“Hush, Rosemary, I am not but show us your ring!”
“Yes, let’s see!” Rosemary captures my hand, then flinches as her voice drops. “Why, my dear, that’s the very same, the diamond and garnets ”
Flora gapes. “Nooo…not Will’s ring!”
“The one your aunt yanked off ”
“Aunt Clara specially wanted me to have it back,” I fib, though I could curse the flush blooming in my face. “It’s a family piece, after all.”
“Certainly it would be a waste of an adequate stone.” Flora smirks, and I know she is burning to spread the gossip of my twiceused ring.
“Are you planning a big June wedding?” Rosemary asks. “Think of us, dear heart, when you’re choosing bridesmaids. Whatever you do, don’t make me wear chartreuse, for it drains all the color from my face. Peach or mint would do nicely, though.”
“Oooh, that reminds me will you serve ice cream?” Flora clasps her hands.
Rosemary giggles. “Flora, you’ll eat yourself to death before you find a husband!”
“Sister, you are too droll!” Flora grates a laugh, as she jabs Rosemary hard in the ribs. “There’s Mr. Jake now, waving for us. Here, take my card. I just had them done in the very latest design. And do you have one for me? No? Never mind, then. Good-bye, Jennie, darling.” They exit the bank in a babble.
“Jennie, darling! Did you hear that?” I turn to Mavis. “Everyone knows that family’s the worst kind of snobs. It was only two months ago they all but refused my friendship.”
“Oh, but Miss, this wedding’ll make you the belle of Brookline.” Mavis chuckles. “Both those sisters had set their caps tight for Mister Quinn ’fore he left for the war. My sister, Betsey, howled to watch ’em fuss and preen.”
I smile. “I’d forgotten.”
Mavis twinkles. “He was always tweaking one sister off t’other.
And never serious with neither. Oh, no man in his right mind would marry either of those two spoiled nobodies!”
But I’m not thinking of the plight of the charmless Wortley sisters. The echoes of too many voices hold my ear.
Didn’t you land feet up in the butter…
Isn’t gone mad, as most everyone thought…
A demon close. A bad business.
Quinn will only laugh it off and tell me that it’s the rare soul who’s truly happy for another’s good fortune. Especially not a fraudulent medium, or a family of social climbers, or a pregnant servant girl.
Still, I cringe from public speculation, so easily given and so bruising. I make up my mind to order some engraved calling cards just as soon as Quinn and I are wed.
“A June wedding would be beautiful,” I mention to Mavis on the ride back, quietly enough that Uncle Henry doesn’t hear. “But I’d prefer something modest. Anything extravagant might be dishonorable to Will’s memory.”
Mavis pulls on her agreeable face, though I know she thinks I ought to do just as I please and have as sumptuous a wedding as I want. Honor be damned.
I have to wonder if Will would have paid me the same courtesy.
26.
On the afternoon of the party, the house is hushed. Expectant. It’s a change. All week, until this morning, it churned with activity. But now the florists and confectioners have gone, dropping off their arrangements, their bowls of trailing ivy and hothouse roses, their iced petits fours, their candied lavender and orange-blossom petals, and other delicacies beyond the household’s practical expertise.
Though our humble kitchen has been busy, too. The lobster bisque, the dripping, spit-roasted beef, the waft of potatoes broiled in tarragon and butter have been planned, prepared, and executed under Mrs. Sullivan’s scrupulous eye. She has chosen most of her recipes from before the war, and I can’t help but worry that they are too extravagant for the sober climate. Certainly they are tastes that I have not sampled in years. The aroma alone sets my stomach into embarrassing gurgles of anticipation.
The table is set with the best lace and linens. Every stick of silver has been polished to luster. Passing through the dining room earlier, I imagine that the very walls and windows hold their breath, as if nothing less than a coronation is taking place tonight.
Quinn calls this evening his mother’s folly, but he’d never trust Aunt Clara to make it a success, so he himself has paid personal attention to every detail. From the wording on Aunt Clara’s carefully penned invitations to the order of the dancing and the proper moment, just before the port and cheese, for announcing our engagement.
Such a delicate evening couldn’t be left to Aunt. We’re both well aware that our news must be managed with grace. “And with respect for our dear brothers, William and Tobias. They are our very own guardian angels, and we pray that they will guide us with temperance and protect us from life’s unhappy vagaries,” Quinn had recited late last night as we’d sat together, watching the dying embers in the sitting room. Quinn had wanted to practice some of his speech out loud to me before he faced down Brookline society.
“Yes, quite right,” I’d answered.
“Then, what’s wrong?”
“I suppose I’m fearful that people might judge me harshly,” I admitted. “One brother, now the other. Geist said my heart might not have caught up to ”
“Ah, to hell with whatever Geist says.” Quinn’s brows had knit as he’d folded the paper into his pocket. “He’s a moldering old bachelor and a gypsy swindler to boot. You know that many wartime widows are remarrying, Jennie. People aren’t meant to live lonely.” But then he’d turned boyish and clinging, dropping from his chair to rest his head in my lap. My hand had reached to stroke the ginger curls, soft as a child’s. I am taken aback. Quinn was so rarely given to acts of vulnerability. I think of how Will used to waggle and bounce, throwing himself at me like an excited puppy.
“You are right, of course,” I’d whispered.
“We’ve been far too isolated here, haven’t we?” he’d whispered back. “It’s bound to make us worry over how we’ll conduct ourselves in society. But a reintroduction to our friends and neighbors ought to do everyone some good. I’ll mourn both our brothers for the rest of my life, but let us resolve to shine some light in each other’s lives as well.”
“You’re right, dear Quinn. Let’s.”
How I’d wanted to put my faith in this thought, how dismayed I’d been that its comfort doesn’t hold.