To Elizabeth’s surprise, several of her old dresses hung inside. “I thought those were ruined. Why would my mother have them cleaned?”
“Because she’s your mama.” Anabelle riffled through the gowns until she found a deep blue dress. “This will do.”
“It’s a girl’s dress.”
“It’s dark enough.” Anabelle held it up to Elizabeth’s tall frame. “A little short, but it will suffice until your mourning gowns can be cleaned.”
Elizabeth kicked out the hem, which fell to her ankles. “I will look like a schoolgirl.” A giggle rose to her lips. For a second she was a girl again, plotting all manner of schemes with her best friend. “Shall I wear the ruffled drawers?”
Anabelle frowned at the undignified suggestion. “You’re grown now. And in mourning.”
“And not allowed a moment’s merriment.” She sighed, holding out her arms so Anabelle could slip on a chemise and tie on the required petticoats, all of which were also too short. After Anabelle tugged on the gown, she held her breath while her maid buttoned the back.
Her gaze drifted toward the open side window, where the wild tamarind’s seed pods rustled in the breeze. While the house had suffered under the storm, the tamarind still stood tall. Before the hurricane, she and Charlie would climb down its thick branches when the nights were too hot to sleep. Elizabeth had egged on Charlie, but Anabelle would never join them. Now none of them would think to do such a thing. Her brother couldn’t.
She spread her fingers across her midsection, Charlie’s cold rejection ringing in her ears. “He hates me.”
Anabelle didn’t ask who she meant. “He had no time to get used to the idea of your return.”
That wasn’t the reason, and both of them knew it. “Will he come to supper?”
“You will soon know.” Anabelle closed the top button, nearly choking Elizabeth.
She tugged at the restrictive collar. “That’s too tight. I can’t breathe.”
“You have grown in four years.”
Elizabeth reached to the back of her neck and undid the button. “That’s better.”
Anabelle scowled. “The mistress of the house can’t be seen with a button undone.”
“The mistress of the house has a dress that is too short. At least we won’t have any guests for supper since the family is in mourning.”
“Hold still.” Anabelle pulled a few strands of damp hair from the bun atop Elizabeth’s head. “That covers the button. A cap would be even better.”
“Thank goodness for the waterlogged trunk. I detest caps. They’re useful only in cold climates. They are unbearable here.”
“Sit.” Anabelle plucked a pair of shoes from the wardrobe.
Elizabeth dug her toes into the rug. The wet slippers had blistered her feet. She couldn’t bear the thought of donning shoes. “I suppose I must.” She sat on her bed and subjected her sore feet to too-small shoes.
Anabelle had just finished when Aunt Virginia stormed into the room, radiant in her gray silk gown and pearls. She took one look at Elizabeth and shook her head.
“That gown will not do, not at all, though I suppose it can’t be helped, considering everything in your trunk is ruined.”
“But not in yours, apparently.” Elizabeth recalled the mystery of the locked trunks. “I see your dress and pearls survived.”
“Thankfully, yes. The small trunk was a ghastly mess, though. The stevedores must have thrown it about, for everything was a jumble inside.”
“But everything was there?”
“Of course it was all there. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“No reason.” Elizabeth was glad that Aunt would not be able to call Rourke a thief. “I am simply grateful.”
Aunt gave her a sharp look before proceeding to the door with a sweep of her voluminous skirts. “Your father wants to see you in his study before supper.”
Elizabeth’s nerves returned. She hoped he would explain her brother’s cold reaction, but that was not his way. More likely he was angry over her rash decision to come home but hadn’t wanted to scold her in public. He might also threaten to send her back on the first ship headed to Charleston. The possibilities flitted through her mind as she descended the staircase.
His study was located at the rear of the house across from the music room, into which Charlie had vanished. The door to that room was now closed, and she could hear no sound from inside. The study door was open, however, and Father stood behind his desk puzzling over a piece of paper. In exasperation, he tugged off the spectacles he wore for reading.
“Father?”
He looked up. “Elizabeth. Please come in. Have a seat.”
He motioned for her to choose one of the twin chairs facing each other before the cold fireplace. That feature had always been an oddity, since temperatures seldom fell low enough to require heat. She had seen it lit only a handful of times.