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I frown, trying to get my fine hair to hold some semblance of a curl. “That’s not true.”
When it’s clear that the limp strands won’t cooperate, I give up and sweep them up and back under a simple band. Catherine expertly puts hers in a neat row of tight little curls. Her hair is a luminous shade of auburn, alive with gold and copper. My hair by comparison is mousy brown. A warm, light shade, but brown all the same. And of course my Emmy has the prettiest hair of all of us, even more golden and vibrant than Catherine’s.
I watch as Catherine rubs color over her lips, then plucks a stray hair from her brow. She practices different expressions, first one of surprise, her mouth open in an inviting O, her brows arched, then one of wide-eyed innocence. She could have anyone—any man wrapped around her finger. I can’t help but be a little in awe of her, even if she is the vainest creature I’ve ever met. I always knew that she was different from me, above me somehow. As a child she shone so brightly, stealing the room with her perfect manners and charming smile while I struggled to keep up. She scowls when she catches me studying her.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Lyd.”
“Like what?”
She rolls her eyes. “With the disapproving, sanctimonious glower you always have.” She stands up, giving one last glance into the mirror and patting at her coif.
“You’re up to something.”
With a shrug, she grabs her shawl from the bed and heads for the door. “I know you’re up to something, Catherine!” I call after her. And I’m going to find out what it is, I add silently. This family has had enough of secrets.
* * *
Ada announces Mr. Barrett. He strides into the room, his face serious, looking like he’s come more on business than pleasure. He gives Mother a kiss on the cheek though, like an old friend, and Father a hearty handshake. He’s shined his boots, and his cravat is fresh and white, crisp. When we saw him in the rain the other day I didn’t appreciate what a fine figure he cuts, what quiet power he exudes with his serious eyes and strong jaw. Not at all the kind of person I thought we would find out here in the country. He turns to me and gives a short bow, and I mumble something inconsequential.
“I’m glad to see that you’ve recovered from your soaking the other day,” he says. His tone isn’t cold exactly, but it’s formal and doesn’t invite anything more than a polite reply.
I hardly notice the dark-haired young man in the doorway until Mr. Barrett turns to him and takes him by the shoulder. “Where are my manners? This is my good friend August Pierce. August is a bachelor too and I hope you don’t mind, but I thought he could do with a good home-cooked meal as well.”
“Of course, of course. Glad to meet you, Mr. Pierce.” Father pumps his hand, grateful for more men with whom he can talk business.
“I hope I’m not being a terrible intruder,” Mr. Pierce says with a crooked smile. Catherine all but jumps at the chance to assure him that he is no such thing, relinquishing her position next to Mr. Barrett, which she had only just taken up. I catch Mother’s eye.
With lank chestnut hair, full lips quirked at the corners and penetrating hazel eyes, he’s the antithesis of serious Mr. Barrett. He turns his smile to Catherine, and Mr. Barrett is forgotten completely. What a fool she is.
I take up Catherine’s abandoned position. “Have you lived in New Oldbury long?” I ask Mr. Barrett just as Ada creeps in to announce dinner is ready.
“I’m sorry?” He doesn’t catch what I was saying, and then everyone is moving into the dining room. Before I can repeat myself, Emeline runs up and takes his hand, leading him to sit next to her.
Catherine slips into the seat on his other side, and an extra chair is brought for Mr. Pierce. I’m between him and Mother on the opposite side of the table, Father at the head. I might as well be in the next town over.
“Mr. Pierce,” Father says, sawing away at his loin roast, “are you in the milling business too, then? I don’t believe I’ve heard your name mentioned in that circuit.”
“I’m afraid not. Barrett here is the man with a mind for business,” he says. “I’m rather useless at the moment. I finished at Harvard last spring, and now I’m something of a boat without an anchor, drifting about looking for some occupation.”
“I’ve been showing August the ropes at the mill, but I’m not sure it’s exciting enough for him,” Mr. Barrett says with a smile.
They’re so comfortable together. I can’t help but be jealous of their companionship. It’s Mr. Pierce I’m jealous of, really, to be able to talk with Mr. Barrett like that. I imagine them together, sitting relaxed in an office, Pierce with his boots up on the desk, fiddling with a pen and recounting some funny story. John—I can call him John, it’s my castle in the air after all—standing by the window, running his hand absently through that thick wave of amber-gold hair as he cracks a smile.
Mr. Pierce grins, lopsided and boyish. “Nonsense. If excitement was what I was after, I wouldn’t be in New Oldbury.”
“And what did you study at Harvard, Mr. Pierce?” Catherine is still playing her ridiculous role of gentle lady, speaking with downcast lashes and a demure tone that is anything but natural for her.
“Law. It’s the family business. My father passed away some years ago and my uncle runs the firm now. It only took me a month to know that it wasn’t for me. Too many documents and days spent in a stuffy office. Not for me,” he repeats with a wink in Catherine’s direction. “In any case, there wasn’t much to keep me in Boston. My mother is bedridden since a fever took the use of her legs some years ago.”
If Mr. Pierce is from Boston I wonder that he hasn’t heard the rumors. But he’s good-humored and warm, and doesn’t seem to have any inkling that he’s seated among the most notorious family in Boston. Perhaps Harvard kept him too occupied to engage in gossip.
Mother puts down her fork and tries to offer her sympathy, but he stops her with a casual wave of his knife. “Don’t fret on her account. Mother has thrown herself into the occupation of invalid with her characteristic vigor and dedication. She has the whole household on pins and needles. It quite suits her. So you see, when John mentioned he might show me the mill business, I jumped at the opportunity.”
“Well,” Catherine says with a coquettish smile, “how lucky for us that you did.”
Father, ever late to pick up on the social cues around him, is finally catching on to Catherine’s game. He colors slightly and hurries to steer the conversation to safer ground. Standing to pour more wine he adds, “Well, there’s value in a good lawyer, I would say.”
Mr. Barrett raises his glass in a toast, graciously saying that the law has lost a fine son in August. Catherine hangs on their every word, laughing a little too loudly when someone makes a light remark, smiling a little too eagerly when Mr. Pierce’s hazel eyes flicker in her direction.