n Thursdays Betty Ruth played bridge, and it was a sacred occasion.

Luncheon dishes were whisked away almost before the last bite was taken, and Eugenie shooed everybody away from the table and upstairs to rest up—as she put it—before the girls arrived.

“As for you,” she said as Lilly headed upstairs, “you can stay down here and help us get ready.”

“Yes m’am,” Lilly said without hesitating. Anything to be indispensible.

Lilly’s job was to smooth clean blue tablecloths on the card tables and fill little cut-glass bowls with an assortment of nuts and chocolates. For every two chocolates that made it into the bowl, one ended up as a snack for Lilly herself, and she sincerely hoped Eugenie wasn’t planning to take an inventory at the end of the hour.

She placed two crisp decks of cards and a pretty little pad of paper at each table. She was spinning a pencil in a pencil sharpener to make the perfect point when the doorbell rang. One forty-five, and no guests were due until two thirty. Eugenie had been quite clear about that. Still, Lilly twirled and twirled the wooden pencil against the blade, holding it over a wastebasket to catch the shavings.

“Miss Lilly!” Given the disapproval in Eugenie’s voice, Lilly just knew the woman had counted the chocolates somehow.

“What is it?” She hoped she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt.

“You got a visitor.”

“A what?” Who even knew—?

“Meee-yow. If this place isn’t the cat’s pajamas, I don’t know what is.” The voice echoed from the entryway, mere seconds before Dina Charlaine rounded the corner into the parlor. Her hair was a shining black helmet, and the neckline of her dress dipped low enough to accentuate the rib-thinness of her body. Strand upon strand of black and green beads hung from her neck to her waist, and they clattered with each step Dina took.

She gave Eugenie a dismissive pat on the shoulder. “Thanks for letting me in.”

“I didn’t let you in.” Eugenie shrugged off Dina’s touch. “I merely opened the door.”

“Same difference where I come from,” Dina said.

“Thank you, Eugenie.” Lilly shot her a pleading look. “I think I’m just about done in here.”

Eugenie said nothing, only looked around sternly and stomped away.

The moment the two were alone, Dina took a narrow case out of her little fringed handbag, produced a cigarette, and placed it between her lips. “Get her.” She lit the cigarette and tossed the snuffed-out match in the wastebasket with the pencil shavings.

“What are you doing here?”

“Been worried sick about you. All of us have. Had visions of you rotting away in some dark alley. But this”—she walked in a wide, slow circle—“zee-wow, Lil. You’ve got yourself the Taj Mahal.”

“I don’t have anything.”

Dina winked. Her lashes, thick with mascara, looked like they might leave crumbs on her cheek. “Not yet you don’t.”

“Not yet you don’t what?”

Lilly turned to see Cullen standing in the doorway, his hands in his trouser pockets. The sight of him surprised her, not only because she wasn’t expecting him, but because she realized she’d been missing him all day.

“Cullen. This is my friend Dina.” As she looked between the two of them, she couldn’t tell who was more disturbed by the other’s appearance.

Cullen gestured for Lilly to come closer. “We’d prefer not to have cigarette smoke in the house. You’ll have to take it outside.”

Lilly held up her empty hand. “But I’m not—”

“By it, I mean her. Before Mother gets up.”

“You don’t think Betty Ruth will find her delightful?”

“She might. Her friends won’t. I haven’t decided what we’re going to do about you yet come bridge time.”

Lilly turned just in time to see the long ash of Dina’s cigarette fall to the carpet.

“Come on.” She grabbed her friend’s bony elbow. “Let’s go outside. Seems some people are parlor friends and some people are porch friends. Guess where you land?”

She began to steer for the front door, but a subtle shake of Cullen’s head redirected her to the back, where she hoped to be on the porch before the next ash fell.

“Attagirl!” At least Dina had the sense to wait until they were safely on the patio before speaking. “Haven’t you found yourself quite the daddy?”

“Don’t be a dumb Dora. It’s not like that.”

“Hey.” She held up her hand, sending a series of bangles clattering down her forearm. “No judgment here. The face is a shame, but with this kind of dough, I could learn to keep my eyes shut. What’s the scenery from the neck down?”

“For crying out loud, drop it already. How’d you find me, anyway?”

“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”

“The best I can do is offer you a seat.”

Dina arched a brow. “I’ll take it.” She pulled out a chair from the table. “Aw, isn’t this a sweet scene?”

Lilly looked to see her shoes and Cullen’s mingled and dotted with sand. She pulled out another seat, offered it to Dina, and perched herself opposite the table. “Now, spill.”

