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—

Dear Molly,

Everything can change in an instant. One chance meeting, one twist of fate is all it takes to change your path irrevocably. My entire life was different after the Workers’ Ball. Suddenly, Algernon Braun became my sole focus. Nothing I’d experienced before prepared me for the free fall I found myself in after meeting him that night.

If this sounds confusing, Molly, I can understand why. It’s true that I’d been allowing my heart to open to John Preston—a good man, a true and constant one, not to mention the fact that being near him made me feel safe and warm and complete. When we fell into lock step on the dance floor, I should have known. But, Molly, when you’re young, the heart is so easily deceived, and it’s common to mistake false love for the real thing. Innocent that I was, my girlish heart still belonged to my parents, and to my father most of all. I longed for their acceptance, and they’d made it clear that winning Algernon was the way to earn their love. I was desperate to please them, so when that daring young man with his outsize confidence and glamorous good looks strode into the ballroom, he swept my parents off their feet first, then me. Despite any rumblings and misgivings in my gut—that feeling like falling off a precipice, some impending danger just ahead—I followed my parents’ lead blindly. I soon convinced myself that John was an illusion and that what I felt for Algernon was, like in a fairy tale, true love at first sight.

The feeling was heady and disorienting. After the ball, I was drunk with ecstasy at the notion that this boy—no, this man, for he was several years older than I was—might actually harbor feelings for me. It was as though something inside me had suddenly blossomed into being, unfurling into a longing I didn’t know I held within. Visions of Algernon swirled in my head—us twirling on the ballroom floor, his open shirt revealing a V of sun-kissed chest, those eyes—provocative, beguiling, and deep—a girl could enter them like a labyrinth and lose herself forever.

Molly, I became sick with thoughts of him, smitten to the point of obsession. And the more girlish yearning I felt for this virtual stranger, the more revulsion surged in me toward the young man who’d long lingered in my periphery—John. I soon forgot the surge of warmth I’d felt when he kissed my hand, and the safety of his arms as he held me on the dance floor, not to mention the many moments of kindness and generosity he’d offered me over the years despite the fact that I’d so often treated him poorly.

The night of the ball, after all the guests left, I lay awake in my bed thinking only of Algernon. When at long last the dawn broke and I heard servants preparing breakfast downstairs, I made my way to the banquet table, still floating on a dream.

I was pleased to see Papa sitting next to Mama for once, taking a meal with her. Both of them looked different. It was as though some weight had been lifted overnight. Papa was pouring coffee into my mother’s cup—a first, for certain—and when he finished, she touched his hand.

“Thank you, darling,” she said. “Darling”—an endearment that rarely issued from her lips.

“There’s my princess,” Papa said when I walked in. “Our little Cinderella, our belle of the ball.”

He stood then, assuming his full height, walked over, and hugged me. He even planted a kiss on my forehead the way he had when I was a wide-eyed and obedient toddler. It was more affection than I’d received from him in ages. I froze in his arms. When he released me, I hurried to my seat across from Mama.

Mrs.Mead appeared from the kitchen with a fresh coffee cup and added it to my place setting. “Good morning, Flora,” she said, her tone sharp and clipped.

“Why are you serving breakfast?” I asked, since this was an anomaly.

“I’m asking myself that same question,” said Mrs.Mead. “I’m not a cook and I’m definitely not a footman, but since the others have been dismissed, I’m left, as usual, to pick up the slack.”

“Mrs.Mead,” said Mama. “This egg isn’t poached, it’s boiled. Take it back to the kitchen and try again.” Mama held up her plate. Mrs.Mead grabbed it without a word, disappearing to do Mama’s bidding.

“Did you hear her?” Mama said the moment Mrs.Mead was gone. “She’s getting stroppier by the day. How many families would keep a nursemaid for a girl who’s turned seventeen? And to think we’ve been good enough to let her live in that old cottage, too. I’m this close to giving her a piece of my mind.”

“Leave it, Audrey,” said Papa. “She’s just tired from last night’s festivities. You know how hard it is to get good help these days.”

“You’re right, darling,” said Mama, patting his hand for a second time. She took a sip of coffee and smiled deviously at me from across the table. “Someone made a good first impression last night,” she said.

