So Much More

By Janet Frances Gibbs

Three headstrong young women are members of the elite in a small but wealthy New Jersey town. The arrival of a handsome, charming member of the English aristocracy rearranges their safe, predictable lives one summer in 1902.
Alice Hastings is an accomplished painter who wants to prove her artistic talents; however, her adoring widowed father has other plans. Francesca Dunbar may be of royal lineage and feels superior to her neighbors. She is the spoiled only child of a family whose secret could shake up the town gossips. Claire Armstrong loves her horses more than anything, but her father is intent on having at least one of his five daughters marry well.
Each young woman is at a crossroads in a world where women’s rights are still not a matter for discussion in their social circle. For Alice, Claire, and Francesca it means taking three different paths to finding happiness…and so much more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Sep 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781509209422

Book preview

Inc.

William stood and gasped.

Francesca Dunbar was obviously used to this reaction. She thoroughly enjoyed seeing men catch their breath when they saw her. Her hair was softly caught at the back of her neck, and her pale blue, flowing dress outlined her tapered waist and emphasized her elegant neck. Huge pearl earbobs danced as she came toward her visitor.

Clearly aware of the power her presence had, her eyes sparkled at the effect she had on him. Though dressed like a genteel lady, she had a look of danger which both repelled and excited William. She walked slowly to the chaise and lay like a fallen swan on its faded silk damask. Her arms rested on its wooden frame and her body languished on the entire length.

May I have some wine, Papa? He brought her a crystal goblet, and she took a sip and let her tongue run over the rim of the glass.

She turned to William and smiled slightly. Tell me, Mr. Barrett, what did you do in the war? I hear you were wounded.

Yes, I was hit with a bullet fragment in the leg. Nothing too serious, but enough to send me home. I lost my best friend, and it has been hard to recover. I thought a change of scenery would do me good.

So Much More

by

Janet Frances Gibbs

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

So Much More

COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Janet Frances Gibbs

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Vintage Rose Edition, 2016

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0941-5

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0942-2

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To Lydia and Chloe,

who have always aspired to So Much More

and achieved it,

and to my reliable, unswerving first reader, Michele,

who never minced words.

At the turn of the last century,

there were more millionaires in Morristown, New Jersey, than in Newport. Each tried to outdo the other with their opulent mansions and grounds. It was a time of superficiality, when life was gilt, not golden, and anything British was revered.

Chapter One

Francesca Dunbar

There is one woman in every man’s life he cannot forget. Some are lucky enough to marry them, and others are condemned to live with only their memories. Delphine Alexandra Morais, a beautiful young English girl, enchanted all who met her and was one of those women men never forget. She was born in Paris and brought to London by her British diplomat father in an attempt to forget the untimely death of her mother. She became a stunningly beautiful young woman and was prepared to come out into society in preparation for her marriage to a suitable husband.

As her eighteenth birthday approached, Delphine was trained by a dear friend of her father, who helped her choose a suitable gown and just the correct accessories, including shoes, a fan, feathers, and simple jewelry. One of the most difficult aspects of this training was learning how to walk away from the king, as she was not allowed to turn her back and must move smoothly without tripping over her train. It was a nerve-wracking training period. Another vital aspect of her presentation was conquering the very deep curtsy in which she must bend her knee until it nearly touched the floor and then rise without wobbling or catching her shoe in the hem of her gown. Her father’s friend, Mrs. Charles Fielding, would sponsor her, due to the passing of her late mother.

The day arrived, and a nervous Delphine sat with Mrs. Fielding in the carriage waiting outside St. James’s Palace for her time. When they were ushered to the door, the two women walked to the gallery and waited once again. Rank and privilege raised its head as the women were arranged according to their titles for presentation. It all went well, and she thought she saw the young Prince of Wales smile at her as the old Queen nodded slightly. Reaching for her train to drape over her arm and then gracefully back away, Delphine couldn’t help but smile to herself. Now she was ready for society and available to be married. There would be invitations to balls and parties.

Innocent of her effect on men, Delphine soon caught the roving eye of the Prince of Wales again, soon to be HRH King Edward VII. Before long the sweet, naive girl was invited to balls and parties and provided with exquisite jewels and gowns by her royal suitor and other gentlemen who found her both fascinating and intelligent. Her father didn’t mind, only too pleased to have his daughter take her place in society. Delphine became a PB or Professional Beauty; women who achieved this status became famous because of their looks. Photographs were exhibited in shop windows and could be bought for a few pennies by working girls or ladies wanting to know what the PBs were wearing or how they styled their hair.

