Jubilee Manor Read online

  “At the very least,” Jack amended, “we try this first.”

  I turned to Jack. I didn’t like the way he said try this first, as if this attempt at diplomacy was something to be scratched off a list, a perfunctory task to attempt before moving on to the real solution. And I worried that for people like Smith, the real solution would always be one of rubble and ashes.

  Of blood.

  But before I could say anything else, he stepped close to Jack and said, “The time for negotiation was two centuries ago. I don’t want their money or their handouts. I want a world where the gentry are no more. Now, do you have the spine to see a plan through or not?”

  “Smith, now’s not the time.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be. Not in front of your new friends,” Smith snarled.

  He stalked off and Jack cleared his throat. “He can be a little hotheaded,” he said mildly.

  “A little?”

  The door opened once more and I turned, hoping to see David, and only barely masking my disappointment when I saw it wasn’t him. The Wilder family looked faintly uncomfortable with the Rootless nearby, but when Jack stuck out his hand, Mr. Wilder shook it, only hesitating a moment. I beamed at him. The stigma against touching the skin of a Rootless person was so strong that I’m embarrassed to say it had once prevented me from helping a very sick girl. If someone as important as Clarence Wilder was willing to shake hands with the leader of the Rootless, that was a very good sign.

  Mr. Wilder looked up and met Jack’s gaze as he shook hands. “Thank you for inviting us,” he said. His gaze slid over Jack and me, and I knew he was remembering the countless times he’d shaken hands with my father, the times he’d kissed my mother’s cheek and patted my head. Landry Park without my parents—especially my father—was still a strange thing to the gentry. It was still a strange thing to me.

  “It’s good to see you again, Clarence.” Jack’s familiarity was surprising to me, but it shouldn’t be—after all, he’d been the heir to Landry Park once, and men like Mr. Wilder used to be his peers.

  Philip, the Wilders’ son and heir, gave me a tight hug. He smelled like fresh laundry with just a whiff of Scotch. Although I’m not a demonstrative person, I hugged him back. We’d spent a lot of time together over the last year when our fathers had taught us how to run our estates, and I liked to imagine that we were friends.

  “Where’s your sister?” I asked him. Marianne wasn’t the type to miss a party.

  “She’s coming later, but she’s probably still off with Mark Everly. We were both planning on going over to his house this morning, but I ended up staying home instead—he’s got a cold and I wasn’t interested in catching it.”

  “So he won’t be here tonight?”

  “Marianne will have to come alone; what a hardship.” He rolled his eyes, but his voice softened when he added, “We’re expecting an engagement any day now. Speaking of missing guests, where’s Captain Dana? And Miss Westoff?”

  “Cara is upstairs with my cousin Ewan. They’ll be down any moment. And Captain Dana will be here shortly.” I hope.

  Philip straightened his cuffs, silver links gleaming against the white fabric, the fabric striking against his dark skin. “So, the idea is that we’re supposed to mingle with these people?”

  “The idea is to find common ground,” I said. “They’re the same as us. They just don’t want to live in fear or pain any longer. I think we can all relate.”

  Philip’s mouth quirked. “I guess. But what do I even talk about with them?”

  “Use your natural charm. There are two girls our age over there.”

  “Now that is common ground.” He winked at me and then whisked a couple of champagne flutes off a silver tray, walking over and presenting them to the young Rootless women. They accepted with giggles.

  When Jane Osbourne came in, I didn’t wait for her to walk over to greet me. I met her right at the door, unable to keep a smile from my face. Jane’s mother was one of the Uprisen, and Jane and I had been close friends since we were girls. She was one of the few sensible people I could number among my acquaintances, and she and I had spent many dances and dinners in quiet conversation while the others socialized and drank. She gave me a warm hug and looked around the room.

  “I can’t believe you managed to get Rootless and gentry together in the same room.” Her genial expression flickered as she caught sight of Philip charming the Rootless girls.

