shills and rogues.”
“Spiritualists,” Liza corrected. “The rogues, my dears, will be strictly confined to the guest list.”
CHAPTER SIX
The letter arrived in the midst of crisis. Liza was standing in the ballroom, overseeing the hanging of the velvet drapes she’d ordered from London. Twice now she’d rejected the shipment; lengthy notes and telegrams had flown to and fro; and now the footmen uncrated the boxes to reveal— burgundy . Burgundy velvet.
Jane gasped. “The horror!”
“It looks red to me,” Mather observed.
“Red! You call that red !”
“I call that idiocy,” Liza said coolly. “Must we hold a public lecture on the precise definition of the various colors?”
“I think we should hold a wake for Madame Huse!” Jane stamped a foot. “Scarlet, you said—scarlet or crimson, like the fresh spill of blood! Not bordello red! It looks . . .”
“Lurid,” Liza finished. The red had too distinct an undertone of purple. But there was no time now to demand another exchange, so the lighting would have to be adjusted. “French lamps and candelabra, then. I willnot be using Madam in the future.” She had only used Madam because her usual draper was sending the most aggressive demands for payment.
“Oh . . .” Jane frowned, looking around the room. “French lamps might work, but in a space this size . . .”
Liza took her meaning. This room was large enough to hold two hundred people without a single foot being stepped on. If she required the footmen to trim the lamps as often as it would take to prevent a single one from guttering, they would never have a spare moment to breathe, much less to fetch new rounds of champagne. Also, wasn’t it time she began to economize?
“Gas jets, then,” she said with a sigh. “But I’m afraid it won’t be nearly as atmospheric.”
That decided, she opened the letter Ronson had brought her.
Had she foreseen its contents, she would have read it in private.
The blood drained from her head in one dizzying moment. She groped blindly for Mather’s arm, unable to wrest her eyes from the page.
“What is it?” Jane seized her other elbow. Liza could not say how grateful she was for the doubled support, which seemed suddenly to be the only thing holding her upright.
“Mr. Nelson has announced his engagement.” She cleared her throat. He must have proposed the moment he’d returned to town. Or . . . perhaps he’d already proposed before his visit here, in which case . . . he’d been planning to jilt her all along. Her financial troubles had nothing to do with it. He simply hadn’t wanted her.
“Oh!” Jane drew her into a hug, but suddenly thescent of rose water and lavender seemed smothering, unbearable.
Heedless of the rudeness of it, Liza pushed her friend away. “I can’t—forgive me, I must be alone for a bit.” Crushing the letter against her chest, she dashed through the ballroom, past a pair of footmen unwinding yet another bolt of the horrid burgundy cloth, out through the gallery and the open double doors into the gray afternoon.
The slight humidity of the fresh, mild air acted like a slap to bring her to her senses. She slowed from her mad dash, her steps uncertain on the crunching gravel of the long drive. A deep breath brought the taste and scent of the sea, the sharp salt and the sour brine of aquatic creatures. For all the cloud cover, the day was bright, a cool glowing sort of brightness that might have been the cause for the tears abruptly pricking her eyes.
She dragged in a breath through her clogged throat, unfolded the note, and read the lines again:
I must share the news of Mr. Nelson’s engagement to Miss Lister. Will you not take it terribly amiss if I admit I am relieved? He never recognized your worth, Lizzie, nor deserved a moment of your attention. To wish Miss Lister joy would be like wishing for the moon to wear on a chain, for I know it can never be. The poor girl! I am so thankful that
“Spiritualists,” Liza corrected. “The rogues, my dears, will be strictly confined to the guest list.”
CHAPTER SIX
The letter arrived in the midst of crisis. Liza was standing in the ballroom, overseeing the hanging of the velvet drapes she’d ordered from London. Twice now she’d rejected the shipment; lengthy notes and telegrams had flown to and fro; and now the footmen uncrated the boxes to reveal— burgundy . Burgundy velvet.
Jane gasped. “The horror!”
“It looks red to me,” Mather observed.
“Red! You call that red !”
“I call that idiocy,” Liza said coolly. “Must we hold a public lecture on the precise definition of the various colors?”
“I think we should hold a wake for Madame Huse!” Jane stamped a foot. “Scarlet, you said—scarlet or crimson, like the fresh spill of blood! Not bordello red! It looks . . .”
“Lurid,” Liza finished. The red had too distinct an undertone of purple. But there was no time now to demand another exchange, so the lighting would have to be adjusted. “French lamps and candelabra, then. I willnot be using Madam in the future.” She had only used Madam because her usual draper was sending the most aggressive demands for payment.
“Oh . . .” Jane frowned, looking around the room. “French lamps might work, but in a space this size . . .”
Liza took her meaning. This room was large enough to hold two hundred people without a single foot being stepped on. If she required the footmen to trim the lamps as often as it would take to prevent a single one from guttering, they would never have a spare moment to breathe, much less to fetch new rounds of champagne. Also, wasn’t it time she began to economize?
“Gas jets, then,” she said with a sigh. “But I’m afraid it won’t be nearly as atmospheric.”
That decided, she opened the letter Ronson had brought her.
Had she foreseen its contents, she would have read it in private.
The blood drained from her head in one dizzying moment. She groped blindly for Mather’s arm, unable to wrest her eyes from the page.
“What is it?” Jane seized her other elbow. Liza could not say how grateful she was for the doubled support, which seemed suddenly to be the only thing holding her upright.
“Mr. Nelson has announced his engagement.” She cleared her throat. He must have proposed the moment he’d returned to town. Or . . . perhaps he’d already proposed before his visit here, in which case . . . he’d been planning to jilt her all along. Her financial troubles had nothing to do with it. He simply hadn’t wanted her.
“Oh!” Jane drew her into a hug, but suddenly thescent of rose water and lavender seemed smothering, unbearable.
Heedless of the rudeness of it, Liza pushed her friend away. “I can’t—forgive me, I must be alone for a bit.” Crushing the letter against her chest, she dashed through the ballroom, past a pair of footmen unwinding yet another bolt of the horrid burgundy cloth, out through the gallery and the open double doors into the gray afternoon.
The slight humidity of the fresh, mild air acted like a slap to bring her to her senses. She slowed from her mad dash, her steps uncertain on the crunching gravel of the long drive. A deep breath brought the taste and scent of the sea, the sharp salt and the sour brine of aquatic creatures. For all the cloud cover, the day was bright, a cool glowing sort of brightness that might have been the cause for the tears abruptly pricking her eyes.
She dragged in a breath through her clogged throat, unfolded the note, and read the lines again:
I must share the news of Mr. Nelson’s engagement to Miss Lister. Will you not take it terribly amiss if I admit I am relieved? He never recognized your worth, Lizzie, nor deserved a moment of your attention. To wish Miss Lister joy would be like wishing for the moon to wear on a chain, for I know it can never be. The poor girl! I am so thankful that
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