Chapter 14
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, as the trill of birdsong drifted through my window.
I surveyed the room around me, confused even by the sunny yellow wallpaper I’d known my whole life.
The world seemed too bright, its color and song assaulting.
An ache thudded dully in my chest, and I felt…
different. Being a part of Evalyn’s world, however small, had teased something open inside me, and it was as if I were stepping back into my body after a long slumber.
I winced at the squeak of the faucet and the boom of the grandfather clock, and I squinted at the shards of sunlight knifing through the curtains at the window.
My teeth ached from the searing heat of the coffee I made for breakfast. And I found myself wishing for the numbness I’d grown accustomed to these last months.
Somehow I knew the Elisabeth who had blindly moved through her days was gone for good, and a raw version of myself and an uncertain path lay ahead of me.
I carried my coffee to the workshop and reached for the box holding my collection.
The set of rings I’d pored over for countless hours gleamed against the velvet lining of the case.
I ran my fingers over their grooves: one with a silver setting of four tiered lines dotted with glittering rose quartz and diamond chips, another featuring a vivid, green peridot paired with rectangular diamond baguettes, and still another ring of gold that I’d stretched into a filigree net studded with sapphire chips, giving the appearance of a globe, the ring Henry liked.
There were three others, too, all studded with semiprecious stones.
Father had only allowed me to use the smaller stones until I’d garnered the attention of a few of my own patrons.
At that point, I’d have earned the use of the larger, more precious gems. I’d never reached that goal, and so far, the nearly flawless gems and the rarest varieties had been saved for Father’s creations or the occasional piece Julien had designed.
Had been saved.
Had designed.
Now it was I who must make the decisions about each piece, I who reviewed the budget and wrote in the ledgers and kept careful records of the stones in the vault, I who secured not one or two but several new clients.
And yet I didn’t relish the responsibilities or the opportunities.
I felt as lost as ever about what came next for me.
Frustrated, I flipped open my sketchbook, my eyes raking over every page, over all the half-completed sketches.
I looked through Father’s and Julien’s sketchbooks, too, studying every design, impressed by some of my brother’s drawings, though they weren’t as intricate and astounding as Father’s.
My father was nothing short of a brilliant artist. I’d always thought this about him as a devoted daughter, but after time and with perspective, I could see his genius within the pages of his sketchbook with true clarity.
I bent over the set of rings, slipping them onto my fingers, shifting them to catch the light.
I’d been so certain my jewelry would be unique, eye-catching, and could set me apart from the rest of the Beaumont collection.
But after the time away from working on my collection over the months—and the time I’d spent with Evalyn and her wealthy friends who wore as much jewelry between them as our entire inventory—I could be truly honest with myself for the first time.
I knew with absolute certainty they were lovely, but they weren’t anything special.
They wouldn’t stand out next to pieces of a true designer.
They wouldn’t even stand out in a jewelry box.
Bristling with irritation, I closed the collection box and stored the sketchbooks.
Why hadn’t I realized this before? Why hadn’t Father told me?
He’d led me to believe I had a special gift, like him.
Now I could see it had only been the encouraging words of a doting father and perhaps his hope that I should flourish, but it wasn’t the truth.
My pieces were pretty and competent but pedestrian rather than the awe-inspiring collection I’d hoped to create.
Worse still, I didn’t feel the tug to finish it or the yearning to better my skills.
Suddenly I couldn’t see my way forward from here.
I only knew I couldn’t continue to work for my father for the rest of my life, creating mediocre designs and managing the books as I always had.
Perhaps stepping into Julien’s shoes as salesman for the business would be the right path.
But again, as I pictured the endless hours of trying to charm people I didn’t know, a wave of trepidation and exhaustion rolled through me.
“What are you doing?”
I startled at the sound of his voice. “Oh! You’re up again.”
“I am,” my father said, pulling on a smock. “I have a few things I’d like to work on today.” He laid a scrap of paper covered in ink on the workshop table.
My brow arched in surprise. “What’s that?”
“A new design.”
I nearly wept with relief. Father was sketching again, which meant he was ready to work again, even if on a limited basis. “Can I take a look?”
“Not yet. I’m struggling with it a little.”
This wasn’t new for him, to be private about his drawings until he was ready to show them. I respected his process, as he’d taught me to do.
“I’ll take a look when you’re ready.”
“Did you see the note I left for you?” he asked.
“I did, thank you.” Henry had called and he’d left a small bouquet of tulips on the doorstep.
“Did you return his call?”
