The Davenports(97)

Good thing her bag was still out. This time, she would go east.





CHAPTER 46


    Ruby



The tearoom was blissfully empty except for a few older women, Ruby, and her mother. The walls were painted in a robin’s-egg blue and framed by large bay windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. The crisp white linens were too bright. The fundraiser had knocked everyone out, yet Mrs. Tremaine insisted they still attend Sunday brunch today.

After Mr. Barton had left the ball, all Ruby had wanted was to return home and sulk. The events for the campaign were bearable, sometimes fun. Now she only saw what this last commitment had cost her: Harrison Barton, a shot at love, her freedom. Months ago, Ruby would have been gloating to have secured the first proposal of the season. Instead, she felt a hopeless sort of sorrow.

The idea of Harrison Barton doting on another girl was so much worse. And yet, it was a pain she knew she deserved. She had hurt him. She had thrown away their chance at happiness together and possibly her chance at real love. A marriage to John would be one of convenience and their parents’ nostalgia and her father’s need for validation. Already she and her family were benefiting from the Davenports’ realm of power and influence after her parents made it clear that the union of the two families was still in the cards.

“Drink your tea, dear. We don’t want to appear like we don’t enjoy the refreshments here. They are strong supporters of your father,” Mrs. Tremaine said through her teeth.

Ruby obeyed and played with the pendant hanging from her neck.

“Next we’ll go to the milliner. I think we need new hats. Oh, and what do think about Marshall Field’s?” When the two of them were alone, Mrs. Tremaine whispered, “Your plan has worked in more ways than one. In addition to your necklace, Mr. Barton made a sizeable donation to your father’s campaign.”

“He did?” Ruby said. Her breath hitched at the mention of his name. “When?”

“Several weeks ago. Mr. Barton didn’t want you to know, and of course, you were confused enough already . . .”

Given his upbringing, Mr. Barton’s interest in her father’s campaign made sense, but she had not expected him to help her family. He believed her father could make a difference. To be the first Black mayor meant something.

For once, she had no interest in fashion or shopping, but her mother was true to her word. She ordered each of them a new hat, then they made their way to the large department store. Mrs. Tremaine stopped to talk to every shopkeeper, newsstand owner, and acquaintance on the way. It was like she was practicing for her victory tour. The journey was peppered with Ruby-focused encouragement. Ruby needed to smile more, Ruby needed to be more engaging in conversation.

Her chest felt tight at Marshall Field’s. And it wasn’t just because the bodice of the dress her mother suggested she try on was pulled taut over her chest. Her temper flared at the callous way her mother was spending money, like the last couple of months of penny-pinching didn’t happen. Or couldn’t happen again.

The shop attendant spread the skirt around and adjusted the frills around her shoulder. Ruby marveled at the fine fabric draped on her skin. The severe plunging neckline was made modest by the lace running from one shoulder to the other, its scalloped edges just grazing her collarbone.

“Miss Tremaine, would you like flowers along the waist?” the seamstress asked, holding a silk arrangement about the size of her palm at the gown’s empire waist.

I don’t care, Ruby thought, wondering how many dress fittings were in her future. She said yes, if only to buy her some time to compose herself. A heat had risen beneath her skin and her heartbeat spiked with each passing moment.

She glanced once more at her reflection, took a deep breath, and hid her true feelings behind her best smile. The sample dress was too wide and far too long. Clips and pins, cinched far too tight, gathered excess fabric at her shoulders and waist, revealing her curves. Ruby fought the urge to turn her nose up at the design. It was outdated and made her look short. The material was nice, though. With a nod, the salesgirl opened the curtain.

“Oh, Ruby,” her mother said. “The lace is exquisite.”

The seamstress draped a measure tape across her shoulders, her flaxen curls looping around it. Her face was bright and rosy. She looked from Ruby to her mother expectantly.

Mrs. Tremaine adjusted the flowers at Ruby’s waist. Ruby squeezed her eyes shut and resisted the urge to claw her way out of the dress. But when she opened her eyes, she noticed the softened look on her mother’s face.

“My beautiful girl,” Mrs. Tremaine said, patting her cheek.

Ruby grasped her hand. It occurred to her fully then, the true weight of it, that she’d have to break her mother’s heart if she herself wanted to be happy.

“May I have a glass of sparkling water?” she asked.

“Right away, miss.” The shopgirl dipped out of the room.

“Mother, could you pick out a broach for comparison? I think it would be better suited for this dress.”

“I know just the one!”

“Actually, I changed my mind.” There were enough pins sticking her through the dress.

Mrs. Tremaine pressed her hands to the pearls around her neck. “All right, but I must say, I do not care for that tone. I doubt John will welcome such behavior, and children need a good example.”