Delphine Morais became a favorite of the king. Of course he’d had other women over the years, amongst them Daisy Warwick, Lily Langtry, and Jennie Churchill. Each had her own style and kept the king’s interest until he spied a new woman who enchanted him. As the young half-French girl soon learned, a PB was merely a decoration. A ball or house party had to include one on their invitation list in order for it to be considered a success. Her mere presence ensured the hostess would become celebrated.

None of the PBs ever paid for their gowns or jewels. All she had to do was whisper the designer’s name at the ball and the next morning his showroom would be besieged by women wanting the same gown. Delphine Morais became known for her simple, elegant style, choosing to wear the same russet color in velvet, brocade, silk, or satin with long strands of pearls and droplet pearl earrings, which sent a message of innocence and intrigue.

It was at one of the king’s parties that she met Paul Dunbar, an importer of fine oriental goods. He’d been a friend and hunting companion of the king for years. It seemed natural that the king would introduce them. A PB had to be married in order to carry on an affair with the king. Though this may sound gauche, it was a long-followed practice. Paul Dunbar had difficulty living the life of the kept man in high society, having to look away when his wife was swept away by the king for an evening or a weekend in the country. When Paul Dunbar’s wife became pregnant, he felt it was time to leave England and move to America. He loved his beautiful wife very much and did not want his child raised in the pretentious atmosphere of King Edward’s court. No one ever questioned the child’s paternity outright, although many wondered.

A daughter was born to Paul and Delphine in a small town of millionaires just thirty miles west of New York City. No, not Newport, but Morristown, New Jersey, a town that had more millionaires than did that seaside town in Rhode Island at the turn of the last century.

Delphine and her daughter, Francesca, were very close and shared everything. The little girl thought none compared to the beauty of her mother’s features. As she became a young woman, people said mother and daughter looked alike and might even be sisters. Delphine advised her daughter about men or the ‘game of life’ as she called it. Never give too much away; always keep a part of yourself hidden, and be mysterious.

If there was something Morristown society disliked, it was mystery. They were intent on finding out everything about everyone. Gossip was the fuel which ran the engine of this provincial town. Women liked nothing better than telling a good story and guessing about newcomers to town. Though many of the inhabitants had lived there for ten or fifteen years and considered themselves the old guard, they were very suspicious of anyone new in their midst. The Dunbar family were not only new but foreign. Although Paul seemed to be English in a foreign sort of way and Delphine spoke the Queen’s English, there was something unsettling about their worldliness which put the town’s grande dames on guard.

One warm May afternoon, nineteen-year-old Francesca joined her mother on the veranda. You’ll never believe the newest gossip I heard today at the dressmakers.

Inching herself forward, Delphine put down her needlework and, with a wink, gave her daughter all her attention. Do tell.

Old Mrs. Swinburne was whispering to a woman I didn’t recognize. She was talking about a young woman of dubious background. Francesca paused on a bated breath and then laughed. I wonder who she meant?

Delphine Dunbar did not suffer fools gladly and sighed. What an absurd woman. Has she no sense of breeding or decorum? Go on.

Well, the two old biddies were trying on hats, so I hid behind one of the columns. Mrs. Swinburne said, ‘I hear she’s part gypsy. That’s her secret.’ 

Throwing her head back and letting out a loud laugh, Delphine shook her head. Oh, my dear, if only they knew the truth. We would be dined and fêted as no one has been before. But we shall not tell them our little secret; let them have their ignorant little games. You and I know better. She stroked her daughter’s cheek and kissed it gently.

The two women hugged and sat quietly, content with each other in this provincial little town. No one knew they held a secret Mrs. Swinburne would give anything to know. Leaning back on her chair and returning to her needlework, Delphine’s delicate fingers darted in and out with the silk thread across a pattern of pale pink roses. She looked like a princess, her lavender faille skirt spread out around her and her fine auburn hair swept up in a fashionable chignon. Francesca longed to tell everyone who she was and how her mother had been loved by a king, but she’d promised to keep the secret, for it might cause embarrassment for Papa.

Francesca stood and looked out the front windows when she heard the sound of a carriage coming down the gravel drive. It pulled up to the main house, past stone pillars and an intricate black wrought iron gate marked with a large scrolled letter D.

It’s Papa. I’ll be right back. She kissed her mother on the forehead and ran to greet Paul Dunbar returning from the railroad station in his shiny elegant landau. It stopped under the front portico as the sun dipped through leaves making shadows on the path.

A groomsman appeared from the side of the house, Belle Terre, and took the reins as Paul opened the door of the conveyance and stepped out. He was a handsome man, a perfect match for his lovely young wife. Although he was much older, he had an air of elegance and old-world charm that made him seem years younger.