Papa was decapitating his soft-boiled egg. “Not only did you bait the hook, you got the fish to bite,” he said as he dipped his toast in the runny yolk.

“Let’s not celebrate Flora’s victory quite yet,” said Mama. “Bigger fish have wriggled free.”

Mrs.Mead returned to the breakfast room carrying two plates—Mama’s poached eggs and my scrambled ones, which she knew were my favorite.

“Thank you,” I said as she set my plate in front of me.

“Madam, sir,” she said. “Might I have a word after breakfast?”

It was a highly unorthodox request, so much so that Papa put down his fork and gaped at her.

“If there’s something you need to say, just say it,” said Mama.

“It’s not for sensitive ears,” Mrs.Mead replied.

“If you’re suggesting Flora’s the issue, we do have eyes. We saw her last night, and while snogging on the dance floor is not exactly the norm at a Workers’ Ball, we’re going to let it lie,” said Mama.

Papa cleared his throat. “Mrs.Mead, it is my understanding that ladies—much like gentlemen—are not supposed to kiss and tell.”

“It’s not that, not exactly,” said Mrs.Mead as her hands worried her apron strings. “It’s about Algernon Braun. Last night, I met a girl who knew him from college.”

My heart stopped. “She’s not his girlfriend, is she?” I asked.

“Definitely not,” said Mrs.Mead. “In fact, she was surprised to see that boy at the ball. She claims she had an experience with him that was…unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant how?” asked Mama as she sliced into her perfectly poached egg.

“She didn’t share the details,” said Mrs.Mead.

“Oh, come on now,” said Papa. “A handsome young lad like that can have any girl he pleases. He doesn’t need to force it, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“Was she the girl crying in the ladies’ room?” I asked.

“Aye, that’s the one,” said Mrs.Mead.

“Oh,” said Mama. “That unfortunate wretch. My goodness, Reginald, you should have seen how the girl was dressed. Her ‘gown’ didn’t even reach her knees. Mrs.Mead,” said Mama as she swiveled to face my nursemaid, “don’t you think girls like that are asking for trouble? Maybe she egged him on and then changed her tune at the last second?”

“Hear, hear,” said Papa as he drained his coffee.

“It’s not for me to say,” said Mrs.Mead. “What I do know is the shock of seeing Algernon undid that lass. And what she told me gave me pause. I thought you all should know. Flora, I heard you’re seeing Algernon on Saturday night.”

“I am,” I confirmed, unable to control the smile that overtook my face.

“Well done,” said Mama. “Be coy with the boy—inviting but not too much.”

Papa reached across the table to grab my hand. “There is nothing that would make me prouder than if my daughter was the missing link that forged a bond between our two families. Can you imagine? The Grays and Brauns united? We’d be an unstoppable force.”

“Low and slow,” said Mama. “The tortoise wins the race.”

“Am I the only one here with concerns?” Mrs.Mead asked, her eyes wide.

“If people acted upon every unconfirmed rumor about young men, the population would plummet,” said Papa.

“Anyhow, it’s not up to us. It’s up to Flora,” said Mama. “Flora, are you worried about Algernon?”

“Not in the least,” I replied, though something deep within me niggled.

“Good,” said Papa. “Then it’s settled.”

“Mrs.Mead,” said Mama, “after you clear our plates, please go upstairs and pick out some outfits for Flora’s big date on Saturday.” Mama then turned to me. “What do you say? Shall we have a think on outfits, darling?”

Darling. That’s what she said—to me. So starving was I for my mother’s affection that my eyes brimmed with tears.

“Dearest Mama,” I replied, “I would greatly appreciate your help.”

Mrs.Mead grabbed our plates. Then she turned her back on all of us and marched off to the kitchen.

—

It has always seemed to me that the good moments gallop apace, over too soon, whereas the dull ones extend into eternity. So it was that the Workers’ Ball passed in the blink of an eye and my wait for the Saturday after, when I would see Algernon again, seemed interminable. I swooned about the manor, indulging in girlish daydreams about my upcoming date and the many exciting nights ahead that would be steeped in the dreamy magic of new love and starlit romance, all under the approving gaze of my parents’ loving eyes.

