Chapter 23
After the talk of a trip to New York and the flurry of planning that followed, I’d nearly forgotten I’d promised to go to Evalyn’s that night.
I dressed hurriedly, added a touch of lipstick, and made my way to Friendship.
As I arrived, the melodious notes of a band in full swing floated through the house.
Guests poured in behind me, and soon Evalyn’s mansion looked far smaller than usual as bodies filled the cavernous rooms. The Georgian ballroom was exquisitely decorated with overflowing bouquets of roses and lilies and candlelight.
A string quartet sat at the front of the room and played a beautiful piece from a composer I didn’t recognize.
Everyone looked like royalty in their coattails and formal gowns.
Diamonds, emeralds, and rubies sparkled in their ears or at their necks, in their hairpieces, bracelets, and even in their cuff links.
I watched as women took stock of one another, deciding who looked best, who wore the most fashionable gown from the most sought-after designers.
As was my habit, I mentally cataloged the jewelry in the room.
Sandra wore rose-petal pink satin with a stunning set of freshwater pearls: a double-strand necklace, teardrop earrings, and a matching pearl-studded comb that held her honey-blond hair in place.
Alice wore champagne and diamonds, Bea a navy off-the-shoulder gown with a stunning ruby attached to a fine chain so thin, the gem looked as if it were floating, and then there was Carrie in royal purple with a necklace resembling a cluster of flower petals dotted with small stones of amethyst, rubies, and diamonds.
Her red hair was a flame in the sea of brunettes and blonds.
I stared at Carrie, my eyes drawn to her necklace, at its handiwork—and my heart skipped a beat. I knew that necklace. It was another Beaumont piece. I shouldn’t be surprised to see them now that I knew the others owned many of ours, and yet I couldn’t look away.
Feeling my eyes on her, Carrie glanced my way.
Embarrassed to be caught staring, I moved swiftly to the far wall, out of the way of the flow of guests.
I forced myself not to gulp down my drink, to sip slowly and focus on steadying my racing heart.
No matter how often I saw her, I had not become inured to Carrie’s presence.
All of Evalyn’s friends were attractive, but Carrie’s beauty was the thing of love poems and Greek tragedies.
And now that I knew Julien had flirted with her and she had flirted with him, I couldn’t help but take a deeper interest.
I glanced at Evalyn as her eyes followed Carrie across the room. Evalyn’s expression shifted, and some emotion passed over her features.
And it struck me.
Evalyn was jealous of Carrie, or at the very least, she felt as if she were in direct competition with her.
Additionally, for some reason, Carrie behaved as if Evalyn had power over her.
I watched the two as they conducted a series of air kisses on the cheek, the way they were as familiar with one another as friends should be, and yet their posture revealed so much more.
Evalyn’s flick of her hair, Carrie leaning away from Evalyn, their tight smiles.
I could only guess at what had happened between them.
Perhaps nothing. Carrie’s beauty was reason enough to be jealous, especially if Ned had ever said anything about it, but I had a sense there was something more between them.
The two women separated to circulate among the guests. I forced myself to do the same, though I felt the strain once more of trying to belong when I clearly didn’t.
“Hello, Lizzie. You look beautiful tonight.”
I turned to find Carrie again. “I… Thank you. You do, too.”
“I couldn’t show up on Jet’s arm looking anything but. He wouldn’t stand for it.” She’d tried to sound light, but her eyes told a different story.
As a waiter walked by carrying a tray of champagne, I reached for a glass and cradled it in my hand.
“May I ask you something?” I said.
“Of course,” she said, taking a sip of champagne.
“I know that Julien was entertaining a business proposition with your husband and some of the other men. Do you know anything about that?”
She gently swirled the bubbly wine in her glass. “That was the rumor. Something about investing in a series of Beaumont stores. I know Jet was interested at one point.”
“Really!” I said, not bothering to hide my shock. “And they were interested in investing in Julien?”
“I don’t know a lot about it, but Jet did say something about a store in New York and another potentially in London. They had big plans, the two of them.”
I couldn’t believe Julien hadn’t mentioned it. Maybe he was waiting until he’d secured the funding, or maybe something had gone wrong.
Before I could reply, a shorter gentleman with dark hair and a stocky stature placed his hand on Carrie’s back and leaned to her ear. She stiffened next to him but forced a smile as she gazed into his face. When he whispered in her ear, her smile faded.