“I will,” I lied. I had nothing to say to him, no way to parse out what had happened the night of the accident or my feelings for him, so I did nothing and would continue to avoid him until I could meet his eyes and not hate myself, not despair over our mistake.
My father kissed my head as if I were his little girl instead of twenty-eight years old. “Don’t turn away from a good thing.”
Surprised by his comment, I set down my now-tepid coffee. “What do you mean?”
“Chérie, you may be difficult for some to read, but I know you and I know your heart. I’m your father, remember? Henry is a good man. Dependable, intelligent.” He pointed to his chest. “He’s also big-hearted. He will take good care of you. Whatever happened between the two of you can be resolved.”
“I can take care of myself,” I said reflexively.
Father would never force me to marry. I’d never had to worry about that, even as I flirted with the label of spinster.
All the other young women I’d known from the neighborhood or attended school with had married ages ago, and most were already saddled with children.
I’d always seen myself moving toward that path eventually—and Henry had been at the center of my imaginings—but since Julien’s death, I couldn’t see, not anything.
“I know you can take care of yourself,” my father replied. “Just don’t let time get away from you. We don’t know how much we’ll have on this earth, and what little time we do have is not to be wasted. I don’t want you to have regrets.”
I looked at my beloved father, his silvery beard and pale-blue eyes that didn’t see as well as they used to but were still as warm as ever.
If there was one thing I’d learned these past months, it was how short our time could be.
Henry’s dear face rushed into my mind again, and I squeezed my eyes closed against the flood of emotion held back by some invisible dam.
“Speaking of time, let’s get to work,” he said. “I’d like to start this new piece.”
“Right,” I said, relieved to change the subject.
I turned to Rosalee’s necklace, working diligently for several hours until I’d finished it.
I packaged the jewelry and made the journey across town to Rosalee’s home to deliver it in person. I wasn’t in the habit of doing such things, but I owed her more than I cared to admit.
Her doorman showed me inside to the sitting room.
“Why, Miss Beaumont,” Rosalee said with her thick Southern drawl. “I didn’t recognize you!” She was originally from a small town in the Virginia hills, and despite the polish that came with marrying wealthy, there was no mistaking her origins. “Have you changed your hair?”
My hand flew to my hair, brushed into shorter, soft waves. “Yes, thank you. I think.”
She laughed sweetly. “It’s a compliment. The last time I saw you, you were wearing a dirty old pair of men’s trousers, and you looked as if you hadn’t eaten in ages. But now, my goodness. Your haircut suits you. It makes your keen dark eyes stand out, and that dress! I’d wear it myself.”
I’d worn one of my new dresses, a pale-pink silk with ruffled skirt and elbow-length sleeves tied with ribbons.
I offered a small smile. I’d never cared about clothes, but it was nice to be seen for a change as someone besides “the other twin” or the awkward daughter behind the scenes who never really acted like a lady.
“Think nothing of it, truly. Well, I was just about to have some lunch. Care to join me?”
I glanced at the time. Evalyn had asked me to stop by Friendship later that day, but the thought of facing all those women again so soon left me cold. I promptly felt the sting of guilt for having such an ungracious thought after the generosity Evalyn had bestowed upon me the day before.
“That would be nice,” I replied at last.
While we ate ham salad sandwiches and cold potato salad with iced tea, we talked about the possibility of a new commission, her piano tutor, and then a topic I hadn’t expected: Rosalee’s lack of friends.
“What would you say about dinner next week?” she said.
Surprised by the invitation, I hesitated before answering. “Dinner? That sounds nice.” She was a kind woman, and though I wasn’t sure we had much in common, I decided that might not be a bad thing. Perhaps we’d really enjoy each other’s company.
“It’s so lovely having you here,” she said. “I hate to admit it, but I’ve been awfully lonely lately. My husband is always working or golfing, and I haven’t found the other women traveling in our circles very welcoming.”
Surprised by her directness and her honesty, I was speechless.
When she saw my face, she laughed nervously. “Now I’ve gone and said too much.”
“No, not at all,” I replied, composing my face so as not to belie my surprise. “Good friends are hard to come by. I’ve only ever had a few myself.”
Her lips curved into an appreciative smile. “How right you are. Well…” She held up her glass of iced tea. “To new friends.”
I gave her a genuine smile in return, wondering why a woman who should be in Evalyn’s circle, given her status and fortune, didn’t seem to belong there any more than I did.
She wore her wealth and status with grace, almost as if it embarrassed her to flaunt what she owned.
It was endearing and so different from the other socialites I’d met thus far. I liked that about her.
I clinked my glass against hers. “To new friends.”