, understanding, and rose to his feet.

Miss Helen wasn’t going to make this easy.



* * *





The next day, Miss Helen was in a good mood, humming to herself as she sat on the chaise longue in her sitting room, leafing through an oversized book on early Renaissance art while Lillian sifted through the thank-you letters from the guests. By all accounts, the dinner party had been a success, and Mr. and Mrs. Frick had even come down to the staff dining room during breakfast and thanked them all for their service. Mrs. Frick had pulled Lillian aside and clasped Lillian’s hand in hers. “You’ve been taking such good care of my daughter,” she’d said, as Miss Winnie beamed from behind her.

Miss Helen hadn’t brought up their intimate conversation from the night before, and Lillian knew better than to make reference to it. She sliced through another envelope, recognizing the name immediately. “This one’s from Mr. Danforth, would you like me to read it out loud?”

Miss Helen slammed the book shut. “No. Hand it over. I’ll read it myself.”

As she did so, Lillian stacked the others in a neat pile, as she’d been trained to do that first day. By now, it came naturally, and Miss Helen rarely corrected or admonished her.

“Oh my.” Miss Helen had one hand to her mouth, so Lillian couldn’t tell if she was smiling or frowning.

“What is it? What does his note say?”

“It says that he’d like to call on me.” She looked up, her eyebrows knitted with concern. “What shall I write back?”

“You should encourage him. In fact, why not ask him to tea tomorrow?”

“I can’t, that would be improper.” She let the note fall into her lap. “Perhaps in a week.”

“Perhaps in a week you’ll have him for tea?”

“Perhaps in a week I’ll respond.”

That wouldn’t do at all. If it were up to Miss Helen, the courtship would go on for years. “But you had such a nice time together.”

“I don’t know what I’d talk about at tea.”

“What did you speak of during dinner?”

“He asked about my dogs, and so I described each one that I’ve owned over the years, starting with Charlie and ending with Fudgie, and how each had a completely different personality. He said he loves dogs, you see.”

Lillian managed a weak smile. “How many dogs have you had over the years?”

“A dozen.”

Dear God. “I’m sure he was entranced.”

“I couldn’t tell, really.”

“Well, if you had him to tea, perhaps you could ask him if he’s owned any dogs, and listen to what he says?”

Miss Helen considered the idea. “I suppose I could. Here, take a look at what he wrote.”

The letter was more than a thank-you note, certainly. Mr. Danforth spoke of Miss Helen’s graciousness for the invitation to dine at the residence, but also noted her winning smile and quick wit.

“Oh, Miss Helen, he’s interested in you. I can tell.”

“Is that right?” Miss Helen looked at her art history book longingly, as if she’d much prefer to dive back into its pages rather than deal with the vagaries of courtship. “Will you write back for me? You’ll know what to say better than me.”

Lillian jumped at the opportunity. She’d be able to make Miss Helen appear less nutty than she was, and create a foundation that might stick. If it was left up to Miss Helen, goodness knew what she’d say. Something about Fudgie’s beefy dog breath, probably.

She sat for a moment, gathering her thoughts, before penning the return note. As Miss Helen, she thanked him for his kind words, which no doubt revealed a doubly kind heart, and asked him to visit tomorrow, when she hoped she could learn more about his interests and desires. The word desires was a strong one, but time was of the essence, and she signed it and sealed it before Miss Helen could ask to see it.

“I’ll have the footman deliver it this afternoon,” Lillian said, “along with the rest of your correspondence.”

“No.” Miss Helen smoothed her dress. “Take it to him now, yourself. That way I can tell Papsie at luncheon of his response.”

Lillian checked the address. He lived in the East Fifties, an easy walk, and she wouldn’t mind getting some fresh air. She’d pull the veil of her cloche down over her eyes in case she passed an acquaintance. Or Mrs. Whitney.

“Your advice last night helped me immensely, Miss Lilly,” said Miss Helen. “At first, when I walked into the gallery and all of those people turned to stare at me, I wanted to run away, back to my room. But then I imagined them all in the altogether, and it made me smile and then they all smiled back.”

“Well done!”

“However, I didn’t do so with Mr. Danforth. First of all, it wouldn’t be proper, and second of all, I didn’t need to. By then, I was feeling ever so confident.”

Good girl, Lillian almost said, before correcting herself: “I’m sure you were, Miss Helen.”

Lillian collected her hat and handbag and headed out. It was unseasonably warm, and the October sun brightened the facades of the shops along Madison Avenue. At a florist, she stopped to admire some rust-colored chrysanthemums, and vowed to buy a bouquet for her room on the way back. She’d been saving every penny of her paycheck, and deserved a little pleasure for all of her hard work.