Archive of Our Own

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6 January 1880

My Dearest Sister,

I hope this missive finds you well and that your schooling abroad has brought you great joy since your mother’s passing.

Though, I suspect out of all our family members I’d be the last you’d expect to receive correspondence from, given our rather brusk history. You have every right to be suspicious and I will not insult you with the frivolities nor the pleasantries one embarks on to try to win one’s favor. I will simply get to the point.

Father is insistent on marrying for a third time and I do not think I can dissuade him. Our elder brother William has outright refused to help in this matter and I suspect Father has already curried his favor in the form of a bachelor’s apartment near the social club they are both members of.

He has grown quite fond of Miss Rosemary Whitman, the younger, not the ruddy faced mother. I’m afraid Miss Whitman has not rebuked father’s advances in social settings and I fear she is rather keen on becoming part of our family, if only for access to the family coffers and perhaps to escape the clutches of her shrew mother.

Enclosed is a rail ticket to the port of Calais along with passage for you and your ladies maid on the RMS Dardanelles to New York. Should you choose to help in my hour of need please send a cable when you reach South Hampton so I can ready your chambers and give me time to think of a proper excuse for your sudden return, perhaps melancholia for the old homestead?

Should you decide to consult father about this matter I will be sure to tell him about your little dalliance in Newport before you went abroad, thereby ruining any marriage prospects and barring you from high society indefinitely. Forget even being a debutante. There will be no ball held in your honor. A scandal of that magnitude would blight our entire family but I will not hesitate to bring this infraction to light should you cross me.

I only hope that you see reason and decide to join forces with me to thwart this new money social climbing tart.

I await your decision with bated breath.

Always,
Sarah

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My Dearest Sister Sarah,

I am in receipt of your most kind missive, for which I offer my humblest gratitude. I find myself compelled to confess that Father’s design—that of dispatching me across the Atlantic to pursue my studies—has quite failed to achieve its intended purpose. Far from providing a balm for my spirits, this distant shore has done naught to alleviate the profound sorrow of mother’s departure, nor has it quieted the persistent ache that dwells within my breast.

I must admit, your correspondence gave me a moment’s pause, for we did not part under the most harmonious of circumstances. Your sharp disapproval of the manner in which I sought solace during those darkest hours remains heavy upon my mind. Yet, I find I must commend your candor; in a world where those of our station so often favor hollow pleasantries, your directness is a rare quality, however much it may sting.

Furthermore, I find myself in a state of profound unhappiness regarding our brother William. He has proven himself to be altogether less than earnest; to speak with unvarnished frankness, he is consumed by a most ungenerous selfishness. It remains a bitter pill to swallow that he exhibited not a flicker of discomfort at the passing of my dear mother—a woman who doted upon him with such indulgent devotion that one might have believed him her very own.

Alas, it brings me no shock to learn that Father already seeks a new companion to warm his hearth so soon after the demise of his wife. I had, in times past, granted him every indulgence when he took my mother to wife following the loss of yours, reasoning that a man of his position required a mistress of the house to tend his children. However, I am no longer a child in need of a governess, and the notion of being "tended" by a woman whose years barely exceed my own is an absurdity I cannot well endure. I am uncertain if you were privy to the matter, but Father has harbored designs upon her for a considerable duration; he even endeavored to orchestrate an introduction between her and our cousin Sean during his visit following Grandfather’s passing two years ago. Though she did not altogether suit Sean's "particular" tastes, it was abundantly clear that she was precisely to Father’s.

I pray you, simply represent to Father that I have begun to fail in health and that my maid, Abigail, has written to you in great distress regarding my condition. As my sister, it is only proper that you should send for me to ensure my well-being under your own roof. I shall depart for home with all haste, and together we shall see to the correction of this unfortunate situation Father has constructed with the young Mistress Whitman.

But I must caution you, my sweet sister: do not presume to threaten me. I am not the only daughter of this house who guards secrets capable of causing a great upheaval within our family. You, being the eldest, are the first amongst us who must protect your reputation much more than I, and I assure you that certain intelligence would not be looked upon with any degree of favor should it reach the ears of ladies of standing. I have no desire to be the instrument of your undoing, but I shall not be intimidated.

Your devoted sister.

Florence

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Western Union
Cablegram
South Hampton
15 January 1880

Flo,

I will keep this brief. It gladdens my heart that you will be returning but things are already amiss. Father is maneuvering the pieces on his board to make a clear path, far quicker than I had anticipated. Do not be alarmed by who greets you at the pier in NYC.

Sarah

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25 January 1880

Abigail walked by my side with a measured step as the porter conveyed our luggage toward the port. I confess I had not properly prepared for the drastic transition of climate between Calais and the New York harbor. Despite the presence of a large-brimmed hat and my finest stole, they proved quite insufficient against the biting chill; the wind, whipping with a keen edge about the gangway, seemed to seep into my very bones.

It was only when I caught sight of the individual my sister had dispatched to receive me that I realized no manner of winter mantle or woolen layers could provide warmth. Abigail’s grip upon my arm tightened, a subtle signal of caution as she whispered, "You must master your countenance, Miss. There are too many eyes upon us already for such a display."

"I wish it were only my face that was the problem," I replied, my voice low and taut. "I fear this arrival is more than a mere greeting; I feel it may be a formal declaration of intent."

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Sean had made his way by carriage to Pier 54 in what he had assumed would be ample time. However, when he reached the cross section at Perry Street the carriage came to a dead stop. He poked his head out, craning his neck in an attempt to see what was holding them up but it yielded no results. After a couple of minutes he became impatient and stepped out of the carriage.

“Continue on to the pier. I will go on foot.” Sean pulled out his pocket watch from his vest, sucking the chill air through his teeth as he looked at the time. Surely, his cousin would have disembarked by now and he feared the wrath that was going to incur because he couldn’t complete a simple task.

Sean picked up the pace as he weaved between stationary carriages, eventually coming up on the cause for the delay. Apparently a horse had been spooked, turning over a wagon that had been filled to the brim with coal, no doubt, heading for the brownstones in the west village. A handful of ashen faced men were desperately trying to clean the mess up while others were simply helping themselves. It had to have been recent because no police were on the scene trying to corner it off and divert traffic.

The stench of the Hudson smacked him in the face the moment he crossed west street. Sean sifted his handkerchief out of his pocket and immediately covered his nose. He had forgotten how unbearable that part of the city was. Yet, he was thankful that Florence didn’t arrive in the dead of summer.

“Excuse me…Pardon me…” Sean carefully navigated the throng of people inside the terminal as he made his way over to the main gang plank just in time to see the ridiculously large hat his cousin was wearing. He raised his hand to try to gain her attention but she had her sights locked in on someone else. He followed her eye line to see none other than his old friend Richard Graham.

“Oh Dear…” Sean muttered under his breath before mustering the courage to become a little more aggressive with the crowd. “CLEAR THE WAY! Please…”

“Florence! Florence! Over here dear cousin!” Sean frantically waved his hands, hoping to catch her or Abigale’s attention. “Miss Abigale!”

This was not going to end well if his cousin reached Richard because he was not alone. Sean continued to force his way through, praying he could get to Florence before she reached him. Then he was spotted.

By Richard.

“Sean Archer? Is that you old chap? What brings you down town?” Richard said as his focus shifted away from Florence. He already knew why he was there but he wanted to hear Sean confirm it. When Sean nodded he flashed a wicked grin before maneuvering himself in such a way that Florence had no other option than to walk right up to them all.

“Miss Florence, what an unexpected surprise. I don’t recall any mention of you returning from schooling…so soon.” Richard felt a tug on his arm and he quickly looked to the woman beside him linked arm in arm.

The woman in question was dressed appropriately for the weather. A grey woolen floor length cape with fur trim enveloped her. Peeking beneath the cape was a damask lilac day dress with intricate beading on the hem. Her hat and gloves were deerskin dyed a vibrant purple, simple, yet elegant.

“You look well.” He felt the vise grip tighten as he stared directly into Florence’s eyes. “My apologizes, an introduction is in order. This is my wife, India.”

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Florence felt the muscles of her jaw set firmly and her molars press together as she drew near the source of her vexation. If this were her sister’s design to assert dominion, Florence feared she might succumb to a fit of true hysteria. The maneuver felt pointedly cruel—a calculated bid for supremacy within the family circle.

Just as they drew within range of Mr. Richard and the young lady who graced his arm, Abigail tightened her grip upon Florence's sleeve, forcing their pace to a crawl. In response, Florence lifted her chin with regal disdain, her lips set in a pout that served only to accentuate the sharp curve of her cupid’s bow.

She permitted herself but a fleeting, icy glance at Richard and his latest attachment—some passing fancy of the season. Though Florence’s blood boiled with indignation at his audacity to approach at such an hour, her countenance remained a mask of perfect decorum. She offered nothing more than a nod, civil yet exceedingly brief.

"A pleasure, I am quite certain," she remarked, before turning the full radiance of her charms upon her cousin, offering a silent prayer of thanks for his presence over that of Mr. Richard.

"Mon cœur! You are my savior," she exclaimed softly. "Sean, I vow you grow more handsome with every passing sun. You look as though you have only just disembarked from the Parisian packet with me. My melancholy already begins to lift at the mere sight of you. Come, let us make haste to the carriage."

Without uttering a word of request, Abigail moved with practiced grace to place herself between Florence and Richard. She was acutely aware that a public scandal was the last thing required upon their first day back in society—most especially given the delicate nature of their current affairs.

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“Richard, I suppose I will catch up with you at the Cargo Club some time late in the week. Mrs. Graham, you are always a ray of sunshine.” Sean gave a half bow to the couple. “If you will excuse us. I am sure my cousin and her maid are quite exhausted from the crossing and I have yet to attend to their baggage. Cousin, this way.”

Sean prayed that they were fast on his heels as he started to make a path through the crowd towards the workers stacking up cargo and steamer trunks from the ship. He was still within earshot of Richard and his wife when he heard the later mention her father being aboard the Dardanelles. He continued to scan the crowd for familiar faces, hoping no one saw or overheard their conversation with the Grahams.


“Flattery will get you everywhere sweet Florence.” Sean paused for a moment to show off the silk paisley ascot beneath his overcoat. “…and yes, it is most definitely Parisian, but alas, last season.”

Sean pouted for a second before spinning on his heels and continuing to walk.


“I apologize for the delay. I hope you were not waiting too long. There was a log jam on Perry. I had to arrive by foot but I am hoping the carriage will be waiting out front. If not, I can’t imagine it will be very much longer. I will attend to the bags if you wish to head directly out if you wish to get some air.” Sean pulled out his handkerchief once more and gave it directly to Florence. “You may need this once outside. Sorry Abigale, I just have the one.”


Sean gave them both a sheepish smile before heading over to the men unloading the cargo. After a quick chat and a couple tips he managed to get some of Florence’s steamer trunks set aside. He secured the one that felt to be the most important one, then arranged for the rest to be delivered to his other cousin’s house later in the day.

When Sean got to the curb the carriage had just pulled up. He helped both his cousin and her maid in before climbing in after them. Several carriages behind Richard was helping India into theirs. Sean paused for a moment to get a better look at India’s father. He looked different somehow, but couldn’t place it.

“Again, I have to apologize. I should have anticipated something would delay me. Sarah wanted to meet you herself but, well, you’ll see for yourself when you get to her house.” Sean paused for a moment. “She did tell you that you’d be staying with her?"

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Florence cherished her cousin, though his penchant for fleeting dalliances was of a most questionable nature. She did not dwell upon his indiscretions, even when they were so grossly misconstrued as to nearly cast a shadow upon her own reputation. She felt not a shred of regret for failing to acknowledge Richard or the creature who clung to his arm like damp silk in the swelter of a July noon. It rather amused her that such a woman believed a mere display of desperation would suffice to secure a man's lasting devotion. If that woman only knew of half the adventures Richard hid she would think twice of the vows she took.

Florence and Abigail followed Sean’s lead, maintaining a brisk but thoroughly elegant pace. "Truly, as you are my most favored cousin, I have gifts in store for you," Florence remarked. "We have secured the acquaintance of several people of great influence—tastemakers who possess a most discerning eye for the coming season. We have brought back such fineries that you will be ready for the coming seasons. I believe I may even have found a trifle or two to enliven my sister’s rather somber wardrobe."

"Pray, do not apologize; your arrival was most punctual," she continued. "I am profoundly grateful that it is you who has come to receive us. I confess, the thought of who might meet us gave me no small measure of concern." Florence took his offered handkerchief, intending to pass it to Abigail—whose constitution was generally the less robust—but checked herself upon remembering they were being observed by unknown, prying eyes. Abigail, catching the subtle hesitation, offered a knowing and gentle nod.

"I had presumed I should have to attend there first, if only to ascertain the true nature of the predicament," Florence said. "Though I admit, I am largely ignorant of the gravity of the situation I am about to enter." As she adjusted her skirts to find comfort within the carriage, she gazed out the window. Sean, she noted, was surveying the surroundings with a lingering intensity. It was a look that certainly piqued her curiosity, and she resolved to extract the full truth from him at a more private hour. One where no ears would overhear.

Once he arranged himself in the carriage and they began to travel, ever so slowly, she leaned forward and took his hands in hers. "Pray tell me, Sean, how do you fare? It brings me no small measure of joy to see that you have resolved to remain in New York, yet I find myself curious, what circumstances brought about such a sudden change of heart?"

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“I should hope that I am your favorite and you are gift enough. No need to go above and beyond to curry my favor. Even on your worst day you are far more amiable than Sarah and you could never be as dull as William.” Sean had noticed the odd exchange of glances between his cousin and lady’s maid but let it drop. “…but, I will not turn down any accouterments you have found. That would be rude.”

“Attend?” Sean let the word linger in the air for a moment before answering her question. He would leave it to Sarah to explain once they arrived at her house.

“I’m doing quite well now that I don’t have a certain Miss Whitman fawning all over me in public. I do daresay I dodged a bullet with her. Your father on the other hand.” Sean gave his cousin a sympathetic look but the actual sincerity of it could have been construed as questionable. “Well, I can say I have no marriage prospects on the horizon. At least, none that I’m currently aware of.”

Sean had done rather well in avoiding being matched with a wife. Though it did help that his mother of advanced age needed tending to since the death of his father nearly a decade ago. Even more so, with the death of their grandfather. He could, and would cling to family duties for as long as humanely possible rather then get shackled to some dimwitted debutante. If he played his cards right he could stay single for years.

“I had seriously considered going out west but I cannot leave Mother. Not with how Uncle Louis has taken to Miss Whitman. He has more or less forgotten about the rest of the family.” Sean was about to elaborate when the carriage came to a halt out in front of Sarah’s new home.

Sean exited the carriage and held out his hand to his cousin. His eyes went from her face to the new house. Uncle Louis had enlisted the famed architect Richard Morris Hunt to build it directly across the street from his residence. It was a wedding gift for Sarah.

“It is…something. Isn’t it?” Sean felt the house’s exterior was too bland, too grey. “Looks a bit like a mausoleum, but don’t tell Sarah that. The house has been a touchy subject as of late. You’ll understand when you get inside.”

“I know you have been at odds with her since your birth, but go easy on her.” Sean said under his breath to Florence as they ascended the stairs to the doorman; a boy roughly the same age as Florence in livery a size too small for his stature. “Good morning Leo.”

Leo’s face lit up the moment he saw Florence and Abigale. He did his best to yank down his coat sleeves to cover his exposed wrists in an attempt to look more presentable.

“Good morning Mister Sean, Miss Florence and Abigale.” Leo stammered as he marveled at how grown up Florence appeared to be. “You look very well. I am happy to see you are back. It hasn’t been the same since you left for schooling. I mean, I’m not working for your father but sister now and…”

Leo locked eyes with Sean.

“Right, the door. I’m sorry Miss Abigale for keeping you out in the cold.” Leo opened the door. Inside, the foyer was bustling with activity. There were work crews buzzing about; some were working on plaster, some woodworking and others painting a huge mural. There were drop cloths and scaffolding throughout the room. “Miss Sarah is in the parlor with one of the junior architects. She’ll be expecting you.”

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Florence gave a genuine, warm smile upon her cousin as she listened to him speak. He was, in truth, her undisputed favorite. She had ever maintained a close bond with him, and a great many of her youthful adventures had included his presence.

"Have faith, you shall be quite taken with the articles we were able to procure for you," Florence assured him, having kept him in mind whilst they traveled the fashion districts with their newfound, influential acquaintances.

As her cousin allowed a certain word to "marinate" in the air, a shadow of worry crossed her mind. She had supposed she would simply return to the family estate after conferring with her sister for a few days' time. Yet the look upon Sean’s countenance indicated he had no intention of revealing the full truth just yet.

Florence and Abigail shared a soft, knowing chuckle as Sean waxed poetically about the perils of being "trapped" by Miss Whitman. "Well, it appears you are in excellent spirits, and anyone would be blessed to be deemed a worthy match for you. They had best match you in wit and spirit and treat you with the utmost consideration and respect. Else, they shall answer directly to me."

Florence was not pleased to hear how remiss her father had been in his care for his sister. There was absolutely no excuse for such negligence. She felt her temper begin to rise, but the brush of the cool evening air against her cheeks served to calm her agitation. This matter was far from settled, but as she stepped down from the carriage and gazed upon the plain monstrosity of her sister’s abode, she fought valiantly to suppress a roll of her eyes. Florence could not fathom why her sister had chosen to embrace such a monochrome existence.

"I shall not make her life any harder than it already is," Florence declared. "I only wish she did not choose to reside in such a stark, unadorned manner. I know Father's extravagance gave her offense, but surely there is a sensible middle ground." Before she could continue, the voice of Leo caught her attention. He had certainly matured in the intervening time, his voice possessing a depth she had never anticipated. Noticing the flush that colored Abigail's cheeks when he addressed her made Florence laugh internally. He was certainly of a sturdier build than the gentlemen they had encountered of late.

"It is good to see you as well, Leo. I do feel that matters shall liven up considerably shortly." Florence gave him a quick, conspiratorial wink before following him past the hallway—the singular area saved from her full dismay of the house due to its impressive murals. The dwelling possessed potential, after all.

"Sarah, sweet Sarah," she addressed her sister, opening her arms for a formal embrace—more for the sake of appearances than any true affection. "You bear so much upon your shoulders; I am sorry to impose. I can very well take rooms elsewhere; I do not wish to be a burden." Sarah, she knew, had never been an overly affectionate elder sister, especially when confronted with Florence’s clingy nature as a child, so she did not force the embrace.

"I can not thank you enough for sending for me in my time of need. You truly are a most benevolent and devoted sister." The words were meant to fill the ears of the architect than anyone else. Florence was well aware of how quickly word travelled and it was of the utmost importance that they hold their confidences and designs strictly within their own intimate circle, lest any breath of their intentions reach ears for which they were never intended.

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Sarah had kept herself busy the better part of the day while she waited for her sister’s arrival. Under normal circumstances she would have been sequestered in her room, bonding with little Percy but her husband Cornelius left her in the lurch the moment he learned of her correspondence with Florence.

The marriage had been contemptuous to begin with, but with each passing day she feared Cornelius resented her more and more. When she learned she was with child shortly after they exchanged vows he wasn’t elated and forbid her from making any formal announcements. In fact, he began to spend more time at the Cargo Club the further her pregnancy progressed. By the time she was put on bed rest he had moved the majority of his things to the club. After the birth of their son he cited the need to continue living apart so he could rest. A screaming infant was the last thing Cornelius wanted to deal with. He had made it a point to stop into the house from time to time to keep the tongues of society from wagging but in some respects it only made things worse.

Sarah was now left alone to raise her child and run the house, a house that was still under construction. Most days she found herself in a morning coat with disheveled hair surrounded by workers. This was one of those days.

“Sister.” Sarah could feel her back muscles tense as her little sister hugged her. No matter how hard she tried to make the embrace look natural it came off as anything but. “Cousin…I see you are as punctual as ever.”

“No matter I made the best of my time.” Sarah tapped on a set of blueprints spread out on a table before she gave a sweet smile to Florence. She knew the game they had to play while prying eyes were upon them. “Nonsense. The rooms have been prepared. The millwork was finished late last night and I apologize for the smell. The painters put the final coat on around lunch time. I believe it’s Lilac, your favorite color if I recall.”

Several workers were in the foyer packing up their things for the day by this point. A couple of them even grunted their goodbyes to ‘Mrs. Wilkens’ but the majority of them slipped out quiet as a mouse, no doubt at the behest of Sarah in the hopes of not waking up her newborn.



“No view of the park I’m afraid. All the windows face Father’s house.” Sarah had had Leo earlier in the afternoon open up the windows to air out the rooms and light a fire in preparation for Florence's arrival. She was forced to get a little creative in finalizing her sister’s rooms, but she didn’t regret for a second what she did. “I will give you a tour later and show you the nursery as well.”

“I had a boy a few weeks ago. His name is Percival.” Sarah could feel all eyes on her the minute she mentioned her son. Sean and anyone who worked inside of the house knew about the child. She suspected that word was slowly getting out to high society. Time would tell if this was going to churn the rumor mill into high gear.

Before she could elaborate on her son she heard the junior architect clear his throat. Sarah dared not to meet his gaze as she took a few steps away from him.

“Sean, you obviously know Arthur…Lowell, Mr. Lowell.” Sarah stammered a bit but powered through. “Mr. Lowell, This is my little sister Florence De Hart. I’ve mentioned her surely…Anyway, she, as you know, has been rather forlorn as of late. She will be staying here. I think we will be a great help to one another.”

As Sarah continued to talk about her son, Sean made his way over to the table with the blueprints strewn about. He made quick work of flipping through the papers to see what his cousin and her ‘Architect’ were really up to.

He found no resistance to his prying because Mr. Lowell seemed to be completely enthralled with talk of Percy. As Sean flipped over a paper the tips of his fingers got stained by fresh ink. It was a signature of a party that currently wasn’t in attendance for some place called Cape May. Sean instinctively went into his pocket to grab his kerchief to wipe off the evidence but realized Florence still had it. So, he kept his ink stained fingers hidden from view.

“Cousins? I believe I will be going since it is already getting late. I think I will supper at the Cargo Club.” He looked over at the architect. “Mr. Lowell, I suppose you have somewhere to be.”



"I will call a carriage for us." Before Arthur could protest Sean continued. “I insist.”

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Florence was taken aback a bit by how her sister felt in their embrace. She had been around several women during and after their pregnancies, yet it seemed to her that her sister appeared even more slight of frame than before her delicate condition had begun.

"Such an undertaking. You are far too kind. You have surely exerted yourself beyond all measure during these first weeks of devotion to your little bundle of joy. I am quite certain the child is a most handsome fellow, as his mother is a woman of great beauty. I myself can not wait to meet him. Speaking of your progeny, pray, where is Mr. Wilkens? I should fully expect to find him strutting about like a peacock, so puffed with pride at having been blessed with an heir."

Florence maintained a countenance of perfect cordiality, though in truth, she remained entirely unimpressed by her sister’s husband; indeed, she had found him wanting from the very hour of their introduction.

"Percival, after your grandfather, what a lovely tribute to such an honorable man." Or least Florence hoped that was reason her sister had named her son such. She absolutely noticed the alertness of architect when her sister spoke of her son.

There had been such a whirlwind of activity in the scant few hours since she had come to port that it quite made her senses reel and her head spin.

"I am honored to make your acquaintance Mr. Lowell." As she bowed her head to him slightly. He seemed vaguely familiar, she tried to place where she had seen him before. While she made polite introductions Abigail caught Sean's movements, she noted to ask him what had him about it at a later time.

"I pray you return on the morrow, so that I might present you with the tokens I have brought, and allow me to express my gratitude once more for your most gallant escort to this house." Florence hugged her cousin, pressing their cheek briefly on each side before giving him a knowing smile. He was up to something and her curiosity was piqued.

"Sarah, I humbly implore you, might we take our evening repast in a less formal manner? I find the lingering effects of the sea voyage still weigh heavily upon me, and I fear I should prove but a dull companion at a structured table. On the morrow, once I have regained my strength, I shall be most glad to assist in overseeing the arrangements for a proper sit down dinner." Leo had walked over and given the slightest sign that others were listening so Florence knew she needed to find a way to get time alone with her sister.

"I would further entreat of you that, once I have attended to my toilette and shaken off the dust of travel, I might be permitted an introduction to my nephew—provided, of course, that it meets with your approval." Florence felt a stir of genuine anticipation at the prospect of the meeting. She had taken great care to procure a rattle of the finest sterling silver, elegantly engraved with the name Wilkens, for she didn't know whether the child was master or a miss before her departure from French shores. She had barely been made aware that her sister was with child.

As her cousin took his leave with Mr. Lowell, Florence followed Sarah as she directed her to where she would be staying for the time being. As they made their way to the hall she did indeed see their father's home. A subtle tremor of irritation coursed through her body, it remained entirely imperceptible to the casual observer. From the tender years of her youth, Florence had mastered the art of composing her features into a mask of serene indifference. She had learned to curtail every gesture and fleeting expression, rendering her thoughts a locked cabinet which few, if any, possessed the key to decipher. Her mother had relentlessly instilled in her the adage that a young lady of quality is to be seen and not heard, and that which is seen must remain at all times pleasant and free from the stain of judgment. Florence was not born with it, but rigorously trained into.

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Sarah nodded and smiled as she allowed her sister to compliment her and Percy. She had to admit her little sister was laying it on pretty thick for the help’s prying ears. It really wasn’t necessary. Most of the help were from their Father’s household originally and they knew the history between the siblings.

“The wet nurse is with Percy but you can see him when I relieve her for the evening. I’m guessing by your lack of surprise that Sean had written about my condition.” Sarah kept her expression blank as Florence mentioned her maternal grandfather. Cornelius wasn’t exactly thrilled when she came up with the name but she had waited nearly three days for her husband’s input on the matter. “Of course my Grand Papa is his namesake. Don’t be silly.”

“Tea will be at the usual time Sean.” Sarah felt the weight lift the moment her cousin and Arthur left. Before she exited the parlor she arranged all the papers on the table into a neat stack. She didn’t think they had left the papers so strewn about, but it didn’t matter, they were now where they needed to be.

“I hadn’t planned on a formal dinner. Between your travels and Cornelius working late I thought better of it. Leo? Tell cook that we will be taking dinner in Florence’s room. I will be showing her now where to freshen up.” Sarah turned to look over Abigale. “Abigale, I can tend to your mistress. I know it has been a long journey for you as well. Take the rest of the night off.”

“Oh, and Miss Abigale, I believe you will be in the same room as the scullery maid.” Sarah pointed to the servant stairs leading down into the basement before motioning for Leo to show her. The ‘boy’ blinked a few times, confused for a moment by his mistresses request. He had been too busy staring at Florence all doe eyed, taking in how much she had blossomed over this past year. “LEO will show you to your chambers and introduce you to the staff. You’ll find many familiar faces down there.”

Sarah spun on her heel and made her way up the sweeping staircase towards Florence’s room, deftly avoiding scaffolding, paint cans and drop cloths. The mural flanked either side of the marble staircase, depicting a landscape peppered with various indigenous trees found in Italy. While they weren’t painted in, it was apparent in the rudimentary sketches that it included what would be vibrant oleander, laurel, stone pines, pomegranate and olive bushes. There was a space near the center of one of the murals that looked uneven. The plaster had a thick coat of white washed overtop it.

