She held up the skirt and shirtwaist. They were brown. Ugly dirt brown. She held the dress up and stood back and looked in the mirror. My God... who could wear this color? It was a shade somewhere between barn straw and pea soup, and when she held it up to her face it turned her skin sallow and yellowish gray. Even her eyes didn’t look like they had color. The dress turned them from blue to dull gray.
By process of elimination—a short process—she wore the shirtwaist and skirt. She brushed her hair until it was slick and shiny and the same glossy black color of a brand cabriolet, the kind with carmine trim and silver moldings. The perfect carriage. She would have John buy one just to carry her to her wedding.
She braided her hair and then twisted it up, pinched her cheeks and bit her lips. She was ready. She left the bathing room and walked down the hallway.
From behind one bedroom door she could hear Amy crying. She knocked on it firmly, then just opened it without an invitation. Amy was lying across her bed with her face buried in her arms. She was sobbing for all she was worth.
“For heaven’s sake, Amy, you’ll make your skin blotchy and your nose bright red.”
“I don’t care,” Amy whined into the mattress.
“Well I do. Get up.”
Amy rolled over and rested one arm dramatically over her eyes. “I have nothing to get up for.”
That million or so dollars in the bank would get me up. Georgina stood there.
After a moment of silence Amy peeked out from under her arm. She stared at her for the longest time, then said, “You look pretty.”
Georgina patted the tight twist in the back of her hair. “Yes, well, as good as one can look wearing clothing the color of barn fodder.” She dug into the pocket of her ugly skirt and pulled out a clean nose rag. “Here, dry your eyes. We’re going home. Thank God. There’s no reason to cry.”
“There is for me.”
Good grief. The woman has a bank full of money and she doesn’t even want to go home to it.
Georgina would go home and roll in it or spend an hour with her little blue bank book pressed to her heart. She scowled down at Amy. She’d been sulking ever since she got up and saw the sunshine. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
“I don’t want to go back.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s nothing to go back to.”
“How many homes do you have?”
She sighed as if it were such a burden. “Seven.”
Georgina rolled her eyes. “Seems to me one of those might be preferable to this.”
Amy was stubbornly quiet.
Apparently not. Georgina tried another tactic. “What about your executors? By now they’ll be frantically trying to locate you.”
“Yes, they probably will. But not because I matter. They’ll just bribe someone else to take me off their hands. I don’t care if they ever find me.” Amy’s expression was mulish, a look Georgina certainly knew well. “I don’t want to go home. My homes are cold and empty. I don’t want those attorneys to handle my life anymore.”
“Look, Amy, you’ll be fine. I have a splendid idea. After I marry John Cabot, I’ll make it a point to introduce you to someone who won’t marry you for your money.”
“I don’t want to marry some rich man.”
“Think about this. If you marry someone who has more money than you, then you won’t have to worry about someone marrying you for your money.”
Amy’s face grew very distant.
Georgina waited, then asked, “Are you listening to me?”
Amy glanced up at her. “I was just thinking. If someone doesn’t know I have any money, then they can’t marry me for it, can they?”
Georgina had a sinking feeling. “No, but why would you want to marry someone poor?”
