“Oliver,” Grace growled.
They moved through the exquisite gardens of the French pavilion, where Oliver had arranged for them to have a picnic lunch at a replica ofthe Grand Trianon at the Palace of Versailles. The scent of roses carried on the breeze, amid the pink marble fountains and espaliered trees. Harriet, Lillie, and Frannie were walking through the rows of fruit trees imported from Paris itself—apple, peach, pear, plum, and apricot. Frannie looked more recovered, as though being in the fresh air was reviving her.
“This way, sir,” the guide greeted them. They were given a tour of the interior salon, with its damask-patterned walls and delicate murals painted across its high ceilings. There were circular sofas edged with blue fringe set beside a glass case displaying a single lock of Napoleon’s hair. They were offered flutes of Veuve Clicquot as they headed out to the ornately manicured formal gardens. Grace politely declined hers, so Oliver took two.
Sometimes he reminded her too much of Walt.
“She is growing suspicious,” Grace said to Oliver as the breeze ruffled her hair. “Why won’t you just tell her about Harriet? This is miserable. And short-sighted. She’s not stupid. She’s going to find out.”
Oliver chuffed. “Like she doesn’t have secrets of her own.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen her sneaking off. And you know of it already, don’t you, you little minx?” He studied her over the rim of his glass. “She’s meeting someone. Isn’t she?”
Grace gave him a plaintive look and remained silent.
He took a sip of his champagne. “When did we start keeping all of these secrets from one another?” he asked.
“Are you saying there are more?”
He flashed her a wicked look. “Maybe.”
She groaned and buried her face in her gloved hand. “Please don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“Too late,” Oliver said, grinning. “It’s a weight I’ve been carrying all myself and I simply can’t bear it anymore.”
He opened his suitcoat pocket and pulled out a small piece of gold.
She recognized it immediately. Their grandmother’s ring. Grace remembered seeing it on her finger as a child, when her grandmother would sneak away and tut over her and wipe her mouth of chocolate. She got to see her grandmama only once or twice a year, when Grandfather Carter was away traveling and wouldn’t know.
Grace couldn’t help herself. She gasped loud enough that several people around them turned to look.
“Subtle,” Oliver said, quickly tucking the ring back into his coat pocket. “You should really consider going undercover.”
“Sorry! It’s just… Does that mean…?”
His eyes flashed with the mischief she’d known since he was a boy. “It’s not for my mother, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Speaking of your mother, she’s going to have a stroke.”
“She’ll get over it,” he said, drawing deep on his cigar. “It’s a new age.”
“Not new enough,” Grace said darkly, “I can assure you.”
“I didn’t take you for being a classist, cousin.”
“Please. You know I wouldn’t care if you married Harriet. She’s lovely. I’m not a snob, I’m just a realist.”
“And here I thought you’d be the happiest in the family for me,” he said jauntily, nudging her.
“I’m overjoyed for you. It’s just…” She trailed off.
What do you really know of her?she thought.
“When will you tell Lillie?” she asked instead. Stubbornly.
“Soon. I just wanted her to spend time with Harriet this week, get to know each other organically, have a friendship before they become sisters.”