“Tivoli. If the muralist can get it correct. He’s tried three times but can’t seem to capture it.” Sarah didn’t know if Florence’s eye had been drawn to the imperfection but thought it best just to get the topic out of the way. This was going to be the first of many topics she’d have to broach before the night was through.

“I am hoping the accommodations meet up to your expectations.” Sarah closed the doors and made her way over to the open windows, closing them as well. She stoked the fire and sat down on the settee beside it. Sarah, patted the spot next to her. “…and I will cut through the formalities.”

“After Father married me off and sent you for schooling abroad he dismissed his staff. He also decided to get rid of anything else that reminded him of your dear Mama. I know her and I were at odds from time to time. I also know now that I am a mother, that she tried her best with me. It must have been hard raising two children that were not her kin. That said, the day I found all of her belongings and yours, out on the curb is the day I wrote to you.” Sarah looked over to the trunks stacked up in the corner. “I had Leo and the rest of the staff grab what they could. I would like to think I managed to get all of it but I do not know when father had disposed of everything and I didn’t become aware until noon that day.”

“I am furious with Father; his behavior and actions. I am angry he pawned me off to a man who could be my grandsire, a man who prefers his friends call him Corn.” Sarah wanted to scream from the rafters how much she wanted her husband to just die already. Though, she suspected men like him and their father would find a way to live forever, probably in sucking up the life essence of each of their young brides. “The indignities I have faced, hearing women snicker in dark corners when someone says corn, in what is, they claim, normal conversation.”

“I am sorry. Just before the baby was born I’d get all worked up like this. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I am just very concerned for Father and I am truly glad you are here.” Sarah was wringing her hands as she got up and made her way over to the door. She cracked it open. “Siobhan, Bring my son into my sister’s room and then you’ll be dismissed for the evening.”

Sarah took the swaddled infant from the woman, a portly redhead not much older than her. Siobhan nodded and as she turned to go Sarah cleared her throat to get her attention once more. “Servant’s stairs.”

“May I introduce you to Mr. Percival Wilkens” Sarah laid the infant into Florence’s arms.

Chapter Text

Sean had put pen to paper regarding Sarah’s delicate condition. The matter bewildered him greatly, for most had been of the opinion that he was no longer capable of undertaking those husbandly obligations which might result in Sarah’s being with child. Florence, upon hearing of it, was quite glad that the correspondence and idle musings were not made public, for within them lay sentiments best kept from curious eyes.

“He most certainly did,” she declared, her tone pleasant. “He was quite overjoyed, you know—you are the first among us to bear a child. Well… you know precisely what I mean.”

She lifted her brows meaningfully, for there had long been whisperings of wayward offspring said to share their brother’s likeness—rumors hastily denied or quietly made to vanish as all such awkward things must. Anything that may cause their father to discomfort would swiftly be dealt with. Made Florence think of her schooling abroad.

Florence felt her heart drop a bit, since they had departed the States, Abigail had been by her side. In fact, she had been by her side since the passing of her mother. Florence knew it was proper conduct for Abigail to stay in the servants quarters. Abroad though, Abigail's accommodations were attached to Florence's. Abigail was Florence's closest confidant, and honestly her best friend. Though she knew that no one else could be made aware of that. She got caught in thought so much that she did not notice Leo's attentions.

"I will see you in the morning Abigail. Please rest up." Florence kept her tone even and followed her sister quickly. She could feel the tension as her sister went over the mural. Florence had not took notice of the white wash and was certainly not making judgement on her sister's home.

"I pray he may give form to your vision, this room will be a delight." Florence took a moment to envision it before catching up to her sister.

Florence looked about the accommodations with a discerning eye. It was appointed with a quiet elegance that bespoke a surprisingly keen memory on her sister’s part. The delicate wash of lilac upon the walls and the graceful sweep of the draperies surrounding the four-poster bed evoked a sudden, sharp pang of nostalgia for her girlhood quarters in her father’s house. "You have been most attentive, Sarah; I thank you," Florence remarked, her lips curving into a soft smile as she deposited her hat and gloves upon the vanity before divesting herself of her traveling cloak.

Her gaze then fell upon the trunks, and the air seemed to vanish from the room. A strangled sob rose in her throat, which she fought to suppress as Sarah recounted the cold-blooded treachery their father had visited upon her dear mother and herself. Her eyes fluttered pushing away unshed tears as her heart heavy with the knowledge that her mother’s earthly treasures had been abandoned to the elements. It was a bitter realization—that years of devotion had been poured into a man who, in the end, held her mother in no higher esteem than common refuse.

"Whatever grievances may have passed between you, she loved. Never permit yourself to doubt it," Florence said, though a shadow crossed her face. The memories of her own childhood, and the perceived favoritism shown towards Sarah, were never far from her thoughts. She remembered vividly the countless times she had been urged to be "more like Sarah," to emulate her sister's seemingly flawless demeanor. She recalled her mother's careful selection of fabrics, chosen not for Florence, but for the way they would enhance Sarah's complexion. And then, there was the ultimate gesture, a painful memory that still pricked at her heart: the gift of her great-grandmother’s pearls, bestowed upon Sarah on their mother's deathbed, a final confirmation of her belief that the eldest daughter held a singular place in her affections.

Florence was roused from her thoughts by her sister's animated tone. She nearly clutched her chest as she had not often seen Sarah so passionate. Hearing the nickname was another moment of containing her facial expression, she wished with all of her heart that Abigail was there to witness that peculiar outburst from Sarah. Florence took her sister's hands before the governess made her way down the hall.

"Spare me your apologies, they are not needed. We shall see this through, united. I am certain that with our combined determination and the aid of well-placed persons, our success is assured. " Just then the woman entered the room and Sarah took her son. It almost seemed as if Sarah soften, if only for a moment before she straightened up and reminded Siobhan of her station.

Taking a seat on the settee, she accepted the baby into her arms and released a breath she had not known she was holding. Her eyes took in all of his features, taking her index finger to move the well crafted fabric back to see what tresses lie beneath.

"Greetings, Master Percival Wilkens. You are a most handsome young gentleman, indeed. I am your Aunt Florence, and it is my sincere prayer that you shall grow into a man of great strength and enduring happiness." She gave an earnest smile and touched his cheek before looking up to her sister. "...and that you shall acquire considerable worldly wealth while always guided by an unimpeachable moral compass."

Chapter Text

Sarah watched carefully as her little sister held Percy. She seemed to be a natural and would no doubt, in due course, become an excellent mother. Sarah didn’t interrupt the interaction when Florence gave Percy his new rattle. Despite the fact that his little fingers couldn’t quite grasp the stem he was enthralled with it none the less. His eyes wide like saucers as he stared at its polished finish. The rattle slipped Percy’s grip and clattered on the wood floor, causing the infant to become bewildered.

Was it the sound or the simple fact that the rattle seemed to disappear I thin air? It didn’t matter for long because Percy redirected his attention to Florence, giving her a grunt and a half smile.

“I don’t know what he loves more, you or the gift. Thank you for this. It is really thoughtful of you.” Sarah bent over to pick the rattle up from the floor and noted the engraving. “This is perfect. Something he can pass down to his own son.”

It made Sarah think about family heirlooms and how they seem to be the most precious items to have because it was a sweet reminder of those that have long shook off their mortal coil.

“Almost forgot.” Sarah walked over to the bed and grabbed a long box wrapped in what appeared to be butcher paper and held together by twine. She placed the box on the settee next to Florence. “This was amongst your dear Mama’s things.”

“I thought you would want this.” Inside the box was a compass, astrolabe and looking glass telescope. Each segment of the telescope consisted of finely etched filagree brass with the exception of the thinnest section. That segment had the name of Florence’s grandfather; her mother’s father. “I had the glass repaired.”

Sarah cleared her throat before grabbing Percy from her sister’s arms. The infant cradled into her bosom as she started to pace the floors.

“I have ideas for your debut. Obviously, we will schedule it at a time that is best for you and doesn’t conflict with any other social events. Which reminds me, there is tea tomorrow afternoon at Mrs. Whitman’s if you feel compelled to join me.” Sarah knew Rosemary and her mother would not be expecting Florence since no one knew she was home. They also would not refuse them at the door either. “You do not have to attend either. Until your return becomes public knowledge you are perfectly welcome to sequester yourself. You are under no obligation.”

“I, unfortunately have to be in attendance.” Sarah grimaced at the thought. “You can decide on the morrow if…”

Sarah’s brow furrowed the moment she heard the commotion coming from downstairs. It started with the slam of the front door, followed by a raised voice and then heavy footfalls ascending the grand staircase.

Cornelius was home.

Chapter Text

Florence was very at ease with him in her arms. He was such a gentle child. She had thought he would begin to fuss when he lost the rattle but he quickly redirected his attention to her.

"I can most solemnly say that I held no stock in the notion of love at first sight, until the very moment I beheld the radiance of his smile. It shall be my singular honor to serve as his most devoted and dutiful Aunt." Florence spoke as she stared into his eyes as he cooed and wiggled gently.

As her sister cradled Percy to her breast, Florence was seized by a fleeting sense of normality. It was a moment in which she experienced that same quietude which she presumed to be the common lot of most families. With a soft breath she quickly brought herself back to the moment.

Tears pricked her eyes as her fingers traced the intricate filigree of the heirloom. Her heart was once more broken, as the sheer depth of her father’s cruelty caused her very soul to recoil . Beneath her touch, she found the delicate cursive: Florencio—her grandfather’s name, and that of his father before him, and yet his father before that. These cherished relics had braved the vast expanse of the sea, accompanying her grandfather when he was but a small child seeking his fortunes in America.

"Gratitude alone is a poor pittance for such a service; I find myself most deeply in your debt for salvaging this precious part of my history."

Florence swallowed her emotions and nodded along with her sister as she spoke of her debut.

"I differ to you on all matters of my debut. I trust in your decisions." Florence stood and held her chin up as to not allow the weight of their father's fallen state to show on her shoulders. She had truly never dwelled on her debut as that was something her mother would have handled. "As for tea tomorrow, I think it best for me to stay behind. It is my earnest hope that I might secure some small measure of intelligence, spared from the encumbrance of the general public being made privy to my return." Florence was determined to make things right, so much seemed amiss and it was draining her at the thought of smiling in the face of her father's Lorette.

The look on her sister's face as the noise made its way up the stairs made Florence wonder what state this marriage was in. "Shall I tend Percival while you greet your husband? Or would you prefer me to greet him by your side?"

Chapter Text

The wheels were already in motion as Sarah thought about Florence’s debut. She could already picture the event, at her home of course, once the renovations were complete. A themed masquerade ball that would be the talk of the town and envy of every of age woman throughout the five boroughs. Sarah would get to work on the plans immediately, should Florence wish to be out in society post haste.

Sarah nodded at Florence’s rejection of afternoon tea. She wished she could have done the same but had thrice turned downtime Whitmans. A forth time would no doubt be a clear slight against the family. Made no matter that she had been heavy with child at the time.

Before she could answer her sister there was a very brisk but distinct knock at the door. Sarah hadn’t even had the chance to answer as the door swung open revealing her geriatric husband. Somehow Sarah managed to mask the shock from her face. She hadn’t expected Cornelius to come home, nor barge right into Florence’s room.

“Pardon the intrusion. The servants told me that the two of you were in here. Sister, I hope the journey was not too difficult.” Cornelius gave a slight bow to Florence before entering the room. “I will not take up much of your time. I just wanted to bid you welcome to my home.”

“You are welcome for as long as you like and I am at your disposal.” He was, if nothing, the picture perfect gentleman in that moment. Cornelius glanced over to Sarah holding his son. The expression upon his face conveyed something only Sarah seemed to grasp as she lowered her gaze. “Motherhood suits her, don’t you think Florence?”

“I sometimes think she forgets that she has a husband. I was surprised that dinner was not going to be served in the dining room tonight.” Cornelius’s smile was unsettling as he continued to stare at Sarah. “I told the help to have a tray sent to you Florence.”

“Wife? We should let your sister get settled in.” Cornelius held open the door and waited for Sarah to comply. She gave a curt nod and murmured her goodnight to Florence. As Sarah exited the room, Abigale arrived, tray in hand. “Ah, right on time. We will leave you to your supper.”

“Sarah…what are you up to now?” Cornelius muttered under his breath as he followed her to her bedchambers. He knew she was up to something and he was going to find out exactly what that was.

Chapter Text

Florence held steady as to not show that she was startled by his abrupt entrance.

"Dear Brother, thank you for granting me the favor of your audience. Believe me when I say that I am profoundly sensible of your gracious hospitality, which has quite overwhelmed me with its warmth." Florence gave him quick curtesy as she tried to grasp the dynamics between her sister and Cornelius.

"My dear sister is a mother by nature's own hand. What a handsome and sweet-tempered boy you have! I am most confident he will grow to uphold the honor of the family with great distinction." She smiled with honest joy.

Florence immediately approached Cornelius, placing her hand gently on his arm and looking up at him with eyes widened in earnest appeal, she spoke.

"I am wholly to blame for that transgression, my dear Cornelius. I was so overcome with fatigue from the arduous journey that I prevailed upon her to accompany me to my chambers; I was, in truth, in desperate need of my sister's comforting presence. Once I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of my sweet nephew, time seemed to elude us, and I am the one who inadvertently detained her from her rightful duties. I give you my word I shall be ever so mindful hereafter."

"I bid you a fitful rest and look forward to spending time with you in the near future. Thank you again dear sister for all you had done." Florence signed heavily once they were out of the room and Abigail was there.

"We have so much to find out." She hugged her as soon as she set the tray down and sighed heavily.

Abigail hugged her back and chuckled a bit. Whispering in her lady's ear. "The house is quite filled with a most distressing atmosphere. I fear the servants are talking; they note how seldom the Master is seen in these rooms, and there is a great deal of quiet speculation as to why he shuns his poor wife’s society. There are so many whispers abroad, I hardly know what to believe."

Chapter Text

26 January 1880

Sarah had been woken up some time after midnight by Percy’s cries. This was a common occurrence, though she feared he may wake up Cornelius in his adjacent bedchamber. She crept out of her bed and padded her way over to his crib to sooth the infant. After a feeding and a lullaby that was barely a whisper the tyke was back down and sleeping soundly.

Sarah however was wide awake, the ruminations of her early conversation with Cornelius plagued her. What did this all mean for her? Was this going to change everything she had carefully curated since her nuptials to him?

She found herself slinking out of her room. Gasoliers illuminated her path down to the servants quarters. The fixtures were strategically placed along the stairwells and corridors for maximum illumination. The type of lighting was a relatively modern feature in the home and she was thankful that she no longer had to rely on candles in the middle of the night.

Sarah was specifically seeking out the larder; which contained, what she hoped, were leftovers from dinner. As she reached the cupboard she realized she was not alone.

“Leo? Are you well?” She looked over the boy as he sat at the wooden table. He appeared to be working on something. As she took a closer look she realized he was trying to tailor his livery.

“Yes, Miss De Har…Mistress. I couldn’t sleep and I thought perhaps I could lengthen the hem on this.” Leo wiped the sleep from his eyes before returning his full concentration on the sewing needle.

“Leave that to my Ladies maid or perhaps Abigale may help you.” Sarah was planning on giving all the help new uniforms but since Percy’s arrival she’s barely had time for anything. She would make time to circle back to that. There was enough gossip floating about that involved her household. She didn’t want it to flow freely from her servants mouths because they were being ill-treated, ignored or not having their basic needs met. “Since you are awake. Could you perhaps run an errand?”

“Fetch some paper, two envelopes and a quill from the parlor…” Sarah looked through the cupboard shelves at the food available and was dismayed at how scarce it was, save a couple slices of leftover Centennial Cake. “…and you can have the last slice with me but keep it secret between us.”

Sarah was certain none of the other help was current awake and that everyone was neatly tucked in their beds. She had just assumed that Abigale had readied Florence for bed and immediately returned to her new quarters.

When Leo returned with the supplies Sarah scribbled out two very brief notes and stuffed them into the envelopes. She wrote the recipient’s names on the outside and made Leo stuff them into his pocket.

“As soon as you finish your slice you must deliver the letters. It cannot wait for morning.” Sarah quickly ate her slice and crept back upstairs to her room.


Chapter Text

The hour was far too early for any soul to disturb Mrs. Robinson as she lay entrenched in slumber. The gentle touch of her lady’s maid sought to rouse her, yet the previous evening’s festivities—a most spirited assembly that had lasted well into the wee hours—rendered the prospect of wakefulness quite intolerable.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion, Dahlia?” Pearl growled, retreating beneath the heavy counterpane.

“A missive has arrived, Ma’am, from your friend, Mrs. Sarah Wilkens.” Dahlia extended the envelope. The maid had been summoned to the servants’ entrance at the first grey light of dawn; she herself had been deep in dreams when Leo insisted he would relinquish the parcel to no hand but hers.

Pearl instantly cast aside the linens and sat upright. With a sharp gesture toward the oil lamp, she took the letter and broke the seal with care. As Dahlia turned the wick higher to cast a warm glow across the chamber, Pearl’s eyes scanned the script. A heavy, exasperated sigh escaped her, and she collapsed back against her pillows, pressing the back of her hand to her brow in a fit of pique.

“Dahlia, you must lay out the cyan tea gown and the coordinating millinery. It appears there is an engagement I am compelled to attend.” Her displeasure was most palpable; Sarah should surely find herself in a position of great debt for this imposition.

“Very good, Mistress Robinson. Shall I send word to the stables to have the carriage readied?” Dahlia moved toward the mahogany wardrobe to commence her search.

“Indeed, but grant me a couple hours more of peace. And pray, fetch me a prairie oyster upon your return,” Pearl commanded, dismissing the girl before clutching her dream pillow and turning away, effectively silencing any further inquiry.

Chapter Text

Sarah was unable to return to sleep after her encounter with Leo, hoping beyond hope that he was able to complete the task she set forth. Though he was close in age to Florence she caught herself treating him as if he were a child. There was something odd about the boy, like he needed to be protected, but she couldn’t fathom why she was compelled to do so.

She spent the rest of the night pacing and plotting. Cornelius had certainly made things difficult by returning home and she hoped that this ‘visit’ was just for show and that he’d be back at the club in a few days. Maybe he was doing it to keep the rumors at bay but she doubted it. She needed to figure out what his angle was and quick so that she could combat it.

Sarah laid out several gowns that she’d wear over the course of the day. Her breaking fast dress was comprised of a cream colored linen skirt and morning wrap, both having delicate embroideries of violets upon the hems. Matching wool stockings and lavender slippers with her needle handiwork completed the look.

Her house dress ensemble included a corset, periwinkle cotton sateen petticoat, corset covering and tea gown with a tie-on pocket hidden beneath the layers. It was the most layers she had worn in weeks but she knew she couldn’t continue to wear her flannel night clothes no that her husband was staying.

A couple rouge pieces were draped over her settee as well. Four different colored overskirts to place over her lilac day dress. The colors ranged from a powder blue up to a rich violet. Her high neck bodice was trimmed out with white lace and heavily braided panels mimicking climbing wisteria.

All she had to do was find the perfect combination for her tea outing. This would mark her first semi public outing since Percy’s birth. She had to make a lasting impression. Society needed to be talking about how she looked and not about her household.

As for her final wardrobe change of the day she had two options. Both were opulent in their own respects. It all came down to a matter of where she would be spending the evening. If it was at home it would be the royal blue with the multilayered train. If it was the opera, it would be the low cut ruby red satin paired with her favorite tiara. She supposed it all came down to Cornelius’s mood as to where the evening would take them.

Sarah’s mind trailed off to the last time she was at The Academy. It was with her cousin Sean because Cornelius thought Opera’s were pointless. She couldn’t remember the name of the opera being performed because she was far too enthralled with the other company that night in their box; Pearl and Arthur. The later had escorted Mrs. Pearl Robinson as his plus one that evening at the behest of Cornelius’s invitation. Pearl and Arthur were related somehow; by blood, by marriage, Sarah couldn’t recall. She was far too busy engaging in conversation with Arthur every chance she could get. Pearl was also a wonderful conversationalist and Sarah felt as if the two of them hit it off straight away. It felt as if she had known Pearl since childhood she was so easy to talk to.

Sarah was still daydreaming about that night and the subsequent stolen glances between her and Arthur when her ladies maid knocked on her chamber door. She quickly composed herself, wiping the stray hairs from her face before speaking.

“You may enter.” Sarah made her way over to her vanity and sat down on the plush ottoman. “How are the preparations going downstairs and is my sister awake?"

Chapter Text

"Everything is progressing most favorably, Madam. The workers arrived and are preparing to continue yesterday's tasks, the Master’s luncheon is prepared, and young Master Percival has fed well and settled for his nap."

Etna continued her duties, assisting Mrs. Sarah with her morning toilette. Before attending to the gowns, she approached the vanity where her mistress sat. "Leo requested I deliver this to you, Madam." She presented a correspondence detailing the hour Mrs. Pearl would arrive with the carriage. The letter was hurried and faint, as though penned before the lady had even left her bed.

"Shall I dress your hair in an upward sweep, Madam, or do you prefer it loose for the early hours?" Etna began to draw the bristle brush through her lady's tresses with a gentle hand.

"Indeed, Abigail is attending to her now. We have carried up several pails of hot water so Miss Florence might wash the brine from her skin and hair. Leo is fetching the steamer trunks that arrived this morning; Miss Florence mentioned she brought something from abroad for you to wear to the tea service, should it please you." Etna caught her lady’s gaze in the mirror and smiled softly, noting the weary lines upon her face but maintaining a respectful silence.

Florence was occupied with the steamer trunks that Leo had brought to her chambers during her bath. She had a particular tea gown of the Venetian style, a luxurious garment in the artistic fashion of the day, which she intended to offer her sister for the upcoming event. It was a piece commissioned by an admirer who sought to win her affections with a lavish display of silks, plush velvets, and fine jewels. She could scarcely contain a giggle as she discovered it and began to unpack the delicate layers herself, before Abigail hurried to intervene.

"I beg you, Miss, allow me to attend this," Abigail insisted, gently taking the garment. "Mrs. Sarah would have my head were I to let you fret over the linens yourself. Pray, decide what you wish to wear for the morning's calls." Abigail shook her head with a playful tsk as she deftly managed the heavy fabrics. "I must insist you sit by the hearth, Miss, lest you take a chill after your immersion." Once the frock was carefully laid out, Abigail used a square of silk to absorb the remaining dampness from her mistress's hair before drawing the bristle brush through her dark tresses.

"I shall wear the morning gown adorned with the lilies of the valley, Abigail. Tell me, have you gathered any further intelligence regarding the goings-on at my father’s estate? What have the staff been whispering concerning this new fortune hunter who so occupies my father’s time and attentions?" Florence had thought on this all evening, interrupting her slumber often.

Chapter Text

“Very good.” Sarah deftly opened the letter from Pearl, her eyes hungrily pouring over her friends correspondence. She knew she could count on her for help in distracting her husband. She tucked the note back into the envelope before stuffing it into the tie-on pocket. It would have to be properly disposed of later, preferably away from prying eyes. Though she trusted her help to a degree, she knew that if enough coin was involved even the tightest of lips would loosen.

“I think upward. I do not know what the day holds and I’d rather not have to fuss with it later.” Sarah knew she was going to have to be punctual to the Whitman’s that afternoon. Waiting on her hair to be properly coifed would not be an excuse the elder Whitman woman would accept. “Should I go to the Opera tonight, have Helen retrieve my opals.”

“Glad to hear that Abigale Is so attentive of my sister. What are your thought’s on her maid? Please speak plainly Etna. I wish to get your read on her.” Over the past year Sarah was finding herself to become more bold in questioning the staff. She didn’t care if it put them at ease or on edge. She was truly curious but above all, a test. Every word and inflection had a purpose. “That’s sweet of Leo to accommodate Florence, but he needs to take care with Mr. Wilkens around.”

Sarah knew that Etna would warn Leo and the rest of the staff that protocol needed to be followed while Cornelius was creeping about. The stodgy old man would bristle if he saw how Sarah was delegating things in his absence. It wasn’t the old way, but it was efficient and more importantly, it worked.

“I will Madam.” Etna placed the brush on the vanity before tending to Sarah’s hair. Though her finger’s were beginning to suffer from the onset of arthritis she deftly braided her mistresses hair in an intricate pattern. The braided strands of jet black hair were woven together, encasing a low bun at the nape of her neck. “Abigale, has asked the usual questions about how the household is run, names, their stations and..”

Etna hesitated for a moment before reaching for a hair pin to secure Sarah’s hair.


“Your father. No one said anything false. Leo mentioned how he had turned all of us out right after your nuptials to Mr. Wilkens. How you championed for us…to which we are all so grateful.” Etna’s brow furrowed a bit. “No one mentioned how tight Mr. Wilkens holds the purse strings nor the stipulation of your sister’s dowery.”

“Anyway, that should do it.” Etna marveled at her work for a moment before allowing Sarah to stand. She moved towards the door, cracked it open and could hear the house coming alive for breakfast. “If I may say so, you look so much like your dear mama Katherine.”

“I will inform the staff that you are on the way down to break your fast.”


Chapter Text

Florence was occupied with the steamer trunks that Leo had brought to her chambers during her bath. She had a particular tea gown of the Venetian style, a luxurious garment in the artistic fashion of the day, which she intended to offer her sister for the upcoming event. It was a piece commissioned by an admirer who sought to win her affections with a lavish display of silks, plush velvets, and fine jewels. She could scarcely contain a giggle as she discovered it and began to unpack the delicate layers herself, before Abigail hurried to intervene.

"I beg you, Miss, allow me to attend this," Abigail insisted, gently taking the garment. "Mrs. Sarah would have my head were I to let you fret over the linens yourself. Pray, decide what you wish to wear for the morning's calls." Abigail shook her head with a playful tsk as she deftly managed the heavy fabrics. "I must insist you sit by the hearth, Miss, lest you take a chill after your immersion." Once the frock was carefully laid out, Abigail used a square of silk to absorb the remaining dampness from her mistress's hair before drawing the bristle brush through her dark tresses.

"I shall wear the morning gown adorned with the lilies of the valley, Abigail. Tell me, have you gathered any further intelligence regarding the goings-on at my father’s estate? What have the staff been whispering concerning this new fortune hunter who so occupies my father’s time and attentions?" Florence had thought on this all evening, interrupting her slumber often.

Abigail deftly twisted several stray locks to ensure they remained clear of her lady's face, allowing the remaining tresses to cascade down her back in a dark silk fall. Having completed the coiffure, she assisted her lady into the day’s ensemble.

"The greater part of the household staff has been drawn from your father’s own estate, Miss Florence," Abigail remarked, her voice hushed with gravity. "His Lordship has seen fit to dismiss nearly the whole of them, and with such suddenness as to be quite uncharitable. It is a most distressing affair."

Abigail moved with practiced grace around her mistress, smoothing the skirts of the morning dress to ensure every button and lace met the strict requirements of decorum, Florence had done well to select this dress as she would be breaking her fast with her sister... And her husband. Florence was now far more encased in high-necked silk and lace than had been her custom during their lighter mornings abroad; judging by the weary set of Florence’s features, the lady found this return to rigid formality a tedious burden indeed.