  Jane has feelings for Philip, I realized, and then my heart squeezed a little for her. Philip was a charmer and a flirt. I knew a little of what it was like to love someone like that.

  “I asked him to be a gentry ambassador,” I said, recognizing that look. Philip was a bit of a flirt, but he was talking to those girls at my behest, so I felt partly responsible for Jane’s discomfort.

  “Oh, of course,” Jane said, equanimity restored in an instant. “I’m glad to see that at least a few of the guests are off to a friendly start.”

  “Please, help yourself to some drinks and food. I’m on greeting duty.”

  Jane nodded, her dark curls bouncing gracefully against her long neck. Philip better notice what he’s missing, I thought as she walked off with her parents. I liked him, but Jane was undoubtedly the best girl in this city.

  More gentry arrived, but still no David. I discreetly pulled my tablet out of my deep dress pocket and checked to see if he’d called or messaged. He hadn’t.

  The other families managed a modicum of politeness, but when they entered the house, Arthur Lawrence and his three oldest boys refused to shake Jack’s hand. I felt heat rise to my cheeks—the Lawrences were cousins on my mother’s side, and I couldn’t help but feel ashamed of their rudeness.

  “Mr. Landry,” Uncle Lawrence said. “Here you are. Alive. Shaming the gentry just as you did as a boy.”

  “And here you are, Arthur,” Jack rumbled, “as old and as blind as ever.”

  Uncle Lawrence gave a thin-lipped smile. He was indeed old, but that didn’t make him any less formidable. His spine was still straight, his eyes still clear, and his words still sharp. Even the ebony and silver walking stick he carried was more for show than for use.

  His boys—Tarleton and Frank—sauntered past without a word. The heir, Stuart, stopped briefly in front of me but didn’t bow or kiss my hand or any of the other conventional greetings. “So you’re with them now?” he said, jerking his head toward the clump of Rootless. Thankfully, he kept his voice low. “I heard about what happened in the park. How you let them take your father and hurt him.

  “I’ll tell you what. I promise if you marry me, I’ll forgive all this.” He gestured to Jack and the Rootless in the foyer. “I’ll even move here to Landry Park.”

  It was no secret that Uncle Lawrence wanted one of his boys to marry me, to bring the power of Landry Park into his vast empire of wealth and land. What I wanted to tell Stuart was that if all went to plan, the estates would no longer be the seat of all the money and influence and that the Landry name would no longer be a byword for unadulterated control. That marrying me would be pointless, because the game of acquiring good gentry blood and more money would be finished.

  “I’d rather hang myself,” is what I said instead.

  Stuart snorted incredulously. “I can’t believe we’re related.”

  You took the words right out of my mouth.

  Harry Westoff was the last to arrive and he arrived alone. His wife had flown off somewhere warm and sunny, and now that half the city knew that she had been the one who so brutally beat Cara—her own daughter—almost a year ago, it seemed like she would stay there indefinitely. Scandals may burn themselves out eventually, but the word was that the constables had officially charged Addison with assault, and that she would be arrested if she returned. Despite being thoroughly under the gentry’s thumb, the police did still carry out the letter of the law occ
asionally, especially when the evidence was so irrefutable . . . and when the victim was also gentry.

  Mr. Westoff greeted Jack in his usual half-polite, half-condescending way and shook his hand, but I noticed that both men had white knuckles and red palms by the end of the handshake. “I take it my daughter is here with your son?” he asked Jack.

  Jack nodded that it was so.

  “And dear Madeline,” Mr. Westoff said, coming over to me and kissing my hand. “How wonderful for you to host us all here . . . together. I bet your father must be so proud.”

  His barbs found no purchase in me. I had thrown away any hope of Father’s approval when I stood by Jack.

