Pearl, more awake than I might have expected her at this hour, lounged near him, her own long features a flawless but feminine recreation of his. Her hair lay darker against her shoulders than Father's ever had, a legacy from our birth mother, as was the exceptional paleness of her skin; Father was more sun-touched, though no browner than the sun could make naturally light skin. Opal, still surrounded by the boys, was much prettier than Pearl, but not nearly as beautiful: dark honey-colored hair, tied back in loose waves from a round face with large eyes and rosebud lips, gave her a gentle mothering look that was easier to approach than Pearl's haughty perfection. Suitors thought so, too, and often believed themselves more successful than Pearl's beaus did, because Opal was kind to all of them, and Pearl kind to almost no one.
I lay between them in looks: my hair was closer to Father's in shade, darker than Opal's and lighter than Pearl's. Pearl had Father's nose and mouth; Opal had our dead mother's, and I had an asymmetrical combination of both that earned me the title of striking. Men and women both looked on my sisters with pleasure, drinking in their features, but they studied me, examining my face as if it was a puzzle to be solved. It had bothered me as a child, but I'd grown to find it amusing, especially when I'd learned I could often take the measure of a person by studying them in return. Most people became guilty and looked away, but a rare few would meet my gaze until we were both smiling, or breathless. Those led to my favorite dances at the balls, and once or twice to more.
The boys, puddled around Opal, all favored Maman in skin tones, sharing some degree of her mahogany coloring. Jet, barely two years old, was darker than she, and still had a baby's bridgeless nose, while Jasper had inherited much of Father's profile and a burnished depth to his skin that set him as destined to grow up as beautiful as Pearl. Flint was closest to Maman in all ways, pretty and delicate and warmly brown, with an artist's hands: he could already play the piano better than I ever would, and I loved to watch him practice. We were an attractive family, and in some way I thought that, as well as our wealth, would protect us from the world.
"Amber." Father extended his hand toward me with a welcoming, but serious, smile. "We wondered where you had gone."
"To the house." I took his hand and sat at his feet, thinking that if Maman was here, that if we were dressed as beautifully as we usually were, that the poses we all now held might have been rendered in oils, a family portrait full of affection and fondness. "There's nothing left. How is Maman?"
Father's expression became even more sombre. "Not well. The fire frightened her. I hope the warmth and safety of a salon will bring her comfort, but, girls," he said, and then, with a fond smile at Flint and Jasper, "children, as you boys are old enough to hear household truths now—"
"Some of us are hardly children, Father," Pearl said in her mildest tone, the one that warned most imminently of danger, and Father's smile broadened before falling away.
"No, some of you are not, nor have been for several years now. Still, you are my children, regardless of your age. We will not be retiring to the Queen's Corridor, nor to the Grande," he said, naming the two finest hotels in the town. I loved the Corridor, although the queen had never stayed there. It had been built along the road she took after the king died and she went to war to protect our country, and its walls were covered in mosaics that told the story of her victory…and of the loss she faced afterward, when her son the prince had vanished from the earth. She had been young then, and was very, very old now, but her health was reputed to be strong and I half believed the stories that she had sworn her soul to a witch in order to live until the prince's return.
"The Noble, then," Pearl said with a shrug. "Nowhere else could be considered fine enough."
"We will go to the Crossroads," Father said, and all three of us girls caught our breaths. Flint and Jasper, wide-eyed, looked between us, but still did not understand, when Pearl said, "But that's a common inn, Father," how far we must have fallen to choose it as our refuge.
"All of our wealth was in the house, Pearl," Father said steadily. "Until the trading ships come in, we must be frugal."
"Frugal?" asked Jasper, and Opal slipped her hand over his shoulder, gentle and reassuring.
"It means we cannot spend money freely. That we must think of necessities, instead of luxuries. Simpler clothing, no new books, plainer meals."
"We will buy fine gowns for you girls," Father said, and in the momentary silence following that surprising remark, understanding fell.
Opal, softly, said, "You mean we are to marry at once."
"You've had many suitors," Father replied. "It will help stabilize our fortunes if you marry now, and well."
"We've had suitors we've turned down," Pearl said. "I'm sure no one will think it desperate at all if we suddenly decide now is the time to wed, particularly if we are to stay somewhere so common as the Crossroads, Father. You cannot have it both ways successfully. It is either the Noble," and I noticed that she had, at least, selected the least expensive of the three finest hotels in town, "or spinsters on your hands. Surely our name will give you enough credit to await the ships."
Father took a breath, and Opal's gaze met mine. A knot bound itself in my belly, pressing upward, and I clutched the bit of rose window still in my hand. I did not want to hear what he had to say next, but the words came anyway, relentless with calm. "I'm afraid our credit is already strained, Pearl. The past few seasons have not been as profitable as I might have hoped—"
A gasp parted Pearl's lips, the sound small and sharp enough that she might have taken a blow. Father's jaw rolled, but he continued. "—and our fortunes depend on the incoming ships."
"Why did you not tell us?" Pearl's voice did not rise. She was too cultured for that, but her eyes flashed with fury.
"Because no father wants to tell his children that they verge on destitution, and because we are not so desperate that a good season would not turn it all around. If the next ships had come in with little to show for their journeys, I would have told you then of our situation. The fire has forced me to do so now. I wish it was not so."
"And yet Pearl is right," Opal said in a thin voice. "The house fire is bad enough. If our fortunes are in decline, do we not need a pretense of continuing wealth to ensure good marriages?"
"Beauty rarely requires wealth to come along with it," Father said. "One excellent marriage will offer the other two better chances, and none of you are plain."
"There's no way for us to marry without looking as though we are hastily seeking refuge in another home." I glanced at the rose, hidden in the skirt of my nightdress, then looked back at my father and sisters. "On the other hand, it might seem a perfectly reasonable time for us to do so. It will be months, even years, before our home is reconstructed, and we girls cannot be expected to live in a hotel forever. Society would accept that Father and Maman and the boys might live somewhere more modest for a while, but why would three women of marrying age remain unwed under these circumstances?" I tried to smile, though it felt weak. "You know there are those who say we only stay at home because no one else can match the luxury of our father's house. If he can no longer provide that luxury…."
Pearl examined me as though I had briefly become something new and interesting. Like the puzzle so many others saw me as, perhaps. "I didn't know you could be so mercenary, Amber."