"Well, we must not be found dilatory in our duties; it would not do to keep the household waiting on our first morning," Florence remarked, her gaze lingering on the exquisite garment. "Pray, see that this gown is delivered to my sister’s chambers once our morning business is concluded. It may serve as a necessary reminder to certain personages that she remains a lady of consequence in the eyes of Society." She offered a wry, knowing smile as she surveyed the fine Venetian craftsmanship of the masterpiece.

Chapter Text

Sarah stared into the looking glass, taking one last deep breath before standing up. She didn’t know what was in store for her once she reached the breakfast room and hoped upon hope that the other letter got into her cousin’s hands. Those hopes were dashed as she descended the stairs to come face to face with Sean.

“What are you doing here?” Sarah growled under her breath through gritted teeth before kissing both of his cheeks and smiling.

“Breakfast?” Sean was still wearing his clothing from the previous day and he reeked of liquor and cigars. Despite this, his clothes were immaculate; not a wrinkle in sight or a hair out of place. He handed his overcoat, walking stick and hat off to Leo. “Are we not doing breakfast?”

Sean flashed her a wicked grin before looping his arm within hers. He continued with the jovial humor until he heard Sarah mention a note.

“Darling I never went home last night.” The smile faded from his lips when he felt Sarah tighten her grip on his arm. “What has you in a mood? Your young architect spurn your…”

“Spurn what exactly cousin?” Before Sean could finish his sentence he saw Cornelius coming down the steps. The man’s fuzzy eyebrow was arched as he starred down at the two of them. The scowl on his face was all Sean needed to know that the man was in a foul mood.

“Spurn her ideas, of course. The mural hasn’t been to my lady cousin’s liking…as you can see.” Sean watched the man carefully as he looked over his shoulder at the heavily plastered wall. The old man grunted before walking down the final steps. “She has a keen eye for things…if she were a man, I daresay a visionary.”

“Speaking of visions…” Sean looked back up to the top of the stairs to see Florence. “You look much refreshed. I trust you slept well last night.”

Chapter Text

Florence looked down upon the unfolding scene. She found herself in quite the impasse, did she make her presences known or stay silent and observe. There was a lot to observe. Florence felt the sharp poke in her rib and knew Abigail was urging her on. Seemed that she had gone soft since they arrived.

"Dear Sean, so good to see you this morn. I slept soundly, due to my most hospital brother Cornelius and sweet sister Sarah. I am profoundly grateful for such accommodations." Florence descended the stairs elegantly, she gave a respectful curtsy to her brother in law before turning to her sister and cousin. "Sarah, you are truly a vision this morning; the bloom of motherhood has lent a sublime radiance to your countenance that is quite beyond compare."

Florence could feel the tension and it was palpable. Looking at her cousin as she approached his opposite side from Sarah.

"I am quite certain we are all positively famished by now, and I feel there is a great abundance of news for us to share. I know Sarah was just telling me last evening of issue recreating a Tivoli scene. Shall we proceed to the table and break our fast?" Florence stayed back, allowing Cornelius to lead them in as the man of the house.

Chapter Text

“You are very welcome Sister.” Cornelius about purred as he looked over Florence, approving of her attire. It wasn’t an ostentatious display nor vulgar, which he was thankful for. Hopefully she would continue to dress modestly once she is seen out in public,

“Don’t wait for me, by any account.” Cornelius had noticed that only Florence had stood her ground while his wife and their cousin made their way towards the breakfast room. To say he was disappointed would be an understatement. Seemed that only his sister in law had any sort of manners and was aware of protocol.

“I will take it from here.” Cornelius offered his arm to Florence and waved away Abigale. He then waited for his wife to stop in her tracks. “It is fine. Not like I own the place and pay the staff’s wages.”

If he had to threaten to dismiss the staff he wouldn’t hesitate. In his eyes most of the one’s that came from their father’s estate were unnecessary, starting with that sad excuse of a footman. He was barely a man and Cornelius suspected he probably only had two hairs, if that, on his balls. That’s if they had even descended.

Sean and Sarah stopped just short of the door and waited.

“You must tell me all about your studies abroad. I am quite sad that you felt compelled to return to New York. I must say I hope that once you are in better spirits you can return to the continent to finish your schooling.” Cornelius deftly maneuvered Florence around his wife and Sean to get into the room, noticing only three places were set out.

The ‘footboy’ had a look of shock upon his face before scampering out of the room.

Curious.

“I would like for you to sit to my right. Sean, to my left. I insist. We have much to discuss.” Cornelius pulled out the chair for Florence and watched as Sean sat down directly across from her. Cornelius seated himself at the head of the table just as the scullery maid came in with cutlery for the far end of the table. “You don’t mind Darling?”

Cornelius surveyed the spread. The staff had truly outdone themselves. Which, considering what he paid, it should look impeccable. He was however, disappointed, not in the presentation but in the amount. They made far too much. He was going to have to have a chat with cook about having less variety and less abundance. It was wasteful.

“Coffee, black, for myself and my wife…” Cornelius then dictated exactly what Sarah was going to consume. “We can’t have you eating too many scones Darling, you’ll ruin your figure.”

“I am sorry Florence. You were about to tell me of your studies. Pray, tell me, what was your favorite subject and did you have any favorite leisure activities? I found during my schooling I very much enjoyed fencing and marksmanship.” The later had come into use when he fought in the war. He was convinced that formal training in his heyday was what kept him alive at Gettysburg. 


Chapter Text

Florence was not sure what exactly was going on but she saw certain patterns clearly. Cornelius was obviously not around very often, the way her sister and cousin move about. Even the way the staff acted made it crystal clear that this was not routine. She took his arm and gave him a gentle smile.

"My dearest Cornelius, I am truly overwhelmed by your goodness. Sister was telling me only last evening of the marvelous improvements you have made to the estate, it is a testament to your fine taste and your most generous heart. You have provided so handsomely for sweet Percival's future, and I cannot find the words to thank you for allowing my sister to offer me this refuge in my own time of trial. You are the very soul of kindness, dear brother." Florence would try to distract him for now, and get answers from her cousin later.

"What a truly bountiful breakfast spread. You are all too kind to welcome me with such warmth! A café au lait for me, if you please; there is nothing quite like the French preparation." Florence looked about the room, taking in the decor. Her sister's interior taste had a little more depth than exterior.

"As for my pursuits, I have found myself most remarkably fond of the antiques class. It is a rigorous discipline, to be sure, but I feel it has already quite elevated my hand and eye for drawing. Alongside my sketches, I have been diligent with my pianoforte practice. My instructor professes to be quite impressed with my natural inclination, he was even so kind as to remark, 'C’est un don du ciel, it is a gift from heaven." She made sure to word everything correctly as to not cause a scandal or have Cornelius think ill of her.

She offered a graceful smile and a slight nod of gratitude as the steaming bowl was placed before her, the aroma of the espresso and scalded milk rising to meet her. Then she let her eyes lower and a melancholy state wash over her face.

"In all honesty, I spent the great part of my hours at my needlework, just as my sweet mother used to do with me; I find the rhythmic pull of the thread quite settles the mind. When I was not occupied with my silks, I was devoted to my private studies or quietly viewing the masterworks at the Louvre. It was the best way to pass the season." She laid her napkin properly and looked intently as Cornelius spoke. She had mastered this with her father when he would ramble on about all that his escapades as a "young lad".

"How very intriguing, Cornelius! Tell me, do you still find time to keep up with your fencing practice at the club?" Her subtle way of seeing exactly where he spent his time.

Chapter Text

“No need for thanks. We are family after all.” Cornelius appeared to be enthralled with Florence as she spoke. He kept his sights on her, taking an active interest in what she had to say. “It is music to my ears to hear you approve of the menu.”

The tone in Cornelius’s voice was indiscernible. Was he being sarcastic or sincere? He loaded up a bunch of beans onto his toast before slicing into it with the uncanny precision of a surgeon.

“All of these pursuits are wonderful to have, especially if you wish to have a favorable match.” Cornelius shoveled in a forkful of beans; chewing and swallowing before continuing. “I know my dear wife wishes for you to have a lavish ball for you entry into society soon. I rather think it is nonsense.”

“I think you should be better settled in before being thrown to the wolves, so to speak.” Cornelius abhorred the idea of parties and anything that disturbed his peace. This ball would do both. He shoved in the last couple of forkfuls of food from his plate, again waiting to speak until he swallowed the contents. “You should wait maybe until the next season or the following or even the one after that.”

“Oh…” He huffed and dabbed the monogrammed cloth napkin to the corner of his mouth. “Not like when I was a young buck before the war. The duels I would get into with Oscar, Richard and Louis. It really is a shame about Oscar, that man had a gift."

Cornelius looked over at Sean and could see him visibly squirm at the mention of his late father. “…but I would like to presume that I am still spry enough to hold my own. What say you Sean? See if that talent runs in the family. I’ll even lend you the épée your father lost in a bet back in sixty when he said that Douglas was going to win the popular vote over Lincoln.”

Cornelius never gave Sean the chance to answer.

“No? Pity.” Cornelius got up from the table, his chair dragging heavily across the wooden floor. “So, sister, what plans have been made for you today. I know between my wife and Sean they must be parading you around like some prized pony.”

“Tea somewhere…The Grahams, no,” Cornelius snapped his fingers. “Milly.”

Had Cornelius mentioned the Grahams on purpose or was he out of sorts when it came to his wife’s social calendar. Again, his true intentions were masked by the neutral expression on his face.



Chapter Text

Florence was uncomfortable with the entirety of the interactions. Or lack thereof. It was painfully clear that there was discord amongst her sister and her husband. Florence also knew that it would do her no good to intervene as Cornelius made it abundantly clear where a woman’s place was.

Florence nibbled on a few bites of eggs and fruit as Cornelius went on and on about postponing her debut. Without bringing attention, she looked to her sister and cousin to see their expressions. Sean raised an eyebrow ever so slightly and sipped his coffee before continuing with his meal.

"It is truly kind of you to fret over me, but I know well enough that it is time I came out. Sarah is being a dear to stand in my mother’s place, and I shouldn’t like to make her task any harder. If we dally much longer, she will be quite run off her feet trying to manage a large social event while also keeping a watchful eye on the little one’s lessons and care. I shall follow her lead in this."

Florence kept her face and voice soft. She was not at all excited about the prospects for her or the idea of being paraded around the local bachelors. Last, she had been in town the quality was not exactly to her expectations. Being abroad also raised her taste.

“I must truly go and set myself to rights. My wits have been quite scattered since I arrived yesterday, and Abigail and I have much to do in sorting the trinkets I brought and putting my wardrobe in order. Truth be told, I am still travel-weary from the journey. Yet, I know the household must be bustling, and I should dearly like to see if I might assist while Sarah goes about to her engagement today.”

Chapter Text

Florence wasn’t the only one out of sorts as they broke their fast. Sean steadily sipped at his coffee as he tried his best to look alert for Cornelius as he droned on about his glorious yesteryear. He didn’t know how his cousin put up with his pompous ass and he made a mental note to thank her for at least trying to warn him. Odd how over the past few months they become strange bedfellows. It wasn’t long ago when he thought Sarah deserved Cornelius.

There was a brief moment over the meal where Sean thought he was going to remain unscathed as Cornelius set his sights on poor sweet Florence. Bombarding her with questions that everyone in the room knew he could care less about. Sean could only surmise the man was doing this to keep up appearances that he had a vested interest in his household but even the staff at this point knew he was full of bluster, and not much else.

Then Sean heard his father’s name invoked by the decrepit bitter man. He could feel the heat rise up in his cheeks, his heart hammering in his ears as he desperately tried not to take the bait.

Cornelius was notorious for goading people. In most cases Sean was able to curb his tongue but he was still nursing off several Manhattans from the previous evening. Then he set his sights back on Florence. He was sure that comment was intentional.

“I believe you were only able to defeat my father after he returned home wounded from the war.” Perhaps it was the spirits talking in his stead. That liquid courage kicked in just as the old man got up from his seat. Sean got up from his chair just as abruptly. “…and you didn’t win it in a bet. My mother gifted it to you after my father’s passing. Perhaps you have your facts askew.”

“…but should you want to duel I will be ha…”

Before Sean could finish his challenge he saw Sarah get up from her chair and deftly maneuver in front of him. She let out a nervous laugh before clapping as if commending a performance. Cornelius’s face contorted as he did his best to process what was unfolding in front of him.

“Now, now, boys…there is no need to quarrel.” Sarah straightened her posture and slapped a smile upon her face as she looked at her husband. “No parading for Florence. She still needs to rest up. I know she is still not herself and there will be a time and place to discuss her debut.”

Sarah wanted her sister out in society sooner rather than later but she couldn’t openly defy Cornelius. She also didn’t like his sudden interest in the subject and wondered if he knew so long as Florence was under their roof and not out, the household had control of a majority of her inheritance.

“Yes, you must rest. I will give my regrets to the Whitman’s on your behalf. I do not believe the new Mrs, Graham was invited.” Sarah gave Cornelius a cutting glance. “…however I do think Pearl will be in attendance.”

Cornelius gave an audible huff at the name. Just the mere mention of that woman gave him heart burn. She had been nothing but trouble since Sarah had struck up a friendship with her months ago.

“Mrs. Robinson is a scammer and social climber.” Cornelius was dangerously close to forbidding Sarah from associating with that wretch. The woman was an opportunist at best, the devil incarnate at worst. The woman had been through four husbands in the past five years. Cornelius was convinced she was the root cause of each man’s demise, but couldn’t prove it. “If she mentions Cape May and the business opportunities it holds you must tell her my answer is still no.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, one of us has to work for a living.”

Chapter Text

Florence felt her heart begin to race as she saw Sean’s face change. When he stood, she was certain that he was going to accept Cornelius’ duel. She could not bear to watch her cousin send her sister’s husband to his maker the day after she arrived. She simply gasped and covered her mouth with her handkerchief when he slighted her departed uncle. Though Sean’s response made the corners of her mouth curl a bit and she was thoroughly thankful, her mouth was still covered.

Florence nodded rapidly as her sister deftly diffused the situation and took control of the room. It was a bit of a new light to look at her sister. Florence had not seen her maneuver this way in their family home.

Miss Florence found herself already wearied by the very name of Graham, despite having stood upon American soil for less than a full day. Cornelius’ sudden agitation at the mere mention of this "Pearl" had set the gears of her mind into a spin, and she cast a furtive glance about the parlor in search of Leo.

She was possessed by a sudden, sharp necessity to obtain a full intelligence regarding this mysterious woman, who by the heat of Cornelius’s displeasure appeared to be an intriguing creature.

Miss Florence was struck with a level of irritation she had not known as of late as her brother-in-law delivered his declaration and, with a most abrupt departure, took his leave for the counting-house. Her countenance, a map of bewilderment, turned toward her sister and cousin, seeking some explanation for such an extraordinary display of indelicacy.

Florence looked about after they heard the great doors close, and Cornelius take his leave. She pushed her plate forward and lifted the delicate cup to her lips.

“I find myself quite in the dark. Might someone be so charitable as to illuminate the events I have missed whilst I was across the Atlantic?” Florence looked from her sister to her cousin waiting for someone to break the tension.

“Sarah, I have taken the liberty of sending a gown to your chambers. Something that I believe shall speak most eloquently of your station this day. Should it suit your fancy, do consider it a token of my regard. Sean, I also found the souvenirs and gifts I obtained for you. But I do think we all have quite a bit to discuss."

Chapter Text

“Sean can explain… in the parlor.” Sarah grabbed the cream and sugar, dumping excess amounts of both into her coffee. She shoveled in several forkfuls of her eggs and downed the doctored coffee before dabbing her mouth with her cloth napkin. “Leo, inform Helen and Etna that I do require their services tonight.”

“I am sure it is lovely sister. I shall wear it this afternoon when I pay a call on the Whitmans.” Sarah trusted her sister’s judgement in attire and if it received an ill reaction from her host, all the better. “If you’ll excuse me I must tend to my son.”

Sarah took one last sip of her coffee before leaving Sean to debrief Florence

“Leo could you start a fire in the parlor. Tell cook to brew more coffee and you shall serve it to us.” Sean motioned for Florence to follow him across the hall to the parlor. As they crossed the foyer he spied Abigale coming down the steps clutching several parcels, no doubt the gifts that Florence had mentioned. “Abigale, place them on the credenza and take your leave.”

Sean watched Abigale as she tried to steal glances at Leo who was bent over the fireplace getting the kindling going. In turn, Leo was casting glances at Florence, who, as far as he could tell, was oblivious to the attention.

Sean remained quiet as the help went about their business. He meandered over to the window facing the street and peeled the curtain back to see his old buddy Richard on his Uncle’s stoop. Sean released the curtain and spun on his heel to face Florence.

“Leo, the doors please.” Sean gave the boy a curt smile and nod before clapping his hands together. “My dear cousin, where to begin…”

“Is there anything or anyone I should start with first? Miss Whitman and your father? Mrs. Robinson? Richard? Sarah? Me?” Sean sighed a bit before raking his hand through his hair. “Perhaps me and my unlikely alliance with your sister. You may wish to sit, it is a long boring story.”

Sean was about to begin his tale when they were interrupted by a knock on the door. He bid Leo to enter with the coffee but the boy looked hesitant.

“Out with it.” Leo stammered about a guest trying to pay a call to the household but before he could get the person’s name out Sean cut him off with a wave of the hand. Sean walked back over to the window and inched the curtain far enough from the window to see the gentleman. “Tell him no.”

“I shall try….Sir?” Leo dug into his pocket and handed Sean a crumpled up note. Sean opened it, smirked at the crude drawing of an ear of corn and then tossed it in the fire. Sarah could be amusing when she set her mind to it.

“I am sorry I wasn’t able to seek you out. I did not want to be gone from the household for too long. I can tend to the coffee.” Leo looked at Florence, unsure as to who he needed to take orders from now.

“Leave the coffee, we do not wish to be disturbed.” As Leo closed the doors once more Sean made his way over to the credenza. He noted that the paperwork he had seen the previous day was missing so he focused on the parcels. “You will have to tell me all the details about these gifts you have so lavishly bestowed upon me.”

“…but first. You must be confused by my sudden alliance with Sarah. Best explained as the enemy of my enemy I suppose.” He poured out two cups of coffee but before handing off the one to Florence his slipped a flask out of his breast pocket and topped them both off. “A little tipple to start off the day proper.”

“So, it seems Uncle Louis, your father, is not only keen on remarrying but selling off property. That includes Grandfather’s Estate where mother and I reside. He has made no note of alternate accommodations for us.”

Sean paused for a moment as he rooted through his pockets for his cigars. “Mind?”

Sean didn’t give Florence the opportunity to stop him from lighting up. He struck the match against the desk, lit the cigar and then pitched into the fire.

“Normally, this would not be an issue. I have a bachelor pad by the cargo club and if in a pinch I am sure your brother William would offer lodgings to me. I am however concerned about mother. Uncle Louis has been rather unfair given she not only had to convalesce my father after the war but also Grandfather. It has taken a toll on her.” Sean took a long drag on cigar, letting the tobacco linger within his cheeks. He paced in front of the fireplace, deep in thought. “Sarah feels if we thwart Miss Whitman’s intentions Uncle Louis ma be less inclined to sell.”

“At least that what our initial thoughts were.” Sean paused in place as he looked over Florence. “You were not supposed to be summoned back here. I thought Sarah and I had an agreement that this didn’t touch you.”

Chapter Text

Florence smiled as the gifts were placed down. She knew her cousin was going to be absolutely tickled with them. It was his tone that made her think that this was all very serious. It soured her excitement about the gifts, and she nearly pouted. True to Sean’s assumptions, Florence had not noticed Leo’s attentions nor Abigail’s lingering glances at Leo. She was focused on making sure that her ladies maid had brought all of the gifts down. Especially the navy-blue box that was set down right before Abigail took her leave.

Florence disliked the quiet that had taken over the parlor while Leo got the fire going. Normally, Sean was high-spirited and lively. He always brought a smile to her face, and they had the best conversations and adventures. That is why she was honestly surprised by his sudden closeness to Sarah. The same Sarah who tsked and shook her head when Florence and Sean would skip through the estate arm and arm giggling about the latest On Dit.

Florence waved her hand dismissively when he brought up Richard’s name. She could careless what that man was doing. Miss Whitman was absolutely at the top of her list but she let her cousin go on. There was quite a bit that had transpired since she had been away and a lot that she felt Sean was neglectful in not to mention during their correspondence. “That would be a very good place to start.” She chuckled without amusement in her countenance.

She noted the exchange but did not make mention of it. There were so many things at hand she needed to stay focused on why she made the journey home. Florence sat on the settee, taking care to straighten her gown and brush her hair over her shoulder. One never knew who would come calling. Once again, she had not taken notice of Leo’s lingering look.

Florence gave him a slight nod as he poured the amber liquid into their coffee. "To dispel the vapors of the previous evening's revelry." She said with a wink before taking a sip and then adding cream and sugar. She gave him full attention and did her best to stay composed as he conveyed the horrors of her father’s current state. That he would have no care of his own sister’s well-being was appalling.

“What do we know of Miss Whitman? I remember her practically falling over herself to get close to you, Sean. What if anything do we know about her and her family? Father’s powers of mind are, alas, visibly failing him. We shall put that to the loss of another wife.” Florence could not stop the rolling of her eyes at the idea. The man was just obdurate; her face betrayed the ill feelings she had for her own father. “If we do stop this, it will also keep other tufthunters at bay. Our family name will not be sullied by my father, giving this portionless girl our good name. He has a duty to take care of his family first.” Florence stood quickly and looked at Sean.

Florence placed her hand on her cousin’s wrist. "I am deeply sensible of your desire to shield me from these sordid affairs, yet I cannot stand idly by while you two bear this heavy burden. We must demonstrate to all that this woman is governed by mercenary motives, rather than genuine affection. If it requires us to whisper the truth, that her character is not beyond reproach, nor her virtue what it seems, then so be it."

“What was the name of the young woman that she used to bring with her. Martha, Mattie. Of this frustrates me. I can see the girl, decently dressed but not well enough to partake in proper society.” She tapped her chin as she tried to place the girl. “Her family were milliners.” She remembered that she had not seen them together before she left for her studies. She would be one of the first people she would want to call on and see exactly where they stood.

Chapter Text

“That was something even the strongest of alcohols could not erase,” Sean shivered at the thought of Miss Whitman’s behavior around him initially. In retrospect he had to wonder if she presumed his grandfather’s honorary title and lands would be bestowed upon him after the old man’s passing and that was why she was so keen on getting better aquatinted. “She is not my type.”

Sean was very particular with who he deemed his type. They had to be of standing, be a great conversationalist and most important, discreet. Miss Whitman only possessed one of those traits and barely.

“I do not know much about her or her family I’m afraid.” Sean looked over at the door the second he heard the knock. Leo peered in, excusing the interruption but he didn’t speak. His face contorted in a way that Sean seemed to pick up on. He quickly shook his head and waved his hand to shoo him off. “Seems you have a visitor. He can wait, outside, until we are done. Should you decide to entertain him.”

Sean’s brow arched at the intel his dear little cousin had on Miss Whitman. Perhaps, it was this little morsel of information Sarah knew Florence could provide them. He had to wonder what other tidbits Florence had to aid in their ‘war’ against Uncle Louis.

“Martha, Mattie, Milly, Myrtle, I couldn’t tell you in the slightest. I admit I can be terrible with names, especially those beneath us.” Sean deemed the help and anyone not part of high society not worth remembering, with one exception. “The only reason I bother to remember Leo’s name is because…well, you’ve seen what he looks like.”

Sean, had it been a different time and different place would consider dipping his toes in that water if Leo had been amiable to that sort of thing. He gave a light laugh and shook the thought from his head.

“I do feel that derailing Miss Whitman is our top priority but we need to talk to your sister. She may have the exact name of that woman and perhaps a little more insight on how malleable Miss Whitman’s reputation could be. It’s a shame you aren’t going to tea with her this afternoon. I feel your ladies maid might have been helpful in getting some information as well.” Sean downed what was left of his coffee and set the empty mug on the tray. “Maybe her maid Emma, Elsa, no Etna can be our little spy.”

“Let’s shelve it for now and focus on happier things for a moment.” Sean stood up and made his way over the the gifts on the credenza. A smile crept across his lips as he inspected the immaculate wrapping job. The smallest of the gifts, the navy blue one had a beautiful matching bow. He decided that would be the one to open last. “All for me?”

Sean grabbed the largest box and carefully cracked the wrapping open in such a way that the paper could be reused. He folded in neatly and set it aside before sliding the lid off the top. He brushed the tissue paper aside and examined the contents.

“Oh my…this is lovely. I wish I could wear it right now.” Sean pulled the garment out of the box and put it up again himself. The velvet smoking jacket was navy with black lapels, brandebourgs and silk lining. A thin gold braid lined the cuffs and pockets. Sean surmised it must have cost a fortune, even in Paris. “You wish me to help in your endeavors, yet you gift me this. It is going to be hard to leave the house knowing I own this."

Sean moved on to the next gift. A medium sized box that was deceptively heavy for the size. He did quick work unboxing the contents and smiled when he pulled out the shaving kit. He ran the brush across his chin before he inspected the accompanying shaving scuttle and razor. A waft rosemary and mint permeated the air ever so briefly before he returned everything back to the box.

In the third box was a silver pocket watch. Sean nearly teared up as he read the engraving on the inside. He quickly composed himself in preparation for the final gift.

“You do realize with this watch I will still not be on time.” Sean gave her a smile before diverting his attention to the fancily wrapped box. He slid off the top and pulled out the finely embroidered handkerchief. “You did this?”

“It’s beautiful.” He placed the handkerchief to his heart, before neatly folding it and placing it in his breast pocket. He sat down next to her on the settee before giving her the biggest bear hug he could muster. “You have really outdone yourself Florence. God’s how I’ve missed you.”

“So, what else would you like to know or do you feel inclined to entertain your gentleman caller.” The word gentleman left a bitter taste in his mouth as he looked her over. If he had any say he’d make that pitiful man stand out in the elements all day long. “I can make him go away if you wish. In fact, I very much prefer that you pay no mind to him, but I leave the decision in your very capable, talented hands.”

Sean gave Florence’s hands a light squeeze.

Chapter Text

“Of course she is not your type. She is deficient in tact, lacking proper conversational skills and has not an inkling of prevailing fashion.” The disdain was clear on Florence’s face as she spoke of Rosemary. Florence had not been a fan of her when she was chasing Sean.

Her head snapped towards the door when Leo peaked in. She could read the concern on his face. Once Sean dismissed him, it all came together. No one knew she was back yet. Save for Richard. The last person she wanted to speak to or see. Her cousin’s voice and the rich smell of tobacco brought her back from slipping into memories she did not want to remember. She could not help but cover her mouth as she laughed. Truthfully, Sean was right. Leo had grown into quite the handsome man. He had always been very good looking but now he was a proper Adonis.

"Pray, the choice is a grim one. Either see her reputation utterly derailed, or see my father declared feeble of mind, and a proxy shall be appointed to seize the guardianship of his person and the stewardship of his estates." The look on her face showed a bit of pain but clear control. Having found out about the depths of her father’s betrayal had caused her unimaginable heartbreak. Her restless night had brought many interesting thoughts. “I digress though. You are right, we should speak with Sarah first and see.” She did not even consider William, because he was not an obstacle in her mind. He would never dare to oppose her, for the incriminating proof she held against him.