  I heard a throat being cleared dramatically and looked up to see Cara gliding gracefully down the stairs, her pale pink dress whispering against the marble as she walked. Next to her, Ewan looked strong and handsome in a pressed tuxedo. With his red hair and pale skin, he looked as much a Landry as I did. I couldn’t believe I’d never seen it before, that I had never guessed we were related.

  “Hello, Papa,” Cara said, dismounting the stairs and coming toward us. Ewan stayed next to her, his hand on the small of her back, a detail Mr. Westoff didn’t miss. “Did you miss me?”

  “Ah, Cara. One always misses what is dear to the heart.”

  Cara batted her long eyelashes, her face folding into an expression of saccharine adoration. “I am so happy to hear that I am still so important to you, Papa.”

  “Hello, Mr. Landry,” Mr. Westoff said to my cousin. His voice was the model of politeness, but he didn’t extend a hand to shake, and neither did Ewan. They met eyes and Ewan lifted his chin slightly, as if to signify that he wasn’t about to kowtow to his girlfriend’s father.

  Mr. Westoff smiled. “How interesting. Like looking at the dark side of the moon. You look and act exactly like a Landry but the—” here he made a motion indicating the healing sores peeping out from Ewan’s hairline “—kind of ruins the effect. If you’ll excuse me, sweeting.” He made a short bow and went to join my uncle Lawrence, who was currently scowling at the Rootless side of the room.

  “So,” Cara said, acting as if the tense exchange with her father hadn’t occurred. “Your party is off to a great start.”

  I wanted to protest, but she was right. So far, Philip was the only one brave enough to cross the wide expanse of empty marble that separated the murmuring gentry and the Rootless. An uneasiness permeated the air, a tension rife with misunderstanding and prejudice. We needed to move into the ballroom and start the buffet. Plenty of food and drinks would help people loosen up and start talking.

  “I should go make sure everything is ready,” I said, more to myself than to Cara, thinking of the dark bloodstain and the constables.

  “Good idea. In the meantime, I’ll do your job for you and get these people talking.” Cara grabbed Ewan’s hand and looped his arm through hers. Together, they strode out into the crowd, Cara loudly greeting the other Uprisen heirs and Ewan nodding at his people on the far side of the foyer.

  “Looks like Cara Westoff knows how to work a room,” Jack said quietly.

  “She always has,” I conceded. Jack raised an eyebrow at me and I realized that I sounded overly critical. I cleared my throat and tried again. “If anyone can coax these people into conversation, it would be her. In the meantime, I’m going to pop into the ballroom and see if we’re ready to begin.”

  “Please make sure the constables have finished their business. Our guests are uncertain enough without the police poking around.”

  I started to leave, but then I turned back to my uncle. “Do you think maybe we could invite everyone to see the library and some of the other rooms? Many of them have never been inside the house before, and maybe an informal tour would help set them at ease, give them something to talk about.”

  Jack nodded. “Marvelous idea.” He strode over to the Rootless, offering to show them around in his booming voice. I saw Philip offer his arms to the two girls who, despite their pale skin and air of weakness, were very pretty. I noticed Jane glancing in their direction and then quickly away.

  Cara saw Philip joining Jack and announced that she and her friends were accompanying them for the tour. And like that, the younger gentry were intermingled with the group of Rootless, awkwardly to be sure, but Cara and Ewan made such a compelling pair that it was hard not to feel inspired. Only the gentry adults were left in the foyer, holding their drinks and staring at the large, jostling group going down the hall.

  Satisfied that the mood was improving, I slipped out of the foyer to make my way down to the kitchens.

  Downstairs, the rich smells of roasting meat and melted butter hung heavy in the air, and the cooks were busy whipping up bowls of desserts and rolling out pastry dough. After getting our head cook Martha’s assurances that the food was ready to be carried up, I went upstairs through the butler’s staircase and peeked into the ballroom.

