She’s making a fool of herself,” I whispered to John who didn’t bother to look, but held me tighter instead. Lydia stumbled over the silver-beaded hem of her ciel blue silk gown. She leaned against Franklin as they danced, as though she’d lost all strength in her backbone.
“I assume you’re referring to Lydia.” John’s hand drifted a little too low, settling on the ruched yellow silk at the small of my back as we swayed to Alevia’s solo introduction to Johann Strauss’s “The Blue Danube” at the other end of the ballroom. I inched away. “Have you seen Tom? He’s not much better. I suppose they’ve both got low tolerances for sparkling wine.” I spun around him in time to see Bessie crane her neck away from Tom’s attempt at a kiss. His eyes narrowed at Bessie’s rejection and guests began to stare. Luckily, she whispered something to him that seemed to calm him for the moment and interest slowly started to drift away from them and back toward Mae and Henry dancing in their wedding finery in the middle of the ballroom.
Bess and Alevia had insisted that Mae abandon her typically plain fashion for the wedding and she’d agreed, selecting an ornate silk dress with scalloped satin stripes and a bodice embroidered with pearls, pastes, and gathered silk lisse. It had been a lovely wedding. They had been married at Rye Presbyterian, the church Henry’s family attended during the summer while they were living in the country. An old Gothic building with soaring ceilings held up by Corinthian pillars, the lancet windows were Tiffany’s stained glass etched with fleur-de-lis designs trimmed in blues and reds. The sanctuary had been filled with hundreds of white hydrangeas and the sound of the Society’s best musicians playing Handel’s Water Music. The same musicians—all recruited by Alevia in the course of several meetings—were playing now after a filling supper of stewed oysters, galantines, and glasses of wine. Besides Lydia and Tom, however, the rest of us were able to remain upright.
John’s hand squeezed mine. I could feel his eyes on my face, but ignored him, fixing my attention toward Mae and Henry instead. John had been by my side all night, stroking my hands and holding me to him. As much as I adored him, I needed a bit of space, just for a moment. When I’d pulled away to greet our family and friends at dinner, he’d followed, hand pressed to my back. In truth, there was nothing wrong with the way he was conducting himself. He’d been gentlemanly and considerate all evening. My irritation wasn’t his fault. It was mine. From the moment we’d entered Westchester County, I’d thought of Charlie and hadn’t stopped. I knew it was just because we were less than ten miles from his home with Rachel. Charlie didn’t deserve my attention, still, it seemed odd that he wasn’t here, celebrating with friends that had once been as intimate as family. Breaking from my view of Mae and Henry, I met John’s eyes and smiled, trying to stay present.
“Hello there.” Mother danced up to us, arm in arm with Franklin who winked and twirled her. I wondered where he’d deposited Lydia. “Isn’t it a marvelous evening?”
“Just lovely,” John said.
“The seating at dinner was unfortunate. I hope the two of you weren’t bored,” Mother said. I snorted.
“On the contrary. George Hoffmann talked the entire time about his new chicken coop, mainly about the eggs. He might as well have hatched them himself.” Franklin laughed.
“Well, the benefit of having your own wedding is that you can choose where you sit,” she said, winking at John. Franklin grinned at the prospect of my marriage to his best friend and I suddenly felt as though the walls were closing in around me. I forced a smile at my mother and brother.
“Excuse me. I’m going to get some fresh air,” I said. Leaving John on the dance floor, I walked quickly toward the terrace, toward the rows of orderly English boxwoods standing sentry at the base of each pillar along the colonnade. I pushed past clusters of talking couples—men dressed in black tuxedos and white bow ties, women adorned with flint diamonds, lace, and ribbons atop an array of bright summer hues. I flung the French door open and it closed mercifully behind me, silencing the orchestra and the deafening sound of guests. I reveled in the warm summer air, glad to be alone.