Good evening, my dear. You look lovely, as usual, he said, taking his daughter in his arms and kissing her cheeks.

Hooking her arm through his, he strolled with her into the house.

Mother and I are on the veranda. How was the city?

Putting his arm around her shoulders, he whispered, Desperately boring, my sweet. I could have done with a bit of distraction like a lovely daughter to accompany me. Her father recognized her strong will and often said he wondered what kind of man would be able to tame her wanderlust. That man would have to see past her beauty to win her heart, but then she’d be his for life.

Dunbar was a man of the world. He knew what to say and when to say it for just the right effect. It was easy to see why he had won the hearts of many women. Yet, when he met Delphine he fell under her spell, like so many other men. Theirs had been a quick romance, and though Francesca didn’t know all the details, she knew they loved each other. She wanted that same feeling when it came time for her to marry. It wouldn’t be enough to have someone who was handsome or wealthy; he must have a certain "je ne sais quoi," a little extra, but she doubted she’d ever find that in Morristown.

She let her father lead her to the veranda.

Ah, my love, what a picture you are. What man would ever want to leave you and go to work? He laughed as he leaned over and kissed his wife.

It was a rarity to see people showing affection, especially in this small town. Francesca often wondered how many in society actually loved their spouses. How could you be with someone and not love them or want them near you? It was one of those mysteries she didn’t understand, but there would be passion when she chose a husband; he’d love her and be devoted to her—she’d see to that.

The people of Morristown were unnerved by Francesca’s air of mystery, which in fact only added to her charm. Men were fascinated by her, and she’d only begun to realize what power she had over them. It was clear, as she saw them watching her in church or in the park or at a party, that she could have any man she fancied, knowing they couldn’t resist her for long. Perhaps she had the same charms her mère had, that special something that kept men entranced, unsure, and intrigued. Mothers shielded their daughters from Francesca and fathers warned their sons. Morristown could be stifling, not just with the humidity of a New Jersey summer, but with the unspoken social rituals everyone was expected to follow.

The Dunbar family were considered outsiders, having arrived only one generation ago. Their brand new mansion, Belle Terre, on Normandy Heights Road, was spectacular, following the beaux arts style Paul Dunbar loved. The huge mansion, with eight elegant rounded columns across the front, was created from yellowing sandstone. Mahogany double doors opened to a large, marble-floored foyer. The house had nine bedrooms, five baths, a library, a ballroom, dining room, and salon, with sun porches off both sides of the house. The home pleased Delphine, who had decorated it with many of her husband’s favorite oriental objets d’art. It had an eclectic flavor, a bit bohemian, and not at all like the other homes in Morristown.

Though Belle Terre reflected Paul’s success, he wasn’t invited to join the hunt club or the men’s card club. He was content to be with his wife and daughter and attend to his business. He had a fine stable of horses and enjoyed the services of a trusted gardener to tend his beloved rose garden.

Like her father, Francesca knew the town’s attitude toward her, but she moved in her own little world, content to ride his horses, visit New York City and Newport, and spend time with her mother.

Sitting down on the wicker chair opposite her parents, she told her father about Mrs. Swinburne at the milliner’s.

Then, standing and pushing her train behind her, she put her hands on her hips. I shall die in this town, Father. It’s so small, everyone knows everyone’s business, and they’re all related. It’s so provincial. I know Mother agrees with me. I don’t know how you can be happy here. She wrinkled her nose and sighed. Couldn’t we summer with Aunt Marguerite in Newport instead of staying here for the season?

He laughed, stood, and walked over to his daughter. I know you don’t take them seriously. They’re small-minded and not particularly worldly, but you must have patience.

As the three talked, Maria, the housemaid, brought in a silver salver holding a large, cream-colored envelope. Her mother took it and pulled out an embossed invitation.

What is it, Mother?

An invitation to the Dickersons’ annual garden party. I always like seeing Sally. She’s such a wonderful woman, and all those children, my goodness.

You really want to go, Mama?

Yes, it would be nice; you never know who might be there.

Francesca shrugged. I suppose it might be a diversion. Of course, I’ll need a new dress, dearest Papa, she said turning coquettish and tilting her head innocently.

Laughing, Paul Dunbar took his daughter’s arm. Of course, my dear. Have I ever denied you anything? But your presence will be enough to cause a stir; a new dress can only add to the speculation.

There’s nothing wrong with a little mystery, is there, Mother?

Delphine smiled. "Just be careful, my love. You don’t want to be caught up in all the