After, he nodded at me. “Good evening. I’m Jet Wellington.”
Carrie’s husband. A ripple of unease traveled over my skin as I took in the heavy brow framing a pair of equally dark eyes.
He seemed a brooding sort, and there was no mistaking the man’s sense of self-possession.
His taut form appeared ready to pounce at any moment. Julien had been friends with this man?
“Elisabeth Beaumont, hello,” I replied in a strained voice.
“How do you do.” He nodded politely, but rather than acknowledge I was the sister of his friend and potential business partner lost so tragically, Jet Wellington turned to his wife.
“I’m going to the lounge with the others.
I’m sure it’ll be a late night. Curtis is outside when you’re ready. Don’t wait up.”
“I suppose that means you won’t be coming home tonight. Again,” Carrie said, her tone as smooth as glass. She pulled out a cigarette and lit it, blowing a delicate stream of smoke into his face.
His eyes darkened. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, tone clipped.
“You don’t even have the courtesy to say good night to my friend here,” she replied, clearly undaunted by his obvious irritation.
“Have a nice evening, Elisabeth,” he said, suppressing his irritation. “See that my wife stays out of trouble, will you?”
“She’ll do no such thing,” Carrie replied, blowing a second cloud of smoke into his face.
But he hadn’t heard her, or if he had, he pretended not to and strode away to join the rest of the gentlemen who had gathered at the edge of the room.
“He’s a brute, isn’t he?” she said.
“I…” I stopped, shook my head.
She laughed a hollow sound. “I didn’t really expect you to answer that.”
Eager to escape her and the awkward scene, I said, “Excuse me,” and headed to the washroom to ensure my carefully—if amateurishly—applied makeup was still in place and that my hair hadn’t frizzed and become a mess.
I turned the corner down the long hall just as a screech split the air.
I paused, wondering what could make the unearthly sound.
Chattering noises followed, and I was certain then that it wasn’t a person or a squeaky pipe. It was definitely an animal.
Another screech followed by more chattering filled the air.
The next moment, Vinnie McLean dashed from the washroom—chasing a monkey.
I blinked several times as if I’d seen an apparition.
Was there truly a monkey in Evalyn’s house?
I shouldn’t be surprised, given the llama, cows, horses, and the other animals I’d seen on the lawn.
And yet I would never have expected to see a monkey inside her elegant home in a hundred years.
“Vinnie,” I called after the child. “Is everything all right? Can I help with your monkey?”
He ignored me, and a pack of little boys barreled around the corner after him. As I watched their retreating backs, a laugh caught in my throat, the awkward exchange with Carrie forgotten. Children really did have a way of making anything feel lighter, less important.
“Miss Beaumont?” Jerry called as he stepped into the hallway. “Mrs. McLean would like you to join her when you’re ready, ma’am.”
“Of course.”
I followed him to one of the many entertainment rooms where Evalyn’s friends had gathered. She sat with Flo Harding, who wore a typically plain but elegant dark sheath dress that fell to her ankles.
“There you are!” Evalyn said, taking my hands in hers and giving my dress the once-over. Her words were slurred and her cheeks rosy. She’d clearly been drinking for hours already. “Oh my goodness! Look at you!” she exclaimed loudly.
Dressed in one of Evalyn’s castoffs, I wore a resplendent V-neck gown in cornflower blue with a cascade of iridescent beads that appeared to drip from the waist to the hemline.
At one time, it wouldn’t have fit my normally curvaceous form, but I’d grown slender since the accident.
Evalyn also wore a blue gown that matched the shade of her eyes—and accentuated the deep blue of the Hope around her neck—but her gown was light as air, off-the-shoulder with gathered sleeves that puffed around her elbows.
A long, flowing skirt frothed around her feet.
She looked like a cool whip of wind among the clouds.
“She’s practically your twin!” Sharon said in a tone that fell somewhere between surprise and disgust. Her cheeks were as rosy as Evalyn’s.
I glanced at the others, at the table littered with many empty glasses, and toward the back of the room at a small booth where a man tending bar appeared to be making another round. Had I been late to the party, or had they started early?
“Isn’t it adorable?” Evalyn beamed, positively pleased with herself. “She’ll wow the men, won’t she, girls?”
“She’s darling,” Carrie agreed as she entered the room behind me.