On one hand, it had been one of the best nights of my life. My loved ones were all in one place, I was overjoyed that my sister had married her match, and I was in the company of a man that I was beginning to care deeply for. On the other hand, it had been awful. John’s affection had encouraged nearly all of my friends and family members, including Cherie and Mother, to hint at an impending marriage. My insides numbed with each mention, but John had only encouraged their hopes, leaning over to kiss my cheek or hand each time. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him. I did. It was the thought of marriage that frightened me. It would change things, certainly, but there was no way to predict how. We were perfect as we were. Our writing wove us together, our passion for our art driving our passion for each other. Social obligations could consume us as a married couple—eating away at our writing as they already ate away at John’s. And when we lost the time to sit and think, to create, we would blame each other. We could grow to resent each other. Even so, I couldn’t blame John for thinking of marriage. That was the point of courtships, after all, but I realized at Mae’s wedding that I had ignored the thought of that end, hoping instead that we could go on as we were in perpetuity. I felt hollow and scared thinking of what was to come. With Charlie, I’d had eighteen years to think about what he meant to me, to know that I loved him, to imagine what marriage would be like. I wouldn’t have that luxury with John. Sooner rather than later I would have to come to terms with my feelings for him, to define the strength of my attraction, the magnetism that drew me to him, and the strange recoiling at the hint of marriage. In spite of it all, one thing was certain: I didn’t want to lose him. I needed him, but I also needed to be honest with myself.
I descended the stairs and walked along a dirt path following a serpentine stone wall that separated the Trents’ formal garden and the lily pads floating along the bank of the acre-wide pond. The crickets’ droning chirp rose in crescendo and the light musk of antique roses wafted over me with the summer wind, tousling my fleur-de-lis coiffure and unsettling my skirt.
“Virginia!” Someone barked my name behind me and I whirled around. I blinked, wondering if I’d gone mad. Charlie. He ran down the terrace steps and through the garden to where I stood. He always appeared when I least expected him. He looked disturbed. His hair had grown much too long and he’d gathered the strands behind his ears. Feet from me, he tugged at the bottom of his untucked white shirt. His eyes didn’t break from mine, and I saw that they were swollen, lids swathed in gray.
“Charlie,” I started to ask what he was doing here, but he snatched my elbows and started shaking me.
“John Hopper?” He snarled into my face. “You can’t possibly be with him. You . . . you can’t.” I could feel the heat of Charlie’s glare on my face. That heat quickly turned to anger as I recalled the last time we’d stood this close.
“I’ll do what I want,” I said quietly, meeting his eyes. He’d lost any say in my life when he’d chosen someone else. He nodded once, as if to say that he already knew.
“Do you love him?”
I stared back, unwilling to answer.
“Ginny, answer me,” he said softly, though his voice sliced through the peaceful summer air like a blade to my wrist. He straightened to face me. I knew I should walk away. I didn’t owe him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, I nodded once.
“You do?” Eyes going wide, he clutched the stiff fabric across his chest.
“Why do you care?” I’d meant the question to come out softly, but I spat it, and Charlie paused, fingers hovering in front of him.
“What do you mean by that?” he barked. He stepped toward me until I could feel him against my chest. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore what he was doing to me—a tingling warmth blooming—and prayed he wouldn’t touch me.
“I meant what I said,” I whispered. “Why would you care? You don’t love me anymore; you have no claim to me. Why are you here? Where’s your wife?”
I felt him step away from me and opened my eyes. As wrong as it was, as much as I knew he wasn’t mine, I wanted him to want me, to love me instead of her.
“Not here. What do you mean I don’t love you? You . . . you don’t even know what it’s like to see me in love with someone else.” He stumbled over the last word and I blinked at him. I’d been standing right in front of him when he’d spoken of his love for Rachel the last time and beside him when he’d proposed to her.
“You said that she consumed you, that she was your every thought.”
His brows furrowed. “No. No, Gin. That’s not what I meant. She wants me around her all the time. I can’t escape her love. It’s like a cage around my heart,” he said. “But you . . . I’ve been forced to watch you with him. I heard the wedding was today and thought to stay away as I wasn’t invited, but changed my mind. I just got here. I’ve been sitting in the damn corner watching John touch you and you letting him. I couldn’t . . . I can’t stand it, Gin.”
“I had to watch you and her,” I said.
“That was different. I’ve never loved her.” Charlie swallowed hard. “I wish I did. She’s kind, a good wife. She deserves better, she deserves my heart, and I’ve tried, but the last time I saw you, I knew it was a worthless endeavor. I wanted to tell you that I loved you so badly. I was a coward. Ginny, you can’t imagine the torture of pretending to love someone while the woman you love is still out there, reminding you of what you could have had.” I opened my mouth to say that he’d chosen, but he clapped his hand over my lips. “And before you open your mouth to tell me it’s my fault, I know. I know I’ve gotten myself into this hell.”
