The Magnolia Palace(60)

“As long as you both are decent to each other, there’s no reason why that shouldn’t work. I’ve known poverty, and I’d trade it in for a life of luxury in a heartbeat.”

He gestured around the room. “So if I were wealthy, you’d be my wife?”

That wasn’t what she’d meant at all. “Is that your proposal? If so, I’d work on the one for Miss Helen, if you want her to say ‘yes.’?”

“Maybe I don’t.” He moved closer. “I think you know what I want.”

“I want Miss Helen to be happy.”

“Do you, really? Miss Lilly, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

If he only knew how often she’d heard that exact phrase. The words were overused, worthless.

“I’m sorry,” he said, picking up on the disappointment in her eyes. “I realize that’s trite. I’m inexperienced at wooing, and don’t know how to express myself very well.”

“Sir, I’m back. I forgot the list of groceries.”

The butler called out as he slammed the front door. The sound reverberated inside Lillian’s skull, reminding her why she’d come. “Write a note to her today.”

“What shall I say?”

“Tell her you’ll see her Thanksgiving Day.”

His face fell. “But what of us?”

“I came here today to insist that our friendship remain exactly that. I am not interested in your advances, and suggest that you turn your focus back on course. The Fricks are depending on you. I am not.”

“I don’t think you mean that.”

“I expect a note from you to Miss Helen to arrive by three o’clock.”

With that, she fled the parlor, practically tumbling down the brownstone steps to the safety of the street.



* * *





Mr. Danforth did as Lillian had charged, and the relieved look on Miss Helen’s face when his note arrived on a silver tray reinforced Lillian’s decision. She’d done the right thing. In it, he stated that he had to visit his aunts in New Jersey first, but would join the family for dessert on Thanksgiving Day.

Lillian had set things right and now her plan was back on target. Once Miss Helen and Mr. Danforth were engaged, she’d get her payment from Mr. Frick and be off to California, putting this whole sordid mess behind her. She’d almost muddled up everything by falling for Mr. Danforth, but today she was clear in her desires: a career, not a messy love affair.

The table in the Frick dining room had been expanded so it could accommodate all the Thanksgiving guests: Mr. and Mrs. Frick, Miss Helen, Childs Frick, and, at the last minute, Lillian. Childs Frick’s wife had been unable to attend, as one of the children was ill, and she didn’t want to travel far from their Long Island estate. Miss Helen had insisted Lillian take the empty place. Dessert would be served later in the Fragonard Room, after Mr. Danforth arrived, and Lillian figured she could make an excuse and avoid that particular course.

Miss Helen looked sweet, in a soft white dress and a long strand of black pearls around her neck, an ensemble suggested by Lillian to make her look a little more modern, a little more bride-like. Unfortunately, she punctuated her comments at dinner with a strange, high-pitched laugh that made her sound a little unhinged. Lillian hoped she’d not respond to Mr. Danforth’s proposal with the same, or he’d go running for the hills.

After the first course was served, Mr. Frick lifted his glass. “I’d like to make a toast.”

Lillian noticed that Helen’s glass was almost empty. That explained the giggling. She tried to catch her eye, but Miss Helen was already calling the footman to refill everyone’s glasses.

“It’s grand to have the family together, again,” intoned Mr. Frick. “Nothing makes a man happier than to see his children content. Even if they sometimes disappoint.” His delivery was dusted with sarcasm. The rest of the family stiffened in their silk damask chairs, sensing that Mr. Frick was in one of his moods.

He turned to his son. “Childs, I’m proud that you’ll be carrying on the family name, long after I’m gone.”

“That’s right, Father.” Mr. Childs gave Miss Helen a smirk. “You have your grandson. Dixie and I couldn’t be more thrilled.”

“Now, Father,” interrupted Helen, “I can carry on the family name equally as well.” She looked over at Lillian. “Two years ago I changed my name from Helen Childs Frick to Helen Clay Frick. Remember, Father, how happy that made you? And now I’m to be married, which means I may give you a grandson as well.”

Mr. Childs guffawed, but Mr. Frick shushed him with a look.

“Weddings make me sentimental,” Mr. Frick said. “Perhaps because they remind me of things, people, who were lost. But life moves on, and now I know the Frick name will not be forgotten. I have my collection and my offspring, both of which will carry on after I’m gone.”

“Please don’t be sad, Father,” cried Miss Helen. “I can’t bear it.”

Mr. Childs put down his glass without drinking. “How interesting that the collection comes first,” he murmured.

Miss Helen spoke up. “Childs, don’t be beastly to Father today, he’s not been well. Which you’d know if you ever ventured to visit us.”