On Monday morning, I trudged to class as usual, but very suddenly I lost interest in my studies. At long last I felt what so many girls my age had readily expressed in my presence, that school was tiresome, that it got in the way of what really mattered—thrilling romance and the stirrings of the heart.

I could barely concentrate in class. The only thing that captured my attention was the headmaster’s lecture on Romeo and Juliet and the forces opposing the lovers’ union. In my mind, I was Juliet and Algernon my daring young Romeo, but we were not star-crossed like they were. We were not doomed to tragic ends because no one stood between us. In fact, our two households wanted nothing more than to bring us together, so surely, love would triumph after all?

“There’s less than a month to the exams,” said the headmaster. “Your university admission depends on those results. I trust you will use these remaining weeks to study as much as you can.”

But I didn’t, I couldn’t. In class, my mind wandered, and one day after a lesson, John found me in the hallway.

“Flora,” he said, standing in front of me as I packed my books into my bag. I could ignore him no longer, and I looked up into those familiar, deep eyes. They were full of confusion, though I could see he was relieved that after evading him for several days, finally I was looking at him. Still, I couldn’t hold his frank stare. I busied myself with my bag.

“Are you all right?” he asked, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m perfectly fine,” I replied, though clearly I was not. Deep inside me, mixed emotions wrestled each other, manifesting in my complete inability to do something as simple as pack books in a bag. How was it I could be daydreaming incessantly about Algernon, yet the moment John stood in front of me, the allure of the Brauns and their son seemed a distant mirage, or even worse, a baited trap?

I looked up at John and wanted nothing more than to fall in his arms, to cry on his shoulder, to beg forgiveness, and then to kiss those inviting ruby lips. The contradictions in the pit of my stomach terrified me, and instead of examining them more closely, I pushed them down even deeper, denying them entirely. Then I dropped my books on the floor.

“Let me help you,” John offered, his hand never leaving my shoulder.

“Let me be!” I cried out. But I couldn’t pull away from his touch.

John moved to face me. “What happened at the ball,” he said, “our dance. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Can you honestly say you don’t feel what I feel?”

I couldn’t. And I wouldn’t. As I looked at him, I saw my parents’ faces, imagined them jeering at me, my mother’s curled lip, my father’s dead-eyed disdain, as if I was not only a fool but a traitor to myself and them.

“Me with the butler’s son,” I said, scoffing and shaking my head. “My parents would never approve.”

I expected John to be outraged by my offhand dismissal, but he wasn’t. To my utter surprise, his face lit up like a sun. “So you do feel it,” he said. “You just can’t say it.”

“I never said that,” I replied.

“You didn’t have to.” He took my bag from my shaking hands and placed the two fallen books inside. Then he passed it back to me, our fingers touching. “Flora, be careful,” he said. “There are rumors swirling about the Brauns. All that glitters isn’t gold, you know. Workers talk. My aunt heard some things.”

“Your aunt is a busybody who shouldn’t meddle,” I said. “And my parents know best.”

“I’ll have you know that your parents are—” He stopped himself.

“Are what?” I demanded, feeling heat surge from my belly and color my cheeks.

“My father and my aunt have always been their betters. And you know it.”

There it was, that same old arrogance. “How dare you?” I hissed. “You don’t know the first thing about any of us. How could you? You’re just a servant.”

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Have it your way,” he said as he turned and walked away.

I watched him tread down the corridor, not quite disappearing into the crowd because he always stood head and shoulders above everyone. I longed to call him back, to tell him I was sorry and that I was wrong.

But I didn’t. I let him go.

—

At home, for the first time ever, I basked in my parents’ love. It was as thrilling to me as it was surprising that they saw me in a whole new light. To my great joy, as I awaited my date with Algernon, still a few days away, Mama and I became closer than ever. We had a meeting of the minds for the very first time.

“Honestly, I’d written you off. I never imagined your head would emerge from your books. My little late bloomer—I thought this day would never come,” she said.

