The Luxe by Anna Godbersen

Schoonmaker will see that it is.”
    “I hear that Mrs. Schoonmaker always throws lovely dinner parties,” Elizabeth said, even though Mrs. Schoonmaker was a girl barely older than Elizabeth herself, with half the talent for domestic oversight. “They always get such nice write-ups, at any rate. I wish I could attend, but I’m sure it is a very exclusive list,” she added.
    Henry emitted a mirthless chuckle and gave the wrought-iron fence a knock with his fist as they glided by it. Elizabeth waited for him to say something more, and when he didn’t, she felt herself growing angry. If he had come to visit her, why was he being so cruelly silent? And of course he had no way of knowing that her family was in crisis, but it was , and really, hadn’t the thought entered his mind that she had better things to do than walk around silently with a boy who clearly wanted to be elsewhere? She was reminded of some vague impression from her childhood, of the Schoonmaker boy who was two years older than she and always smirking and who didn’t seem to care about anything.
    “I guess you know what the dinner is for,” Henry said, giving Elizabeth a cold stare.
    She shook her head petulantly. It occurred to her that Henry might be drunk. She glanced around her, as though for a familiar face to agree that all of this was very strange, and very rude. But there were only children and nannies calling to one another. Everybody she knew was hidden behind closed doors, and whatever happened next, she would have to deal with it herself. “No, I don’t know what the dinner party is for.”
    51 ♥elavanilla♥

    “The dinner party,” he said, pronouncing the words with derision, and rolling his dark eyes at the sky, “is for our engagement .”
    “You mean…the engagement of you to… me ?”
    “Yes,” Henry replied with moderate sarcasm. “The muchlauded engagement of Miss Elizabeth Holland to Mr. Henry Schoonmaker.”
    And then she felt like the ground beneath her was crumbling away. She was hit by the nausea and light-headedness of looking down from a very great height. As she tried to keep herself upright, she couldn’t help but picture Will kneeling, so loving and hopeful, in the simple, mote-filled morning light. What a contrast he was to cold, stiff Henry, whose flatly handsome face was staring at her now.
    “Oh,” Elizabeth said—slowly, and stupidly, it seemed to her. “I…had no idea that was what the party was for.”
    “Yes, well, it is, and so I suppose I should tell you that I would be very honored if you would be my wife.” Henry’s lips curled around the word wife , as though he were unsure of the pronunciation.
    “Oh,” Elizabeth said again. She tried to regain her breath—she wondered, briefly, if she would ever be able to speak again. She saw a whole other life laid out for her, every day more alien than the next. There would be a ceremony. She would have to promise things before God. There would be sleeping in the same bed as Henry Schoonmaker, and waking up with him. And someday, she supposed, though she found it hard to imagine, there would be little children that were half her and half Schoonmaker.
    Only that morning Elizabeth had fantasized about marrying Will. Will, whom she knew and loved. She tried to think what it would mean to Will, but the image she could not banish from her mind was that of her mother’s face when she delivered the news that she would not be able to marry one of the wealthiest young men in Manhattan, because she was in love with the coachman.
    Elizabeth closed her eyes for a brief moment, imagining the consequences of accepting Henry’s proposal—if she could call it that. She was shocked by what she saw: her life as a Schoonmaker looked quite… grand . She pictured her mother’s face, which had as of late been so scrunched with worry and gray with sleeplessness, uncreased and glowing with pride. Diana’s cheeks flushed as always and free of grime. She saw herself