Page 5

Orris stood and glanced at the mirror on the vanity. “What’s wrong with my hair?” she asked, nose wrinkled. The front of her hair was braided in delicate cornrows, the back in hair ties to accentuate the natural curl pattern. Before the painting, she would have it placed in an elaborate bandeau bouffant.

“Nothing, if you want to be forever immortalized with frizzy hair. I fear your maid is not familiar with our hairstyles back home. Now, have a seat. At least let me be of service to you. I realize I have placed you in a difficult situation. Which I have every intention to rectify.” Gladys offered an apologetic smile then grabbed a stool from the foot of the bed to place at her feet.

Orris glanced in the mirror again. Before leaving for London, she had worn her hair in more natural styles, without the padding and rats. The braids, however, were something she could keep. Something unique to her own culture. “Very well… though I do not believe it unattractive.”

“No, you are right. I just wanted to do something for you. Will you let me?”

Before Orris could make it to the seat in front of Gladys, the door flung open, an angry Violetta seething as evidenced by her heaving chest and the bloodlust in her eyes.

“Orris, did you wear my new pardessus on one of your rides?” Violetta seethed. “The hem is covered in mud and stable muck! How could you? I planned on wearing it for my portrait!”

“Wear another, Sister. The modiste sends things every day for you. And most of them look the same,” Orris retorted.

“Stay out of my things, Orris,” she said, turning to exit the room and tossing a menacing glare over her shoulders. “And good day, Gladys.” Violetta pulled the door closed harder than necessary.

Gladys covered her mouth with her hand before shifting her eyes to Orris. Had Violetta forgotten Gladys should have been on a steamship bound for America?

“Damnation,” Orris cursed. She wasn’t ready for her mama to find out. Not yet. “Do you think—”

Before Orris could finish her statement, the door flung open once more. “Gladys! I declare, what are you doing here? You left… I said bon voyage to you and Uncle. How on earth did you get back here?” Violetta burned a heated glare at their cousin.

With a shrug, Gladys returned the intensity. “At the moment, I am going to braid Orris’s hair.”

“Question her if you must, but close the door. Lord, are you attempting to alarm the entire property?” Orris sprinted across the room and soundly pushed the door shut.

“This is scandalous. Why did you stay? On one of Orris’s endeavors to wed a footman or—”

“Piss! Who told you that?” Orris moved closer to her sister and grabbed her wrist.

Snatching away, Violetta scowled, anger flashing in her eyes. “Mama has been most distressed. Seeing as you won’t even come down for dinner or tea, and now with Gladys here, we shall have to introduce her to society. Everything you’re involved in is scandalous.”

“Not if it is handled appropriately. Perhaps I should remind you our sister is a viscountess. We should be excused on that mere fact on its own in this place where class speaks rather than character.” Blood burned through her veins. How dare Violetta be so callous when speaking about her affection for Thomas, let alone what she’d said about their cousin, as if she were not even in the room?

“Your complaints have been made known, dear cousin,” Gladys said. “Orris, come and sit so I may finish your hair. We shall make your mother aware later today. Please allow me that courtesy.” Her anger was as plain as her nose, yet she spoke in an even tone, without any extra puffing.

In all honesty, Orris should like to learn to control her anger in such a dignified manner. Violetta seemed to be equally impressed. Or perhaps astounded. Either way, after a short moment of staring in disbelief, she turned on her heels and exited the room with a bit less fire and brimstone in her marching.

“I cannot understand what has come over Violetta. She is always concerned with society, but I am afraid she has run afoul.” Orris took her seat at Gladys’s feet with a huff.

“She shall be fine. I know you are not in a rush to find a suitor, but some are. It is clearly important to Violetta. The temptation to argue is there, but try to treat her with some grace.”

Orris sat forward, then shifted to see her cousin’s face. “But she said—”

With a shake of her head, Gladys placed a warm hand on Orris’s shoulder. “This is important to her. ’Tis all she speaks of. Be kind enough to see her point of view.” Gladys finished with a sympathetic smile, her round face pious and charitable in expression.

“Very well, Cousin. I shall make an effort to see her point of view. However, I do not make any promises.” Leaning back, she thought over the last year since they had been in England. Violetta had been less jovial over winter. It was possible their elder sister finding a suitable husband, and one Violetta would have deemed a fine match, had made her apprehensive for the current season.

Orris hoped Violetta would find someone soon. Otherwise, she might become altogether insufferable.

*

By the time Orris had arrived at luncheon, she was exhausted. She had to locate a place of respite for Gladys that met the most important criteria: isolation. Fortunately, there were rarely staff members entering the room reserved for visits from Myrtle and Samuel during renovations on their home, and should they require a room on late-night balls or when visiting for dinner. To be sure, the pair locked the room from the inside.

Hopefully, the remedy would hold through day’s end, when Gladys would tell Mama. Orris was so nervous for the outcome, her stomach tightened to knots. What if Mama placed her on a ship bound for New York the moment the plot was discovered? The ordeal was enough to assail her nerves. Good Lord!

She walked into the parlor, avoiding eye contact with Violetta. She had indeed understood the point Gladys had attempted to convey, yet wasn’t quite ready for reconciliation with her sister. Accepting the chair a footman offered, she closed her eyes for a moment before the inevitable barrage of questions from Mama.

“Are you feeling more like yourself, Orris?” Mama asked.