Isabel and Herman had drifted back our direction. She was within reach. I took a step and clamped Isabel’s wrist to pull her close. Putting my lips close to her ear, I murmured, “Here comes Margaret Dashwood. Please be kind to her.”
Isabel pulled back only far enough to look me in the eyes. Hers asked, Why wouldn’t I be kind?
I turned back to Gertrude. She was watching Clara as well. “She heard Isabel would be dressed in pink tonight. Her matching one is no mistake. Sonia made that happen.”
Clara stopped a few steps from Isabel. She stopped because Isabel, with open arms, cut the distance between them. She wrapped Clara in a hug, then led her to the small love seat. They sat head-to-head as if sharing a delicious secret. Clara beamed and, oddly, so did Isabel.
I almost commented to Gertrude, then realized it would do no good. No one here knew the real Isabel or that she disliked children. And I didn’t want to draw attention to what was really happening. Dr. Milton had called me during my walk. If Isabel felt safe, he wanted me to watch her. He was willing to give her four days. If she wasn’t fully cognizant by then, I was to hop a flight home or take her to a local hospital. In the meantime, the doctor and I were to talk every day, as many times a day as I needed.
Clara’s father, our Mr. Bingley, caught my attention next. He stood selecting appetizers from Duncan’s tray. Ripples of fabric pulled tight across his chest.
“How could you possibly have a coat and pants—”
“Breeches.” Gertrude corrected me with a tap of her fan.
I nodded. “Breeches. Where did you ever find a pair to fit him?”
“Custom-made. Guests send in their measurements and we make sure we have all they need. Isabel sent in yours.” She glanced toward my feet. “A good approximation.”
I, too, noted that my dresses hit at the top of my feet rather than breaking on the slipper as the others’ dresses did. “Isabel always thinks I’m shorter or she’s taller than either of us really is.”
“It was our Sir Walter Elliot who was the most challenging to attire this evening. We had the clothes, but he wanted very crisp linen. Poor Sonia couldn’t get that collar high enough for his taste. I think she used an entire spray canister of starch.”
“Poor Sir Walter. No one will notice. His wife steals the show.”
Helene was dressed in white silk with plumes of lace all around her. She looked like a cream puff from her white hair to the white slippered feet that peeked from beneath her dress’s hem. A glittery cream puff—Helene was covered in diamonds. They were in her hair, across her neck, draping from both wrists, and covering her white-gloved fingers. A large diamond dropped down the front of her gown and with each breath became lost in her cleavage. I laughed as she waved to Clara just to make the diamonds on her wrists rattle and sparkle. She spoke loudly and held all the vulgar enthusiasm that made Mrs. Jennings such a delightful character.
“That was the most fun.” Gertrude raised her glass toward Helene. “I brought her our selection of paste jewelry and she chose every single piece. She is wearing them all tonight.”
“Good for her.”
Herman noticed we were watching them and jumped up. He took tiny stuttered steps toward us. Either that was how he expected Regency men to walk or the floor was so highly polished as to be slippery.
He pulled me into a one-armed hug. I squished against him. “Aren’t we having a marvelous time? I have never seen her look more radiant.” He pointed to his wife, then repositioned me by pulling at my shoulders.
Once he was satisfied I was centered in front of him and paying close attention, he moved both his hands to his chest and patted it lightly. “I’m . . . Sir . . .” He looked back to his wife, who was not paying attention.
I supplied the name. “Sir Walter Elliot.”
“That’s right. Helene said he had a tie just like this. It is important to have it stand, not to wilt. I have seen pictures of my grandfather. I am sure he must have worn a tie like this too. It is hard to tell in the very old pictures. They are grainy and I only have the one. Untied, this strip of linen reaches to my knees. And—”
Helene joined us and laid a hand on his arm. He gave a soft sigh.
“You are the picture of beauty and health tonight,” she said to me.
Herman patted his chest again. “I did not say this, but it is true. That was very wrong. Here I am talking about my own tie and I have not done the compliments of the evening.” He pulled my hand to his lips, and with a wink he kissed it.
“I didn’t feel neglected.” I twirled for them both. The deep-brown dress with its accents of red and rose billowed slightly as the weight of the embroidery kept the hem close to my slippers. As I spun, I noted all the other dresses glittering like pale gems in the candlelight, and I felt dark, dramatic—almost mysterious.
“And you . . .” I stopped daydreaming and regained my equilibrium. I tapped the jewels on Helene’s wrist. “You are very glamorous.”
“Why not?” She flourished her wrist. “Mrs. Jennings was rich, after all. Perhaps not this wealthy, but who’s to know? Here, have one.” She pulled off a huge bracelet circled in paste gems. If real, each diamond would have been at least ten carats.
“I don’t think Catherine Morland had any money.” I laughed as she fastened it on my wrist.
“It does not matter. Every girl needs a little diamond glitter.” She then patted her husband’s chest. “And my dear husband is a perfect Sir Walter, do you not think?”
“Did he look as dashing in his vest and neckcloth?” Herman stepped away before receiving an answer. He preened in the mirror above the mantelpiece and fluffed his neckcloth. He then ran his hands in slow, measured strokes down his chest.
“He’s a wonderful Sir Walter,” I agreed. “I’m reading that one right now. Austen’s description of him struck me; something about vanity being the beginning and the end of Sir Walter’s character. I liked the way she phrased that.”
Helene and I watched her husband for a long moment.
“Is he playing that up on purpose?” I whispered.
Helene shook her head and took a sip of her champagne. “That’s what makes it so enjoyable.”
Chapter 17
I started the evening angry and anxious. I ended it as close to content as I’d felt in . . . I couldn’t cast back to a time. Even Fridays out with work friends never felt so relaxed. After dinner, Gertrude led us to the ballroom merely to show us what was in store for the next evening. Mrs. Jennings had wanted a mere dance; Gertrude was planning a ball.
Isabel’s eyes brightened when she spied the grand piano in the corner. “One song. Can you play us one song, Mary?”
I looked at her. After the incident in high school, we had never talked about the piano again. It was as if we both knew it was a line we didn’t dare cross—our friendship wouldn’t survive.
As I walked to the piano I wondered if Nathan was now another such a line. If we would survive, not him, but the lie of him. I glanced down at my watch. Fourteen hours.