“Take Abigail, she knows who I am thinking of. I think I should miss this one as it will give me time to go into town and see what information I myself can find. My arrival being unknown will give us the element of surprise. People will not have time to whisper and hush. I may be in need of a new hat.” She put her cup down and clapped as he began to open his gifts. Seeing his delight truly lifted her spirits.

Florence let out a true joyful laugh as he joked about his lack of punctuality. “It brings my heart such singular joy that these tokens of my affection are so well received. You are, in truth, the finest of cousins I could have asked for, you have been dearer to me than a brother.” She straightened herself as he leaned back and blinked back the glossy tears.

“I am quite convinced that I must glean further intelligence regarding this 'Pearl' who has set Corn into such a towering passion, though that is surely a discourse to be reserved for a more commodious hour.” She threaded her fingers through her tresses and gave a most weary sigh. “As for entertaining him, heaven forbid, no. Yet shall I? For a fleeting moment, yes. It is the only means to secure his silence regarding my arrival yesterday and to extract whatever intelligence he may hold. See that Abigail is sent to me at once, and station Leo by the open door. I’ll not have the gossips of New York wagging their tongues over my reputation.” Florence gave her cousin a cheeky smile and began to primp just as Abigail came to arrange her lady’s drapery, ensuring every lace and button was precisely in place before the gentleman was ushered into the parlor. She took her place nearby and curated her face to the unreadable mask she had been taught.

“Make this quick, I have much to do.” Florence did not even make eye contact with him as she looked at the fire crackling in front of her.

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“I will tell you what I know of Pearl after our guest leaves.” Sean had much to think about as he reluctantly opened the doors to the parlor and nodded for Leo to let their ‘guest’ in. While Florence raised a fair point about having his Uncle declared incompetent, he had to wonder if it could be that simple. He mulled it over as Richard approached him and nodded.

“I didn’t see you at the club last night. Where were you?” Richard took off his overcoat and practically tossed it at Leo. The younger gentleman bristled at Richard’s lack of decorum but didn’t make a fuss over it. The tension on Leo’s face was more then enough to show his displeasure of Richard. “…and when did you become Lord of the manor? I don’t suppose it was you making me wait on the stoop like some kind of pauper?”

“I had my mother to attend to. If you must know.” Sean’s expression darkened at the mere mention of him not being at the club the previous night and him boldly lying to the man. A man, who he once thought highly of. “I am just here visiting my cousin, She has had quite the ordeal and still very much under the weather. I would think you would want to make your visit brief and not expose the missus back home to anything that could compromise her current condition.”

“I will be in the kitchen should anyone need me. I believe there is a piece of pie with my name on it!” Sean said loud enough for everyone on that floor to hear.

“Miss Florence.” Richard pulled off his top hat and tussled his hair as he entered the parlor. A roguish smile crept up upon his lips the moment he heard Florence speak, with an inflection of what he perceived could be considered authority. “Do you now? I would certainly hate to impede upon any business you feel fit to attend to given your current state,”

“You are, after all, quite ill. Are you not?” The grin remained on Richard’s face as he looked her over. She was absolutely breathtaking and time had only made her more beautiful in his eyes, He could only fathom how she would look in another year or two. “Will you not bother to at least attempt to look in my direction?”

Richard kept his voice quiet and even toned as he remain rooted by the parlor doors. He knew every single person within proximity of them was listening in. No doubt reporting back to their mistress and master of the house, as well as anyone within a five block radius of the estate.

“I’ve missed our conversations immensely. You had left so abruptly and your family thought it wouldn’t be prudent for me to write you. Your sister being the most impudent of all.” Richard suspected that more than one family member had barred him from pursuing Florence but he would start with Sarah. By Sean’s sudden chilly reception he had to assume that he was firmly in Sarah’s camp now. “Have I offended you in some way?”

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Florence tucked her feet under deliberately and looked over at Richard. Watching him tussle his hair made her acutely aware that he was nervous. She remembered that action from when they first met. He had taken care to dress well to come see her this early in the morning. She could also smell the distinct cologne that he was well aware was her favorite. She would give him no pleasure in mentioning any of that. As she finally brought her eyes to meet his there was clearly no affections.

"Pray, tell me, sir, what precise knowledge do you imagine you possess regarding the nature of my current condition?" Florence kept her voice calm and her demeaner cold. She would be nothing if not proper. Richard had once been able to invoke strong emotions in her but certain choices he made vexed her beyond all belief when her father discussed sending her abroad. Her eyes rolled before she could even stop them. "Pray, do not shift the blame to others, for they were certainly not present to prevent you from returning the missives I sent during the earlier portion of that year, a task you seem to have found quite beyond your means. But come, let us set aside these pretenses. What business, brings you to this house today?" Keeping her tone soft and smooth, withholding the emotion that was beginning to bubble just a little as she thought of the times she wrote to clarify the last time they spoke at her father's home.

Abigail was quite uncomfortable and several times tried to catch Leo's attention but his jaw was stone and his eyes watched Florence with a determination not often seen. It formed a pit in her stomach but she stood stoic as she was here for her lady. Abigail held her finger tightly to keep from giving Richard a piece of her mind. Why did Mr. Sean leave them?

Abigail truly worried for her lady, as Florence was quite out of sorts for some time after their departure. The damage that Richard had done was quite extensive. More than that, the suitors that had been politely shelved or sent away to make him feel secure in their friendship. Abigail looked to Florence just as she pushed her hair behind her ear, it was a code they had used since they were young. The next time she touched her hair, Abigail was to interrupt her and remind her of the time, make some excuse, a previous engagement, time for her to rest or simply a tap on her lady's shoulder and whisper, to which her lady could then excuse herself. Every time Richard shifted his weight, Abigail felt a surge of protectiveness that made her want to usher him out herself.

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Florence tucked her feet under deliberately and looked over at Richard. Watching him tussle his hair made her acutely aware that he was nervous. She remembered that action from when they first met. He had taken care to dress well to come see her this early in the morning. She could also smell the distinct cologne that he was well aware was her favorite. She would give him no pleasure in mentioning any of that. As she finally brought her eyes to meet his there was clearly no affections.

"Pray, tell me, sir, what precise knowledge do you imagine you possess regarding the nature of my current condition?" Florence kept her voice calm and her demeaner cold. She would be nothing if not proper. Richard had once been able to invoke strong emotions in her but certain choices he made vexed her beyond all belief when her father discussed sending her abroad. Her eyes rolled before she could even stop them. "Pray, do not shift the blame to others, for they were certainly not present to prevent you from returning the missives I sent during the earlier portion of that year, a task you seem to have found quite beyond your means. But come, let us set aside these pretenses. What business, brings you to this house today?" Keeping her tone soft and smooth, withholding the emotion that was beginning to bubble just a little as she thought of the times she wrote to clarify the last time they spoke at her father's home.

Abigail was quite uncomfortable and several times tried to catch Leo's attention but his jaw was stone and his eyes watched Florence with a determination not often seen. It formed a pit in her stomach but she stood stoic as she was here for her lady. Abigail held her finger tightly to keep from giving Richard a piece of her mind. Why did Mr. Sean leave them?

Abigail truly worried for her lady, as Florence was quite out of sorts for some time after their departure. The damage that Richard had done was quite extensive. More than that, the suitors that had been politely shelved or sent away to make him feel secure in their friendship. Abigail looked to Florence just as she pushed her hair behind her ear, it was a code they had used since they were young. The next time she touched her hair, Abigail was to interrupt her and remind her of the time, make some excuse, a previous engagement, time for her to rest or simply a tap on her lady's shoulder and whisper, to which her lady could then excuse herself. Every time Richard shifted his weight, Abigail felt a surge of protectiveness that made her want to usher him out herself.

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“I would assume something ails you if you are here, as opposed to your schooling abroad.” Richard decided to make his way over to the empty sofa directly across from Florence and Abigale. He draped his one arm on the back of the sofa, doing his best to look relaxed and unbothered. It was curious to him how her ladies maid appeared to be almost protective of Florence. That was certainly new. “I blame no one, I just thought you would like to know the truth. I seem to recall a time when you valued honesty and hated when your family kept you unawares.”

“Calm yourself boy. I mean her no harm.” Richard shot a look over to Leo who was posted by the door. When he didn’t budge from his post Richard simply shook his head. “As you can see I am not within arms length of her, not that I would do any harm. She is far too dear to me.”

“We are just old friends, catching up.” It was true that Richard had warded off any potential suitors but he had hoped that it was only temporary. He had grown impatient waiting for Florence to come out into society. First, it had been she was too young. Then, her mother had fallen ill and succumbed to it. Finally, Sarah had fought it, insisting that she could not come out into society the same time as her wedding.

“Missives? I did not receive such a thing, not one. For, I surely would have responded to them.” Whether Richard was telling the truth or not was a mystery. “Things would not be as they are had I gotten them. I suspect this would be an entirely different reunion if I did.”

“I simply wish to be friends, if that is still possible. I miss you. I miss our friendship. I miss our chats on nature, art, music. I miss…”. Richard paused as his eyes lingered on her lips. “Tell me there is a chance that what we had can be salvaged.”

“My fate is in your very capable hands.”

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“Assumptions should be kept to ones self.” Florence said calmly and softly. When Richard sat across from her she did not let her face change. He was still devastatingly handsome but she had moved on from that moment in her life. “Honesty has always been important to me, that has not changed. I have however come to understand the necessity of returning, in kind, the same degree of consideration and regard that those professing devotion actually bestow upon me.” She wanted it clear that she was going to be observant. She absolutely kept what he said in mind. Her family had been involved with her solitude.

“Richard, he is merely performing his duty to ensure my reputation remains beyond reproach. You, after all, a gentleman of married standing now, and in the absence of my dear late mother to provide the necessary chaperonage, such a meeting is highly irregular. Harm meant or not, anything seen as improper can not be tolerated now, not with my debut so close at hand.” Florence made sure to look him in the eyes when she let it be known she would be presented soon.

“While we speak of such matters, I must offer my sincerest felicitations on your nuptials. I trust your union is a most prosperous one, and that you find your home filled with spirited discourse and intellectual stimulation you always claimed to value so highly.” Each word was carefully crafted to invoke deep emotions in him.

Florence did not believe that he had not received her letters. There was no way he had not received one. She could not very well outright call him a liar, so she nodded and moved on from that subject.

“I find the world has moved at such a dizzying pace during my seclusion.” Florence placed her hand to her bodice with a well-practiced sigh. “A man of your prominence is surely privy to the inner workings of the city. I feel woefully unprepared, quite like a lamb at auction, I dread I shall be taken at a disadvantage once I venture beyond these walls.” Florence let her eyes look down, her lips pouting. “In the mere breath of time since my return, my heart has been quite undone by the tribulations occurring, so very close to home.” Florence was fishing. She let her lip tremble a bit before pulling her shoulders back and letting her eyes get glassy before turning her gaze back to Richard. None of it was a lie, but she absolutely needed more information, and Richard could be the key to gathering that.

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“Forgive me, but we will have to agree to disagree on this matter. Your sister’s footman is not kin and this is more in the realm of your brother William’s duties.” Richard paid no mind to Leo but could feel the boy practically bore a hole in the back of his head with his heated stare. He had never cared for him and this sudden protective nature towards Florence made him almost want to hate him. He took solace in the fact that Leo was nothing more than a peasant that got lucky when it came to being employed in this household. “Speaking of good old William, does he even know you are here? I have to say your father was quite shocked by the news when I paid a call to him earlier today.”

Richard watched both Florence’s and her maid’s reaction to the news. He was quite certain William had no idea she had returned from abroad. It was fascinating to him how quick Florence’s loyalties shifted to Sarah.

“Thank you. It was rather sudden and I look forward to you formally meeting her. I believe you will find you both have much in common.” Though Richard smiled as he mentioned his new bride, the light didn’t reach his eyes. “She was raised abroad. Her father was appointed attache’ to the viceroy of India some years ago.”

“You, helpless?” Richard gave a mischievous laugh as he looked her dead in the eyes. He knew she was flattering him on purpose but he was going to take any attention he could get from her. “I would think that your sister could help in that department.”

“Unless, you have concerns about her true motives.” Richard’s voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “Which, rightly so.”

Richard shifted on the settee, casually glancing over his shoulder at the parlor doors to see if the audience had grown since he first sat down. Sean had returned, but remained at the threshold. The man’s stance was enough to signal his time was drawing nigh.

“I will have my wife send you a correspondence in the near future for tea, I know she would love to have some friends in the city. I hope you will consider becoming one of them.” Richard stood up and straightened his blazer before raking his hand once more through his thick dark locks of hair. “As always, It’s been a pleasure Miss DeHart.”

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"You are absolutely correct that he is not kin. However, my brother's absence in this matter is quite telling, is it not? It seems I must rely on those who are actually present and mindful of my standing, regardless of their 'station'." Florence could not help the flare of her nostrils as he brought up her brother. He knew better than anyone why William was a dead letter in this situation.

As he spoke of her father, she kept her posture but a sllight tremor moved through her hand. It took everything in her to keep from wringing her skirts at the thought of her father being aware of her arrival. Even more so that he had not made his way to check on her since finding out. Abigail did have a bit of a reaction, though it was hard to read.

"You overplay your hand, Richard. You speak of truth and honesty while weaving a web of assumptions about myself and my family's internal affairs. You mention my father's 'shock' as if it were a casual piece of gossip...My feelings are not something to be played with like baubles or shiny new debutantes of questionable station. You spoke of a longing of a friendship past, yet I feel this entire dance was constructed to strain my wits. This is not the Richard I remember. The one I cared for."

Florence stood slowly, the silk of her skirts whispering against the floor like a warning. She purposely used the past tense to ensure he understood where he stood in her life, a gentleman of married standing. No matter the pain it caused her. Richard was clearly trying to get under her skin, speaking of what she and his wife had in common. His wife was beautiful, but what had he found in her in such a short time to change his heart? Looking at him she lowered her voice to where he only could hear. "I find I am concerned with the motives of everyone these days, Richard. After all, when I was sent away, I discovered exactly how few souls truly cared for me. And how many simply preferred me out of sight."

"I have every confidence that my sister, Sarah, will afford your wife's correspondence exactly the measure of care and consideration it deserves." Florence gave him a slight smile. "Safe travels Mr. Graham." She kept her head high, moistening her lips as soon as he looked at her. Many memories crossed her mind and she was sure his as well.

Florence looked to her cousin and took a deep breath as soon as Richard was out of ear shot. "That did not go quite how I anticipated. It seems Richard was not merely a messenger of gossip, but the architect of it. He has made my father aware of my arrival." A soft chuckle left her before she could stop it. "To think he would use my return as a currency for his own standing. And that father has sent no word. It is a cruelty I should not be shocked by. Yet, I am."

"Now Sean, I feel that there is so much more going about than you have ever let on in your missives." Florence was doing all that she could to keep herself together, but it was becoming harder with each breath.

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Sean gave a weak smile as Richard murmured something under his breath as he squeezed passed him into the foyer. He remained still but his jaw tighten as he looked over at his cousin to see how she was faring.He knew Richard shouldn’t have been given an audience but he wanted to treat Florence as an adult. In the past her feelings had never been taken into consideration and he hoped to change that, Even if missteps happened.

Sean made his way back over to the window and shimmied the drapes ever so slightly to the side to watch Richard go. He wanted to make sure the man left the area as opposed to waltzing right back across the street to his Uncles. It wasn’t until the door to the carriage closed that Sean was able to redirect his attention to his baby cousin.

“That went rather well, did it not?” Sean rolled his eyes as he crossed the room and pulled his flask out again. Not even asking he refilled both their tea cups, giving Florence a wicked. grin. “You said you had no plans for the day.”

“I couldn’t exactly explain everything that was happening, nor did I want to cause any distress.” Sean could see that Florence was coming to grips with her encounter with Richard, He half expected her to begin to mourn her loss or fell sorrow for what could have been had things been different. “He was never worthy of you.”

“Shall we discuss happier things? Perhaps some gossip to lighten the mood? Yes?” Sean hoped that he could get Florence to laugh like he did when they were children. “Mrs. Pearl Robinson?”

“For one, your brother in law cannot stand Mrs. Robinson. The feeling is absolutely mutual. Depending on who you talk to she has been married anywhere between two to seven times in the past ten to twenty years. Every marriage ending with her as a widow. She is said to have two children from one of those early marriages, but no one has seen them. The general consensus is they are both male, possibly finishing up schooling or in the military. There is no concrete evidence to support any of this.”

“No one is sure of her exact age, which you will no doubt encounter soon enough. Sarah thinks she may be around thirty. I feel she might be closer to my dear momma’s age.” Sean thought on every instance he had been in her presence. Pearl looked incredibly young but when she spoke there was an air of sophistication in her lilt, no doubt from her years of experience. “She arrived in the city just around the time you had gone into mourning for your mother. Mr. Lowell, who you had met yesterday, had introduced her to society as his first cousin, though I have my suspicions.”

Sarah may have believed the connection, but Sean did not. He had spied Mrs. Robinson and Mr. Lowell in a rather compromising position. Nothing scandalous per say, but it was definitely odd behavior for close kin to be partaking in. There was something more to the two of them.

Were they secretly lovers? Grifters? Both?

“Pearl had married one of your brother in law’s good friends after being brought into society. That friend died, in their marital bed shortly after. Leaving her very, very wealthy.”

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Florence kept her countenance until she felt completely secure that Richard was gone. She was thankful that Sean protected her as he did, he had always been steadfast in his care for her.

With practiced grace, she slipped the handkerchief from her cuff and caught the traitorous tear at the corner of her eye, restoring her composure before her cousin turned from the window. Florence placed the practiced pleasant smile on her face as Sean spoke.

"Went well, you say? I fear we possess vastly different definitions of that word, Sean." A genuine light returned to her, his playful tone and the judicious addition to her tea doing much to dispel the ache in her heart. My plans were set on gathering intelligence before my arrival had graced the lips of gossips, yet it appears Richard was possessed of a clandestine agenda all his own." Florence wondered if Richard felt a pang of regret knowing that her debut was within reach. She thought on all the times they had visioned that very season, one she would be entering alone.

Sipping her drink, she blinked several times as her cousin certainly poured it stronger than before. With a soft sigh she looked to him, her gaze softening to show the affection she felt for him. "You have ever been my shield, Sean, whether it be from the harsh words due to my jubilance around Sarah, or my tendency to speak without the requisite veneer of polite society around William and my father. To the world you bear the protective mantle of an older brother, and in my heart, you have never been anything less." If she was going to feel vulnerable, than it would be about something she could control.

Her curiosity was instantly piqued. Sean had quite the plethora of scandalous intelligence about Pearl Robison and Florence was hanging on his every word. "That is an interestingly wide range for age." Florence giggled as she sipped again, forgetting how strong it was until it warmed her chest.

"Suspicions, dear cousin? Nay, do not tease me so! It seems as though I may need to be introduced to this Mrs. Robinson, as she seems to have made impressions on many."

"And why, pray tell, would Cornelius find himself consumed by such towering passion simply because his friend met a joyful end?" Florence's voice dropped to a hushed, conspiratorial tone, her eyes darting around the parlor to ensure no one heard her improper musing.

"I was certainly not prepared for such a turbulent welcome. I am deeply sensible of the heavy mantle and surprising alliance with Sarah, and my heart aches for the sacrifices you have rendered to keep me blissfully unaware. However, let it be known, I am dedicated to the preservation of our family's honor. We shall rectify and restore the balance. May need to go about it a bit different then I had originally planned, but I believe we can still achieve it. But for the moment, cousin, I believe I am in need of a brief respite, whether it be from the vexation of my encounter with Richard , or simply a touch of over-indulgence in your excellent hospitality." Florence gave a smile that met her eyes. "And I feel that you may need one as well." Florence stood, smoothing her skirts before opening her arms to welcome a parting hug.

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“Mrs. Robinson…is quite the enigma. That is certain. I do have to forewarn you that your sister holds her in high esteem.” Sean had always thought the match between the two woman was rather bizarre. Pearl was very much a free spirited individual as opposed to doldrum Sarah. He thought perhaps it was because they were complete opposites in nature and that was why they were drawn together like moth’s to a flame. “I know, I was shocked as well upon learning this.”

“I dare say that you will meet her sooner, rather than later. You must do me a favor though, confide in me the first tale she tries to beguile you with. She had mentioned living out west in San Francisco before coming to New York to me. Yet, she told Sarah about touring the Orient, sharing tea with the maharaja and racing camels in Arabia.” Sean was of the impression that Pearl did this on purpose to remain elusive in New York society, “Hopefully she tells you something new. Like she seduced a nobleman.”

Sean had to smirk as Florence didn’t balk from Mr. Robinson’s alleged ‘demise’. In fact, he was also a bit thankful that his mother had had the opportunity to broach that discussion with Florence before she had been sent away. He couldn’t even imagine Sarah trying to explain wifely duties to Florence, when she scarcely knew them herself at that time.

“That is certainly the spirit and I endeavor to do my best to keep you informed. In the meantime, might I suggest you pay a call on my dear Momma when you have rested fully. I think it will do her good to see you.” Sean knew that his mother would never set foot in this manor as long as Cornelius lived and breathed. He wasn’t sure of the full story behind the rift but he supposed it had to do with his late father somehow.

“We all make for strange bedfellows these days. I will let you rest.” Sean remarked about his alliance with Sarah. He gave Florence a light hug and stepped back.

“Speak for yourself.” Sarah entered the parlor just as Sean was about to take his leave. There was no telling how long she had been outside the door eavesdropping, if at all, but it did not seem to matter. “Well?”

After much deliberation Sarah had decided on the Venetian silk dress for her afternoon tea. It miraculously fit Sarah as if she had been at the atelier in person. She did a light twirl for them before crossing the room to them.

“Sean, I’m planning on attending the Opera tonight. Pearl gave me an open invitation to use her box and I intend on doing just that. You should come.” Sarah inspected Sean. “…but maybe change first.”

“…and I envy you Florence. Missing tea at the Whitman’s this afternoon, but I suppose Corn is right. I should probably get back out into society, and what better way than with some new fashion.” Sarah gave a light wistful sigh before admiring the embroidery on her bodice. “Thank you little sister. You have impeccable taste and I can’t wait to see what Pearl thinks of it.”

“Didn’t realize ‘Pearl’ was going to be at the Whitmans. Tell her I said Hello and I will consider tonight’s engagement.” Sean gave his goodbyes to the sisters but could be heard humming as he left the room. That little morsel of information about Sarah being so informal with Pearl got his gears going.

Strange bedfellows indeed.

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Florence had not thought of Sarah having such a lively friend. There was a delicious irony in imagining Sarah, the very paragon of knickerbocker propriety, being ushered into the less-than-polite diversions of the Demi-monde. Florence had long viewed her older sister as a woman governed by the strictest stays of social duty, an unwavering pillar of polite society. The mental image of her sister galivanting about with a woman that caused her husband's blood to simmer brought a faint wicked curl to the corner's of her lips.

She was not surprised that Sean would be of acquaintance of someone that not only held standing but knew how to enjoy life.

Florence was curious as Sean briefed her of the tales Mrs. Robinson's exploits. Florence had an inkling that Mrs. Robinson had ruffled more feathers than just Cornelius. That intrigued her more than a little bit.

"I most certainly will be going to visit her quite soon. I found myself aching for her company and conversation. The arrival of her correspondence served to lift my spirits while I was away. Much in the same manner as yours." She absolutely intended to go soon, in fact it crossed her mind to make her way there for dinner as she thought about it.

"You look positively radiant, Sarah. That shade is a triumph against your complexion, and dare I say, to someone who did not know, there is not a single trace left of your recent seclusion." Florence was not flattering her sister for flattery sake. She truly did look as if the dress was made for her.

Florence giggled at her sister teasing their dear cousin. "I think a rest might be needed as well Sean. Travel swiftly cousin." She turned her attentions back to her sister.

"I had thought it more advantageous for me to gather information before my arrival was announced but it seems that Mr. Graham removed that advantage." Florence sighed a bit. "After I rest, I plan on venturing into town to see the milliner. I seem to remember the Whitman's bringing their daughter around for a bit, they were hand and glove at one point." Florence walked to her sister and fluffed one of the curls.

"Will you return for dinner? Is there anything you would like me to oversee before I journey out?"

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“No need for flattery in private little sister.” Sarah gave Florence a genuine smile however at the compliment. Deep within she felt like a butterfly on the cusp of escaping her chrysalis. Her metamorphosis was within reach, the majority of it thanks to her friend Pearl. “I shall truly miss you this afternoon and I am sorry about your unexpected visitor.”

“Do not dwell on what could have been. That man is no more than a desperate wretch grasping at straws. He has no power over you.” While Sarah wasn’t wholly convinced her sister was thorough with Richard she was going to remain steadfast for the both of them. “He never deserved your affections.”

Sarah’s lips pursed as she listened to Florence mention running errands. She could feel the wrinkle form between her brows as she tried her best to remain supportive. It was trying for her to be supportive and understanding but this was New York. The city was very much dictated and run by men.

“I know you are excited about running errands this afternoon, especially visiting the milliner on 5th but I implore you to only visit one shop briefly, as you are still ‘unwell’. I also insist that you are to be chaperoned at all times outside of this house.” Sarah knew that Florence would insist on Abigale being her chaperone but her ladies maid was practically a child too. Before Florence could object Sarah grabbed both of her sister’s hands and looked her dead in the eyes. She knew Florence was going to hate this solution but she had no other alternative. “I will have my maid Etna accompany you on all errands. Since our brother is otherwise detained Leo will also be in attendance. He can carry any parcels you may wish to purchase. Do put it on Cornelius’s tab.”

“This isn’t the continent Florence. New York can be quite dangerous for women of your stature venturing out alone.” It wasn’t the occasional violent acts the were committed in the streets of the city Sarah was concerned about. It was the slander that terrified her. Even if Abigale was in attendance, she didn’t count as an actual person in Sarah’s eyes.

“I plan on returning for dinner. The Whitman’s in the past have been quite frugal with their refreshments. I am sure I’ll be ravenous by the time I return.” If Sarah had her way she’d make a brief appearance and then give the excuse of coming home to care for her son because the wet nurse wasn’t around. “If you would like to arrange the menu for dinner please inform Helen before you run your errands so that she can dispatch the kitchen staff to market.”

“Etna! My cape and gloves!” Sarah’s voiced practically boomed towards the foyer. A minute had barely passed when the elderly woman emerged. Etna wrapped the cape around her and fastened the button tight after some trouble. It was evident that Etna’s fingers were not as limber as they were in her youth. Etna also had a look of disapproval on her face to her employ’s choice of attire. Words had definitely been exchanged prior to Sarah coming down to the parlor. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I may be able catch Sean’s carriage before he heads uptown.”

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"I mean it in all sincerity, sister, you wear that shade with true distinction." Florence’s praise was devoid of any fake flattery or facetiousness. However, as Sarah brought up the subject of Richard, Florence felt a sudden tightness in her throat and swallowed hard. Releasing a measured breath, she offered a silent nod before finding her voice. "My only grievance is that he did not leave the news of my return to Father. I find I quite dislike being deprived of the element of surprise."