He removed his hand and stepped forward, pushing against me. I stumbled into the wall, feeling the edges of the granite boulders dig into my back. Charlie’s hands circled around my hips. He’d never been so forward. I knew I should push him away, but couldn’t move. He reached for my hand, his fingers trembling around mine, and slowly placed my palm where our bodies separated on his chest.
“My heart has always been yours,” he said. “And you’re mine. You have no idea the number of times I’ve woken with your memory on my mind.” I couldn’t breathe and didn’t try, but ran my fingers up his back to the nape of his neck. He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, leaned down, and kissed me, vanilla wedding cake on his tongue. My eyes closed and I could feel my mouth open as his teeth bit down on my earlobe. One of his hands drifted up to my bodice, fingertips parting the thin organza. He reached under my shift, stroking my breasts and then I felt the warmth of his mouth replace his fingers. Desire pooled in my stomach and I pulled his shirt up, running my hands along his chest. His eyes closed and his head tilted back for a moment as I touched him and then he lifted my skirt from the ground, fingertips grazing my stockings. The summer air hit my legs as he paused at my thigh and leaned in to kiss me again.
“Charlie,” I said, barely conscious of anything beyond his hands on my body. I wanted him badly, but he wasn’t mine. “Charlie, stop,” I said, against every bodily instinct. It wasn’t right. His lips lifted from my skin and he dropped my skirt.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, still pressed against me. “I didn’t mean . . . I couldn’t help it. Please. I love you, Ginny.” His eyes were warm and pleading, fingers gripped to my arm plastered against the stone.
“I know. But you promised you would love Rachel whether you do or not. She loves you. And this is wrong.” He turned his eyes to the ground.
“I’d rather be dead,” he said quietly.
“Ginny, Charlie.” Franklin appeared from nowhere. His face was pale as the clouds against the night sky, eyes wild. “Have you seen Lydia?” His voice trembled and he glanced over my shoulder.
“No. What’s happened?” I asked, smoothing my skirt. Frank stared at me for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it.
“Marcus Carter, Lydia’s ex-fiancé. He’s dead. We just received a telegram with the news and she ran off.” I remembered noticing Mr. Carter at the Society, his hand flying over the pages, and the story Frank told me about the way Mr. Carter and Lydia ended. I wondered how he’d died.
“Will’s brother, Marcus?” Charlie asked and Franklin bobbed his head at him, barely allowing the kindness of a glance his way. “Damn. Mr. and Mrs. Carter have lost both of their sons.”
“What happened?” I asked. Franklin was pacing back and forth, looking over the wall at the garden and then at the pond.
“I don’t know. The butler found him at four this morning on his bedroom floor next to the fire. They don’t know the particulars yet.” Franklin hiked the leg of his tuxedo up and started to climb over the fence to the bank of the pond. “I’ve got to find her. John’s looking through the woods around the front lawn.” The mention of John struck me through. I’d betrayed him. Frank paused halfway up the wall to glance at Charlie standing next to me. “I’ve told you once, but I’ll tell you again and I mean it. Stay the hell away from my sister. She’s been getting on quite well without you.” I felt Charlie’s eyes, but didn’t look, watching Franklin disappear over the fence instead. Franklin was right. I’d been happy without Charlie. But he showed up tonight. He kissed me. It’d be easy to let the memory of this night confuse everything I’d grown to love without him, but I wouldn’t let it. Charlie had chosen his future and it wasn’t with me. It could never be with me. As much as I despised Rachel for coming between us, she was his wife and she loved him. She couldn’t ever find out that he loved me. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing I’d healed my heartache by causing hers. I lifted my hand to my lips to remember the feel of him one last time. Then, I turned to face him. Charlie looked worse than he had before, tall frame slumped in defeat.
“I know he can’t help but hate me. I know what I’ve done to you and I’m sorry . . . so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. I knew he meant it. I knew him as well as I knew myself. “I chose wrongly and I’m paying for it. I’m tortured every second that I don’t have you, Ginny. I don’t know how I’ll go on without you, but I suppose I’ll have to.”
“You’ll be fine,” I said, reaching for his hand. I felt sorry for him. He was trapped, and as much as his rejection had killed me in the past, I was free to move on. “Try to forget me. It’s easier that way.” Charlie shook his head.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he whispered.
