at his rapidly disappearing back, but then she nodded toward another flight of stairs.
Before I could respond I became transfixed by a group of women coming toward us. They wore tiaras, all of them, the bright stones glittering and gleaming like stars through their clouds of hair. Necklaces by the dozens were looped about their necks, and so many bracelets had been fastened about their wrists that they reached nearly to the elbows. One of them was kicking at a large stone. It dangled from a pearl necklace that had been looped about her waist.
The other women around her were laughing at her antics. Their voices were so loud and boisterous that I worried Aunt might be tempted to reproach them.
But she only clutched at my arm and pulled me out of the woman’s path. And good thing! She was so busy kicking at the stone that she did not appear to notice where she was going.
“Mad. All of them! All that money and no good sense. It’s truly … terribly … annoying!”
We pressed ourselves to the wall as the woman stumbled by. The thing she was kicking appeared to be an enormous ruby. But though she was laughing and though she appeared to be enormously amused, the look she shot at me as she passed was one of ennui.
Across the foyer from us stood another woman. A grave and formidable woman, dressed in so many jewels that she sparkled like a … well … a diamond. A large, human-shaped diamond. She, too, was watching the ruby-kicking woman.
Aunt saw me staring at the second woman. And then she pulled me from the wall and we continued on our way toward the stair. “That was Mrs. Jacob Astor. The Astors own New York City … even more, they own society. And you can bet she doesn’t approve of such antics! Not from a Vanderbilt.”
Once we had settled ourselves in a box on the third tier, I saw Lizzie and her family sitting in a box across from us. As I watched, she picked up a pair of opera glasses and trained them upon me.
I picked up my own and trained them upon her.
She was dressed in white, just as I was, and she wore a collar of pearls about her neck. Her hair had been caught up into a puff of white ostrich feathers. Sitting there in the box, her dress glowing in the dim light, her fair hair shimmering, she looked like nothing so much as a contented kitten. She lifted a hand and waved. And then she dropped her glasses and crossed her eyes at me.
I burst into laughter before I could check myself.
“Whatever are you laughing about? No good can come from braying like a donkey. The opera is no laughing matter! The sound you hear about you is the sound of money. Fortunes are gained on the suggestion of a look. And destinies are forfeited on the failure of a gown to please. You will never again experience anything so fraught with danger as the opening of the opera season.”
“Unless I marry the De Vries heir.”
“What’s that?”
“Unless I marry him. Then I will experience it every season.”
Aunt looked at me as if she suspected some untoward levity. But I was not teasing. Were I to marry Mr. De Vries, then I could see my life unfolding vividly before me, one social season, one gown after another, as long as I lived.
Lizzie would have exulted at such a thought; I was rendered morose.
“Look there: We are surrounded by Schermerhorns and Goelets and Astors.”
I was looking. The boxes beneath us, across the auditorium, glinted with the jewels of their occupants. The curving length of the box tiers made the room look as if it were encompassed by a diamond horseshoe.
“Get up—show yourself.”
“But I just now took my seat.”
“And so did Lizzie Barnes over there across from us, but look at her now!”
The whole of the opera was looking at Lizzie. She had pulled the blooms from her bouquet and was tossing them down into the masses below.
“Do something!”
“Like what? All I have are my glasses. And I’m not about to throw those.” They had been Mama’s glasses. Slim and elegant, they were
Before I could respond I became transfixed by a group of women coming toward us. They wore tiaras, all of them, the bright stones glittering and gleaming like stars through their clouds of hair. Necklaces by the dozens were looped about their necks, and so many bracelets had been fastened about their wrists that they reached nearly to the elbows. One of them was kicking at a large stone. It dangled from a pearl necklace that had been looped about her waist.
The other women around her were laughing at her antics. Their voices were so loud and boisterous that I worried Aunt might be tempted to reproach them.
But she only clutched at my arm and pulled me out of the woman’s path. And good thing! She was so busy kicking at the stone that she did not appear to notice where she was going.
“Mad. All of them! All that money and no good sense. It’s truly … terribly … annoying!”
We pressed ourselves to the wall as the woman stumbled by. The thing she was kicking appeared to be an enormous ruby. But though she was laughing and though she appeared to be enormously amused, the look she shot at me as she passed was one of ennui.
Across the foyer from us stood another woman. A grave and formidable woman, dressed in so many jewels that she sparkled like a … well … a diamond. A large, human-shaped diamond. She, too, was watching the ruby-kicking woman.
Aunt saw me staring at the second woman. And then she pulled me from the wall and we continued on our way toward the stair. “That was Mrs. Jacob Astor. The Astors own New York City … even more, they own society. And you can bet she doesn’t approve of such antics! Not from a Vanderbilt.”
Once we had settled ourselves in a box on the third tier, I saw Lizzie and her family sitting in a box across from us. As I watched, she picked up a pair of opera glasses and trained them upon me.
I picked up my own and trained them upon her.
She was dressed in white, just as I was, and she wore a collar of pearls about her neck. Her hair had been caught up into a puff of white ostrich feathers. Sitting there in the box, her dress glowing in the dim light, her fair hair shimmering, she looked like nothing so much as a contented kitten. She lifted a hand and waved. And then she dropped her glasses and crossed her eyes at me.
I burst into laughter before I could check myself.
“Whatever are you laughing about? No good can come from braying like a donkey. The opera is no laughing matter! The sound you hear about you is the sound of money. Fortunes are gained on the suggestion of a look. And destinies are forfeited on the failure of a gown to please. You will never again experience anything so fraught with danger as the opening of the opera season.”
“Unless I marry the De Vries heir.”
“What’s that?”
“Unless I marry him. Then I will experience it every season.”
Aunt looked at me as if she suspected some untoward levity. But I was not teasing. Were I to marry Mr. De Vries, then I could see my life unfolding vividly before me, one social season, one gown after another, as long as I lived.
Lizzie would have exulted at such a thought; I was rendered morose.
“Look there: We are surrounded by Schermerhorns and Goelets and Astors.”
I was looking. The boxes beneath us, across the auditorium, glinted with the jewels of their occupants. The curving length of the box tiers made the room look as if it were encompassed by a diamond horseshoe.
“Get up—show yourself.”
“But I just now took my seat.”
“And so did Lizzie Barnes over there across from us, but look at her now!”
The whole of the opera was looking at Lizzie. She had pulled the blooms from her bouquet and was tossing them down into the masses below.
“Do something!”
“Like what? All I have are my glasses. And I’m not about to throw those.” They had been Mama’s glasses. Slim and elegant, they were
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