“Well, like I said, we was all worried about you when you disappeared from that party and—say, why am I on the hot seat? You’re the one who tagged along for food and hooch and ended up at the Ritz. Why don’t you tell me what’s what?”

“Not a great story,” Lilly said, her chin on her hand. “Some fella was getting fresh, trying to make me his personal petting partner, and I just needed some air.”

“Which one? The cutie with the red hair?”

“No, some old guy.”

“Why didn’t you just go outside?”

“Tried that. He followed me.” Even talking about it now brought back the creepy-crawly feeling on her skin. No amount of alcohol could alleviate it then, and none of the intervening pleasantness could erase it now. “So I told him, ‘Listen, lover, go on inside and fetch me a drink.’ And when he left, I snuck out the side gate.”

“How’d you get here?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, it’s not far from the party—”

“Just around the corner.”

“And I was here earlier, with the Dalliance Cosmetics hoopla. I guess my brain remembered and my body followed.”

Dina knit her pencil-thin brows and took a victorious drag on her cigarette. “Freud would say your subconscious saw this as a place of safety and refuge. My last boyfriend was in college, and that boy knew his onions.”

“Yeah, but my subconscious didn’t know about the side gate. Instead, like a dumb Dora, I climbed the fence, fell over, twisted my ankle, and passed out.”

Dina laughed. “You slay me! And they just found you?”

“Yes.”

“And kept you? Like a dog or something?”

“Something like that,” Lilly said, wondering how she ever thought this girl was a friend.

Dina exhaled a final puff of smoke and expertly flicked the butt across the patio, where it smoldered in the grass. Lilly would pick it up later.

“So then tell me, Lilly my love, besides the”—she tapped a red-painted finger to her cheek—“is everything else in working order?”

“Put a sock in it, smarty. It’s his mother who’s been taking care of me.”

“His mother? He lives with his mother?”

“She’s wonderful. You know, the whole time I’ve been here, she’s never once asked me about where I came from. Nothing about where I was or what I was doing. It’s like when she looks at you, she only sees what’s good. I think she really cares about me, Dina. Like nobody’s ever cared about me before.”

“Oh, you’re all wet. I care about ya, kid. Didn’t I tell you? We was all worried sick, wondering if you’d been killed or kidnapped or, I don’t know, worse.”

“You couldn’t have been too worried. I’ve been here for almost a week.”

Dina had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Well, it was one full day before we knew you hadn’t made it home.” She counted off the days on tapered red nails. “Then a couple more. I was just too exhausted to even move. And then Rupert—that’s the caterer who got us into the party—he got a new car so we all wanted to take you for a ride. And we went to that convent you was staying in, and the head sister herself said somebody in a spiffy suit came and cleaned out your room. So then we thought you was okay. But yesterday I went back and—”

“It’s all right. Really. I like it here. Better than at Myrtle’s.”

“No kidding. But you be careful with the master of the estate.”

“What do you mean?”

Dina took out another cigarette and drummed it on the tabletop. “Think about it. Even if he is Mr. Moneybags, he’s not going to be a sheik with the ladies with that face. He finds a pretty girl like you, someone he can take home to mother, well then, it’s all over.”

“What’s all over?”

“Life.” She lit the cigarette. “Freedom. Pretty soon you’re one of them, some rich old Mrs. Grundy playing bridge on a Thursday afternoon. You become our mothers.”

“Not my mother.” Lilly gave in, finally, and reached across the table for a smoke. “My mother does not play bridge on Thursday afternoons.” She leaned forward and touched the tip to the flame Dina held out for her. Such a familiar feeling, the weight of it on her lips. Some girls liked those long holders, but Lilly always preferred the touch of tobacco on her tongue.

“And just what would Mother say if she could see you now?” Dina asked, taking a long drag.

Lilly puffed herself up, forming her hands into fists in front of her, prepared for battle. “My mother would say, ‘Look at you, you worthless piece of trash. Lightin’ up them smokes like a common tramp.’ ”

“Mine too.” Dina sounded bored. “But only after a two-hour lecture on how our sisters fought to get us the vote, blah, blah, blah. And what about this new sweet little mother you’ve found?”

Lilly watched the white paper slowly turn to ash. “I don’t know. She might say something like”—she pitched her voice higher, softer—“ ‘Oh, darling. Is that what all the young people are doing today? What a shame, a shame indeed.’ ”

Dina laughed at the performance.

“Or,” Lilly continued, “she might not even notice at all. Or she might light one up herself. With her, there’s just no telling.”

She brought the cigarette up to her lips and inhaled, filling her lungs with smoke, tasting it at the back of her tongue, down her throat, and was just on the verge of exhaling when Dina asked, “And what about Mr.

