What the Lady Wants Read Free Page A

been known for their sense of style.
    With a cool eye, she observed the women who no doubt were still wearing last year’s pannier crinolines beneath their bejeweled bustled gowns. They were each an elegant statement, but a statement of the past. They had unwittingly passed the fashion baton to the younger generation of women such as herself, and Delia wondered if they were even aware of this as they sipped champagne and sherry. She drifted on, passing before a group of men drinking brandies and talking business. All around her handsome couples glided about the dance floor to the music of a twenty-piece orchestra. Delia watched her sister and Augustus waltz, twirling and spinning, wondering when her turn would come.
    While the orchestra played on, Delia smiled, thinking that this was the world she’d been groomed for and at last she was old enough to embrace it. She loved everything about the party—the music, the glowing candles on the tables, the scent of fresh flowers in the air, even the Negro servers balancing sterling silver trays of hors d’oeuvres upon their white-gloved palms.
    In the center of it all, Potter and Bertha mingled with their guests. Potter, in a white jacket and tie, paled alongside Bertha in her satin ruby-colored ball gown adorned with silk floss and metallic lace. The diamonds in her tiara sparkled each time shemoved. Delia would have guessed she was wearing ten pounds of jewelry that night.
    â€œCome,” Bertha said, as she looped her arm through Delia’s, whisking her along. “Let me introduce you around.”
    Delia met so many people she could scarcely keep the names and faces straight—except for one.
    â€œMr. Marshall Field,” Bertha said with a sweep of her hand, “may I present Miss Delia Spencer.”
    â€œCharmed.” The elegantly dressed dry goods merchant leaned forward and kissed her hand. “You wouldn’t by chance be related to the Spencer of Hibbard & Spencer, would you?”
    â€œI would indeed,” she said. “Franklin Spencer is my father. And please don’t tell him this, but I’m a great fan of Field, Leiter & Company.”
    He laughed. “Obviously you’re a young lady with impeccable taste.”
    She smiled, feeling very grown-up and glamorous. Being a Spencer, Delia had met plenty of important figures, but something about Mr. Field intrigued her, though she couldn’t say why. He stood bandy-legged with his right hand parked in his jacket pocket like he was posing for a portrait. And he was impossibly too old for her. Judging by the hint of gray at his temples, she guessed he was nearly twice her age. Delia preferred fair-haired men and Mr. Field had dark brown hair and an even darker mustache, bushy and in need of a trim. But he did have captivating blue gray eyes. That he did. Bertha excused herself to tend to her other guests, and while Delia continued talking with Mr. Field, she noticed that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band.
    â€œShall we see what all the commotion is about?” He motioned toward the crowd that had assembled near the windows, stepping aside so that she could precede him.
    Delia looked for her parents and Abby as more peoplesqueezed in to look out the windows, watching what was growing into a raging fire in the southwest. Delia heard the alarm bells ring again as the partygoers
ooh
ed
and
aah
ed over the flaring flames in the distance. It was as if they were watching a fireworks display.
    â€œI’ve never understood the morbid fascination with other people’s misfortune,” said Mr. Field.
    Delia glanced around, looking again for her family, and when she couldn’t find them she followed Mr. Field off to the side. The orange glow from outside bathed the wall of windows near them. But Mr. Field wasn’t watching the fire. Instead, he turned and gave her an appraising look.
    â€œI know it’s impolite to ask a lady her age, but exactly