“Not really,” I said. “But thank you. That makes more sense. Though does it? Because why was she just cataloguing her jewelry to me?”
“It’s a trend,” Vivienne told me. “Don’t ever look up sorority rush outfits on social media.”
That made me blurt out, “Dear God, why would I ever do that?”
“It’s a thing. Fascinating, really. A peep into emerging pop culture and social pressures.”
“Hmm.” Not fascinating to me, but I spent my Tuesdays talking murder, so too each their own.
Belle Rêve Manor rose up in front of us, all white columns and smooth stucco. The magnolia trees flanked the drive in full extravagant bloom. Candlelight flickered in every window, and if they were battery-lit, I couldn’t tell the difference. I could hear Reginald muttering facts about the architecture behind me. I wasn’t sure who he thought was listening. Or maybe he was just reiterating them to himself.
“Antebellum Greek Revival. Note the stucco over the brick to mimic marble and protect against the damp in New Orleans. The symmetry is impeccable. What I wouldn’t give to measure each of these windows. These are cornices to behold!”
A glance back showed he was actually talking into his phone, so he was recording notes. It made it decidedly less weird, though I kept eyeing the house wondering what cornices to behold looked like.
“I was told by the curator that the walls contain bousillage, the early building material consisting of a mixture of swamp mud, Spanish moss, and deer hair.”
“That’s in the walls?” Vivienne murmured to me. “That’s more than a little disgusting.”
She’d let go of my arm but was still walking side by side with me.
“I one hundred percent agree. That feels very earthy.”
“It was packed between studs to provide solid insulation for interior and exterior walls,” Reginald said loudly, obviously offended by our response.
“I’d like to be packed between studs,” Vivienne murmured.
We both giggled.
Reginald made a sound of disgust and promptly parted ways with us, heading to the front porch.
Hey, if you can’t take a stud joke, are you even in architecture?
That was my stance.
There was a bar already doing brisk business in mint juleps and clusters of guests were gathered around hightop tables as servers moved around the terrace and lawn with trays of nibbles. String music floated out from the gazebo, where the musicians were setting the tone with elegant and unhurried classical music.
“Well,” Taylor said, taking in the scene, “can’t say the Society doesn’t know how to set a mood.”
“What mood is that?” Allison asked.
I couldn’t tell if she was being facetious or not. I did think she looked underdressed in what I would classify more as a sundress than evening wear. She didn’t look concerned or self-conscious though and I applauded her for not bowing to convention.
“It’s beautiful,” Vivienne murmured, already filming, sweeping her camera slowly across the front facade, the candlelit windows, the magnolia blossoms nodding in the evening breeze.
We made our way up the wide front steps, into a foyer that could have swallowed the entire ground floor of Midnight House. The three chandeliers were dripping crystals overhead, marble flooring beneath our feet, and a split staircase was center stage, the perfect backdrop to an elegant evening.
And there, at the center of the receiving line, in an ice-blue gown that probably cost more than my annual HVAC budget, was Evelyn Carrington.
Our gowns were very similar in color, which made me think I’d made a stellar choice, though the price tag of mine was probably missing a few zeros compared to hers. Hers was elegant without trying. Me? The jury was still out.
Harper, you always were hilarious!
Evelyn was, if anything, more commanding in person than memory had allowed. Her silver hair was swept up in a style that looked effortless and she sported a sharp smile that reached exactly as far as it needed to and not one millimeter further. She moved like the space belonged to her and always did.
“Good Lord,” I murmured under my breath. “She looks like she’s about to fire someone.”
“Give it time,” Allison said, leaning in like we were co-conspirators.