It was close to midnight and no one had even caught so much as a glimpse of Lydia. Though initially I figured she’d only gone somewhere to cry and would turn up, I was beginning to worry. When Franklin and John had returned to the ballroom after an hour of searching with no luck, the entire party, including the newlyweds, had pitched in to try to find her. I could see Mae now, white dress a light splotch against the darkness as she combed the edge of woods on the other side of the pond. Nearly one hundred guests were spread out everywhere searching. The elderly were the only ones who had avoided involvement entirely and most of them had stayed behind to enjoy what remained of the reception, though they’d been escorted to their coaches hours ago.
Turning away from the view of the looming French-style chateau, I started south again, deeper into the thick hardwood forest, following a crude path that Henry had mentioned forked at some point, leading to thirty-five undeveloped acres of wilderness on one side and the Long Island Sound on the other. It probably wasn’t wise to go alone—I couldn’t see but a foot in front of me at most and had no idea if the path had split yet—but I wasn’t afraid of the dark. I only hoped that when I finally turned around I’d be able to find my way back.
The woods were silent except for the random calls of hunting owls and the scuffle of dried leaves as they snatched their prey. I took a deep breath, inhaling the tinge of sulfur and salt coming from the Sound in an attempt to calm my alarm at Lydia’s absence, but it didn’t work. A faraway shout came from behind me and I whirled around, squinting through the shadowy trees.
“Nevermind!” In the night silence, I could hear Charlie’s retraction clearly even though I was at least a mile away by now. I couldn’t believe I’d let him kiss me. I’d thought my heart had finally numbed toward him, but in the moment, the deep, old feelings I’d buried had welled up. To anyone else, his gestures would seem appalling. I knew that and blamed him for it, but I also knew what he was struggling against, what he was still trying to come to terms with: the fight of heart versus responsibility. And even though he loved me, Charlie would choose responsibility in the end. Divorce wasn’t something he was willing to consider and I couldn’t say, in the same situation, that I would either.
Staring at the moon, I wondered where Lydia was, then stopped dead, catching myself on the trunk of scrawny tree. I stood there looking out at the sporadic flashes of lantern light on the fishing boats—and then, I heard it.
The sobbing came from below me, to my right. I caught the gleam of Lydia’s blond hair in the moonlight and gasped. She was waist deep in the water a short distance away. She stretched her hands out in front of her and then submerged them. I didn’t know what she was planning; all I knew was that if I yelled her name she’d startle.
I had to reach her. I ran through the woods along the edge of the bank. The skirt of my bridesmaid’s dress caught on briars and twigs and I hiked it to my shins. Lydia had taken a few more steps now, her blue dress floating around her. I stopped above her, unsure how I could get down to the water without falling. Eyeing a channel of dirt next to me, snaking between the rocks, I veered toward it. I made my way down the bank slowly, gripping the stones, making sure my silk satin shoes didn’t get caught between them. Lydia had stopped sobbing, but she was still crying. I could hear the deep hiccups of her breath as I got closer. Two more steps down and I’d be on the bank. Without warning, Lydia pushed forward, the water rising to her chest.
“Lydia!” I screamed. I didn’t know if she could swim, but I’d never learned. I couldn’t do anything to help her if she lost her balance in the waves.
“What’re you doing? We’ve all been so worried,” I yelled. The wind was picking up, bringing the tide in. She turned to face me. My breath caught. I’d never seen her this way. Lydia looked like a patient who’d somehow broken out of the asylum. She was holding her arms out, trying to balance, though she stumbled back and forth in the water, her long hair torn mostly out of her updo, tangling in the wind. She blinked at me, blue eyes bloodshot and serious, though her lips were turned up in a garish smile.
“Marcus is dead,” she called flatly, though the grin remained. “I’m going to find him.”
“What about Tom?” I shouted. “What about your parents? Come out of the water. I’ll walk you back.” I glanced around me, frantically looking for something I could extend to her if she couldn’t make it out alone, but found nothing.
“I loved him.” Tears poured down her face, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. “But after Will passed . . . Marcus changed. He wouldn’t talk to anyone, not me or anyone, and I was angry. I left him.”
“It’s not your fault, Lydia.” I started to remind her of his madness, but stifled my words, unsure if the memory would make her feel worse. “He and Will are together in some place much better,” I said, attempting to reassure her, wishing someone, anyone, were here with me.
“You didn’t know them,” she said. “I want to go there, too.” Her eyes dried and the eerie smile returned.
“What about Franklin?” I asked, fierce defense for my brother suddenly overtaking my pity for her. “I thought you loved him. He loves you. We all love you. We’re going to be sisters, remember?” Her eyes narrowed.
