Prologue
It was a warm spring evening in 1893, when I first saw the house at Marshbay, although I’d heard stories about it as long as I could remember. When I was a young girl I loved hearing about the wealthy Fitzgerald family who lived there. My imagination would send me into a world of delightful daydreams where I thought of what it must be like to live in that house.
Those were only daydreams, but never did I think I would actually be invited there even though I certainly had enjoyed pretending to be one of those elegantly dressed women whose ball gowns glittered beneath the gas lit chandeliers.
I had not grown up in a society or even a household where men openly admired women and cared for them lovingly, though I’d read about such men in books. I’d also seen men smiling at the woman on their arm in pictures in the society columns of newspapers. But that kind of behavior was not something I’d ever personally known from a man, certainly not from my own father.
I wanted to love him, but his behavior caused me to fear him instead. When he drank, he was often cruel and verbally abusive— vicious even. I learned to stay out of his way at an early age.
“Isabella,” he would say in that stern, lecturing voice of his, “a woman must use her beauty to get ahead in this world. An inquisitive mind such as yours will do you more harm than good. So you’d best learn to hide any intelligence or curiosity you have if you expect to find a husband.”
I hoped with all my heart he was wrong. There had to be married people who loved each other and men who treated their wives with respect, their children with kindness. Father’s words often made me cringe. Inside I would be seething, though outwardly I took care to appear obedient and respectful, for Jacob Brady could be a cruel, hard man. No one crossed him. Not my mother and certainly not me.
I had no idea until a few days ago that I would be going to Marshbay, the Fitzgerald’s summer home by the sea. My mother had called me into her bedroom and told me of the invitation.
For the first time I saw the beautiful dress of white silk that I now wore. That day in Mother’s room it lay spread across the foot of her bed. The skirt was appliquéd with lace roses and sprinkled with seed pearls. It was like no dress I had ever owned or ever hoped to wear. Its beauty fairly took my breath away, making me speechless with wonder.
“This is for me?” I asked. “And an invitation to Marshbay? But why? How?”
She smiled. “It was your father’s doing, although I confess I was surprised that the Fitzgeralds would still remember after all this time. And more surprised that, with your father no longer alive, they would nevertheless honor the pact they’d made with him. On a wager, no less. One I would never had known about if they hadn’t honored that pact.”
“But, Mother, there must be more to it than that. What would Mr. Fitzgerald have to gain from any kind of wager with father?”
“Now don’t say anything more until you’ve heard me out,” she said. “I know how you felt about your father’s gambling. Apparently, years ago, during a game of cards, he and Mr. Fitzgerald entered into a wager. Part of the wager, if your father won, was that you would be invited, to the house at Marshbay. So you see Bella, your father did care for you, no matter how much you doubted it. He wanted nothing more than to see you situated in the very best position possible.”
“What do you mean by position?” I asked. “Are you saying the Fitzgerald’s are offering me employment at Marshbay?”
“You must wait and see.”
“I don’t understand. If I am to be employed there, why would they invite me to the ball?”
“I’m sure it will all be made clear to you once you arrive at the house.”
Mother sighed, her small white hands fluttering in the air as if she were too tired to go on talking.
Since her illness she sometimes acted strange and her speech was
It was a warm spring evening in 1893, when I first saw the house at Marshbay, although I’d heard stories about it as long as I could remember. When I was a young girl I loved hearing about the wealthy Fitzgerald family who lived there. My imagination would send me into a world of delightful daydreams where I thought of what it must be like to live in that house.
Those were only daydreams, but never did I think I would actually be invited there even though I certainly had enjoyed pretending to be one of those elegantly dressed women whose ball gowns glittered beneath the gas lit chandeliers.
I had not grown up in a society or even a household where men openly admired women and cared for them lovingly, though I’d read about such men in books. I’d also seen men smiling at the woman on their arm in pictures in the society columns of newspapers. But that kind of behavior was not something I’d ever personally known from a man, certainly not from my own father.
I wanted to love him, but his behavior caused me to fear him instead. When he drank, he was often cruel and verbally abusive— vicious even. I learned to stay out of his way at an early age.
“Isabella,” he would say in that stern, lecturing voice of his, “a woman must use her beauty to get ahead in this world. An inquisitive mind such as yours will do you more harm than good. So you’d best learn to hide any intelligence or curiosity you have if you expect to find a husband.”
I hoped with all my heart he was wrong. There had to be married people who loved each other and men who treated their wives with respect, their children with kindness. Father’s words often made me cringe. Inside I would be seething, though outwardly I took care to appear obedient and respectful, for Jacob Brady could be a cruel, hard man. No one crossed him. Not my mother and certainly not me.
I had no idea until a few days ago that I would be going to Marshbay, the Fitzgerald’s summer home by the sea. My mother had called me into her bedroom and told me of the invitation.
For the first time I saw the beautiful dress of white silk that I now wore. That day in Mother’s room it lay spread across the foot of her bed. The skirt was appliquéd with lace roses and sprinkled with seed pearls. It was like no dress I had ever owned or ever hoped to wear. Its beauty fairly took my breath away, making me speechless with wonder.
“This is for me?” I asked. “And an invitation to Marshbay? But why? How?”
She smiled. “It was your father’s doing, although I confess I was surprised that the Fitzgeralds would still remember after all this time. And more surprised that, with your father no longer alive, they would nevertheless honor the pact they’d made with him. On a wager, no less. One I would never had known about if they hadn’t honored that pact.”
“But, Mother, there must be more to it than that. What would Mr. Fitzgerald have to gain from any kind of wager with father?”
“Now don’t say anything more until you’ve heard me out,” she said. “I know how you felt about your father’s gambling. Apparently, years ago, during a game of cards, he and Mr. Fitzgerald entered into a wager. Part of the wager, if your father won, was that you would be invited, to the house at Marshbay. So you see Bella, your father did care for you, no matter how much you doubted it. He wanted nothing more than to see you situated in the very best position possible.”
“What do you mean by position?” I asked. “Are you saying the Fitzgerald’s are offering me employment at Marshbay?”
“You must wait and see.”
“I don’t understand. If I am to be employed there, why would they invite me to the ball?”
“I’m sure it will all be made clear to you once you arrive at the house.”
Mother sighed, her small white hands fluttering in the air as if she were too tired to go on talking.
Since her illness she sometimes acted strange and her speech was
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