"You have my thanks for that," Florence replied, though the words did little to soothe the dull ache in her chest. She had neither the luxury of time nor the inclination to dwell upon it further.

"I shall limit my excursion strictly to the milliner. If the young woman who used to attend to... well, whatever her name was... is not present, I shall make haste back to the house." At the mention of charging the expenses to Cornelius’s account, Florence’s lips curved into a knowing, subtle smile. "That is most generous of you, Sarah. Perhaps I should commission a pair of matching hats for us to debut once I am officially 'restored to health'?"

"I shall provide Helen with a menu presently. Pray, do try to find some measure of joy in your outing, Sarah. I shall look forward to seeing you at supper. Safe travels." Florence offered a final, graceful smile before turning toward the staircase, with Abigail following a dutiful pace behind.

"I intend to rest before my own excursion. Tell me, Abigail, do you think the chef might manage a Filet Mignon Rossini, or ought we settle for a Chateaubriand?" Florence’s voice took on a lighter, more melodic lilt as they reached the upper landing.

Once inside her chambers, Abigail began to unpin Florence’s hair, working with practiced hands to weave a loose sleeping braid. "I should think the Chateaubriand the wiser choice, Miss," Abigail whispered, her eyes darting briefly toward the door as if to ward off any prying ears. "I am not certain how readily the kitchens might procure fresh foie gras on such short notice, nor if the quality would meet your standard."

"A keen observation indeed," Florence murmured, a yawn finally escaping her as she settled against the linens. "Please relay the request to Helen. And do see what fresh fruits are to be had; I should like a small arrangement waiting for me when I wake."

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It was a few blocks in on the carriage ride when Sarah realized she was heading to the Whitman’s former address. Sean merely laughed at her and commented on how he wondered how long it would have taken her to figure it out. He even admitted to looking forward to seeing her knock on the front door, only to be greeted by strangers. All Sarah could do was roll her eyes and smack him on his upper arm.

After the carriage dropped Sean at his destination it turned south and away from the park. It wasn’t long before the park was barely into view and the pungent smell of the river was overpowering, Sarah had to wonder just how close they were to the water. The Whitman’s certainly had a reversal of fortune when Mr. Whitman had passed but she couldn’t imagine the manor would be adjacent to the river.

It was when she stepped out of the carriage and took in the brownstone facade that she realized the Whitman’s were practically paupers. Sarah carefully watched every step she took between the carriage and the stoop to avoid the multiple piles of horse excrement. She made a mental note to refuse all invitations once winter broke.

Once Sarah reached the door she froze in place. She couldn’t find their footman or any other servants, even when she peered through the glass oval into the vestibule. When she took a step back her eyes caught the glint of a brass knob beside the door marked ‘turn’. Sarah twisted the knob, paused for a moment, then twisted again.

“What an odd little contraption.” Sarah muttered under her breath before twisting it a third time. She was so fixated with it that she hadn’t noticed the geriatric servant staring through the door glass at her. It completely caught her off guard when she finally made eye contact with the man that looked like he had been dead since the Johnson administration. “Jesus Christ!’

The words tumbled out of Sarah’s mouth before she had even realized it. It had been loud enough that even the servant had been startled by saying a few choice words themselves. Sarah eyed the servant wearily as she entered the vestibule. When neither of them made mention of the startled exchange Sarah handed off her coat to them.

“Sarah De Har-, Wilkens, Sarah Wilkens to See Miss Rosemary and her mother.” Sarah was expecting the help to announce her arrival but the elderly man simply opened a second glass door leading into a cramped foyer dominated by dark gothic carved stairs. He then hung up her coat on a simple wooden peg attached to the wall and motioned towards a half ajar pocket door. It was then that she realized she was one of the first of the guests to arrive.

Chapter Text

Theodora Whitman seethed at the sheer extravagance of this tea, a senseless drain on the family coffers that her daughter had so stubbornly demanded. She was a woman of substantial girth and found the rigid boning of her tea gown to be an unwelcome cage, further souring her brittle temperament.

Nothing stung quite like the silence of the empty parlor. That every lady she had personally sought out had snubbed her invitation was the ultimate, public humiliation. Looking about the room she was nearly about to make her way to her chambers when she heard footsteps.

As Sarah stepped through the doors, she was the last person Theodora expected to see. Not truly the last, perhaps, but Theodora was well aware that the actual leaders of the Upper Ten wouldn't deign to visit her humble house; indeed, the city’s reigning socialite had refused to even come downstairs when Theodora had brought the invitations around.

"Mrs. Wilkens, thank you for making the time to stop in. How do you fare?" Theodora offered the words with a stiff politeness. She did not hold Sarah in high regard, and the sight of the woman only reminded her of Cornelius’s apparent misery since their union.

Chapter Text

“Mrs. Whitman, I apologize for arriving at such an early hour. I must have gotten confused on the start time. I fear young Percy has gotten my mind all mixed up since his arrival.” Sarah knew she didn’t get the time wrong but she honestly didn’t know what else to say to the woman. What she couldn’t wait for was seeing her sister and cousin later to tell them about it.

“I am as well to be expected, given the circumstances.” Sarah trailed her fingers across her abdomen and gave a faint smile. She would let Theodora come to her own conclusions as to what the motion meant. “My husband holds you in very high esteem and he insisted I pay a call to you first once my sabbatical was over.”

Sarah absolutely hated this and already wished she had kept on her coat and gloves. While the dress from her sister was lovely and would be perfect in most social situations, her exposed chest and arms were positively freezing. She was trying her best not to look obvious, but she simply had to know if they even bothered building a fire in the parlor. Out of the corner of her eye she spied one sad little log glowing reddish orange.

“Will my Aunt Mary be in attendance?” Sarah already knew for a fact that her aunt had received no invite from the Whitman’s. It was a known fact that in their youth the two woman had been rivals and know Theodora was gatekeeping her Aunt Mary from returning to society. The funny thing was, her Aunt didn’t seem to mind the solitude and preferred to be left alone. “I don’t know if you received a reply from Pearl Robinson this morning but she assured me that she would be coming.”

“Where is Miss Rosemary? I figured she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now. This is a rather big deal for her, is it not?” Sarah cast a glance over to the refreshment table and was not surprised at how sparse the offering were. She was sure they were not THAT destitute. “Co-Hosting for the first time with you. Perhaps she got a little too excited?”

“Ah! There she is. You look positively radiant!” Sarah gave the largest smile as she lied her ass off.

God help her if Pearl doesn’t show.

Chapter Text

Theodora felt her lip curl at the mere mention of Mary Archer; the woman remained the primary bane of her existence. They had once shared a semblance of friendship, but Mary had poisoned her own brother’s mind against Theodora. It was that treachery that had forced Theodora to settle for Reginald Whitman, a man with scarcely half the social standing of the DeHart family.

"I was unaware that Mary had resumed attending social functions following the loss of her husband. I do hope she finds herself well," Theodora remarked. She didn't bother to feign even a flicker of polite grief; the words were merely a political necessity, dry and hollow.

In truth, Theodora’s focus was singular: her daughter. The girl was their only hope to recoup their dwindling fortunes. Whether she was bartered to Sean, William, or even Louis mattered little to Theodora, so long as the match elevated their station and served as a slow-turning dagger in Mary’s heart.

Her interest piqued, however, at the mention of Mrs. Robinson. The woman was an enigma. The few confidantes Theodora still admitted to her circle were possessed by a frantic curiosity regarding the lady. Even from the street, the Robinson estate was a display of opulence so aggressive it was impossible to ignore.

"It would be truly delightful to finally meet her in person. I had hoped she might receive me when I delivered the invitation, but her butler informed me she was not at home," Theodora remarked. She turned her full attention to Sarah, her interest sharpening; she hadn't realized Sarah and Mrs. Robinson were such intimate acquaintances. The revelation significantly eased the discomfort she felt regarding the lady's invitation.

"I am certain Rosemary shall be down at any moment. You know how these young girls are...entirely overzealous. Speaking of which, how does your sister fare?"

Just as Florence's name was uttered, Rosemary made her entrance. Disappointment was etched plainly across her features, and Theodora shot her a look that signaled such a lapse in decorum would not be tolerated.

Rosemary had changed her ensemble several times, struggling to find a garment that conveyed the exact impression she desired. Ultimately, she had settled on a piece salvaged during Louis's recent purging of his estate: a significant tea dress that had once belonged to Sarah herself. The hem sat a trifle high, as Rosemary possessed a few inches more height than the other woman, but she hadn't anticipated Sarah would be attending social functions so soon after the birth.

The shock was unmistakable as Rosemary tried to regain her composure, nervously smoothing the skirts of the redingote. "Sarah... thank you for joining us. I had not thought you would be up to making appearances quite so soon." The embarrassment burned bright on her face; she looked as though she wished to melt into the very wall behind her.

Chapter Text

Sarah did her best not to react to Theodora’s gaff because she wasn’t sure of the comment about her Uncle’s passing was in fact a slight or that the woman was becoming feeble of mind.

Her Uncle passed on about a decade ago due to the wounds he had sustained at Gettysburg. In fact, she had never remembered her Uncle not being sick, but the stories her Aunt Mary told them as children remain some of her favorites. She wished that she could have known him prior to the war. He sounded like he had a solid head upon his shoulders, despite not being from high society. More importantly it was he had made Aunt Mary very happy for a time. Their marriage had been a love match.

Sarah had to wonder if perhaps Theodora got her Uncle and grandfather confused since he had passed on more recently. It didn’t matter though. It would be moot to point out the mistake, but she was going to do her best to give a detailed account later to get their read on it.

As far as the relationship between Aunt Mary and Theodora the only thing she had gleaned was they had been rather close growing up. Her father and Cornelius were part of that circle along with a handful of others. The only explanation her Aunt ever gave was they had drifted apart and wanted different things from life. Now, as a married young mother Sarah now understood what Mary had meant. There were several people she had drifted away from.

“Yes, Mrs. Robinson is quite unique. I think you will agree with me that God broke the mold after she was created, that is once you finally meet her.” Sarah was trying her best not to be agitated by the fact that her friend had not arrived. She also found it odd that Theodora acted surprised by Pearl’s invitation acceptance. “Do not take it as a slight that she didn’t properly receive you. Mrs. Robinson is a very busy woman. I’d scantly seen her these past few months.”

Sarah only nodded in agreement with Theodora as she gawked at Rosemary. She then quickly bit down on her tongue to force herself to not mention how familiar that dress looked. Several of her dresses had gone missing around the time she had married. Her father had insisted that she hadn’t looked hard enough through her belongings and that they were probably in the bottom of a trunk, still packed from when she had moved. It was when she tasted the iron in her saliva that unclenched her jaw, swallowed and got her wits about her once more.

“Thank you. My dear husband recently reminded me how important it is to be present in other people’s lives. I know this gathering is close to your heart and I only wish to make it a memorable one.” Sarah plastered a smile across her face and was thankful to hear someone at the front door. She turned to face the parlor door only to be disappointed to see Mrs.India Graham and some associates of hers enter. Associates that had at one time been close to Sarah, Sean and Florence. It appeared that Mrs. Graham really enjoyed leftovers. “My, my, how lucky are we to be able to be together today and with such wonderful hosts.”

It was true that Sarah was laying it on thick but she didn’t want the conversation to turn back to inquiries about Florence. She would handle it, in due time. Thankfully one of the women that arrived with India could be heard mumbling about Pearl. What Sarah could gather was perhaps Pearl had sent out correspondences to everyone, informing them that she would be attending tea today.

Now the question remained, was Pearl going to arrive in grand fashion or was she going to stand them all up?

Chapter Text

Theodora remained unsettled, her mind turning as she tried to decipher the sudden, sharp shift in the atmosphere that had seized both Sarah and Rosemary upon her daughter's entrance. She made a silent, iron-clad vow to have a word with her daughter the moment the last guest departed; Rosemary simply must learn to keep her countenance composed at all times. This woman standing before them held the potential key to their family’s salvation, much as Mary had all those years ago. If they were to secure a more intimate audience with the elusive Mrs. Robinson, Rosemary would do well to remember her place and her manners.

"I do appreciate your insight regarding Mrs. Robinson’s schedule," Theodora remarked, forcing a thin smile. "It quite eases my spirits to know her absence is merely a matter of business."

Though she maintained her brittle politeness, a nagging intuition bit at the back of her mind. When the doors finally creaked open, Theodora felt a surge of genuine adrenaline. If Pearl Robinson stepped through that threshold, Theodora would instantly become the envy of the Upper Ten. However, as the new Mrs. Graham was announced, Theodora felt herself visibly deflate.

India Graham was a woman of no consequence, a social dead end. Theodora had extended the invitation out of weary obligation, a mere nod to the business dealings between their respective husbands. India brought no prestige, no wit, and no leverage to the drawing room. She was a pale shadow compared to Sarah, who, for all her faults, possessed the one thing Theodora craved most: a direct line to power.

Rosemary caught her mother’s sharp, censuring gaze and fought the instinctive urge to shrink. The carefully constructed afternoon was fraying at the edges, and she felt herself teetering on the precipice of a humiliating retreat to her chambers in a fit of tears.

That despair vanished, however, the moment India Graham swept into the room, trailing an entourage of the DeHart sisters' former confidantes. The air in the parlor suddenly felt charged; this dry tea might transform into a delightfully wicked entertainment after all.

Rosemary’s mind raced through the hushed rumors that had been circulating through the drawing rooms of the city. Everyone knew Richard Graham had fallen into a morose stupor following Florence’s abrupt departure, and the whispers suggested Sarah herself had surreptitiously blocked his path to a proposal before her sister was spirited away. For Richard to marry so soon after such a public pining was a scandal in its own right. Many in their circle still questioned the necessity of such a rushed union, especially since Richard had once seemed so thoroughly smitten with the younger DeHart girl that he had actively discouraged other suitors from calling upon her.

"Thank you all so very much for making the time to call on us today," Rosemary said, her voice projecting a sweetness that didn't quite reach her eyes. She gestured toward the drawing room with a practiced grace. "Please, do come in. Mrs. Graham, India, have you had the pleasure of being introduced to Mrs. Sarah Wilkens?"

Rosemary felt a thrill of secret delight as the words left her lips. She was stirring the pot, and she knew it; more importantly, she knew that India Graham was perfectly aware of exactly who Sarah was and exactly whose place she had taken in the Graham household. The air in the room seemed to sharpen, and Rosemary waited with bated breath to see which woman would blink first.

Chapter Text

“Have we met before?” Sarah feigned ignorance for several heartbeats as she stared blankly at India. She took such delight in watching the color wash away from India’s face and had to wonder if the woman truly thought this was going to be a joyful respite from being cooped up in her domicile. Sarah had to wonder if she had truly been given permission to attend. “I apologize for vexing you so. Of course we haven’t formally been introduced. I know I would have remembered such a lovely creature as yourself if we had.”

“It is a pleasure to finally meet the woman who tamed our dear friend Richard.” Sarah shot a glance at India’s entourage, managing to keep a devious smile under wraps. The woman that were ‘attending’ to the new Mrs. Graham had all had their sights set on Richard. She could still hear all of them bemoaning in her father’s parlor about how they could be a good match for him like it had been yesterday. “I do apologize for the informality, he had been a close associate of my brothers and spent countless hours in my family home with him. It was like was like having another brother, I dare say.”

Sarah could feel the tension build from the woman around India. She knew they were all livid that they hadn’t secured the match for themselves. Little did they know the man was no prize and quite poor before his nuptials. The man had the potential to be great but there was no way she was going to allow her sister to marry ‘potential’.

“I will do my best going forward by referring to him as Mr. Graham.” Sarah reached out for India’s hands and clasped them in hers. She gave a light squeeze and looked deeply into her eyes. “Do forgive me. I do not wish to make a bad first impression upon you.”

“Please…you should be off your feet!” Sarah cast a glance down to abdomen and quickly calculated how far along the woman might be. From what she could glean, India was either farther along than the rumor mills claimed or she was carrying more than one child. Sarah found it fascinating because Sean had told her that Richard had been treated for an infection some months ago that could affect his vitality. Then there was the rumor that India was not with child at all. Sarah found herself not ruling anything out at the moment. The only thing she was thankful for was her sister not being in attendance. “I remember being at that stage with my sweet boy Percy. Everything ached and I couldn’t wear my wedding ring. Everything was so swollen.”

Sarah was still holding India’s hand when she lead her over to what appeared to be the most comfortable of settees. She placed her hand on the small of India’s back and guided her down carefully.

“Miss Whitman, would you be a dear and get Mrs. Graham some refreshments. She has got to be positively famished making the trek from up town.” Sarah was just about to sit next to her new friend, mainly to annoy her old confidants and hosts when she heard a commotion coming from the vestibule. It sounded as if the old man from earlier was yelling about not letting a wild beast into the brownstone. Then, Sarah heard that sweet voice of Pearl’s snapping back at him.

“That is no wild beast, her name is Nala and she was gifted to me by the Iyoba of Benin.” Pearl said rather matter of factly as she caressed the Azawakh’s bronze face. The dog remained at her side obediently, staring the elderly gentleman down, as if daring him to say another word. “Nala is not use to the cold. I promised the Queen Mother, who incidentally, is a direct descendent of Mansa Musa, that I would treat Nala as if she were my own child. So either grant both of us passage or flag down a carriage.”

Chapter Text

Rosemary was utterly unequipped for the psychological warfare unfolding before her. She had arrived thinking herself clever, but Sarah was proving to be a predator of a much higher order, quietly, efficiently ruthless. Rosemary found herself struck dumb, her tongue heavy as she looked to the other women in the room. They weren’t helping; they were gawking, breathlessly waiting for the next blow to land.

Panic began to prick at Rosemary’s skin. She stole a desperate glance toward her mother, the crushing realization sinking in that she might have accidentally ignited a blood feud at her very first social engagement.

India stood gobsmacked. The audacity of Sarah feigning ignorance was staggering; Richard had attempted formal introductions months ago, back when Sarah was still quite round with child. India heard the sharp, hitched breath of her acquaintance behind her and felt the walls closing in. She lacked the social standing and the allies to push back against such a blatant slight. Swallowing the prickle of tears, she told herself this was merely Sarah being overprotective, a sisterly shield against the memory of Florence’s "smitten obsession" with Richard. India had been informed that many ladies, including the ones that were with her, had their designs on Richard before their engagement and subsequent marriage. Her acquaintances had told her of the gifts that Florence had bestowed on Richard.

"Do not censor yourself on my behalf," India replied, her voice wavering only slightly. "I understand quite well how close you all are. In fact, my husband mentioned his intention to pay a call on your household this very afternoon." Richard had been quite clear: she wasn't to hold supper for him, as he expected to be out for the entirety of the day.

As Sarah guided her toward the settee with a comment about her "stage" of pregnancy, India felt a cold flush of confusion. She wasn't even at the midpoint of her term; she could only assume Richard had been indiscreet about her condition.

"You are far too kind," India said, settling into the cushions. She decided then to pivot, choosing to kill the woman with kindness rather than risk a witless counterattack. "I simply must know where you acquired that dress. It is absolutely gorgeous. I haven’t seen a single thing like it in the city."

The simmering tension in the parlor was shattered by the commotion in the vestibule. Theodora rose, her movements heavy but purposeful, and began to march toward the noise.

"There will be absolutely no animals in my home!" she barked, stomping toward the doors with fury.

Distraught and trailing in her mother’s footsteps, Rosemary stumbled along, instinctively hitching up her skirts to keep pace, an action that only served to highlight the fact that the purloined hem was already too short.

As the heavy parlor doors swung wide, the sheer audacity of the sight halted the small procession in its tracks. Standing in the vestibule was Pearl Robinson: radiant, unapologetic, and anchored by a lean, bronze-coated beast that looked more like an ancient desert spirit than a household pet.

Theodora’s face was a mask of indignation, her mouth already opening to deliver a scathing eviction. Beside her, Rosemary’s heart was about to beat out of her chest. She could feel the weight of Sarah’s previous barbs still stinging, knowledge that she was indeed wearing the woman's dress, and the sight of this exotic creature offered a bizarre, desperate lifeline to shift the focus away from her own social failings.

When they finally came into full view of the interloper, all she could muster was a single, trilling word.

"Puppy," she chirped, the tone so sickly sweet it practically coated the room in sugar.

The word hung in the air, an absurd contrast to the low, protective growl vibrating in the dog’s chest and the sharp, regal glint in Pearl’s eyes. Rosemary kept the smile plastered on her face, ignoring the way her mother’s hands were trembling with rage beside her.

Chapter Text

“Again, so soon?” Sarah cocked her head to the side as she looked over India. She highly doubted the man would be dumb enough to try to pay a call on her sister for a second time that day. “I am sure you must be mistaken. Being with child can be quite taxing. It causes you to forget people, names, engagements and so on.”

“Do not be hard on yourself. It happens to the best of us.” Sarah lightly patted the back of India’s hand as her attention was diverted towards the vestibule. “That is quite kind to say. You won’t find anything like it in any of the ateliers in town, that I can assure you. The dress was a gift.”

“I know I am very lucky to be in possession of such unique pieces. I feel each ensemble should enhance and reflect who you are as a person” Sarah made sure she was loud enough for the Whitman’s to hear. While she did not express any outward emotions towards the revelation of Rosemary wearing her old tea gown, it was making her seethe within. It had been one of her favorites and Florence’s dear Mama had procured it for her bridal trousseau.

When Sarah heard the word ‘puppy’ in a high pitched squeal coming from outside of the parlor she couldn’t remain one minute longer. She couldn’t believe that child was angling to become her step mom. Rosemary had to be at least five years younger than her.

“Fascinating chat Mrs. Graham, if you’ll excuse me. I believe my friend is here.” Sarah practically bolted out of the room, if only to get a front row seat watching Pearl in all her glory. She had no intention of diffusing the situation. A part of her hoped that it would only escalate once she skirted around Theodora.

“Mrs. Whitman, Miss Whitman, may I introduce you to Mrs. Robinson.” Sarah briefly gave Pearl a sly look before taking her ensemble in. She was impeccable as always.

Pearl was wearing a teal charmeuse gown, lined with copper colored fringe on the hems. The high collared bodice and bustle material was striped possessing the same color scheme. Deer skinned gloves and a bonnet with plumes of peacock feathers completed the look.

“Ah! I was wondering if you were in attendance Mrs. Wilkens, but I fear I must take my leave. My ‘puppy’ doesn’t seem to be welcome.” Pearl didn’t even bother to look at the elder, nor the younger Whitman’s faces for their reactions. It was obvious that Theodora was struggling to remain steadfast in her proclamation and Rosemary was no doubt dying on the inside from embarrassment. If Rosemary wasn’t, she was about to. “Miss Whitman, what a lovely dress. It seems so familiar, does it not Mrs. Wilkens.”

Sarah quickly cast her eyes down to her feet. She knew if she had made eye contact with Pearl she would have started to laugh.

“I know I have seen it before, perhaps on the ladies mile somewhere. No matter.” Pearl waved dismissively before she took in Sarah’s ensemble and nodded approvingly. It was good to see her friend wearing attire that was less matronly for once. If Pearl was granted an audience alone she would be sure to elaborate on how she truly found Sarah’s dress. “Anyway, I shan’t take up any more of your time. Enjoy the rest of your tea Miss Whitman.”

“Come, Nala.” Pearl gave a light tap to the side of Nala’s neck, prompting the dog to stand back up on all fours and turn towards the door.

Chapter Text

India paused, a flicker of genuine confidence warming her; she was blissfully unaware of the razor-sharp sarcasm in Sarah’s tone or that the most pointed barbs had been aimed squarely at Rosemary. Beside her, a few of the ladies exchanged knowing glances, they recognized the dress immediately, having seen Sarah glide through a ballroom in that very silk only a season or two prior. Just as India prepared to lean back into her titillating conversation, the momentum vanished; Sarah abruptly put her on hold, bolting toward the vestibule to investigate the growing commotion.

Theodora and Rosemary stood frozen, their composure shattered into uncharacteristic, slack-jawed shock. The realization hit Theodora like a physical blow: had she truly just denied entry to a guest of Mrs. Robinson’s stature and a royal gift, no less? Stuttering and hopelessly out of her depth, a wave of nausea rolled over her at the thought of the social suicide she had just committed.

"I—I apologize, Mrs. Robinson. I am quite certain we can reach an understanding," Theodora managed, desperate to pivot. But she was jolted from her attempt at recovery by a sharp gasp and a sudden, choked sob from Rosemary.

"What ails you, girl?" Theodora barked, though her voice lacked its usual bite as she watched her daughter flee unceremoniously up the stairs. The afternoon was an absolute disaster. She stood in the sudden silence of the hall, wondering exactly how the reins of her household had slipped so spectacularly from her fingers.

Theodora’s eyes darted toward Sarah, noting with a fresh spike of panic that the woman seemed to be preparing to depart alongside her friend.

"I truly believe this is a matter we might discuss and even laugh over in time," Theodora began, her voice strained as she fought to maintain her dignity. "A simple, unfortunate mistake for which I am deeply apologetic. Please, Mrs. Robinson, it would be my distinct honor to have you join us."

It wasn't quite a plea, Theodora Whitman did not beg, but it was as close to a supplication as she had ever come in her life.

Chapter Text

“I’d like to think I am quite accommodating.” Pearl practically cooed in victory before facing Theodora. As she spun back to see what her hosts terms would entail the younger Whitman tore up the steps. The girl’s breath hitched as she choked on her sobs, growing increasingly more difficult with each foot fall.

Then came the door slam.

Pearl stood in place as she listened to Theodora scramble to get things back in order. A few of the other guests were now gathered by the pocket door of the parlor; trying desperately to listen in, see Pearl in the flesh or both. They didn’t even bother to look as if they weren’t eavesdropping when Theodora spied them from the corner of her eye.

“I find children can be so difficult at times. More so, when a father isn’t present.” Pearl did not elaborate one whether she knew this from personal experience or not. In fact, she never revealed to anyone in the city if she had children, that included Sarah. “I wouldn’t worry too much Mrs. Whitman. Give her a few more years and she will be ready for the marriage market.”

“Speaking of marriage…” Pearl peeled off her gloves and motioned for Sarah to navigate them towards the parlor. She unclipped the leash, allowing Nala free rein of the house. The dog however, remained at her heel and kept a wary eye on the strangers that surrounded them.

“Mrs. Wilken’s was telling me that you have widowed for some time. Dreadfully sorry for you loss.”

Pearl knew that the Whitman’s standing in society had decreased exponentially since the passing of Mr. Whitman. It was also rather evident in their current lodgings that there had been a reversal of fortune. It was her understanding that the Whitman’s were social climbers of the first order, this new abode only made their desperation that much more obvious.

“I did hear through various channels that you are looking to take another husband. Is that true?” Pearl stopped short of telling Theodora that the first marriage was reserved for love, while the second was for financial security. “You would make a beautiful bride.”

“Don’t you think Mrs. Wilkens?” Pearl couldn’t help but try to get her friend’s goat. She was impressed with Sarah’s stone like features as she simply nodded in agreement. “Ladies, what do you think of Mrs. Whitman being on the marriage market?”