Together, we ransacked my closet, and every day I tried on new outfits Mrs.Mead had picked for my big date, but they were all so dowdy and plain. My mother agreed.

“I have an idea,” she said, as I slipped behind my Venetian screen, wiggling out of another shapeless frock. “A shopping trip, darling. Just the two of us. I know you don’t like shopping, but—”

“I’d love that, Mama!” I exclaimed.

And so I found myself linking arms with her, traversing high-end boutiques and fashionable downtown department stores in search of the perfect outfit. We enjoyed each other’s company for the first time in memory, and that day Mama seemed almost happy.

After many change room visits and an equal number of insults hurled by Mama at various shopkeepers, we landed on a look that worked.

“Thoughts?” I asked Mama as I emerged from the fitting room in a poodle skirt and a cashmere sweater.

“Flirty and fresh,” said Mama. “And my, my, how that V-neck becomes you.”

“Accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative. Isn’t that what you always say?”

“Have you been listening to me all this time? Come, darling. Let’s max out your father’s store credit.”

At long last it was Saturday. Mama helped me pin-curl my hair and perfect my rouge. Then at 8:15 p.m. , fashionably late, the doorbell rang. Algernon stood on the threshold in front of my parents, Uncle Willy, and me. He was wearing a leather bomber jacket, and true to his word, he’d driven his sky-blue convertible, complete with chrome tailfins, right to the manor door.

“It’s customary to turn off the ignition upon arrival to a manor house,” Uncle Willy suggested as he approached the entry.

“Boys will be boys,” said Papa, offering Algernon a hearty handshake and a clap on the back.

Algernon greeted my parents, then turned to me.

“Wowzer,” he said to my mother. “She looks good enough to eat.”

“Now, now. Just a nibble,” said Mama.

After a bit of small talk, Algernon agreed to have me home before midnight. “I’d never let a girl this pretty turn into a pumpkin,” he said.

“We won’t wait up. We know she’s in good hands,” said Papa.

Algernon led me to his car as my parents and Uncle Willy stood vigil.

“Say hello to your folks for us!” Papa called out.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Algernon. “They want you to drop by for a whiskey tasting next Tuesday. But beware—Prissy and Mags love to show off their art. My mother is a bona fide collector, and my father goes on and on about color and shadow. You’ll need the whiskey to get through it!”

“Tell them we’d be delighted,” said Mama.

“We look forward to it!” Papa added.

And before I knew it, I was in the passenger seat of a blue convertible, driving down the highway with Algernon Braun by my side. Everything—every last detail—was just as I’d imagined it. Until it wasn’t.

—

We were nearing the drive-in as the sun began to set. Algernon entertained me the entire ride over, telling me stories about his college friends and the high jinks they got up to in their dorm. He said he wasn’t returning to school. “Apparently, they don’t want me back. Plus, I’m not cut out for it.” The wind tousled his blond hair.

“I know what you mean,” I replied, because for the first time in my life, education seemed dull in comparison to the young rebel beside me with only one hand on the steering wheel and the other poised between our seats just inches from my knee. Every now and again, Algernon’s eyes would leave the road to drink me in.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he said. “If we don’t park soon, I’ll cause an accident.”

I couldn’t help but blush. Every word that spilled from his mouth was a tantalizing elixir designed to make me feel special and wanted and beautiful. By the time we pulled into the drive-in, I was giddy and lightheaded.

“Where should we park?” he asked.

“Up front?” I suggested. “I’m one of those girls who sits close to the blackboard.”

“Of course you are,” he said. “But this isn’t class, Miss Flora. And anyway, how much of the movie are you planning to watch?”

He pulled into a spot at the back of the lot and jumped out of the car to put the top up on the convertible.

“Come on,” he said once he was done. “Let’s hit the concession stand.”

He took me by the hand and led me through rows of cars to the front of the lot. Several times, I jumped at the sound of a car horn honking—yet another friend of Algernon’s trying to get his attention. We stopped a total of six times to say hi to this couple or that one, all of them asking who his cute new girlfriend was while inside I secretly screamed with joy.

At the concession stand, he bought me chocolate caramels, and on our way out the door, we bumped into the last person I expected to see at the drive-in.