Mister?”

Lilly nearly choked. In fact, if it weren’t for her years of practice, she might have. As the last of the smoke coated her throat, she thought of Cullen. His voice. The poison that he’d breathed in, the toll it took. Smoke poured through her lips in a narrow, almost pretty stream, but it left a taste more bitter than ever before. She put the cigarette to her lips again, intending to inhale, wanting to inhale, but ultimately taking it away, focusing on the ribbon twisting up from its tip.

“He wouldn’t like it.”

“Of course. Listen, Lil, don’t let them turn you into something you’re not.”

“And what exactly do you think I am?”

“You are a modern woman. You let them take this away”—she held up the cigarette—“they may as well put you right back in a corset and hoop skirt. This is the twentieth century. You have power, just as much as any man. All those grandmas want to talk about the vote. That’s nothing but a load of applesauce. Being a woman today means you can have all the smokes, booze, and sex you want—just like men have had forever.”

By now Dina was languid in her seat, seemingly propped up only by the one bony elbow on the table. She concluded her speech with a slow, satisfied drag on her cigarette, her cheeks caving in with the effort.

“That’s the problem,” Lilly said. “Doesn’t seem fair that men seem to be enjoying this more than we are.”

“Who’s not enjoying it, baby?”

“Me, sometimes. Look, Dina, wouldn’t it be nice to meet a guy and go on a date that doesn’t end up in some backseat wrestling match?”

“Sure, but I want any boyfriend of mine to know that if we’re gonna wrestle, it’ll be an even match. You gonna smoke that or stare at it?”

Lilly took a quick puff, then ground the ashes under the tabletop. “Funny—take a few days off, and you kind of lose the taste for it.”

“I oughta make you give me a nickel.”

“Good luck squeezing one of those out of me.”

“Tell you what. I’d rather have my friend back. What do you say we go to the movies? There’s a new Charlie Chaplin playing the matinee. I’ll spot you a ticket. And a bag of peanuts.”

“I don’t know …”

“What, you some kind of prisoner? You have to ask permission to go to the pictures?”

“No.” How could she explain that it wasn’t the idea of leaving that she questioned, but the idea of coming back. Specifically, would she be able to? So much of her days here seemed unreal, like the dreams that come with peaceful sleep. Maybe it would disappear if she walked away. Cullen said Betty Ruth might forget about her while sitting at the breakfast table with her. Wasn’t it more likely that Lilly would be forgotten if she walked away for a couple of hours?

Then again, Betty Ruth was sleeping. And when she woke up, she’d have a grand parlor full of women and cards and chocolate to keep her entertained. And Cullen? Well, she wouldn’t ask. Not because he might say no but because she didn’t have to. A man who won’t kiss a girl doesn’t have the right to tell her what to do.

“Give me ten minutes to get myself together.” Lilly jumped up. She still held the crushed cigarette in her hand. With all the nonchalance she could muster, she flicked it into the grass to join the others.

“Let me come with you. I’d love to get a look at your room.”

Lilly made a mental run through the house, trying to think of some route to her room that wouldn’t pass Cullen’s office, the parlor, dining hall, kitchen, or Betty Ruth.

“Why don’t you wait outside? Go around to the front porch and I’ll join you there.”

“Oh sure, sure,” Dina said, but her voice held as much humor as hurt. “Make me out to be the old milk bottles.”

“That reminds me,” Lilly said with a wicked giggle. “The old bridge ladies will be coming any minute. Wait for me by the side gate.”

Once she saw Dina safely around the corner, Lilly ran inside and upstairs. These past days, she’d spent fewer minutes looking in a mirror than any time she could remember. And it showed. Her face glowed with the sheen of Indian summer heat. Where her hair wasn’t plastered to her forehead, it bushed out like a golden pyramid. Her lips were pale pink—just a shade darker than her skin—and the few hours spent wandering the garden threatened to bring a golden bronze to her bare shoulders.

“Like I just fell off a farm.”

She ran across the hall to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. Then, back in her room, she powdered it to pale perfection, lined her eyes, and rouged her lips. She dug through her drawers and found a pale gray silk scarf that she wrapped around the top of her head and knotted just below her left ear, carefully tufting curling strands below it.

Luckily, she had a short-sleeved jersey dress with a wide chevron stripe of pale yellow and silver, perfect to match the scarf. Unfortunately, the sandals she preferred sat on a chair, nestled next to Cullen’s, so she made do with the closed-toe ankle strap.

Finally, she chose one long strand of pearlescent beads and a thick yellow bracelet before taking a long look at herself. Up and down, head to toe.

“Too much,” she said, and slipped the bracelet off her wrist.