Chapter Text

Theodora stood in stunned silence, the air still vibrating from the force of her daughter’s retreating door slam. She truly believed that both Mrs. Robinson and Mrs. Wilkens were about to leave and then this entire day would have been for not. She felt a slight reprieve when Mrs. Robinson seemed to acquiesce to her plea. The reprieve was short-lived, however, as Mrs. Robinson swept into the home with the beast in tow. When Pearl coolly unclipped the leash, Theodora’s breath hitched; she nearly fainted at the sight of such an animal roaming her parlor without restraint, its presence a silent, bronze-coated defiance of every rule of her household.

Theodora felt herself sinking, utterly out of her depth with a woman like Pearl Robinson. As desperately as she required a social lifeline to navigate Rosemary’s prospects, she was far from certain she possessed the constitution to manage such a volatile and dominant personality. Yet, the closeness between Mrs. Robinson and Mrs. Wilkens remained a source of sharp intrigue. It was a glaring omission that gnawed at her, she couldn't help but wonder why Corn had failed to mention such a significant connection during their most recent confidence.

She found herself momentarily speechless, her throat tightening as Pearl nonchalantly suggested waiting a few more years for Rosemary’s debut. To a woman in Pearl’s position, time was a luxury; to Theodora, it was a predator. She knew all too well that her dwindling resources and precarious social standing would not survive another season, let alone several years of maintaining a household on hope alone. Rosemary had to be matched, and soon, or the Whitman name would be little more than a footnote in the ledgers of New York’s forgotten.

Theodora felt the weight of every gaze in the parlor, the silence stretching thin and dangerous. She forced a practiced, brittle smile to her lips, smoothing the silk of her skirts as if the question were merely a pleasantry rather than a public audit of her status.

"I fear the sun has quite set on such horizons for me; my only remaining ambition is to see my daughter safely anchored." She swept a gaze over the other women, offering a graceful nod that subtly reminded them of the hospitality they were currently enjoying. "Though, I suppose it is no secret that a household is always more complete with a strong hand at the helm. While my focus has been entirely on Rosemary’s preparation, I have always believed that a Whitman woman, regardless of the year, understands the value of a well-placed alliance. But surely, we have more pressing matters than my own modest prospects? I should like to hear more of this 'gift' from the Queen Mother."

Chapter Text

“Pity, I think you would have make a beautiful bride. There is something to be said for a more mature bride. She knows what attire suits her best. Knows exactly what she wants in the form of a husband. …and usually, there are no surprises to be expected come the wedding night.” Pearl gave Theodora a wry smile before pouting. “I am positively saddened at the thought of never being in attendance of such an occasion. Just based on what I see here in your parlor I have no doubt your nuptials would have been…unique. No one would soon forget it.”

Pearl wasn’t exactly sure what the decorative motif of the parlor could be classified as when she took stock of it. There was dark wood wainscoting throughout the room, a mission oak mantel with a mirror above being the obvious focal point. The rest of the exposed wall was merely a flat white base coat that may, or may not have been a deliberate choice. Then there were the drapes, tacked up by the sole window in the room and matching the younger Whitman’s dress, in both color and length.

“Bonjour Mrs. Wilkens.” Pearl clasped both of her friend’s hands and lightly kissed each cheek. As she she released her grasp and stepped back she could see Sarah’s neck flush crimson. Pearl took the time to drink in her vision of a friend. “Quelle belle robe! Ella fait ressortir la couleur de tes yeux.’

“It is a rather boring story if you must know. Nala was gifted to me after I had entertained Djeneba.” Pearl didn’t elaborate beyond that simple explanation. She simply followed Sarah over to the refreshment table where the other women lingered. Nala, ever obedient, remained at her owner’s side in total silence.

“Care to introduce me, I feel I am at a loss.” Pearl didn’t look up at the other woman as she perused the offerings. She grabbed a small plate and began to pick out items that appeared to look edible. It wasn’t much and she was grateful for having ate before arriving. Pearl placed some dried fruit, nuts and shortbread on her plate.

“Of course…” Sarah didn’t hesitate to respond, not realizing it wasn’t her duty to do so. It had become a habit for her to speak up first, much to Corn’s chagrin. “You’ve met the Whitmans of course. The practically ethereal apparition before you is the new Mrs. India Graham and directly behind her are Miss Millie and Tillie Fisher.”

“Mmm Hmm.” Pearl hummed as the fraternal twins peered suspiciously around either side of India. She took a bite of the shortbread not bothering to look up, still engrossed with the spread before her. The dry composition of the bread made it difficult for her to respond straight away. Pearl swallowed hard and gave the rest of the shortbread to Nala. Fortunate for her, the dog had a strong constitution, which she learned after it had eaten a leather gun holster in its entirety.

Chapter Text

Theodora felt a prickle of unease. She couldn’t discern to what end Mrs. Robinson persisted in bringing up the prospect of her remarrying. As far as Theodora was concerned, she had served her time under the restrictive yoke of matrimony; she was quite finished with its rules. It was her turn now, time to be kept in the luxury she felt she was owed. At the very least, Rosemary owed her that much.

"I am so sorry to disappoint you," Theodora replied, her voice leveled, "but I have not even had any suitors to speak of."

She watched Pearl closely, feeling as though she were being weighed on a scale she didn't quite understand. The confusion gnawed at her; Pearl’s words were honeyed, yet the situation felt sharp, and the lack of overt sarcasm in the woman's tone only made Theodora more wary. She felt a wave of relief when the subject finally shifted, and she didn't even find the energy to balk at the inappropriately familiar "Bonjour" or the physical fondness Pearl bestowed upon Sarah.

Theodora maintained her practiced smile. Until she saw it.

Her breath hitched as Mrs. Robinson casually fed a piece of shortbread to the beast at her side. Theodora nearly gasped aloud at the sheer impropriety of it, her eyes widening. In her own home, to a dog! She held her tongue, the stinging realization of her own precarious social standing acting as a muzzle. She was in no position to make a scene, even as she watched her hospitality being literally tossed to the floor.

Before she could do anything rash or say something that would cement her social ruin, Theodora rose. Her movement was abrupt, her skirts sharp against the sudden silence of the room.

"I... I must see if Rosemary is well," she managed, her voice uncharacteristically shaky. Without waiting for a response, she turned and made her way toward the stairs, her retreat feeling more like a flight than an exit. To Theodora, the entire day was a disaster, a series of mounting humiliations she could no longer manage.
In the wake of her departure, India Graham moved to fill the void. She cleared her throat, stepping forward to be the first to properly acknowledge the newcomer.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Robinson," India said, offering a practiced, graceful tilt of her head. "And may I say, your ensemble is simply astonishing."

India was grateful for the diversion, she couldn't have managed another bite of the dry biscuits, and the tea had grown lamentably watered down. However, as she spoke, she realized Pearl’s focus remained almost entirely on Sarah. A flicker of surprise crossed India’s features. She had not realized Sarah moved in such elevated circles to be on such intimate terms with a woman of Mrs. Robinson’s stature was a revelation.

A quick glance toward the Fisher twins confirmed her suspicion. Millie and Tillie looked profoundly uncomfortable, their wide-eyed expressions betraying that they, too, had been kept in the dark about this particular connection. The social landscape of the room had just shifted, and India realized she wasn't the only one struggling to find her footing. This truly changed how she would need to reevaluate how she developed her friendship with Sarah. She was far more important than Richard had lead her to believe.

Chapter Text

Theodora felt a prickle of unease. She couldn’t discern to what end Mrs. Robinson persisted in bringing up the prospect of her remarrying. As far as Theodora was concerned, she had served her time under the restrictive yoke of matrimony; she was quite finished with its rules. It was her turn now, time to be kept in the luxury she felt she was owed. At the very least, Rosemary owed her that much.

"I am so sorry to disappoint you," Theodora replied, her voice leveled, "but I have not even had any suitors to speak of."

She watched Pearl closely, feeling as though she were being weighed on a scale she didn't quite understand. The confusion gnawed at her; Pearl’s words were honeyed, yet the situation felt sharp, and the lack of overt sarcasm in the woman's tone only made Theodora more wary. She felt a wave of relief when the subject finally shifted, and she didn't even find the energy to balk at the inappropriately familiar "Bonjour" or the physical fondness Pearl bestowed upon Sarah.

Theodora maintained her practiced smile. Until she saw it.

Her breath hitched as Mrs. Robinson casually fed a piece of shortbread to the beast at her side. Theodora nearly gasped aloud at the sheer impropriety of it, her eyes widening. In her own home, to a dog! She held her tongue, the stinging realization of her own precarious social standing acting as a muzzle. She was in no position to make a scene, even as she watched her hospitality being literally tossed to the floor.

Before she could do anything rash or say something that would cement her social ruin, Theodora rose. Her movement was abrupt, her skirts sharp against the sudden silence of the room.

"I... I must see if Rosemary is well," she managed, her voice uncharacteristically shaky. Without waiting for a response, she turned and made her way toward the stairs, her retreat feeling more like a flight than an exit. To Theodora, the entire day was a disaster, a series of mounting humiliations she could no longer manage.

In the wake of her departure, India Graham moved to fill the void. She cleared her throat, stepping forward to be the first to properly acknowledge the newcomer.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Robinson," India said, offering a practiced, graceful tilt of her head. "And may I say, your ensemble is simply astonishing."

India was grateful for the diversion, she couldn't have managed another bite of the dry biscuits, and the tea had grown lamentably watered down. However, as she spoke, she realized Pearl’s focus remained almost entirely on Sarah. A flicker of surprise crossed India’s features. She had not realized Sarah moved in such elevated circles to be on such intimate terms with a woman of Mrs. Robinson’s stature was a revelation.

A quick glance toward the Fisher twins confirmed her suspicion. Millie and Tillie looked profoundly uncomfortable, their wide-eyed expressions betraying that they, too, had been kept in the dark about this particular connection. The social landscape of the room had just shifted, and India realized she wasn't the only one struggling to find her footing. This truly changed how she would need to reevaluate how she developed her friendship with Sarah. She was far more important than Richard had lead her to believe.

Chapter Text

For a moment Pearl was sure that Theodora had completely forgotten she even had a daughter. That changed however shortly after she was swarmed by India and her two silent cronies. Sarah had only given her a brief synopsis of who may be in attendance, which was a tad irritating. She didn’t like surprises, nor mysterious people, but perhaps it was because that was her role, solely. Pearl did not like competition.

“Of course it is. I chose the silk brocade myself whilst I toured the Orient some time ago.” Pearl had prided herself on having creative control over her pieces. New York society may try to replicate her ensembles, but none would come close. She had a surplus of unique textiles from her travels abroad. “Rather unique garment you are donning Mrs. Graham.”

Whether that was a compliment or a slight, Pearl kept her face neutral, leaving it up to India to decide.

“Mrs. Wilkens here told me that you were brought forth in Bombay or was it Calcutta? Your father worked there for some time. The tea here must be positively dreadful for you.” Pearl took a sip of the concoction passing itself off as green tea. In her humblest opinion it was neither green nor tea, just tepid water that tasted faintly of bitter grass. “Gunpowder, I think.”

“..but I will defer to you Mrs. Graham.” Pearl begrudgingly took another sip to insure no bits of shortbread remained in her throat. The tea was marginally better than the bread, if that. Pearl dabbed her lips with a cloth napkin before she placed the tea cup and plate off to one side of the table. “That was, something. I’ll be sure to thank our host for this special little treat.”

Pearl flashed a look in Sarah’s direction, showing her disapproval. She knew getting a missive in the middle of the night from Sarah had to be dire. What she didn’t realize was just how bad this gathering would be. Now she was trying to think of an excuse to get both of them out of there because the silence was palpable.

“My sister and I practically grew up with Millie and Tillie.” Sarah said in a weak attempt to break up the lull in conversation. She rubbed her exposed forearm, looking rather uncomfortable for even mentioning the twins. At one time all of them had been the best of friends. That all changed when they came out into society and were trying their best to woo William and Sean. Now, they looked to be destined to live out their days as bitter spinsters. “I think I had mentioned them to you before when you were over for tea, during autumn. You had asked about my upbringing.”

“No, I would have remembered twins. So rare a thing and to both be unattached. Bravo!” Pearl clipped Nala’s leash back to her collar. Nala’s golden eyes looked up to her owner. It was evident the dog was also ready to leave. “Do you think Mrs. Whitman will be able to convince her daughter to join this little soirée? I don’t wish to be rude, but I need time to host my cousin Arthur for supper, plus prepare for the Opera tonight. He was so kind to offer an escort. I feel it only right I give him a proper meal beforehand.”

“Bachelors…” Pearl scoffed before looking back towards the stairs.

Chapter Text

India found herself thoroughly intrigued by Mrs. Robinson, the woman possessed a worldly air that was as intimidating as it was magnetic. Just as India began to respond, Pearl continued on without a beat. While such a slight would normally have bristled India’s nerves, she found herself momentarily paralyzed, and somewhat in awe of the effortless way the woman commanded the room.

Turning her attention back to the cup in her hand, India silently agreed with Pearl’s assessment, she wasn't entirely convinced this concoction was tea at all. It was, without question, the most dreadfully bland liquid she had ever been forced to endure.

"I cannot quite place its origins," India remarked, her tone carefully neutral. "Perhaps it is the brewing technique I am unfamiliar with."

She did her best to navigate the comment without speaking ill of her host, though her stomach turned at the thought of consuming another drop. Between the "bitter grass" in her cup and the suffocating tension in the parlor, she found herself looking toward the door with increasing longing.

Theodora finally gathered her wits, smoothing the lines of her skirts until she felt her composure snap back into place. She could hold this together, she had to long enough to secure a place in Mrs. Robinson’s good graces. As she passed Rosemary’s door, the girl’s hysterical sobbing echoed through the wood, but Theodora didn't falter. She had no time for such theatrics. Catching the eye of a nearby maid, she offered a sharp, imperious nod toward the room, a silent command to handle the unruly child at any cost.

Sweeping back into the parlor, she forced a practiced smile onto her face. "I do apologize for my hasty exit," she announced, her voice a melody of feigned maternal concern. "Poor Rosemary is not quite feeling herself today; the vapors, I fear. But come, let us not dwell on it. How does everyone fare? Can I offer anyone more tea?"

She moved back into the circle, her gaze darting between Mrs. Robinson and India, searching for any sign that her brief lapse in decorum had been forgive nor worse, recorded.

Chapter Text

Pearl kept her face neutral as India gave her plausible explanation of the tea dilemma. She found it interesting how the woman gave the most neutral of answers, which in her eyes, meant India was afraid of Theodora. There was indeed a pecking order amongst the woman and it appeared as if Theodora and India were jockeying for the top position.

Pearl knew that she needed to continue to throw out some more choice tidbits of information if she were to have a proper read of all the women in the room. This included even her close friend Sarah. While she suspected there would be no surprises from her cohort, Pearl felt it best to continue to test those waters to be sure.

“No apologies are necessary Mrs. Whitman. I fear a mother’s job is never done. Though, I do hope the poor dear will recover and it isn’t anything serious.” Pearl set her tea cup down and for once looked Theodora directly in the eyes. “I heard dreadful news the other day whilst shopping that there was a cholera outbreak in Middletown, which is not surprising given the history of that place.”

Pearl heard behind her the twins murmur their shock over the rumor before mentioning Staten Island has always been a hot bed for the infirm. They also huffed that it was ‘no surprise’ to them given the people that resided there. That indicated to Pearl that the twins were the ones to be trusted to spread any rumors far and wide amongst society. They also would be easy to win over should Pearl need them to do her bidding based on the two of them parroting her remarks.

“While your refreshments are quite delightful I am afraid I have to abstain. I was just telling Mrs. Graham, Mrs. DeHart and the Fisher sisters that I will be entertaining my cousin Arthur for dinner. I do not know how the man survived before my arrival to New York.” Pearl knew her cousin had spent many a evening in the company of Sarah. How exactly, she could only fathom, though she suspected food was the last thing on the menu. “He is always been so devoted to his career. I’ve never seen anyone so enamored by drawings.”

“I have to constantly remind Arthur that there is more to life than work. Don’t you agree Mrs. Whitman.” Pearl reached down and lightly scratched Nana’s ears. The dog gave a low groan of delight before longingly looking up to her owner. “If only he would settle down.”

“I think there is something commendable about Mr. Lowell being dedicated to his craft. He’s been instrumental in making my vision come to life.” Sarah chimed in, doing her best to not look too interested in Arthur’s personal life. The next words to tumble from her mouth were bitter to spit out. “Perhaps he just hasn’t found the right woman.”

“Perhaps indeed. That will change if I were to have my way.” Pearl replied as she noticed Sarah shift ever so slight on her feet. “I would like to see him settle down. Just as I believe you would like to see both your brother William and cousin Sean also be bound by marriage.”

“All of them are fine catches if I do say so myself. If I wasn’t still in mourning I can think of one in particular that I might fancy.” Pearl lied. That should set the tongues a wagging and possibly start a frenzy amongst the eligible woman. Pearl was curious as to which bachelor would end up being the stag that the women would try to hunt down. “Tell me Mrs. Whitman, should Miss Rosemary come out into society this season, which bachelor would you most likely have as a son in law? Or is there someone I missed?”

Pearl didn’t know anything about the Fishers, but it wouldn’t surprise her if there were several available men in that family. Especially if they had the same exact nose as Millie, or was it Tillie? Pearl had already forgotten which was which.

“Mrs. Graham, perhaps you have a contender in your family for Miss Rosemarys hand?” Already Pearl was formulating a plot in her mind. She was going to push this agenda as hard as she possibly could. “What about a wager? To see who Rosemary ultimately chooses.”

“…but what will be the prize?”

Chapter Text

"It does seem so," Theodora replied, her voice carrying a practiced, weary elegance. "One would think we might earn a lifetime’s reprieve after the sacrifice of bringing them into the world."

Despite her composure, the shift in conversation toward illness made the air in the parlor feel suddenly thin. To a woman whose social standing was already on shakey ground, the mere mention of cholera felt like an ill omen. "That is absolutely dreadful. A true shame, Mrs. Robinson, a profound shame."

She fought the urge to usher them all out immediately and scrub the floors. Instead, she caught the curious slip, Pearl addressing Sarah as Mrs. DeHart. Storing that bit of intrigue for later, Theodora pivoted back to Pearl’s cousin.

"Men do seem to require a firm, graceful hand to guide them, do they not? It is remarkably charitable of you to provide such direction for your cousin." Theodora offered a thin, hopeful smile, desperate to claw back some scrap of Pearl’s favor. "Ah, the young man currently engaged with your estate, Mrs. Wilkens? Mr. Lowell has quite a reputation for his... dedication."

India did not miss the sudden, subtle pallor that drained Sarah’s complexion at the mention of Arthur Lowell. While India’s own knowledge of the man was sparse, her instincts, sharpened by years of navigating social subtleties, screamed that there was a story there. She glanced toward the Fisher twins, trying to discern if their wide-eyed expressions were mere maidenly swooning or if they, too, held pieces of this puzzle. She made a mental note to conduct some discreet research; the air in the room was practically humming with unspoken history.

When Theodora spoke of Rosemary’s debut and her supposed lack of preference among such "fine gentlemen," India had to bite her lip to keep from giggling outright. The whispers at the tailors had been quite specific about the dealings between Sarah’s father and Rosemary, and "gentlemanly" was not the word that came to mind.

However, her amusement vanished when Mrs. Robinson turned the spotlight on India’s own family. The suggestion of a match between her brother and the Whitman girl caused a visceral reaction. No, she thought, her spine stiffening. Absolutely not. Her brother was far too refined, his education too hard-won, to be sacrificed to a house currently smelling of desperation and watered-down tea.

"My brother is currently quite occupied with his own pursuits," India replied, her tone a masterpiece of polite finality. India’s smile remained fixed, though it took on a sharper, more protective edge as she addressed the room. "He has yet to return from his overseas assignment," she noted, her voice smooth as silk.

She pointedly omitted her mother’s escalating hysterics regarding his return; in the privacy of their own home, her mother was practically losing her composure, desperate for him to finally settle down and secure the family’s legacy. But India would never provide this company, especially not Theodora Whitman, the satisfaction of knowing her family had any such anxieties.

"As a practicing attorney, his presence is often required in matters far more global than the drawing rooms of New York," she added, her eyes flicking toward Pearl Robinson with a knowing glint. "I’m afraid he is far too devoted to the law to be easily swayed by a wager, no matter how enticing the stakes."

She leaned in slightly, as if sharing a confidence, though her words were meant for everyone to hear. "One finds that men of true substance rarely 'land' where they are pushed; they choose their own ground. But tell me, Mrs. Robinson—since you are so fond of games—what exactly would the winner of such a contest receive? I assume something far more valuable than the tea currently being served."

Chapter Text

All Pearl wanted was confirmation of eligible bachelors and it was already paying off in spades despite India’s supposed apprehensions. She knew she didn’t have to tell them what the prize was but it was going to entice them more. Before the tea was through she was going to have a comprehensive list to work with. Then her work could truly begin.

“Tis’ a pity your brother is dedicated to his craft on the continent. Therefore Mrs Graham, you unfortunately won’t be eligible for the prize I have in mind. Anyone who wishes to participate must have an eligible bachelor to put forth, so to speak.” Pearl gave the warmest of smiles as she looked over at her host. “Do not fret Mrs. Whitman. It is something that your daughter will automatically be privy to, no matter her suitor.”

It was at that moment the twins rattled off three names all starting with M. They both were positively under Pearl’s spell by this point, regardless of the prize.

“I will pay for a full season at the academy this coming fall. Private box for five on the parterre level, but only if Miss Whitman is betrothed by then.” Pearl knew that none of them had boxes at the academy, that included her dear friend Sarah. Her father Louis had given up the family box shortly after the passing of Florence’s mother, while Cornelius cited owning one as being frivolous expense. What she wasn’t telling them was the box had an obstructed view of the stage and no one in the cheap seats would be able to discern who exactly was sitting there. Despite that glaring omission she knew these women would turn on each other for a scrap of prestige. “Mrs. Wilkens has two potential bachelors, The Fisher’s apparently have three and I one.”



“Now, I believe some planning must be made for Miss Whitman’s debut in order for the wager to continue? Yes, are we in agreement?” Pearl didn’t look towards Sarah, knowing full well her friend probably thought she was going to thrust Arthur into the mix. “Are there any other engagements coming up that could possibly conflict?”

“I…I…have one.” Sarah’s voice was weak as she stumbled with her first few words in rebuttal. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting the calm wash over her before she continued. “Apologizes, this has been my first official outing since the birth of my son. I do have an event on my social calendar for Saint Valentine’s Day but the official invitations have not been sent out. Of course you can expect to receive them soon.”

“It will be a masquerade ball at Wilkens House to celebrate my little sister’s debut. Gods and Goddesses theme.” Sarah knew that the event was a little over two weeks away but she was confident enough to know she’d be able to pull it off. “Please do not mention it until the invitations arrive. I haven’t had a chance to speak about the specifics to Florence. I wish for it to be a surprise. I want to do something nice after her ordeal.”

“Vapors, I’m afraid, much like Miss Whitman. Seems to be much of that going around. Well, that and cholera apparently. Let’s hope it’s not that.” Sarah gave a bit of a snort in laughter at her joke but quickly stifled it when she realized no one else was laughing.

“That is splendid! Mum is the word.” Pearl clapped in glee. She was actually impressed that Sarah was starting to come out of her shell and actively defy social norms. “Any other conflicts? No? Good. Mrs. Whitman, any date other than Saint Valentine’s Day will be perfect for Rosemary’s debut.”

Pearl didn’t give two shits if India gave birth or the Fisher twins had other engagements. They were officially put on notice. She also knew that any debut this season was going to pale in comparison to Florence’s.

Pearl was here for all the delicious chaos that was about to ensue.

Chapter Text

Theodora’s composure wavered, a rare slip in her practiced mask. She couldn't quite discern if the sharp turns in conversation were unintended slights or calculated digs at her standing. However, the realization that they were wagering on Rosemary’s future hit her with a jolt of pure shock.

Her mind performed the necessary mental gymnastics, weighing indignation against opportunity. She quickly pivoted to the latter, a wager meant these women now had a vested interest in Rosemary’s success. They would be motivated to parade men of substance before her and sing the girl's praises and virtues, potentially securing a favorable match with the absolute minimum of financial or emotional contribution on Theodora’s part. It was, she realized, a stroke of unexpected luck.

She listened, already mentally crossing off one suitor who had failed miserably in a prior attempt. But just as she prepared to solicit Mrs. Robinson’s expertise on Rosemary’s debut, Sarah interjected with news of Florence.

"I was unaware she was due to return," Theodora remarked, her tone carefully neutral. "The last I heard, she was still receiving the... necessary training for her entry into society."

In truth, she had always found Florence to be something of a brat. The girl had been given every opportunity to assist Rosemary, yet seemed to delight in doing the exact opposite. Perhaps it was a lingering distaste for Florence’s mother, whose passing had been of no consequence to Theodora, but she found the prospect of a competing debut troublesome.

India found it impossible to hold her tongue; the news felt like a natural extension of the conversation, flowing from her with practiced ease. "Oh yes, she has arrived," India confirmed. "She appeared quite well, though the whispers previously suggested she was rather melancholy following the passing of her dear mother."

To India, this was merely common knowledge, but the revelation forced Theodora to question many things. She maintained a mask of polite interest while privately wondering if this return explained Cornelius’s absence the previous evening.

"Gods and Goddesses... it sounds truly lovely," Theodora remarked, her voice a smooth veneer.

"My own mother was never quite so creative. It certainly promises to be the debut of the season." India interjected. Not once thinking about the implications.

India offered a thin smile, but the repeated talk of cholera had begun to fray her nerves. Sensing the atmosphere turning sour, she decided it was time to make her exit. "I fear my condition requires me to seek rest now," she said, rising. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Whitman. And it was a genuine pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Robinson, I certainly hope our paths cross again soon."

Theodora could not have cared less about India’s departure. Though she stood to offer a proper farewell, her mind was a whirlwind of newly acquired information.

"The pleasure was entirely mine, I assure you," Theodora replied. Then, pivoting back to the social calendar to ensure Rosemary wasn't overshadowed, she added, "As for Rosemary’s debut, we would not dream of imposing upon Ms. DeHart’s event. We shall plan for early spring instead. A celebration of new life and beginnings."

Chapter Text

“I can unequivocally confirm that Florence has returned as of late yesterday afternoon and the journey was quite taxing on her. Our entire family still mourns her mother’s untimely passing and while I am merely a pale substitute I will endeavor to do my best to present her properly to society.” In truth, Sarah wanted to give Florence the debut she felt she had been robbed of. The only thing her family had gone above and beyond on had been her dress. That had been only out of the kindness of Florence’s dear momma. Sarah was going to enjoy every last penny spent on this event.

Sarah managed to keep her smirk at bay when India blurted out what everyone in the room was thinking. The vapid upstart wasn’t wrong. It was going to be the event of the season. With luck, tongues would still be wagging hard at Rosemary’s debut weeks later.

“Yes, you should get rest when you can Mrs. Graham.” Sarah gave a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes as India gave her goodbyes to the room. Pearl merely nodded at the woman while Nala’s marble eyes watched in suspicion. It was apparent the dog didn’t think much of the blonde.

