She Walks in Beauty
She Walks in Beauty
Books by Siri Mitchell
F
ROM
B
ETHANY
H
OUSE
P
UBLISHERS
A Constant Heart
Love’s Pursuit
She Walks in Beauty
She Walks in Beauty
Copyright © 2010
Siri L. Mitchell
Cover design by Jennifer Parker
Cover photography by Mike Habermann Photography, LLC
Cover background courtesy of the Alexander Ramsey House, St. Paul, Minnesota.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Mitchell, Siri L., 1969–
She walks in beauty/ Siri Mitchell.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-7642-0433-3 (pbk.)
1. Debutantes—Fiction. 2. Mate selection—Fiction. 3. New York (N.Y.)—Social
life and customs—19th century—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3613.I866S54 2010
813'.6—dc22
2009041270
To my own sweet girl—
I love you just the way you are.
SIRI MITCHELL has written eight novels, two of which (
Chateau of Echoes
and
The Cubicle Next Door
) were named Christy Award finalists. A graduate from the University of Washington with a business degree, she has worked in many levels of government and lived on three continents. Siri and her family currently reside in the Washington, D.C., metro area.
N
EW
Y
ORK
C
ITY,
1891
During the opulence, the splendor,
and the excess of the Gilded Age
Contents
Reading Group Discussion Guide
“GET DRESED, CLARA. In your visiting costume. We are going out.” My aunt’s words were at once both commanding and precise—as precise as her posture: a series of ninety-degree angles, seated upon one of my bedroom chairs. She was perpendicular in the extreme.
There were far more important matters to consider than geometry, however. I bit the inside of my lip to hide the smile that threatened to escape. We were going out! And
we
never went out.
We
never went anywhere. Not since Aunt moved in with us the month before. Several times I had been given permission to visit my friend Lizzie Barnes, but only in the company of Miss Miller, my governess.
Aunt rose to her feet from the chair that made a pair with my own. Their plump, pansy-embroidered seats and lilac fringe corresponded with the rest of the décor in my bedroom. Her fat, fluffy Pomeranians, displaced by her sudden movement, began barking and dancing about her feet. “Was I unclear in my diction, Clara? I meant
now
.”
“No.”
“What? I should not have to strain my ears to hear you.”
Indeed she shouldn’t. Her ears had a habit of standing away from her head like soup ladles, as if they were longing to be freed from her relentlessly old-fashioned coiffure, parted in the middle and drawn back into a bun. “No. You were not unclear.”
“Very well then.” She clucked at her dogs and left the room accompanied by a frenzied yipping. The three dogs that scampered after her were the most hateful creatures I had ever known.
At Aunt’s departure, Miss Miller emerged from the shadows of a corner to part my velvet curtains and draw down the shades on my windows.
“I don’t see why she thinks she can order me around like one of her horrid dogs! I’m not some child—I’m seventeen years old.”
Miss Miller smiled and walked toward the now-vacant chair. “She’s simply used to people doing as she bids.”
“Then she ought to have stayed where she was.”
“She’s taken an interest in your upbringing, and I think it’s very kind. Especially since … well . . .”
“Since I have no mother.”
“I didn’t mean to make you feel … I didn’t mean to remind you. I’m sorry.” Miss Miller sat as I stood to allow the maid to help me undress.
I could never be upset with Miss Miller. And in any case, Mama had died so very long ago. “We’ve been doing just fine on our own, you and I.”
“But there’s your debut to consider now.”
“That’s months away.” More than a year. And I was looking forward to it about as much as a mouse looks forward to being pounced upon by a cat. “Besides,
you
could be my escort!” I ought to have thought of it before. Long before Father had announced that his sister was moving in.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, but that’s not my place.”
“Couldn’t you, though? Then we wouldn’t have to do any of it at all! We could say we were going to one of those balls but visit the Museum of Art instead. No one would have to know.” And even if I did have to attend those dreadful events, I could do it with a companion. Someone besides my friend Lizzie, who was bound to be caught up in all of the excitement. And when it became apparent that no one wanted to dance with me, when no one spoke to me, Miss Miller could take me through mathematic drills and converse with me in Italian. It would be as good as being here, in my own room, safe at home with my books.
Miss Miller laughed. “You sound quite desperate.”
I was.
She stopped laughing and looked at me with something close to sympathy in her eyes. “I can’t escort you. But if I have my way, then maybe you won’t have to debut at all.”
I wouldn’t have to debut?
Miss Miller rose when the maid went to pick up my hairbrush and came close to speak into my ear. “I’ve written to Vassar College. I’m quite sure they’ll be impressed with your studies.”
Vassar College? She thought me ready to attend Vassar? My heart thrilled to hear it!
She squeezed my shoulder and then stepped out into the hall, leaving me with visions of college lectures and distinguished professors swirling through my head.
After the maid fixed my hair, I hurried down to the front hall only to discover that I was early. I would have to wait for Aunt. I might have brought a novel had I thought of it, but there was no use retrieving one now. I didn’t want to risk Aunt hearing my steps and lecturing me about my choice in literature.
Five minutes before the stroke of four, Aunt sailed down the staircase, resplendent in a visiting toilette. I fell into her wake as she passed by and followed her out the door to the street. The Victoria awaited us. Aunt stepped up first; I allowed her a moment to sit and adjust her skirts, then I climbed in and settled myself beside her.
In front of us, the coachman took to his perch above the front wheels.
I lurched as the carriage moved forward and had only just adjusted to the sway of the carriage when it came to a halt. The coachman removed himself from his seat.
But … we were at Lizzie’s house!
It was similar to our own, with a dozen steps leading up to the front door. It was just as tall and narrow, with a columned front portico; two windows graced the parlor floor, then three on each of the floors thereafter. But there had always been something about the Barneses’ home that made it seem less imposing, more inviting than our own.
The coachman presented a hand to help me from the carriage. I stepped aside and waited for Aunt to descend before following her up the steps to the door. A footman answered her ring and extended a gleaming silver tray to receive her card.
We were soon shown into a parlor that had been done up in warm greens and golds. Last year, if I remembered correctly, it had been furnished in dark woods and draped in plum brocade. I rather liked this new look.
Mrs. Barnes was seated on a sofa, Lizzie sitting beside her. They both rose as we walked into the room.
My friend grinned when she saw me, but then checked herself, hiding her enthusiasm behind a delicate cough.
It seemed strange for our visit to be confined to the parlor, when Lizzie and I normally went straight up to her room. But Aunt and I sat across from Mrs. Barnes and Lizzie on chairs that matched the sofa, which matched the curtains and the carpets and the lampshades. The whole of the room gave off an impression of golden dreams and sparkling sunshine.
“Mrs. Stuart. It is such a pleasure to receive you.” Mrs. Barnes spoke with the accent of her native South. Honeyed and mellifluous, I never tired of hearing her speak.
Aunt sighed and placed a hand to her formidable chest. “I regret that I have been feeling so poorly this season.”
I felt my brows lift in surprise. Most days, Aunt was so firmly in charge of the management of the household that she made the rest of us feel quite slothful.
“Surely your brother, a physician, is able to aid you.”
“I am afraid that what ails me is something for which only heaven can provide the cure.”
“Oh. Well.” Mrs. Barnes’s smile wobbled for just an instant. “Of course we must all look forward to drying our tears on the bosom of Abraham.”
