New York - The Novel

pale blue eyes that seemed to be focused in the middle distance. But he thought no more about his encounter until toward the end of the evening, when one of the other ladies of the party declared tohim that Vanessa had been much impressed with him. James remarked that he had not met her husband.
    “You didn’t know? She is a widow.” The lady gave him a meaningful look. “And quite unattached.”
    A few days later, he received an embossed invitation to a reception at Lady Rockbourne’s house in Mayfair.
    It took a month for them to become lovers. During that time, he was aware that she was both arranging for them to meet frequently, and taking stock of him. He was certain, quite soon, that she was physically attracted to him; but obviously that was not enough. When the signal was finally given, therefore, he felt rather complimented. Not that he was sure, even then, why she had chosen him. And when he asked, she gave him only a lighthearted and evasive answer.
    James had never had an intimate relationship with an aristocrat before. Indeed, he admitted to himself, part of Vanessa’s attraction for him was her class. Not because he was a social snob, but because he was curious. There was, in her attitude to the world, a bland assumption of superiority that, had it been turned against him, he would have found shocking, but, because he was in her favor, he found amusing. He observed the elegant way she did things, the amazing lightness with which she moved, the subtle inflection by which she could alter the meaning of a single word, or indicate an irony; and by contrast, the astounding frankness she could sometimes employ when lesser mortals might prefer to be less direct. All these were new to James, and fascinating. And yet at the same time, he sensed in her an inner nervousness, a dark place of the soul, and his sense of this vulnerability made him feel protective toward her. Perhaps, he thought, it was his strong yet tender arm that she secretly craved.
    As the months went by, he was in her company more and more. If she did not see him for a day or two, her footman would appear at the Albions’ house with a note to summon him. She had become quite dependent. And for his part, he had become so fascinated by her that when she told him she was pregnant, it did not seem strange to him that he should suggest they marry.
    She did not answer at once; she took a week to consider. And he well understood—he had, after all, no great title or estate. It was one thing to have an intimate friendship, another to marry. To have a child without a husband was certainly a serious affair, even for a widow in her invincible social position, though she could probably get away with it by leavingspeedily for the European Continent and not returning until after the child was born and safely given away into foster care. But for whatever reason, after a week, she told him she would marry him.
    The marriage was performed quietly, with just the Albions, the Riverdales and a few close friends for witnesses, at the fashionable church of St. George’s, Hanover Square. And six months later, little Weston was born.
    James was very proud of little Weston. Even as an infant, he looked like John Master. And James couldn’t help also feeling proud that for the first time, so far as he knew, the Master family had married into the aristocracy. Future generations would carry in their veins the blood of nobility, even royalty, stretching back to time immemorial.
    Vanessa seemed happy too. If she was now only plain Mrs. Master, her very presence gave the name a new luster, and the fact that the baby was universally admired was also gratifying. Indeed, there had been little friction between her and James in the first year of their marriage, except for one minor matter.
    He continued to work. He spent less time at the Albion trading house than he had before—which Albion himself well understood—but he by no means neglected business.
    “Must you be such a tradesman, James?” his wife would remark. But he would only laugh.
    “It’s not as if I lived at the warehouse,” he’d reply. “Albion’s a gentleman, with a perfectly respectable place of business in the city, and I go there to keep an eye on my family’s affairs—which are considerable,” he’d remind her.
    “Perhaps, James,” she’d suggest, “we should buy an estate in the country. You could manage that. I’d like to see you in Parliament, I think.”
    “I’ve no objection