“Do you have a secret admirer?” She makes a playful attempt to snatch the letter from me, but I swivel my hip away from her.
“It’s from a schoolmate at Westacre,” I lie, referring to the Quaker school in Pennsylvania where I lived these past three years. Our mother was educated at Westacre, and it was her last wish that Sophie and I would study there too. After she passed, Father sent us to the school to honor Mother’s request, but Sophie grew homesick after a single term and returned to Washington. I, however, continued on at school and adored every minute . . . until Grandmama stepped in two months ago, deeming my education complete and ordering me home. I refused, but Grandmama stopped paying my tuition. It pains me that she thinks so little of a female’s schooling, especially her own granddaughter’s. I had hoped to teach at Westacre myself one day.
“A schoolmate?” There’s a glint in Sophie’s green eyes. “Or a beau?”
“You’re nearly as bad as Grandmama.” I roll my eyes, but I’m not bothered by her prying. Being near Sophie again has been the one bright spot in returning home.
Sophie insists on helping me into my dress, a russet-colored gown that sits low on my shoulders. It’s the latest fashion in the city, but I feel entirely too exposed. I had no need for ball gowns or earbobs at Westacre, but now I have a wardrobe filled with velvet dresses and pretty jewels the size of my knuckles. All of this finery feels like the slippers that now adorn my feet: glittering and gleaming yet pinching my toes with every step.
I may be home, but I feel rather homesick.
Sophie hands me the pearls. “The suitors Grandmama invited aren’t all terrible. Samuel O’Hara is rather handsome, and Elisha Noble is . . . Well, he owns many nice shoes. And you may take a liking to Abraham Radford.”
“Radford? Do you mean William’s cousin? Your William?”
She blushes as red as one of Grandmama’s hothouse roses. “He isn’t my William.”
“Not yet, anyhow.” I grin. My sister and William Radford have had eyes for each other since childhood, and their romance blossomed while I was at Westacre. Grandmama has given her blessing for the union, although she sniffs that the Radfords aren’t as prominent as the Van Persies. “He’ll attend the ball tonight, won’t he?”
Sophie’s gaze darts away from mine, and she chews upon her bottom lip. “Why, yes, of course.”
“Did you two have a row?”
Before she can answer, Grandmama calls for us from downstairs and Sophie clasps my hands. “We best not keep her waiting.” She tacks on a bright smile, but I can see the brittleness behind it.
“Did William say something to upset you?”
“Nothing! It’s nothing at all.” She drags me away before I can wheedle another word out of her — and before I can hide Uncle Ambrose’s letter.
My stomach flutters. Not only have I lost my chance to stow away the envelope, I must soon undertake the mission he has entrusted to me. I agreed to help my uncle, of course. I’d do anything for him and the Union that my mother loved so much, but a dizzy spell hits me now that this moment has arrived. The Raven may be armed. He’s likely dangerous too — for if he’s willing to betray his country, then what else might he be willing to do? And here I am dressed in a pretty frock with nothing to defend myself with, unless you count my fists, and I wouldn’t count them for very much. But I can’t fail Uncle Ambrose and I won’t fail the men who serve him. If capturing the Raven means saving just one Union life, then I mustn’t falter.
We descend the staircase together and pass by the portrait of our great-grandfather Joseph Van Persie. Dutch by birth, he journeyed to America at the age of seventeen and made his name first in the steamboat industry and later as a congressman from Maryland. In the painting he possesses a furrowed brow and a weak chin. Grandmama says that I must take after him.
When I near the bottom of the stairwell, I gasp at the transformation of our home. I’ve not attended our ball in three years, and I’d forgotten the grandeur of it all. Candles abound throughout the first floor, casting a flickering light over the foyer and the three adjoining parlors. My eyes collide with the colors of autumn, from the boughs of golden leaves coiling around the banister to Grandmama’s deep-crimson dress. It looks as if the fall has blown in through the front door.