“Yes, I saw you in Ibsen’sA Doll’s Houselast year,” Grace said. Harriet had played the titular role and they had all been smitten with her—apparently none more so than Oliver—even though Grace knew that her aunt would rather burn off her own fingerprints than welcome an actress into the family. “You were luminous.”
“You’re too kind,” Harriet said. She had a deep, sultry voice, and Grace’s own heart lifted when Harriet took her by the arm and led her around the party. She stole glances at the walls gilded with patterns of gold, the intricately painted ceilings, and the vibrant Gobelin tapestries. Real, cascading flowers were strung in lines of blooming lace around the ceiling like crown molding.
“Are you from St. Louis, then?” Harriet asked. “I don’t remember seeing you at the last Governor’s Ball.”
Grace’s eye caught on a handsome man who was standing on the staircase landing, surveying the crowd as though he were observing a distant experiment. Chandeliers hung above his head like webs strung with heavy water droplets of crystal. When he turned his face to theside, she glimpsed a port-wine stain stretching along the length of his jaw, curling up toward his mouth like a shadow. She thought his dark eyes were striking, even though his mouth remained clenched, and he didn’t smile. It was as if a cloud hung around him, a concentrated rainstorm in the middle of a spring garden. She stole another look at him as the guests took to the marble floor, dancing, and wondered what made him look so unhappy.
“No, I’m not from St. Louis,” Grace said to Harriet. “But I have family there.” She subtly guided Harriet toward Oliver. “Please allow me to introduce my cousin, Oliver Carter.”
Grace had been to all manner of parties before—backyard jigs with whiskey, harmonicas, and fiddles, and late-night after-hours piano concerts at her father’s restaurant (“shameful—it’s little more than a speakeasy,” her aunt had scoffed). She was surprised that the electric energy she felt here was almost the same, even though the black-and-white checkered floor of her father’s restaurant had been traded for a marble ballroom overflowing with orchids and potted palms. It was a philanthropic event for a new botanical garden, and half of St. Louis’s elite society had traveled to Chicago for the verdant party amid a deep winter.
And yet Grace’s eyes kept sliding back to the sullen young man on the stairs.
His gaze met hers and she immediately looked away.
“Oliver,” a young woman called, parting the crowd toward them. She wore a ball gown made of silk and golden metallic thread, with an intricately embroidered front panel and a fan to match. Her dark red hair glittered with pins as she eyed Harriet with unmasked disapproval.
Harriet was undeterred, instead staring boldly back.
“Where’s Lillie tonight?” the red-haired woman asked, turning to Oliver.
“Under the weather, I’m afraid,” Oliver said. “Lillie is my sister,” he hurriedly clarified for Harriet. And then he offered her his hand. “Miss Forbes, would you care to dance?”
Harriet smiled.
“Grace,” Oliver said, shooting his cousin a look of apology over his shoulder. “This is Miss Allred.”
The woman snapped open her fan with a sharp twist. “Frannie,” she said.
But Oliver was already gone.
Grace bit back a sigh. If only Lillie were there, they would be eating chocolates while pretending to use the lavatory and secretly evaluating all of the women’s fashions and the eligible bachelors.
“Are you well-acquainted with Mr. Carter?” Frannie asked, delicately fluttering her fan. “I’mquitegood friends with his sister, Miss Lillie Carter. Very close friends. Do you know her?”
“I do,” Grace said.We share blood,she wanted to add.In fact, at this exact moment, I’m wearing her undergarments.
Her eye caught again on the man who was standing above the crowd as if he owned the house, observing them all.
“Excuse me, but who is that gentleman over there?” Grace asked.
“Well, that’s Theodore Parker, of course,” Frannie said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This is his family’s manor.” She seemed surprised that Grace didn’t know. It was exactly the sort of detail Oliver wouldn’t care enough to mention, which was why despite his spoiled nature, she liked him as much as she did.
Frannie’s green eyes narrowed. “What did you say your surname was?” she asked.
“I didn’t,” Grace said. She hesitated. “It’s Covington.”
“Covington,” Frannie repeated primly, thinking. She fanned herself as if the fan itself was frantically trying to escape her grasp.“Where were you educated? Woodlawn? One of the Sisters?” she asked.
“No,” Grace said. “My mother taught me herself.”
A slight frown creased Frannie’s face. “Were you living abroad, then?”
Grace shook her head. She smiled, determined to stay at ease despite the line of questioning.
“Oh.” Frannie’s own smile was falling. “Are you part of the New York Covingtons, then?”
“No. I live in Kansas City.”