“Hi, Flora,” he said. He was holding two tubs of popcorn in one hand and a Coke in the other.

“John? What are you doing here?” I inquired.

“Am I not allowed to watch a movie?”

“Who’s this?” Algernon asked.

“John Preston. We met at the ball,” John said in a tone sharper than a knife.

“Did we?” said Algernon. “Sorry, I’ve forgotten. The bartender had a heavy pour, and the company was too distracting,” he said as he casually flung his arm around my shoulders.

John’s jaw clenched.

“Who are you here with?” I asked, but John just stared at me mutely.

“I get it,” said Algernon. “Ol’ Johnny boy here isn’t the type to kiss and tell. Am I right? Listen, we’ll let you get back to her, whoever she is. Nice to meet you.”

“Wish I could say the same,” John muttered under his breath.

Algernon pulled me away, and the second we were out of earshot, he asked, “What the hell was that all about?”

“No idea,” I replied.

I could feel John’s eyes on our backs without even having to turn.

I was relieved when we were back inside the safe haven of Algernon’s convertible. We talked for a while as darkness descended. Soon enough, the film began. Algernon opened the chocolate caramels and we both partook as we watched. Before long, he put his hand on my knee, and I’m sure he could feel me trembling. The chocolates fell by the wayside, and he came closer.

“Sweeter than candy,” he said, then kissed me deeply. I drank in the scent of him, the caramel from his mouth, and before long, he was kissing my neck. I lost all sense of time and all sense of decorum, too. It would be a lie to say I didn’t like what was happening, for at first I did. I was flattered he found me at all attractive. After a while, the windows fogged up and I could barely see out. On the movie screen, two blurry actors were talking about love, but what the plot of the movie was, I couldn’t say. Suddenly, Algernon’s hand was on my inner thigh, traveling up and up. It was happening so fast. I felt claustrophobic. I needed to think, to breathe.

I held a hand to his chest. “Can we crack a window?” I asked. “It’s getting warm.”

Wordlessly, he rolled down his window a bit, then picked up where he’d left off.

Oh, Molly, these were different times, and I was so young and na?ve. I was out of my element, delighted to have wooed Algernon but terrified of all that lay beyond the realm of his kiss. I wanted to slow down, maybe even to halt entirely. I hoped his hands would take my cues and relent. What I felt was no longer pleasant, and when he undid the top button on his jeans, I didn’t know what I would say to make him stop. I could hear my mother’s voice echoing in my head— Girls like that are looking for trouble. Was I one of those girls, the kind who teased, then let a boy down?

“Please,” I said, finding my voice at last. “Can you slow down?”

That’s when I heard it—a sharp rap on the foggy driver’s side window.

Algernon pulled his hand away and adjusted his jeans. “What the hell?” he said.

He rolled the window down to reveal Mrs.Mead standing there with a tub of popcorn. “Hello, Flora,” she said cheerily, just as she did every morning when she pulled back the curtains to let the daylight stream into my bedroom. “John bought too much popcorn. We were wondering if you’d like the rest.”

“Who the hell are you?” Algernon asked.

“Mrs.Mead, Flora’s nursemaid, at your service,” she said and didn’t she even curtsy.

“And that there is my brother, butler to Flora’s father. I hear you’ve already met my nephew, John?”

Algernon looked into the shadows, where both Uncle Willy and John were standing by my father’s old car—John holding a Coke and Uncle Willy another tub of popcorn.

Mrs.Mead pushed the popcorn through the window. Her one blue eye and her one green eye pierced Algernon with the most withering look I have ever witnessed. “On the house,” she said. “Popcorn keeps the mouth and hands busy. Enjoy!”

When Algernon took the tub, she waddled away.

He rolled up the window, then passed me the popcorn.

I held it in my lap, not caring if the butter stained my new skirt. “Shall we watch the film?” I asked as I settled into my seat.

“Not much else we can do with an entire family of proles watching,” he replied.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, venturing to take his hand, which he pulled away. “Really, my apologies,” I added. But even as the words left my mouth, I knew I didn’t mean them, for what I felt in my heart and soul was pure and utter relief.