She struggled to find the right words. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with you, Edith. It’s just some gentlemen don’t allow their wives or children to associate with people who are divorced.”
“I’m not divorced.”
“But our parents are.”
“That’s not fair!” Edith nearly shouted and stomped her foot, acting more like a child than the young woman she was becoming.
Cordelia walked over to her sister and put her arm around her shoulders. “I know, darling; but you are about to return to school. I’m sure everything will be the same there. Hopefully in a few months we’ll get back to our normal lives, and our friends will be able to talk to us and invite us to parties again.”
“Is that why you haven’t worn your new dress yet?”
Cordelia thought longingly of the gorgeous green satin gown from Paris that managed to make her look pretty. It was an original from the house of Worth and practically a work of art. Not that her mother thought she looked good in it. Mother told her that she had no taste in clothes and could never appear beautiful, no matter what she wore. The words had cut at the time, but now they had lessened into a dull sting. She would never be a beauty like her mother, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t attractive. Or that her worth was measured by her waistline.
“Yes, Edith,” she said with a sigh. “I haven’t received any invitations since the divorce, so I’ve had no opportunity to wear my new gown.”
“Then, how will you get a husband?”
Cordelia blinked. “Excuse me?”
“A husband,” Edith said matter-of-factly. “You’re eighteen years old now and you should be ‘out.’ If no one will invite us to parties, how will you find a husband?”
Cordelia recovered her composure enough to laugh. “I am much too young to get married yet. I plan to go to university first. Mother had me take the entrance exams to Oxford and I passed them. And even when I do find a young man to marry, we will be engaged for two or three years before the wedding.”
“Good,” Edith said. “I shouldn’t wish to lose you yet.”
Cordelia hugged her little sister and assured her, “You won’t.”
Edith returned the embrace and then left the room. Cordelia locked the door behind her. She needed to be alone. Her head ached from the weight of her hair and the awful day. It was the first time they’d appeared in public since the divorce, and surely it would get better. She didn’t care that it was only the afternoon; she took out the dozen hairpins that kept her hair in a loose bun on top of her head. Cordelia shook out her long hair that reached past her waist. Her head still pounded. She needed fresh air. Cordelia opened the double doors that led to a small balcony, barely large enough for her to stand on. She placed her elbows on the stone railing and rested her head in her hands.
Cordelia did not know if she could survive another Sunday like this one. Perhaps she ought to ask her mother to take them all to Paris for the rest of the summer. Somewhere that society did not know about the divorce.
In the fall she would be at Oxford University as a student. Without her mother or her father. It was a heady thought.
“You look like Juliet,” Stuyvesant called across to her from the door to his own balcony. It was scarcely four feet from hers, but there was a two-story drop between them. At nineteen, he was already taller than his father and had broad shoulders, with lean, muscular arms. His wavy brown hair was supposed to be slicked back, but it fell forward across his brow, giving him a roguish look. He grinned at her and she forgot about her headache. Her body felt so light that she thought she might float. Stuyvesant still loved her. His feelings had not changed.
“Would that make you Romeo?”
“Of course,” Stuyvesant said, leaning over his own railing toward her, with one arm outstretched. “Juliet, Juliet, let down your hair so that I may climb it.”
“I think you mean Rapunzel, Romeo.”
“Very well, if you won’t let down your hair, Juliet,” he said with a laugh, “I’ll just have to jump over there.”
“You can’t,” Cordelia nearly shrieked. “It’s too dangerous.”
Stuyvesant ignored her, swinging one leg over his own stone balcony and then his other. With only one hand holding on to the rail, he reached for Cordelia’s balcony. She grabbed his hand with both of hers, holding them tighter than Edith had held hers at church. Stuyvesant swung his legs across and over the balcony. He stood close enough to her that their shoes were touching. Oh, how she’d missed his nearness. The smell of his cologne and aftershave. The way the heat of his skin made her heart flutter.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” she teased. “You could have talked to me just fine from your house.”
“But I couldn’t have kissed you from that distance.”
Stuyvesant tentatively put a hand on her waist, pausing before leaning in, as if waiting for permission. Cordelia smiled and that was all the encouragement he needed. He leaned closer to her and gently pressed his mouth to hers. His lips felt soft, warm, and entirely marvelous. They moved over hers until she opened her mouth to him and the kiss deepened. It wasn’t their first kiss or their second, but something about this kiss was special. Magical. The happily-ever-after ending that she hadn’t dare to hope for.
After what seemed as long as an hour, but as short as a blink of the eye, the kiss ended.
Stuyvesant’s arms were around her shoulders and he leaned his forehead against hers. Running his fingers through her hair, he said, “That kiss was certainly worth risking my life over.”
A laugh bubbled out of Cordelia and found its way to her lips. It felt wonderful but unpracticed. She hadn’t laughed in weeks. “I’m glad, but don’t do it again. I’m not sure if my heart could survive another scare like that.”
