The housekeeper stood up, and before she reached the door, it was opened by Cordelia’s mother. “How did she get out? Did one of the servants help her? I want that person out of my house at once!”
Mrs. Rinkhart bowed to her mother, shaking her head. “No one helped her, ma’am. Miss Cordelia tied her sheets together and climbed out of the window. Her ankle is either sprained or broken. I am going to get some cold compresses now to reduce the swelling.”
“Very good. You may go.”
Mrs. Rinkhart bowed once again to her mother and left the room. Her mother looked at the open doors to the balcony and then back at Cordelia.
“I did not expect you to be so obstinate,” her mother said in a placating voice. “You’ve always allowed yourself to be guided by me in the past. I have selected your clothes, your bedroom furnishings, even your friends. Except for Miss Miller, whom you know I disapprove of. But you must trust me once more. I know what will make you happy.”
Allowed?!
Cordelia’s mother had never given her a choice as a child. Well, she was a child no longer, and she was an adult and would make her own decisions. “Even though you are my mother, you don’t care about my happiness. You are selfish. You only care aboutyourhappiness. Aboutyourplace in society, and I will not be sacrificed for it.”
“Then we are much alike, Cordelia, for you only care about yourself. If you cared for your sister or for me, you would marry for our sakes.”
“I do not want to get married to anyone yet! I am only eighteen.”
Her mother clutched her chest. “I did not think that I raised such an ungrateful, obstinate little beast. But mark my words, you will not leave this room until you do as I say.”
Mrs. Rinkhart and the sneering maid re-entered the room. Her mother rounded on them. “She is never to be left alone. Do you understand me?”
“Of course, Mrs. Jones, someone will be with your daughter at all hours of the day.”
“The doors to the balcony must be kept locked.”
Her last piece of freedom was being taken away.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Rinkhart took a key off of the chain on her belt and locked the door to the balcony. The maid roughly placed a cold compress onto Cordelia’s ankle. Cordelia felt tears of anger and ignominious defeat fall down her hot cheeks. She would not bend to her mother’s will. Stuyvesant would arrive home in another month, and he would come for her.
She knew he would.
4
Thomas watched Penelope from the other side of the dinner table. Even dressed in a somber gown of black bombazine she was breathtaking. Her luxurious chestnut curls framed her perfectly oval face. Her large brown eyes, with their thick inky-black lashes, were the stuff of sonnets. Her pale cheeks had only a hint of color, and her pink lips looked soft and inviting. Not that Thomas would know. He’d never kissed her. Never even held her. He was left wondering what might have been.
Did he love her?
Thomas was not sure that he knew what love felt like, but there was a pain in his chest when contemplating what might have been between them. He’d considered leaving without a word. But that was cowardly and he did not wish to be a coward. No, he would do what his father never did. He would face up to his responsibilities and accept the consequences of his actions.
His mother stood up. “Come, Penelope, we will adjourn to the sitting room.”
The ladies always left after dinner and the gentlemen drank port and smoked, but it seemed like such a silly protocol when Thomas was the only gentleman present. Penelope stood and gave him a gentle smile—the pain in his chest increased. Thomas found his feet.
“Penelope, might I have a quick word with you, alone?”
Thomas half expected his mother to protest, but instead, she smiled broadly and left the room. His mother thought he was going to propose to Penelope. What a coil he was in! There was nothing left to do but to cut it.
He walked over to where Penelope stood on the other side of the dining room. They were the same age, and for many years they’d been the same height, but now he was a good head taller than she. She’d grown quite lovely in different directions, but he was trying very hard not to notice those tempting additions.
“There is something I need to tell you, Pen.”
“You don’t need to stand on ceremony with me, Tom,” she said, with a smile that nearly did him in. She took his large hand into her two small ones and held it.
“You have always been my greatest friend and my closest companion. It was the wish of my parents that we would someday marry, but it cannot be.”
Penelope’s face fell. “You do not wish to marry me?”