“That sounds positively lovely!” Pearl exclaimed before elaborating on her vision of the event. “I can already picture Miss Whitman’s soiree, you could give out chocolate bunnies as favors and have a multitude of egg related appetizers. I have a wonderful confectionary baker on staff I could loan out to you. Of course, you would be responsible for their wages and any supplies they would need but I can assure you that no one in this city can match their mastery.”

“Depending on how many you intend to invite I could also send their assistants as well.” Pearl continued singing the praises of her talented staff, all the way down to her scullery maids. “If you are unsure about hiring them I could have a footman bring samples over prior.”

“…or you could simply partake of the spread they will be providing for Florence’s debut.” Sarah hadn’t even talked to Pearl about loaning out her staff, nor the person holding the purse strings to fund the event but she didn’t care. Sarah was going to have a chocolatier, a pastry chef and saucier if she had her way. “Then decide if they will be suitable.”

“Indeed,” Pearl followed up with before briefly flashing a wicked grin Sarah’s way. “The menu is already quite exotic. Think Ichthyophagous club meets Delmonico’s.”

The Fisher twins were in awe as their heads pivoted this way and that, the conversation as visceral as watching a heated tennis match between top competitors. They were unsure how they secured a prime location for all this gossip but they were not about to miss a moment of it. Even when India said her parting words they remain rooted firmly to the parlor floor.

“…but I fear I’ve said far too much and with that, I believe I too must depart. Mrs. Wilkens, would you care for a lift back to Wilken’s House. I told my carriage driver not to leave the vicinity and it would be no trouble.” Pearl’s voice was as smooth as silk as she looked over to her dear friend. She couldn’t wait to get her alone to speak one on one. “I insist.”

“How can I refuse such a generous offer?” Sarah turned back to Theodora. “Thank you for hosting such a wonderful event and I do hope that Miss Whitman recovers quickly.”

Chapter Text

Theodora felt her head spin. There was absolutely no way she would be committing that kind of money to Rosemary’s debut, especially when the girl hadn't even bothered to reappear.

"I thank you and will certainly bear that in mind. It all sounds divine," she replied, though in her mind, "divine" was merely a synonym for "prohibitive."

As she watched the party prepare to depart, she felt a flicker of relief. Despite the afternoon's social disasters, she was simply glad it was over. She was already mentally drafting instructions for the staff to preserve every scrap of remains; Rosemary would be dining on these refreshments for days to come.

"Thank you all for gracing us with your presence. I hope everything was to your liking, your kind words will be passed on to her when she rises," she said, her voice reclaiming its polished edge. "Mrs. Robinson, I hope to see you again rather soon."

Chapter Text

Florence had chosen a mauve walking dress for her excursion. She had initially lobbied for something with a bit more flair, but Abigail had successfully talked her out of it, reminding her of the need to keep a low profile. Strutting out in the latest Parisian silhouettes and a color palette yet to reach this side of the Atlantic was hardly the way to remain unseen. Florence gave in, allowing Abigail to pin up her dark tresses and settle her into the more modest gown.

As she climbed into the carriage alongside Leo and Etna, she let out a soft sigh. "I do hope that girl is there," she mused. "She and Rosemary were once thick as thieves. Something significant must have transpired for her to no longer be part of the inner circle."

Abigail remained uncharacteristically quiet. Florence attributed the silence to Etna’s presence, assuming her maid was simply being professional. She had no inkling that Abigail’s reticence might be rooted in something else entirely.

The ride to the milliner’s was unremarkable, yet Florence found herself captivated by the scenery. She had not forgotten the beauty of her home; it possessed a certain enduring charm that felt like a quiet welcome.

When the carriage smoothed to a halt before the storefront, Leo moved with practiced grace to open the door, offering his hand to help her onto the pavement. Florence stepped inside the shop without fanfare, her presence a soft rustle of mauve silk as she began to peruse the displays.

Chapter Text

Leo paid the fee to the carriage driver and asked that the man remain in the vicinity of millinery row if possible. He scribbled a couple numbers on a scrap of paper, working out what appeared to be a simple equation before folding it and tucking back into a small satchel. As he placed the bag into his breast pocket he could feel Etna’s eyes boring into him.

“Shouldn’t you be tending to Miss Florence?” Leo was not about to discuss his ability to write nor figure out simple math problems to her. The older woman huffed before making her way into the shop to trail Florence and Abigale. Eventually Leo entered the milliner but remained posted by the door. “No rush Miss De Hart, but should you decide to head back please let me know so I can fetch the carriage.”

The ‘Lord’ of the manor had made it abundantly clear early on in their employment that there would be no luxuries at Wilken’s House. The man was positively livid at his new bride when she insisted they all be employed there, so Cornelius took liberties at stripping away what he considered extraneous costs elsewhere. One of those items was a personal carriage and coachmen. Leo had to wonder if he did that on purpose to keep Mrs. Wilkens on a short leash, he was punishing her or both.

Leo took in the many display cases filled with exotic feathers and baubles, wondering what exactly Florence was going to purchase. If he were to choose for her he would go with an emerald hat topped with pheasant. While the women perused the items on display, Leo continued to daydream about the things he would get her if his circumstances were different.

“Afternoon Ladies, welcome to…” Lillian stopped mid sentence when she recognized Florence. A warm inviting smile spread across her lips. “As I live and breathe, Do my eyes deceive me or is Miss DeHart standing before me? I was told that you were abroad finishing up your education.”

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Abigail watched with a quiet sigh as Etna stomped into the shop, then let her gaze linger on Leo. As he stood by the door, seemingly captivated by the array of millinery, she allowed herself a momentary lapse into a daydream, one where they were shopping together, far removed from the watchful eyes of Etna.

The sharp, rhythmic clearing of Etna’s throat shattered the illusion like glass. Abigail blinked, pulling herself back together, and quickly moved to catch up with Florence.

She found Florence tracing her finger over a particularly drab, uninspired hat. It was a calculated move; Abigail knew her mistress had zero interest in such a boring piece, but the performance had begun.

"Oh my, Lillian McMillian! How wonderful to see you," Florence exclaimed, her voice a perfect blend of surprise and warmth. "I just arrived back; it truly has been far too long. How have you been?"

Though she played the part of the returning socialite to perfection, Abigail could see the sharp focus in Florence’s eyes. She hadn't come for the velvet or the silk; she had come for information.

"I’ve come to find something lovely for my sister and me to wear to tea," Florence said, her voice lilting with practiced ease. "Naturally, I came here first. I feel so dreadfully out of sorts; was the last time I saw you at the Museum? I believe you were with Ms. Rosemary, were you not?"

Florence was a master of the subtle interrogation. She kept her gaze light, seemingly focused on the delicate lace of a nearby bonnet, but her senses were sharp. She leaned in slightly, waiting to see how Lillian would react to the mere mention of Rosemary’s name, a flicker of the eye or a tightening of the mouth would tell her everything she needed to know.

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“I have been well, taking on more of the family business. Training my children in the trade. Nothing I can’t handle.” Lillian tussled her son’s red locks as he darted past her to help another customer. Several hats on pedestals rocked from the force. “Slow down my boy! Be mindful of the displays.”

“Well, it is good to see you. So, hat’s for you and your sister. To think I was about to inquire if you were here for your Aunt’s order.” Lillian thought it was rather peculiar that Florence was looking into accoutrements for Sarah but she wasn’t going to judge. She quickly came to the assumption that this was perhaps a peace offering. It was no secret that the relationship between the sisters was strained. “Tea outing…do you need to look over swatches or is there something already out on display that would suit the occasion.”

“Hannah, be a dear and fetch the sample books from the back.” Lillian said to what appeared to be a teenage version of her. The freckled girl was at a counter by the door, mooning over Leo, completely oblivious to her mother’s request. When Leo noticed he was being stared at he gave her a slight smile before redirecting his attention towards Florence. “Hannah!”

The girl was startled at her mother’s pitch and blinked several times before acknowledging the request with a ‘Yes, Momma’. Quick as a rabbit Hannah made her way to the back store room for the books.

“I believe it was. The children, Finlay especially, wanted to see the insects and reptiles on display. For a time I felt as if every waking moment not working was spent at the natural history museum.” The mere mention of Rosemary’s name didn’t bother Lillian in the least. She had been known in the past to see some of her customers out and about in New York. “I wouldn’t say I was with her. I had however run into her multiple times there. Always on a Thursday afternoon. We’d exchange pleasantries, the weather and such. No more different then talking to you in public.”

“She seemed fascinated with the gems and minerals in that one alcove near the insectarium.” Lillian didn’t find the question suspicious at all. If anything, she thought Rosemary didn’t seem like the type to like rocks unless it was attached to gold. “I do believe she still goes there, though I haven’t for months.”

“Ahhh, the samples. Thank you Hannah.” Lillian glanced up as she heard the bell over the door chime. A middle aged woman with raven black hair neatly pinned up practically glided into the establishment. Her ensemble was rather plain but her natural beauty more than made up for it. “Finlay, please see to Mrs. Archer.”

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Florence watched with a soft expression as Lillian spoke of her children, offering a sweet smile to the young man, Finlay, as he darted about assisting his mother. It was a charming scene of domestic industry.

"I think I would like to look at the swatches," Florence said, her tone shifting to one of elegant purpose. "I am looking for something that has yet to be seen on this side of the Atlantic, and I trust your family’s hands to create it. I know my dear mother trusted you implicitly." That, at least, was the absolute truth; her mother had frequently commissioned their finest pieces from this very shop.

As Lillian called out to her daughter, Florence’s gaze followed the woman’s voice, quickly catching the object of the girl's distraction. It was Leo. The light caught his eyes in such a way that Florence could hardly blame the girl for staring. When Hannah snapped out of her daze in a state of near-panic, a small, knowing smile played on Florence’s lips.

Nearby, Abigail kept her ears tuned to the conversation, though her eyes were fixed on the woman standing far too close to Leo, clearly fishing for his attention. She made a mental note to mention to Florence later that this was the very day of the week a certain someone close was always "unavailable."

Florence had just begun to leaf through the sample books, her fingers brushing over a swatch of deep navy, when a familiar name reached her. She turned, a genuine, radiant smile breaking across her face.

"Aunt Mary! My heart swells to see you," Florence exclaimed, moving toward the woman. "Sean and I were only just speaking of you; I had intended to make my way to your home the moment he confirmed your schedule was clear." Even in the simple surroundings of the milliner's, her aunt carried herself with an effortless, timeless elegance.

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Mary had learned earlier that morning over breakfast from Sean that her niece had returned from abroad. After grilling her son for the better part of an hour she had gleaned no pertinent information as to why she had left her schooling. She didn’t believe for a moment that Florence was homesick. Even more unbelievable was the fact that Florence chose to stay with Sarah and her husband. When she inquired about Louis’s thoughts on the matter, Sean immediately changed the subject.

Mary knew this arrangement wouldn’t bode well for the family. Still, she wasn’t about to pay a call at Wilken’s house. Mary had promised herself the minute construction started she would not set foot in there so long as Cornelius lived and breathed. She decided her best course of action would be to send a missive in a day or so for Florence to pay a call on her. It would be after Florence had settled in that she would have a candid talk with the girl. The fates apparently had other ideas when she laid eyes upon her niece at McMillian’s Millinery.

As Mary entered the shop she immediately saw Leo posted by the door. She greeted him by his first name before lightly squeezing his upper arm and softly smiling. Mary had always been fond of the boy and was happy that Sarah had managed to secure employment for him after Louis let go of the majority of the help in his household. Mary asked about his health and how he was getting on at Wilson’s House and was pleasantly surprised by his positive response. It wasn’t trivial to her, she genuinely cared about his well being, as with every one else who had transitioned over after Sarah’s marriage.

“My darling girl!” Mary extended her arms out wide to embrace her not so young niece. When she pulled her in close she closed her eyes and pictured Florence as that little girl with the intricate plaits cascading down her back. She wished more than anything for time to stop. Mary didn’t like seeing her nieces and son all grown up because she could no longer shield them for the cold cruel world. “Sean told me of your arrival this morning and never fear. My schedule will always be clear for you.”

“Are you well my dear? Sean mentioned you were blue and longing for home.” Mary would have a very extensive talk with Florence later. There were far too many prying eyes on them.

“Abigale…How do you fare?” Mary gave Abigale a light embrace. “How are your watercolors coming along? I hope that when my niece visits you will bring your portfolio. I would very much like to see what you created while abroad.”

“Is Sarah with you?” Mary scanned the showroom floor and didn’t see her other niece but that didn’t mean she wasn’t in the vicinity. Sarah easily could have been at a neighboring craftsman.

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Florence felt overwhelmed with emotion the moment her aunt pulled her into an embrace. In that instant, the outside world ceased to exist, and she finally allowed herself a sigh of relief. She blinked back tears, breathing in the comforting, familiar scent that was so quintessentially "Aunt Mary", a woman who had always been the embodiment of grace and nurturing.

"I... I am doing my best to cope, Aunt Mary," Florence murmured, keeping her voice low to ensure their private business didn't travel through the shop.

Abigail offered a warm smile as Mary turned her attention toward her. To Abigail, Mary had always been the kindest soul she had ever encountered. "Mrs. Archer, I am doing very well, and I pray you are as well," Abigail replied. "I found a great deal of inspiration during our travels, and I truly look forward to showing you some of the water scenes I've painted."

The sharp, rhythmic clearing of Etna’s throat acted as a sudden brake on the conversation. Abigail fell silent, and Florence smoothly pivoted back to the matter at hand.

"No, Sarah had a prior engagement she had already committed to," Florence explained, regaining her composure. "I came hoping to find something unique for both Sarah and myself, but I would actually love to select something for you as well, Aunt Mary. What do you think of this swatch? Perhaps topped with a pheasant feather?"

Florence let the velvet swatch slip from her fingers as she turned her full attention back to Mary, her expression softening with a vulnerability she only ever showed here. "Please, Aunt Mary, don't listen to Sean's dramatics," she said with a small, watery smile, though the tightness in her throat betrayed her. "I have simply missed the comfort of home and the company of those who truly know me."
Abigail, sensing the shift in the room's atmosphere, stepped forward to gently redirect the focus to the display. She was well-versed in the silent language of their small group, and she knew Florence needed a moment to regain her composure before the prying eyes of the shop's other patrons noticed anything amiss.

"I think the pheasant is a marvelous choice, Miss Florence," Abigail added, her voice warm and steady. "It has a certain... strength to it. Very fitting for a lady of your Aunt's standing."

Florence looked at the pheasant feather again, then at her aunt. "It reminded me of the woods behind the old house," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "But perhaps we should look at everything Lillian has. After all, if we are to make an impression at tea, we might as well be unforgettable."

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“Etna, my old friend.” Mary extended one hand and gave Etna’s hand a light squeeze. Out of Sarah’s new household, Etna was the person she saw the most. They both attended the same church service every week where Etna was in the choir. “I hope the lemon helped with your throat.”

Etna merely nodded before taking a step back to allow Mary time with her niece. At that moment Mary’s heart was full. This mini reunion was going to sustain her for the days that come.

“I will see her another time.” Mary knew with Florence back in town it would only be a matter of time before Sarah paid a call on her. Especially after she had a chance to fully survey the situation between the sisters and how her son got involved. “I have yet to meet my great nephew and I have yet to receive a missive about how Sarah found the stuffed bear for Percival.”

Mary wasn’t bitter about Sarah not sending a thank you card in regards to her gift, just mildly disappointed. Sarah had been raised to be mindful of the gifts she received from others.

“Sean wasn’t dramatic my dear girl.” Mary said quietly to Florence. The excuse in itself caused Mary great alarm. This could potentially be far worse then she initially perceived over breakfast this morning. “…and I have the right to be concerned for my nieces.”

Mary knew that she was as close as they were going to get for a mother. Like a true mother, she was going to protect them the best she could.

“I don’t need anything fancy. I’ve just come to collect a hat that had been mended.” Mary looked over at Lillian, hoping that it had indeed been repaired. It had been a gift from Oscar when they had courted. Oscar was not making much on his carpenter’s wages so the thoughtful gift had meant everything to her.

“We did what we could.” Finley chimed in as he presented the hat to Mary. The millinery had repaired the hat impeccably but it looked a bit sparse. “I agree with Miss DeHart. I think a pheasant feather would give it a proper refresh.”

Finlay looked over at his mother and saw the approval on her face. Lillian was positively beaming with pride as she watched her son take over the sale.

“Well, I suppose, Since it reminds my niece of happy childhood memories. How am I to object to that?” Mary looked over the swatches that had caught Florence’s eye. “I am perfectly content with my hat. It isn’t fashionable, but I have no need to impress anyone.”

“You however might?” Mary looked her niece over, hoping that she didn’t return because of that rake of a man Mr. Graham. Her mind was now spinning at the myriad of causes that would make Florence return prematurely to New York. Each though more worse than the last. “Is Sarah planning on hosting tea at Wilken’s House then?”

Mary had gone out of her way to avoid social gatherings after the death of Oscar a decade ago. She had extended that period of mourning four fold, making it last nearly up to her own father’s passing just two summers past. She knew people talked about how foolish she was for grieving as long as she had. Mary also was aware that even if she hadn’t self isolated the invitation to tea and other events would not come. She was never one of them, not after she married Oscar all those years ago.

“Does it have to be for tea? Perhaps you should focus on a bonnet for Easter services? Oh, you haven’t met the new pastor, Mr. Gabriel Davies! He’s from England. Very knowledgeable in the scriptures, but of course he is. I think you will enjoy his sermon.”

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Florence had always been moved by her aunt’s boundless capacity for care. Mary possessed that rare knowing every neighbor by name and every small joy or sorrow currently unfolding in their lives. Her thoughtfulness was legendary, manifested in perfectly timed gifts and care packages that arrived exactly when they were needed most. When Florence’s mother had passed, it was Aunt Mary who had held her through the tears and then, with steady hands, helped her fold the grief away, tucking the appropriate mourning pieces into her chiffonier.

It was a sharp, unpleasant surprise to learn that Sarah had not yet invited Mary over to meet young Percival. Florence was not privy to any specific rift between them, and the oversight hurt.

"I am surprised by that," Florence admitted, her brow furrowing slightly. She wasn't making excuses for her sister; in truth, she found it nearly inexcusable that Percival hadn't been presented to Mary yet.

However, when Mary insisted Sean wasn’t being dramatic, Florence had to fight to keep a neutral expression. Her mind flashed to her cousin shouting her name at the docks and the frantic morning events where she’d feared she might be planning Cornelius’s funeral.

"You have every right to be concerned for us, Aunt Mary," Florence said softly, reaching for her hand. "We are all the better for your care." She knew how deeply Mary loved Sean, he was the undisputed anchor of her heart—and Florence loved him all the more for it.

"As for your hat, I find it quite stylish," she continued, catching the sentimental glint in Mary's eyes. "It is classic, and you wear it with such grace. You always impress me." Seeing how much the piece meant to her aunt, Florence felt a pang of affection. At the mention of a potential suitor, she blushed innocently. "No, no... there is no one to impress, Aunt Mary. And I truly don't know Sarah’s plans; we haven’t had a quiet moment to discuss hosting tea just yet."
When Mary suggested an Easter bonnet, Florence’s smile turned genuine. While she hadn’t actually needed a new hat, the errand having been a ruse to glean information about Rosemary’s designs on her father, the idea offered a perfect bridge.

"You know, that is a marvelous idea. Lillian, I must pivot on you so quickly," she said, turning to the milliner with a bright expression. "I think bonnets for the three of us would be delightful. I would like to place that order immediately."

As she spoke, Florence watched Lillian. There was such a sweet, calm pride in the way the woman watched her children navigate the shop with such practiced expertise. It was the kind of domestic harmony Florence found herself craving more than ever.

"I would love to attend service with you Aunt Mary. I would be absolutely delighted."

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“It is no matter my dear. I remember it all too well what it was like being a new mother. The sleepless nights and a barren social calendar. Sarah will reach out when she has the time to do so.” There was no malice in Mary’s voice as she spoke of her niece Sarah. She had heard that Sarah was only receiving visitors and not venturing out for the time being. Even with the birth of Percival, Mary would not bend her resolve to visit the infant. “With luck, if the winter doesn’t linger, I will see the two of them soon.”

“…or at least Sarah when she attends church next. She hasn’t met Pastor Davies either.” Mary couldn’t remember the last time Sarah had taken communion. Shortly after the announcement was made that Sarah was with child she abruptly stopped attending, citing terrible morning sickness. This was also around the time it became well known that Sarah had struck up a friendship with the elusive Mrs. Robinson, who had no known church affiliation. “That makes heart so glad that you would attend the service with me.”

“You do not have to dote on me my darling. I am perfectly content in knowing we will all be together on Easter.” Mary began to mull over an idea for the upcoming holiday, family dinner in the new house. The only thing that caused her concern was figuring out a way to not invite her niece’s husband. That would be a bridge to cross on another day. For now, she was trying to find adequate lodgings. Louis had been kind enough to allow her to remain in the family home until the end of February. “I wonder if we could convince your sister to have Percival baptized then? Have a luncheon after the service.”

Mary had no idea that at that exact moment downtown the Whitman’s had claimed Easter weekend for Rosemary’s debut. If she had an inkling that there was a conflict in social diaries she would have dropped the idea.

“Perhaps, there is something else you can do for me instead of a bonnet. Do you think you can get Sarah out of the house tonight? I would very much like the two of you, your brother and Sean to join me at the Opera. I will send William a missive when I return home.” Mary’s late father had purchased a box years ago at the academy. She hadn’t taken advantage of it as much as she would have liked and Sean didn’t seem all that interested in it. It was when Louis pointed out the charge in the family ledger around Christmas that she realized that too was going to end when this current season was over. Mary was sad, but only for all the good memories attached to that box. “I know you must be tired from your journey, but this is important to me. I hope you can impress that upon your sister.”

Mary resolved herself to make time with her family and to properly explain what was to come. It had taken the family well over two years to sort through the stipulations of her father’s will and once it was settled and done, Louis had made it clear she was to get only a pittance of their late father’s estate. Mary wasn’t angry about it. The only concern she had was for Sean and the rude awakening he was about to receive when they downsized.

“How are you faring at Wilken’s House? Are you settled?” Mary knew she couldn’t offer Florence refuge just yet. She had to be settled, in a proper home, before taking Florence and her ladies maid on. That said, Mary was still unsettled with the thought that her sweet niece was living under Cornelius’s roof. Mary had hoped by sending her off to finishing school she could at least protect one of her nieces. Now both of them resided that cad. “Mr. Wilken’s treating you well?”

Just the thought of Cornelius made Mary want to vomit. The man was crude and positively offensive every turn he got. Mary still couldn’t believe he had convinced Louis that he would be a good match for Sarah. She was not about to let the man ruin Florence too. Mary had one ace up her sleeve and it couldn’t be taken by any man.

“Lillian, anything my niece wants today, please send me the bill.” Mary was going to finish up her afternoon chores by informing all the merchants Florence had a fondness for that she was the girl’s trustee.

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"I am certain you will, Aunt Mary—entirely certain," Florence said with a reassuring smile, reaching out to pat her aunt’s arm with a gentle, grounding touch. If Florence had any influence in the matter, she would ensure it; it was the very least Sarah could do, considering the boundless grace Aunt Mary had shown them throughout their youth. Percival would be better for it as well.

Florence did not miss the subtle implication regarding her sister’s absence from the pews. It was a jarring revelation; before Florence’s departure, Sarah had been the very picture of devotion, often chiding her and Sean when they found themselves "indisposed" on Sunday mornings.

"I would be delighted to attend," Florence continued, her nod firm. "Having your company is all the incentive I require." As her aunt spoke of Percival's baptism, Florence nodded along. "Shall I inquire this evening if Sarah would like us to assist with the arrangements? I suspect it would be a relief for her to relinquish the burden of planning." She remembered well that Sarah had never possessed a true appetite for grand spectacles—at least, not the Sarah she had grown up with.

When the Opera was mentioned, Florence felt a spark of excitement that she had to carefully temper. She hesitated, debating whether to mention that Sarah already had plans on the evening’s performance, but decided it best to keep that confidence to herself. Her facade remained impeccably intact even as William’s name surfaced. Though her current frustrations with her brother were simmering, she tucked them away for a more private hour.

"I shall certainly ask her, Aunt Mary. And should she find herself unavailable, you shall still have me by your side."

As the conversation turned toward Wilken’s House, Florence felt the weight of unseen ears in the shop. She straightened her posture slightly. "Having only just arrived, I am still finding my bearings, but Sarah has a truly beautiful vision for the home. She was thoughtful enough to ensure my accommodations were filled with familiar comforts."

She omitted the fact half of those thigns were actually from her father's home that he had tossed out like trash. Her smile remained gentle, though it failed to reach her eyes. "As for Mr. Wilken... I have had very little time in his company as of yet. He appears to be a man of many preoccupations." Which Florence was quite thankful for.

"I shall make it my mission to see Sarah tonight," Florence added, her voice regaining its melodic strength. "And I will ensure she understands just how much we have all missed your company."

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“Music to my ears Darling! I was hoping that you would accompany me.” It was no secret that Florence had always been her favorite of Louis’s children. She had tried her best not to single Florence out but Sarah and William were not always receptive to her. Perhaps it was because she was the first to embrace Florence’s mother into the family. The truth of the matter was Florence’s mother was but a child herself when she was betrothed to Louis. Mary felt it was her duty to help ease her into the family and the new role of wife and step mother. “I think that would be wonderful, but maybe we could broach the baptism conversation together.”

“That is if Sarah agrees to attend the opera tonight.” Mary had her doubts that Florence would be able to convince Sarah on her own. A united front was called for on this occasion. Sarah might be able to rebuff Florence, but if it were in a public place with her family surrounding her, Sarah may be coerced into obliging. That is, if Sarah bothered to attend tonight.

“That is rather kind of her to go to such great lengths for you. It warms my heart to know she is being a good sister to you.” Mary had received a couple cryptic missives from Sarah when Florence was away at school, inquiring about money. Sarah claimed it was in regards to Florence. Mary often sent her the amount, not truly believing it was for Florence and she was fully prepared to reimburse the trust if she had been deceived. To hear her niece actually kept her word honestly took her back a bit. Perhaps Sarah was changing for the better. If only she could get her back into the pews every Sunday. That would be the real triumph. “I do not mean to meddle, but should things change at Wilken’s house you have options.”

Mary could have cited a number of things that could cause Florence a long pause in regards to her current lodgings, but she didn’t want to ruffle any feathers so soon after her return. Mary just hoped that if Florence needed refuge she would be in a position to offer her asylum.

“I will leave you to your errands. It is so good to see you.” Mary realized in that moment just how much she had missed her niece. She gave her another big hug before turning to Lillian. While she had been talking to her niece, Lillian and her children were busy updating her hat. The results were impressive and she made sure to tell them that.

“Thank you Lillian. I believe I will wear it tonight.”

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Florence’s smile turned truly genuine, warmed by her aunt’s visible excitement. "It shall be my absolute pleasure, Aunt Mary. I believe I will head home to rest now, simply to ensure I am in fine spirits for this evening’s performance."