  Tables were already laden with cold fruit and piles of rolls, croissants, and small cakes. The kitchen maids had brought up chafing dishes of whipped potatoes, creamy soups, and dark, roasted asparagus. Rolls of sushi were laid out in unnervingly precise rows, dollops of wasabi and ginger ringing the edges.

  I felt a wave of pride. This was the first large dinner I had ever planned by myself, and it was all coming together. I strode over to the doors, where there was no sign of the constables or their blue-lit cars and where the patio had dutifully been cleared by the gardeners. Only the slickness on the platinum symbol betrayed the presence of snow not an hour ago, but otherwise everything looked dry and warm thanks to the solar heaters.

  I went through the butler’s entrance again, but this time I stayed on the first floor, making my way to the main hallway to meet up with the others and tell Jack that we were ready. And then I felt my waist seized from behind.

  I turned to find myself staring into a sharp-featured face with a wolfish grin and eyes the color of the Cherenkov lanterns outside. My breath caught even before Captain David Dana bent to lower his lips to mine, and once he did, I felt like I would never breathe again. His lips were soft and warm and they tasted faintly of cloves or maybe cinnamon. His hand slid around the back of my neck while his other arm tightened around my waist. He parted my lips with his, and my knees grew weak, unable to support my weight.

  “You’re late,” I murmured against his mouth.

  “I like to make an entrance.”

  “Sneak in is more like it.”

  He drew me in even tighter, my skirt tangling around his legs. “I wanted to see you first,” he said in a low voice. “I needed to see you first.”

  “David,” I said. I wasn’t sure what else to say. No one had ever challenged me like David, inspired me like him, and sometimes I worried that it was all too good to be true, that something would drive us apart.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “But I will. I missed you.”

  I flushed, happy. “I missed you, too.”

  The grin came back, wider than ever. “Good. Now I suppose we should get back to your party.”

  I never wanted to leave this dim hallway, never wanted to be without David’s arms around me, but I knew he was right, we needed to rejoin the others. I started walking, and David let me, but he kept his arm firmly around my waist. Fluttering filled my chest. I’d never had a boyfriend before. I’d never even wanted to have a boyfriend before. And this is what it felt like, to have someone want to see you and want to touch you. To claim you at that same time that you claimed them.

  It was all so new. And so wonderful.

  “So exactly how much did you miss me?”

  “I was only with my father at Victory Lodge for a few weeks,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. He had no idea how much I had missed him, how I had spent every night staring at the stars outside my window and wishing he were with me. He had been the sole anch
or of my thoughts, keeping me from drifting into desperation and worry as I sat by Father’s bedside and watched him labor for breath. My anchor as I stared at the pale skin that was healing too fast, as I listened to the doctors and nurses marvel at his impossible recovery. As I wondered if the same genetic engine that drove his healing existed within my own body.

  A low sigh escaped at this last thought.

  “I’ll take that as a confirmation that you went nearly mad with longing.” He opened the intricately carved door to the main hallway. It was empty, but I thought I heard voices coming from the library.

  “Is your mother here?” I asked.

  Something tightened in David’s face, something momentary and unreadable. “My mother’s decided not to come. She and I have . . . ah . . . disagreed about certain current events.” He said it flippantly, but the tension in the hand pressed against my side showed that this was anything but a trifling argument for the two of them. I knew how close David and his mother were.

  “It’s more to do with my father than the Rootless, isn’t it?”

  He set his mouth. “She loves him. The Rootless hurt him. I think for her, it’s as simple as that. The centuries of history and suffering are completely irrelevant.”

  This made me sad. In a strange way, I had kind of liked Christine and her sharp sophistication, her keen perception, even though her affair with my father had lacerated our family’s delicate semblance of normalcy. Even though her affair with my father had nearly destroyed my mother.

  “Jude’s here, though,” David said, changing the subject. “He’ll be happy to see you.”

  I didn’t answer. The last time I had seen Jude, I’d told him that I was choosing David over him, even though it had been Jude whom my parents had wanted me to marry.