As the carriage drove through the streets of London, I fixed my gaze outside, pushing away my trepidation and looking for my mother. I wasn’t even sure what to look for, but I wantedto believe that if I saw the woman who gave me life, I would somehow recognize her. Afterall, Aunt Orla had said I looked like her. Fog had started to settle in, blanketing the streets, making it harder to inspect the passersby.
“You can see the spires of Westminster Abbey over there,” Alec said to me as he pointed out the window.
I looked where he indicated and saw a faint outline of the gothic cathedral. Lamplighters were making their way down the street as we passed shops closing for the night.
It didn’t take long before the carriage came to a stop in front of a massive townhouse with a white stucco façade and two columns holding up a canopy over the front entrance. Though it was growing dark outside, I could still see that the entire neighborhood was impressive and expensive.
“There is Buckingham Palace,” Aunt Maude said as she pointed out the window on her side of the carriage, opposite the house where we had stopped. “It’s the side of the palace, but we are still neighbors.”
The footman jumped off the back of the carriage and came around to open the door. Alec stepped out first and then offered me his hand to help me alight from the vehicle. I stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the five-story townhouse in the thick fog.
When Aunt Maude stepped out of the carriage, she hardly inspected the residence as she lifted the hem of her gown and walked confidently toward the front door.
Alec offered me his arm and shook his head. I could only imagine he was calculating the cost in his mind.
The front door opened even before Aunt Maude stepped under the canopy and then an older man greeted her with a slight bow. “Good evening, Mrs. Hill. I’m Rodgers, your butler. I’m at your service, madam.”
Aunt Maude didn’t pause or hesitate but entered the house with full authority.
I took a deep breath, wishing I felt as confident as she did.
“One foot in front of the other,” Alec said, gently squeezing my hand. “That’s how we’ll get through this.”
His words were bittersweet, because he could only take me so far and then I would need to go on without him.
I woke up in a strange sort of daze the next morning, forgetting where I was for a moment. Sunshine poured through one massive window as Gallagher stood at the second one, opening the long, heavy drapes.
“Good morning,” she said.
The bed I slept in was also enormous, with four posters and a canopy overhead. The room was large, with a fireplace, writing desk, and a sofa.
“Mrs. Hill sent me in to get you ready for your meeting with Lady Mandeville. She’ll be here right after breakfast.”
“Why so early?”
“Mrs. Hill says there’s no time to lose.”
Lady Consuelo Mandeville had been one of the first American heiresses to marry into the English nobility, bringing a substantial dowry with her. But Aunt Maude had told me that her husband, the Viscount Mandeville, the heir to the Duke of Manchester, had quickly squandered their fortune. Because of it, Lady Mandeville was willing to sponsor American heiresses to present to Queen Victoria and would introduce them to the most eligible aristocrats in England. For a handsome fee.
Aunt Maude and Lady Mandeville had been corresponding all winter.
There was little to be done, so I stepped out of the bed and tried to eat the breakfast Gallagher had brought in for me.
My thoughts returned to the night before, as Alec and I had toured the beautiful mansion. Despite being the heir to the Hill fortune and living in one of the most extravagant homes on Fifth Avenue, his eyes still lit with wonder as we explored 7 Buckingham Gate. There were dozens and dozens of rooms, with a library, conservatory, and several drawing rooms. Domed ceilings, rich walnut paneling, marble floors, and gold gilding made the home impressive. I had been tired but didn’t want to go to sleep, knowing what I would face today.
After I was done eating breakfast, Gallagher helped me into a cream-colored morning dress. It had a bustle and a jacket, which fit snugly, but comfortably. Aunt Maude had allowed me to have a little more say in the clothing we had chosen in Paris, for which I’d been thankful. I loved to watch the process of creating such intricate designs, thinking of the piecework I’d done in our apartment on Mulberry Street. I didn’t miss the work, but I did miss sewing. And every once in a while, my thoughts slipped back to that long-ago dream of living in a quiet house in the country as a seamstress.
How different my life had gone. Perhaps I would still get that quiet house in the country, if Aunt Maude’s wishes came true, though I doubted it would be a small cottage by a stream. And it wouldn’t be beyond the Mississippi. Had I known I could dream bigger, I might have thought about a place in the English countryside. Had God known my future? Was this an even bigger answer to my whispered prayers? I wasn’t sure, but it was something to ponder.
“I’d like to wear the locket again today,” I said to Gallagher as she finished my hair.
“Locket?”
“The one I was wearing yesterday.” How could she forget when she was the one who had clasped it for me?
She stared at me through the mirror, her face a mask of confusion. “I forgot you were wearing it yesterday. I don’t have it.”
I turned, about to tell her that she had removed it from around my neck the night before, but I suddenly realized that she hadn’t. I hadn’t been wearing it last night when I undressed, and I was so unfamiliar with wearing it, I had forgotten.
