Part 16 (1/2)

I knew Millicent heard the lie in my voice. ”Lucy, you have a husband who adores you. William would do anything for you; you've the funds and the position to have anything you desire. To turn elsewhere for happiness is foolish.”

I stared at her, puzzled. ”What do you mean?”

”You must be careful,” she said. ”Your behavior was acceptable as long as it was simply a fit now and then, or headaches. There isn't a one of us who hasn't felt the same. But no one will tolerate what you've been doing. You haven't had your calling day for weeks. Daisy Hadden said she saw you drawing in Was.h.i.+ngton Square, and when she spoke to you, you looked right through her.”

”Daisy Hadden? I don't remember that at all.”

Millie leaned close. ”Tell me you didn't leave Julia Breckenwood's entertainment to sketch a picture of her garden, even when there was nothing there but vines and dirt.”

”Well, yes, I did that, but-”

”Good Lord, Lucy, you must see how unacceptable that is. What is wrong with you? Ask Seth-or whoever your doctor is-to prescribe something else. Take the laudanum again if you must. After tonight the season is over. You have weeks before Newport. As your friend, I feel I must warn you: Take some rest, or whatever you must do to be yourself again. You know this. Clara Morris and Mamie Fish and the others will have nothing better to do in Newport than make you the summer's sport. They'll ruin you without compunction. The Van Berckel name will be no help to you then.” She squeezed my arm. ”Please, Lucy. Be careful. You must be careful.”

She gave me a final pleading look, and then she left me standing there alone. I was afraid. I felt as if my friends stared at me when I pa.s.sed. I imagined them turning to one another, I imagined their words.

The room wavered around me. I clutched my skirt in my hand and went searching for air, but the crush was such that I could not get through.

”Lucy.”

It was as if I imagined his voice, coming as it did so strongly into my head. I stopped and turned to search for him, and he was there. He held two gla.s.ses of champagne, and he smiled and pressed one into my hand, tapping the bottom of the stem with his finger, urging me to drink it. I did, caught-as I always was-by his eyes.

The champagne eased the tightness in my throat. I curled my fingers around the stem and held it close to my lips.

”Breathe,” he whispered, and I did. ”Now,” he said, ”do you feel better?”

He seemed to read my mind, and the thought made me ner-vous. I laughed a little giddily and said, ”How did you know?”

He nodded toward the doors that were closed against the night. ”You were making a beeline for the window.”

”You were watching me.”

”That is my job.”

”Yes,” I said, taking refuge in the champagne. ”Yes, of course.”

”Come, let's get some air.” He put his hand on my bare arm, urging me forward, but I did not move. He looked down at me with a little smile and said, ”What is it, Lucy?”

Suddenly I understood. I wondered why I hadn't thought of it before this moment. The memory of that image he'd suggested to me so long ago-the walk in the woods, the bird-came back to me. ”You knew,” I whispered. ”You've done this to me.”

”Done what?”

”Changed me.”

”Changed you?” He gave me a distracted smile and said, ”Of course I have. It's what you wanted. You're having fewer fits. Aren't you happier?”

”Yes,” I said. ”No. I- There are so many strange things.”

”What do you mean?”

”Why, tonight. This costume. You knew what I would wear tonight. That William and I were coming as Julius Caesar and Cleopatra.”

”How would I know that?”

”I don't know,” I said. ”Perhaps I told you when I was asleep.”

”You were never asleep.”

”Whatever it was. That's what happened, isn't it? I told you I was coming as Cleopatra.”

”If you did, I wouldn't have expected this kind of costume,” he said. ”I would have expected something a bit more . . . elaborate. How could I possibly know that you would choose this?”

That stopped me, but there was something wrong with his logic. His eyes were dark; was that truth I read in them? ”I suppose that's true,” I said reluctantly.

”Come,” he said. ”Let's talk about this outside.” He urged me forward again. His hand had been on my arm all this time. I felt a flutter of fear, and of pleasure too. I could not deny the plea-sure, and that frightened me more than anything else.

I told myself that I went with him only to be away from watching eyes. We went out onto the pavilion that at the beginning of the season would be lit by lanterns and candles, with the doors open to extend the ballroom into cool autumn nights. Dr. Seth closed the doors behind us, and the music turned faint and whispering, the steady hum of talk disappeared. Now there was only the night, and the two of us alone together.

As we often were, I reminded myself. It was all quite innocent. I pulled away from his hold and walked to the edge of the pavilion, where the marbled floor ended at the narrow lawn overlooking the Astor mansion next door. All the lights in that house were dim; I had seen Caroline Astor earlier that evening, holding court in Malva Fitzgerald's ballroom as if she owned it.

Seth's voice came to me across the darkness, nearly disembodied. ”What is it that bothers you tonight, Lucy?”

”I don't understand myself,” I said. ”I've been doing things, saying things. People are beginning to talk.”

”What are they saying?”

”That I'm drinking. Or worse.”

”You aren't drinking.”

”But they don't know that. Or they wouldn't believe it.”

”Why do you care what they think?”

I turned to look at him. He stood near the door, haloed in the light coming through the windows. He could have been a G.o.d. ”It matters to me what they think.”

”You don't need friends like that.”

I said disbelievingly, ”How can you say such a thing? I want them to be my friends. To have them talk like this, they could ruin me. They will ruin William.”

”What did he think of your costume tonight?”

The abrupt change of subject fl.u.s.tered me. ”He was unhappy with me.”

”Because of what you chose to wear? Or because of what your choice shows you to be?”

I crossed my arms; the air was freezing on my bare skin. I felt the rise of gooseflesh. ”I don't understand.”