Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(5)
So was the strategic selection of Alexander’s godparents. The former secretary of the U.S. Treasury would stand as godfather for little Alexander. Religious considerations were not a factor. Natalia’s own godfather, Admiral George McNally, had been chosen because the bank needed better ties with the military. Nothing happened inside the Blackstone family unless it was designed to advance the power, connections, or wealth of the Blackstone Bank.
As anticipated, the street in front of the church was crowded with onlookers, and photographers tried to capture the moment as Oscar escorted Poppy into the church. Poppy obligingly slowed her pace, turned slightly toward the photographers, and tipped the baby up to allow a fleeting glimpse of Alexander.
The ceremony was over in a mere twenty minutes, and then the entourage returned to their home, where an extravagant reception would last for most of the day. Natalia mingled with ease among the gracious company, welcoming every visitor as they entered the mansion. She refused to give the gossips any ammunition in their quest for her phantom resentment of her brother. Oscar beamed with pride as he stood behind Poppy, who sat enthroned in a chair with the baby’s crib beside her. Oscar had a protective hand on Poppy’s shoulder, looking as happy as Natalia had ever seen him as guests admired the baby.
As the afternoon wore on, the reception spilled into the courtyard garden, a green oasis in the middle of Fifth Avenue. Surrounded on three sides by their marble mausoleum of a house, it was lush with greenery and a splashing fountain. Talk soon drifted away from the baby and toward normal gossip about sports, politics, and the social scene in New York. Natalia joined her cousin Liam, who was with Darla Kingston, the dazzling woman he was courting. Darla had a profusion of corkscrew red curls and ran with a bohemian crowd, but she and Liam rubbed along remarkably well.
The talk soon turned to steel. Liam’s recent appointment to the board of directors for U.S. Steel was still controversial, but he had an excellent grasp of the industry.
“You should come see our new electric arc furnace,” Liam said to Natalia. “It’s going to revolutionize the steel business.”
“It’s fabulous,” Darla said. “That three-ton cauldron brimming with molten steel was simultaneously the most terrifying and awe-inspiring thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You actually saw it?” Natalia asked in surprise.
Darla nodded. “I felt like Persephone wandering into the underworld. Such a huge, cavernous space with cauldrons of orange metal as fluid as any river. And the men! They were like dark, shadowy shapes, absolutely fearless as they handled the equipment. I was dazzled.”
Darla was beginning to make a name for herself as a sculptress, so perhaps florid language was to be expected from an artist.
Liam certainly seemed impressed as he beamed at Darla. “She was a champ! The foundry floor is no place for a woman, but she suited up and went in with me. You should come too.”
Natalia was already familiar with the new arc furnace. “I’ve read our analyst’s reports on it, and I agree with you. It’s very impressive.”
“Natalia.” Liam cocked a brow at her. “There’s only so much you can learn about life from reading. You can’t understand the steel workers until you step into their world to see it, smell it, and feel the heat. Sometimes you need to leave the third floor of the bank and get your hands dirty in the real world.”
Ouch. The comment stung a bit because it was true. If Darla could walk into a steel mill, so could Natalia. She agreed to let Liam give her a tour, but she had just caught sight of Admiral McNally shrouded in clouds of cigar smoke in the corner of the garden, which meant she had business to conduct.
Admiral McNally was a frightfully intimidating figure who’d been selected to be her godfather for political connections, not spiritual reasons. Whenever he visited their home, he recounted exotic war stories and foreign exploits. As a child, she’d been partly terrified, partly intrigued by him.
He currently stood clustered with a few other men in uniform, talking about the ongoing Boxer Rebellion in China, and Natalia knew exactly what her father expected of her. She needed to welcome him, feign a warm relationship, then ask about the new Virginia-class battleship featuring mixed-caliber gun turrets that would revolutionize the navy. Construction had just gotten underway at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, and her father wanted the bank to finance them.
She put on a gracious smile and ignored the pungent stink of tobacco as she greeted Admiral McNally. “Welcome to this side of the river,” she said, and he offered her a terse nod in return. “Can I offer you something more satisfying than Turkish cigars?”
Admiral McNally’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her. “I don’t know. Can you?”
“My father’s wine cellar features an eighteenth-century riesling from the Mosel Valley, and his alliance with U.S. Steel would provide a better caliber of steel alloy than the German company you interviewed last week. I know we can offer you better.”
The admiral clapped his hands with a hefty grin. “Ha! I’ve always said you were the sharpest knife in the Blackstone family. When are Oscar’s people going to start hectoring me for a new contract?”
Before she could reply, the family’s butler rushed to her side. “Ma’am, there is a man to see you in the front hall,” Mr. Tyson said in a tense voice. “It would be best if you came right away.”