“You don’t understand and he doesn’t care,” she shouted. I didn’t think she’d blinked the entire time we’d been speaking, but she did now—so slowly I thought she was closing her eyes. “He barely touches me,” she said more softly, though her expression remained the same.
“Of course he does,” I said. “He thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and practically lights up when you’re around. How could he help it? I do, too.” My mind was spinning. “I’m sure you’re the love of his life and—”
“Lyd, you’re going to let us get you back to the Trents’ safely.” John’s voice came from behind me, strong and matter-of-fact. In the hysteria of the moment, I’d almost forgotten he existed. Lydia started crying again when she saw him over my shoulder. He worked his way down the hill and shot me a quick glance, brows furrowed in worry. I nodded, at once feeling like I’d been reduced to the size of an ant. Even as Lydia’s fate hung in the balance, I remembered my lips on Charlie’s and hated what I’d done. John loved me and I’d betrayed him with a man who’d stolen his only other love. “I’ve lost them, too, you know,” he shouted, eyes fixed on Lydia. He started to edge out of his jacket. “They were like brothers to me. Marc wouldn’t want this for you, Lyd, you know that.” Lydia began blubbering, and nodded.
“Thank god,” I whispered. John walked past me to the water’s edge, squeezing my hand as he passed. His starched white tuxedo shirt hugged his tense shoulders.
“Will you come back, please? I can’t lose you, too. Frank can’t lose you either. He’s been worried sick.” John began to push his shoes off. He stared at Lydia, waiting.
“Very well,” she said. She looked at the water around her and then back at John and me on the bank.
“Just focus on me and start walking,” John said. Lydia collected the length of her floating skirt in her fist, bit her lip, and started forward. I exhaled, relieved. “I hate to tell you, but you missed the cake,” John said, no doubt in an attempt to keep up conversation. “It was marvelous. The most decadent butter cream I have ever tasted.” Lydia smiled. The wind picked up, tossing the water around her.
“I suppose I—” She suddenly lost her footing, disappearing into the waves. Her head bobbed up. “John!” she called, before she went under again. John dove into the water, his arms propelling along the surface to where we’d last seen her. I stepped forward, my body racing with the urge to do something, but I was helpless. John disappeared below the surface, only to reemerge again moments later.
“Has she come up?” he bellowed. I started to reply, but he dove under again, not waiting for my response. I was shaking. I felt desperate, helpless. I closed my eyes and prayed for God to spare her, to keep John from harm. Just then John emerged from the water, his arm gripped around Lydia’s chest. She was coughing, her hair hanging in tendrils across her face.
“Thank goodness,” I whispered. My teeth chattered, the alarm of her near peril still coursing through me. As John swam closer, I could see Lydia’s fingers gripped around his arm, though her head had begun to bob with each forward stroke.
“Gin, I think she’s fainted,” John panted. He stood, lifting her body to his chest as he shuffled out of the water. “Do you have any salts?” I stared at him for a moment before realizing I did.
“Yes,” I said, reaching into the small pocket at my side to extract the bottle of Bull’s Head smelling salts I’d carried to the church in case any of the guests had need of them. John set Lydia down, propping her up against a rock. She was snoring now, a high-pitched whistling noise. I couldn’t help but smile. She was safe. I knelt down and began to open the cap, but John’s fingers caught mine. He lowered to the gritty bank beside me and lifted his hand to my face.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “If you hadn’t found her—”
“John,” I started. I had to tell him about Charlie. As angry as I knew he’d be, I couldn’t hide it from him. “I have to tell you someth—”
“Whatever it is, I don’t care,” he said. “I just need you now.” Pulling my face to his, he kissed me. His mouth moved slowly on mine. I could feel the softness of his lips, taste the sweet cigar smoke on his tongue, and something in my heart responded. A part of me belonged to him. He pulled away and I lifted the salts to Lydia’s nostrils. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Ginny.”
“You scared me,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around her. She clutched me to her, her saturated dress soaking through mine.
“Never again, Lydia,” John said over my shoulder. “Promise me.” Lydia blinked hazily and then nodded.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she muttered, stifling a sob. “I promise.” I released her and stood.
“I know you are,” he said. “Now let’s find a way to get you up this bank.” John squinted up at the rocks and I looked over at Lydia realizing she’d fallen fast asleep.