However, I did have occasion to glimpse the Duke, for I covered a host of other social events held in his honor: a lawn tennis tournament at the Casino, a cotillion at the country club, and several receptions, dinner parties, and balls.
I did hear, or rather Nanny heard through her unerring grapevine, that Consuelo made her mother proud through it all. She impressed the Duke with both her beauty and bearing, and the date for the wedding was set for November 6.
I wished her well and vowed to keep her in my prayers.
Within a week of James Reid’s arrest, Clara Parker had been released and cleared of all charges. In a generous mood—getting her way did that—Aunt Alva offered her her job back, but for now Clara was visiting her parents off island in New Bedford. Anthony Dobbs was a free man as well—for now. He still faced extortion charges, yet the smirk he sent my way in town just yesterday spoke of an abundance of confidence. It wouldn’t surprise me if he never spent another moment inside a cell.
In the meantime, life at Gull Manor continued as always, as steady and predictable as the daily tides, except that our number had grown by one. Marianne and Katie took to each other immediately, in their quiet way becoming fast friends. Marianne’s health improved daily, partly due to the care she’d received at the hospital and partly, I was certain, due to the healing effects of Nanny’s hearty cooking and our fresh ocean air.
Her lot was to improve even more one sunny, blustery morning, when the bang of the front door springing open echoed through the house.
“Employment,” Brady cried out upon stumbling with loud footsteps into my front hall. “For Marianne!”
His none-too-steady pronouncement prompted me to abandon my breakfast and stick my head out the morning-room doorway. “What are you yammering about, and where were you all night long?” I studied his rumpled suit, disheveled hair, and crooked smile. “Stuart Braden Gale, are you drunk?”
From behind me came Marianne’s breathless question. “Did he say employment? For me?”
Brady managed to steady his stride as he continued down the hall. Just before he reached me he straightened his coat with a tug and ran a hand over his mussed hair. Where he had lost his hat, only the wind knew. “Good morning, sister.”
I turned my face away and fanned my hand at the air in front of my nose. “Phew! Goodness, Brady, it isn’t even eight yet. Shame on you!”
“Not to worry, Em, this isn’t from this morning. It’s left over from last night.” With that he leaned in to kiss my cheek. I pulled away, but only a little, and his dry lips grazed my temple. I shook my head in admonishment.
“Do you honestly think that makes it any better?”
With a hand on my shoulder for leverage, he circled me and strolled into the morning room. There he accepted a quickly poured cup of coffee from Katie, who lingered as if ready to catch the mug should it slip from his hands. He managed to hold on to it and straddled the chair I’d vacated moments ago. With his chin resting on the carved oak back, he grinned up at me where I stood framed in the doorway. “You can blame Neily. He did the pouring. He’s decided to forgive me, you know, and it would’ve been rude of me to deny his hospitality. But—” He broke off for a gulp of coffee, then made a face when the hot liquid apparently scalded his mouth.
I walked into the room and reached for my own cup, all the while making sure not to let the disapproval slip from my features. Not that Brady’s carousing surprised me or particularly exasperated me, as long as it didn’t happen too often—and lately, it hadn’t. In fact, this was the first time I’d seen my brother tipsy since before that awful night he was accused of murder at The Breakers. Yet, someone had to be the voice of his conscience, and in recent years the task had fallen to me.
“But what?” I demanded, one hand around my cup and the other perched at my hip.
“Grace Wilson was with us for a little while last night—oh, don’t scowl, Em, it was all quite proper. Grace and her brother came by the country club for supper while Neily and I were there. Anyway . . .” He trailed off and this time nearly did spill his coffee as he attempted to turn around to face the table. His feet caught in the chair’s legs, which immediately became in danger of toppling. I steadied him with a hand on his shoulder at the same time Marianne leaped up and snatched his cup before it fell.
He let go a bark of laughter before finally managing to untangle himself and swivel to face the table. “Thanks, Marianne. That would have been an awful hot mess.”
“Mr. Gale, you mentioned my name just before,” Marianne said, setting his coffee cup on the table. “May I ask why?”