Neferet's Curse (House of Night Novellas #3)(14)

“You see, that is better. No silly shaking hands for you now!” He’d spoken as if he’d effected a miracle cure.

As I drank the watered wine and watched him chuckle in a self-satisfied manner, I imagined throwing the wine in his pinkish face and bolting from the room, the house, and the life he was trying to thrust me into.

His next words stopped that waking fantasy.

“Two evenings from now, Wednesday night at exactly eight o’clock, will signal the beginning of the reopening of Wheiler House. I have already sent invitations and received assurances all will attend.”

My head had felt as if it were going to explode. “Attend? The house reopening?”

“Yes, yes, do try to pay attention, Emily. It won’t be a full dinner party, of course. That won’t happen until Saturday. On Wednesday we will begin with an intimate group. Just a few close friends—men who also have an interest in the bank, as well as an investment in the World’s Columbian Exposition: Burnham, Elcott, Olmsted, Pullman, and Simpton. Five men that I have invited for a light repast. It is an excellent way to move you gently into your new role in society, and, indeed, a very meager party by your mother’s standards.”

“Two days from now? On this Wednesday?” I’d struggled to hold tight to my composure.

“Certainly! We have wasted too much time already by being segregated from the whirlpool of happenings that surround us. The fair opens in two weeks. Wheiler House must be a hub at the center of the wheel that is the new Chicago!”

“But-but I have no idea how to—”

“Oh, it isn’t so difficult. And you are a woman, though a young one. Dining and entertaining come naturally to women, and most especially to you.”

My face had blazed with heat. “Especially to me?”

“Of course. You are so like your mother.”

“What shall I serve? Wear? How shall I—”

“Consult Cook. It isn’t as if it’s a full dinner party. I already told you that I managed to put that off until Saturday. Three courses should suffice for Wednesday, but be quite certain to have the best of the French cabernet as well as the port brought up from the cellars, and send Carson for more of my cigars. Pullman has an especial fondness for my cigars, though he’d rather smoke mine than buy his own! Ha! A tight millionaire!” He’d drained the last of his brandy and slapped his thighs with his meaty palms. “Oh, and as to what you should wear. You are Lady of Wheiler House and have access to your mother’s wardrobe. Make good use of it.” He’d lifted his great bulk from the settee and was leaving the room when he’d paused and added, “Wear one of Alice’s emerald velvet gowns. It will bring out your eyes.”

* * *

I wish I could go back to that day and comfort myself by explaining that all that was happening was that the missing pieces of my life were being filled in so that the picture of my future could be complete. I needn’t be so frightened and overwhelmed. All would be well—all would be most spectacularly better than well.

But that night I’d had no idea that this small reentry to society would quickly and completely alter my life—I’d only been lost in my fear and loneliness.

Two days passed in a frantic haze for me. Cook and I planned a lobster creamed bisque, a roasted duck breast with asparagus, which was very hard to find this early in the season, and her after-dinner iced vanilla cakes, which Father loved so much.

Mary brought me Mother’s collection of emerald velvet gowns. There were more than a dozen of them. She laid them out across my bed like a green waterfall of fabric. I chose the most conservative of them—an evening dress modestly fashioned and unadorned except for pearls sewn into the bodice and the sleeves. Mary clucked her disapproval, muttering that the gold-trimmed gown would make a more dramatic impression. I ignored her and lifted my choice over my head so that she had to assist me into it.

Then the alterations began. I am shorter than Mother, but only slightly, and have a smaller waist. My br**sts are larger, though, and when Mary finally helped me lace myself into the gown and I stood before my full-length looking glass, Mary immediately began to cluck and fuss and open seams, trying to contain my flesh.

“All of her dresses will have to be altered, they will,” Mary had spoke through a mouthful of pins.

“I don’t want to wear Mother’s dresses,” I’d heard myself saying, which was the truth.

“And why not? They’re lovely, and your looks are alike enough to hers that they will be beautiful on you as well. The most of them even more than this one.” She’d hesitated, thinking, then while she stared at my bosom and the material stretched tightly there, she added, “Sure and they won’t all be appropriate as they are made now, but I can find some lace or some silk to add here and there.”

As she continued to pin and stitch, my gaze went from the mirror to my own dress that lay in a discarded heap across my bed. It was cream colored and lacey and covered with blushing pink rosebuds, and it was as different from Mother’s fine velvet gowns as was Mary’s brown linen uniform dress from Lady Astor’s day dresses.

Yes, of course I’d known then, as now, that I should have been delighted by the vast addition to my wardrobe. Mother had been one of the finest dressed women in Chicago. But when my gaze made its way back to the mirror, the girl swathed in her mother’s gown who looked out at me felt like a stranger, and me—Emily—had seemed to be utterly lost somewhere in her unfamiliar reflection.