She leaned in, embracing her aunt once more with fondness. While she longed to speak more freely about her current living arrangements, she held her tongue; the millinery shop was far too public for such matters. Florence had no intention of letting her family’s private tribulations become the latest fodder for the city’s gossips through a misplaced word.

Though she trusted her aunt explicitly, her faith in the rest of the world and the rest of her family was far more guarded. Between Aunt Mary’s steady grace and Sean’s spirited company, Florence felt she was back among her favorite people in the world, just as it had always been.

"I will divulge more this evening." She whispered as the hug parted.

"This was my only outing today, Aunt Mary, and I am simply overjoyed that it led me to you," Florence said, her voice warm with sincerity. She squeezed her aunt's hand one last time. "I shall look forward to this evening with great anticipation. Do travel safely."

She offered a final, lingering wave before turning her attention back to Lillian and the busy children. A soft, appreciative smile played on her lips as she looked over the handiwork.

"I believe these will be perfectly suitable, Lillian. What you’ve achieved with my aunt’s hat is nothing short of splendid; you have a rare gift for restoring charm. I shall trust your vision implicitly for our Easter bonnets."

With the arrangements settled, a spark of restless energy took hold of her. Florence was suddenly quite eager to return home, partly to rest, but mostly to begin the delicate task of preparing the household for the evening ahead.

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Sarah’s carriage ride back to Wilken’s House with Pearl was fraught with tension. There was a chill in the air that seeped into Sarah’s core the longer the silence drug on between the two women. As the carriage meandered up Park Avenue Sarah stewed on the Whitman girl bet, in particular, Pearl offering up Arthur as a potential suitor. Sarah had sought out her friend to help her with the delicate matter. The solution Pearl provided was exceedingly worse than that little upstart ensnaring her father.

“Thank you for your invitation to share your carriage.” Sarah eventually croaked out, doing her best not to let her anger bubble to the surface as she continued to think about poor Arthur being shackled to that bore Rosemary. The scenario that played out in her mind only got worse as she envisioned the two of them together announcing their betrothal while Rosemary was clad in yet another stolen article of clothing. “I apologize for wasting your time this afternoon.”

“Waste? Oh, no my dear. That tea was positively riveting.” Pearl purred before looking over at her friend. She could see how tense Sarah was, but she wasn’t about to alleviate it by any means. Her friend knew what she had unleashed by sending a missive in the middle of the night, begging for her aid. “I think I shall make it a point to attend more functions like this in the future.”

“Ah! I believe this is where you get off.” Pearl gave Sarah a lopsided smirk as the coachman opened the carriage door. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

Sarah gave Pearl a weak smile in return before taking the hand of the coachman. He deftly led her to her front door, not giving her time to inquire about Pearl’s evening plans. Sarah had meant to formally ask if the seat was still available at the Opera but her anger during the ride home had superseded it. At this juncture Sarah also didn’t want to hurry back to the carriage in desperation. She decided the best course of action was to just show up, unannounced and hope the invitation stood.

Sarah stood outside her front door, waiting for it to be opened by Leo or one of the other staff members as Pearl’s carriage pulled away. She was baffled for a moment as she continued to stare at it, no discernible noises coming from within the house. To keep from looking like a fool on the cold, Sarah placed her gloved hand on the handle and pushed. The door opened with ease and she quickly cast a glance over her shoulder to insure no one was watching her enter the house of her own accord. Sarah made a mental note to inquire about adding to the household staff to Cornelius while Florence remained under their roof.

“Leo? Etna?” Sarah closed the front door and put her back up against it as she surveyed the empty foyer. She pulled off her gloves and coat, unsure what to do with them.

“Florence?” Sarah shouted before she draped her coat over her arm and slowly made way over to the parlor. The pocket doors were closed which she found odd because she swore she had left them open when she left earlier.

“Helen?” Sarah slid open the doors to see Arthur beside the fireplace mantle, stoking the fire with a poker. He had his back to her but she knew the silhouette anywhere, he cut quite the figure in his three piece suit. She quickly entered the room, slid the doors shut and tossed her coat and gloves on the arm of one of the settees,

“Arthur…” Sarah’s voice was barely a whisper as the man turned around to look at her. “What are you doing here? Someone could have seen you. Are you mad?”

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Florence felt significantly lighter after the visit with her aunt, a genuine smile remaining fixed on her face throughout the entire carriage ride back to the Wilken house. Upon their arrival, she noted another carriage departing and felt a flicker of curiosity; Sarah was meant to be at tea, so she wondered who could be leaving the residence at such an hour.

Etna’s mood was visibly sour. Florence suspected the woman was disgruntled by the length of their outing and conversation she had with her Aunt Mary, unaware that Etna was actually still stewing over whatever she had witnessed Leo doing earlier. Abi, also remained uncharacteristically quiet, though Florence attributed this to a reluctance to speak freely in Etna’s presence, not that she herself was entirely enamored with Leo.

As the carriage came to a halt, Florence accepted Leo’s hand. She offered him a sweet smile as he assisted her down and hurried to hold the door open. Sweeping into the foyer, the soft murmur of voices drifting from the parlor caught her ear. Praying it wasn't Cornelius, she moved with practiced silence to remain out of sight, only to be surprised by the sound of her sister’s voice.

In the parlor, Arthur set the poker down and turned to face Sarah. His voice was deep and steady, though an unmistakable undertone of tension simmered beneath his words. "I came to see how things were going," he said, his tone low. "I heard that Cornelius stayed here last night?"

Florence’s eyes widened, her gaze snapping toward Leo in a silent plea. Catching her drift, he gave a sharp nod and stepped back outside to intercept Etna.

"Etna," he began, his voice laced with feigned urgency, "we find ourselves in desperate need of gelatin for the oeufs en gelée. Would you be so kind as to check with the neighbors to see if they have any to spare? If not, we'll need to make other arrangements immediately."

He pressed several coins into her hand before she could protest. "Here, if they can provide it, please compensate them well for the trouble."

In truth, Leo hadn't the slightest concern for the menu, he was simply intent on keeping the woman away from the house. He didn’t yet know what Florence had overheard or seen, but the look in her eyes told him it was vital she have the room to navigate it without Etna's prying eyes.

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Etna wasn’t the least bit amused by this boy ordering her around. In fact, she found all the words spilling from his lips completely foreign. Where did he learn about such things? He had been with the family since his thirteenth name day and he certainly didn’t spend enough time in the kitchens to pick up on such things. More so, since the current master of the house didn’t believe in frivolities that needed gelatin.

“I believe this sort of errand would be best suited for the scullery maid.” Etna huffed as she wrapped her arthritic fingers around the coin. This task added to her displeasure of Leo because it required her to walk around the neighborhood like some pauper in need of ingredients. She had no desire for a multitude of reasons, the top one being the corns on her feet. “I am going directly across the street to Mr. DeHart’s residence. If they don’t have the gelatin required Miss Florence is going to have to be disappointed.”

Leo tried to apologize to Etna but the older woman simply spun on her well worn heels and shuffled across the street. It wasn’t the most ideal situation but it bought Florence time, for whatever it was she needed to diffuse. He then set his sights on Abigale as she too tried to enter through the front door.

“I believe you are required downstairs.” Leo motioned to the stairs on the side of the house leading down towards the servants quarters. “Please report to Helen and see if the cook and scullery maid need help preparing dinner tonight. I am sure you want to make sure that Miss Florence’s choices for supper will meet her expectations.”

“It will be a great help if nothing goes wrong tonight and it will be much needed practice before she is running a household of her own.” Leo remained by the front door, blocking it from anyone entering, save the master of the house. “Please Miss Adelaide. Do your job and let me do mine.”

Leo was trying his hardest not to be mean or order anyone around, but that look in Florence’s eyes actually scared him. His mind was racing with one terrible thought after another, not thinking a true emergency would require a doctor post haste.

~~~
“He did. I suspect he will be spending more time here in the coming months.” Sarah said softly as she cast her eyes down to the floor. Her hands were trembling as she hugged herself and tried to forget the previous night’s encounter with her husband. Cornelius had discussed at length after supper how he desired another child straight away. She was to provide him another son to secure his legacy. Sarah was nothing but a brood mare and he had said as much to her. Cornelius was cold and their marriage was merely transactional, yet she reaped no benefits from the union. “He also wished to see Florence and welcome her home.”

“Please go. I am begging you.” Sarah stood rooted to the floor, yet her body ached to be in Arthur’s warm embrace. Deep down she knew that she had no right to want that. She was a married woman and he, an eligible bachelor. Her heart ached just thinking of him with another. “Before I lose all resolve.”

Sarah resistance to Arthur was weakening with each syllable that spilled out of her mouth. She looked back up, staring directly into his eyes. Her body was now screaming out for his touch and it began to move of its own accord, closing the distance between them. Her fingers reaching out in desperation to caress his chiseled cheek, her thumb trying to find purchase on his plump lower lip.

Just as Sarah made contact she heard the front door slam and Leo’s voice in the foyer. She couldn’t make out the words but it didn’t matter as her hand abruptly dropped down to her side, she deftly slipped on her coat and gloves before she scurried over to the desk with the house blueprints laid out.

“So it is very important the mural be finished up by the first of February and the workers need to be dispatched to the ballroom. That is the priority.” Sarah’s voice was markedly louder as she continued to ‘concentrate’ on the blueprints by bending ever so slightly over the table. She could feel the heat coming from Arthur who was directly behind her now, her backside grazing his front. “We will be hosting a debut for my sister in there and it needs to be perfect.”

“I wish to make it a masquerade. I had just mentioned to Mrs. Robinson mere moments ago how I think a Gods and Goddesses theme would be a delight on Saint Valentines Day. I was hoping for a referral or perhaps expertise in properly converting the ballroom into a grecian garden for that evening.” Sarah arched her back every so slightly, once more bumping into Arthur. Her eyes were now focused on the closed pocket doors before them. If they opened, she would not be found in a precarious position. “Do you think we will have enough time Mr. Lowell?”

Chapter Text

Leo felt he was losing the battle. Etna was already displeased with him, but now he feared she would be truly incensed or worse. "Thank you, Etna. If they do not have it, we shall find another dish. My thanks," he added, offering a brief, practiced smile.

When he turned to Abigail, her heart skipped a beat. He was devastatingly handsome and the way he took charge made her see him in an entirely new light. That admiration curdled instantly when he addressed her as "Adelaide" and ushered her away like common help. Biting back tears, Abigail spun on her heel and hurried off, her heart breaking. She would most certainly be having a word with Florence regarding his behavior.

Florence, meanwhile, remained frozen by the fragments of conversation drifting from the parlor. She had nearly stepped inside when she heard Sarah plead for Arthur to leave, but the words that followed gave her pause. The air in the house felt heavy with secrets. Before she could be discovered, she silently shuffled back toward Leo.

With instinctive timing, Leo opened and closed the door for her, walking beside her with a quiet, steady presence. "I have sent Etna to inquire after the gelatin for the dish you requested, Miss Florence. Will that be all?" His voice was clear and unwavering, yet the look he gave her was heavy with unspoken understanding.

Florence returned the look, giving a sharp, brief nod. "That will be all, Leo. Thank you. Do send Abigail to me when she is finished." Removing her gloves, Florence began her ascent up the main staircase as Leo disappeared toward the servants' stairs.

Inside the parlor, Arthur remained as still as a statue as Sarah drew near. He allowed her fingers to graze his lip, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to her hand as she spoke. Emotions welled within him, but he knew this was neither the time nor the place for such frivolities.

"Another child? Is that so?" Arthur’s tone shifted into a register Sarah knew all too well. He noted the sudden change in her posture as the sound of Leo’s voice echoed in the foyer. As Sarah brushed against him in her feigned interest in the blueprints, he leaned down, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl intended for her ears alone. "You are playing with fire, being so bold."

Straightening up, he resumed the persona of the professional architect. "I believe this is all quite achievable, Mrs. Wilken. I shall see to it that the crew makes headway immediately. I also happen to know a contact who can provide the grapevines required for the garden ambiance."

Arthur stepped back from her, peering down at the plans just as a soft knock sounded at the door. Florence stood there, her smile polite but her eyes searching.

"Am I interrupting?" Florence asked softly. "Dear sister, I did not realize you would return so soon. Once you have concluded your meeting, will you come see me? I shall be in my chambers."

Chapter Text

While Sarah hadn’t had the nerve to say the words out loud, hearing Arthur’s husky voice bluntly state having another child almost made her lose her footing. She gripped the edge of the desk with her gloved hand as she desperately tried to regain composure. His ‘threat’ only made her knees quiver even more. The man was positively intoxicating and she was convinced he was going to be the death of her some day.

“That pleases me so to hear Mr. Lowell.” Sarah looked up as Florence spoke, doing her best to pretend that nothing had been amiss mere moments ago. “No, no, dear sister. You are not interrupting at all and as you can see I just returned as well.”

“Please don’t recuse yourself Florence. What Mr. Lowell and I were discussing pertains to your entrance into society and he was just leaving. Thank you Mr. Lowell for the insight, I will take that under advisement and inform my husband since he will ultimately have final say in this matter.” Sarah peeled off her gloves and laid them out on the desk before taking her overcoat off once more. She draped it over the back of the chair and straightened her posture. “I believe that you are able to show yourself out Mr. Lowell?”

“Come sit Florence! I have so much to tell you about this afternoon. Everyone was envious of the dress.” Sarah made her way over to the settee, acting as if Arthur had already left the parlor. She then patted the free space next to her and was bursting at the seams. “Speaking of dresses, wait until you hear about Miss Whitman’s attire.”

~~~~~

While the sisters chatted in the parlor Leo entered the kitchen area where only the scullery maid, Faye was was sitting at a table. She was staring at an envelope propped against a candle stick.

“What’s that about? …and shouldn’t you be preparing dinner?” Leo said as he slid up next to her.

“Everyone went out to get the ingredients. I believe they are all scattered to the four winds because of Mr. Wilkens firing the coachmen. Even Ms. Helen went up town in search of duck for the seventh course. Honestly, do you think this might be a little excessive tonight? We don’t even know if Mr. Wilken’s will be in attendance and if he is, will he be displeased with the extravagance?” Faye said quietly while she remained fixated on the letter. “I don’t know. A boy was here shortly after you left to accompany Miss Florence asking if you were employed here. When I said yes he handed the letter to me. Sad for your eyes only. Don’t worry, I didn’t read it or nothing,”

“Who else knows about this?” Leo looked at the unmarked envelope and could feel his stomach turn. Something felt off about this missive, the unknown contents within had his mind reeling. Even a part of him didn’t want to touch it but when Faye admitted she was the only one he knew he couldn’t let it linger.

“Aren’t you gonna open it. Not often servants get a letter.” Faye’s face crinkled as another thought occurred to her. “You can read?”

“A little and I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just another footman looking for a favor.” Leo could see Faye staring at him intently and it made him uneasy as he carefully opened the envelope and peered at the card inside. His heart stopped as he saw the one word scrawled out in cursive on the card.

Imposter.

“Well? Is it a favor like you said and who?” Faye looked up at him all doe eyed. “Is it from the Whitmans. I bet it’s from them.”

Before Leo could come up with a lie, Helen could be heard opening the door to the servant’s entrance. She was loudly complaining about the weather, the lack of carriages, the corns on her feet and the damned menu for that evening,

It was enough of a distraction for Leo to recuse himself and make his way to his bed chamber. Once he closed the door he slipped the note under his mattress. He would have to properly dispose of it at a later time. Leo then went back out to the kitchen. "Has anyone seen Abigale? She needs to attend to Miss Florence in her chamber immediately. If someone could relay that request it would be most helpful."

"I must return top side. Etna should be on her way back with ingredients for tonight's dessert." Leo figured Faye would be more than happy to track down Abigale. He did not like the thought of leaving to women alone with Mr. Lowell. Hopefully the man was already gone by the time he returned to his post.

Chapter Text

“I am sure we can accomplish all that we have discussed,” Arthur said to Sarah. A slight, knowing gleam sparked in his eyes, a silent communication intended for her alone.

Florence, however, remained deeply hesitant as she watched the pair in the parlor. Her mind was still racing, piecing together the fragments of the conversation she had overheard. Seeing the telltale flush blooming across her sister’s cheeks and the subtle, confident swagger in Mr. Lowell’s stride told her far more than their words ever could.

As Arthur passed, Florence offered a stiff, polite nod. He paused, giving both ladies a practiced bow. “I shall set to work immediately to ensure everything is finished as soon as possible. I will see to it that Miss DeHart’s debut is nothing short of perfection. I wish you both a wonderful afternoon.”

Arthur made his way out, offering a final nod to Leo as he departed. Even in passing, he could see the burgeoning questions written plainly across the servant’s face.

Once they were alone, Florence took her seat beside her sister. She fought to keep her expression neutral, carefully smoothing her gloves over her lap to mask her unease.

“Do tell, dear sister,” Florence said, her voice steady but expectant. “Do tell.”

Chapter Text

‘Perhaps next time you can make the attempt to not put Mrs. Wilken’s reputation at risk.’ Leo wanted to growl under his breath.

He knew he had no place in speaking up on Sarah’s behalf but Arthur was getting far too brazen with his actions and eventually someone was going to have to address it, better it Leo than Cornelius. It reminded him too much of that rake Richard, who had been sniffing around a young impressionable Florence two years ago. Leo had been in no position to defend her honor then, having been a child himself, but he would not allow history to repeat itself should it come down to it.

‘Perhaps, one might actually think before acting on their base instincts.’ Was the next thing that popped into Leo’s head.

“Always a pleasure Mr. Lowell.” Leo finally uttered out. He gave the man a knowing smile before slamming the front door shut, not caring if Arthur’s coat tails caught on the door jam.

~~~~~

“Where to even start!” Sarah had managed to regain her composure by the time Florence sat down on the settee. She also took off her hat, gloves and coat, doing her best to continue to sell the charade that she had just returned to Wilken’s House as well. “Which would you like to know first?”

“Tea at the Whitmans or the details of your debut?” Sarah sat down beside Florence and was practically bursting at the seams. The afternoon activities had been most stimulating for her and she couldn’t recall such an eventful day for what felt like eons. “Both are quite riveting if I do say so myself.”

“Which do you wish to talk about first?” Sarah grasped her sister’s hands and gave a light squeeze, not realizing her hands were too warm for someone who has just come in from the elements.

Chapter Text

It was the moment their hands met that things shifted from mere suspicion to a cold, unnerving certainty. As their eyes locked, Florence saw the flicker of realization in Sarah’s expression, her sister felt the lingering chill of the outdoors still clinging to Florence's skin.

As Sarah prattled on, Florence felt a sharp impulse to demand the truth behind the scandalous fragments she had just overheard. It took every ounce of her breeding and restraint to remain silent. Instead, she chose to play the part of the attentive listener, her gaze never wavering.

“Do tell,” Florence urged, her voice carefully crafted. “I, too, have news to share, but let us start with the tea. Was it all you expected it to be? And tell me... was that woman in attendance?”

She spat the word ‘woman’ as if it tasted of ash, the syllables brittle with a disdain she no longer cared to hide.

Abigail ascended the stairs, moving with the quiet expected of her after receiving Leo’s instructions to attend to Miss Florence. She had barely reached the first landing when the violent thud of the front door slamming echoed through the foyer. The sound startled her and it set the wheels of her mind turning with uneasy curiosity.

Passing the parlor, the muffled cadence of the sisters' voices drifted through the heavy wood. Surprisingly, the lure of high-society gossip held no charm for her today; her thoughts were too occupied by the tension vibrating through the walls.

She turned and continued up to the bedchambers. There, in the quiet of the afternoon, she began the methodical task of laying out items Florence might fancy and things Abigail might not have time to prepare properly if her mistress changed her mind last minute. She moved efficiently, ensuring everything her mistress might desire was ready and waiting.

Chapter Text

“Oh yes, she was in attendance.” Sarah retracted her hands from her sister’s and glanced over her shoulder towards the open doors, catching a glimpse of Adelaide ascending the formal stairs. That was going to have to be addressed at a certain point, but for now, Sarah would let it go. “Leo! Leo, if you are in the foyer could you please head to the kitchen and ask that tea and biscuits be brought up to us. Florence is quite famished from her outing.”

Sarah only returned her attention back toward Florence when she heard Leo’s heavy footsteps heading back down towards the kitchen using the servant’s access stairs. She thought about everything that had happened during tea, initially unsure where to begin when describing what she had to endure for a few hours.

“Truthfully, I am quite famished after sampling the Whitman’s fare.” Sarah’s laughed as she reflected on that paltry spread of refreshments. If she didn’t know any better she could have sworn the Whitman’s had done it all on purpose. “The tea tasted like tepid bath water, the biscuits were so dry and dense I could have sworn I cracked a tooth and Rosemary…the audacity.”

“Would you believe her choice in attire was none other then one of my very own dresses that had gone missing some time ago. The girl is marginally taller than I and the dress, at best, came down only mid calf. I was furious, but only for a moment and that is thanks to you.” Sarah gave her sister a knowing smile, thanking her once more for the dress she had been gifted. “Everyone was jealous and Rosemary was so embarrassed that she ran off and locked herself in her room for nearly the entirety of the time. Mrs. Whitman did check on her at one point but I don’t believe it was out of sense of duty.”

“So, of course SHE was there trying to ingratiate herself with the Whitmans, The spinster Fisher sisters were there, because of course they will never turn down and invitation. Then there was my friend Mrs. Robinson.” Sarah could feel the tears prickling her eyes as she did her best to contain her laughter. She could still see the look on Mrs. Whitman’s face, plain as day, when she saw Pearl enter with her dog. It took everything within her to pull herself together long enough to get the words out so that her sister can be in stitches as well. “You see…”

“..and then Mrs. Mrs. Rob…”. Sarah took in a deep breath and tried to steady herself but she fell to pieces once more in a fit of laughter. As much as she tried to rein herself in when Faye entered with refreshments Sarah was simply too far gone as tears began to stream down her face. She couldn’t even keep it together long enough to thank the girl. “Mrs. Robinson. Dog. Her dog. Mrs. Robinson brought her dog to tea.”

“The look on Mrs. Whitman’s face when she tried to turn them out only to realize too late who Pearl was!” Sarah quickly wiped the tears from her checks and grabbed a small slice of cake. She crammed it in her mouth, not caring for decorum in that moment. The cake had barely been swallowed when Sarah continued her tale. “Pearl threatened to leave if her dog was barred access. Mrs. Whitman was practically begging for her forgiveness but you could see she was seething. Then that WOMAN was trying to parse out who she needed to impress The Whitmans or Pearl.”

“Ultimately I believe she sidled up to Pearl agreeing with us about the refreshments being less than stellar. So I took the opportunity to announce we’d be hosting a masquerade ball in honor of you entering society this Valentines Day. Which means Miss Rosemary will be unable to attend.” Sarah scrunched up her face and pouted, doing her best to look devastated but it was short lived as she started to laugh once more. “Mrs. Whitman mentioned Rosemary’s outing will occur Easter weekend. Whatever they have planned it will be pale in comparison to our little soiree.”

“Gosh, I am so parched. I know there is more but let me cleanse my palette and tell me of your day. You seemed pretty excited as well. How was your errand?”

Chapter Text

Florence was still piecing things together from earlier, but she did well to keep pace with her sister. Sarah was in a strangely giddy mood, quite unusual for her; Florence could not recall a time she had seemed so thoroughly amused. Florence leaned in and listened intently, though her eyes rolled of their own accord when Sarah mentioned that woman trying to ingratiate herself. The news that the Fisher sisters had switched sides so easily brought a look of sharp irritation to her face.

When Sarah went on about Rosemary wearing one of her sister's stolen dresses, Florence was no longer thinking of the scandal she had just overheard.

"You must be jesting! How positively garish!" Florence covered her mouth, unable to control her shock. She had expected a certain degree of impropriety, but not that. "What an absolute disaster!" Florence felt the prickling of tears as she held back a laugh, imagining Rosemary parading about with her shins showing, laboring under the delusion that she was the height of fashion, only to be seen by the very woman who had fit that same gown seasons prior! Then to hear of the wretched tea and leaden biscuits served during one's own event... it was nothing short of social death.

"You must be exaggerating! She truly did not recognize Mrs. Robinson, despite extending a personal invitation? The gall!" Florence pressed a hand to her chest. "I should have been absolutely mortified had I been there. I am certain I should have fainted." It was a grand overstatement, of course, but she would have given anything to witness the spectacle. "But a dog? What a formidable force of nature one must be to bring a canine to tea. She truly marches to her own beat, does she not?"

As the refreshments arrived, Florence found she was indeed quite peckish. She selected a delicate finger sandwich to snack on while her sister fell into fresh hysterics. The mental image was so utterly hilarious that Florence could barely discern Sarah’s words until she, too, found herself pressed to cover her mouth with a lace handkerchief to stifle a snort. To have been there would surely have been the highlight of her year.

Finally, Florence regained her composure, dabbing at her eyes before taking a measured sip of her tea. She prepared to recount her own afternoon or what she had attempted to achieve of it.

"I managed a visit to the atelier," she began. "Lillian is now presiding over the shop entirely, surrounded by her most adorable children. I went with the intention of gathering intelligence on our resident ‘follower of the mode'..." Florence felt herself giggling again at the thought of Rosemary’s calf-length disaster. "...only to discover that they have not been on intimate terms for some time. The only tidbit Lillian offered was that Rosemary visits the museum every Thursday. I find that quite peculiar; surely the exhibits do not change with such frequency?"

Florence paused to sip her tea, her expression turning thoughtful.

"I also encountered our sweet Aunt Mary. She was most gracious, commissioning new Easter bonnets for us both. She also extended an invitation to join her at the opera tonight. I did not commit you, as I recalled you mentioning your own arrangements, but she expressed a sincere desire to see us both in attendance."

Chapter Text

Florence was still piecing things together from earlier, but she did well to keep pace with her sister. Sarah was in a strangely giddy mood, quite unusual for her; Florence could not recall a time she had seemed so thoroughly amused. Florence leaned in and listened intently, though her eyes rolled of their own accord when Sarah mentioned that woman trying to ingratiate herself. The news that the Fisher sisters had switched sides so easily brought a look of sharp irritation to her face.

When Sarah went on about Rosemary wearing one of her sister's stolen dresses, Florence was no longer thinking of the scandal she had just overheard.

"You must be jesting! How positively garish!" Florence covered her mouth, unable to control her shock. She had expected a certain degree of impropriety, but not that. "What an absolute disaster!" Florence felt the prickling of tears as she held back a laugh, imagining Rosemary parading about with her shins showing, laboring under the delusion that she was the height of fashion, only to be seen by the very woman who had fit that same gown seasons prior! Then to hear of the wretched tea and leaden biscuits served during one's own event... it was nothing short of social death.

"You must be exaggerating! She truly did not recognize Mrs. Robinson, despite extending a personal invitation? The gall!" Florence pressed a hand to her chest. "I should have been absolutely mortified had I been there. I am certain I should have fainted." It was a grand overstatement, of course, but she would have given anything to witness the spectacle. "But a dog? What a formidable force of nature one must be to bring a canine to tea. She truly marches to her own beat, does she not?"

As the refreshments arrived, Florence found she was indeed quite peckish. She selected a delicate finger sandwich to snack on while her sister fell into fresh hysterics. The mental image was so utterly hilarious that Florence could barely discern Sarah’s words until she, too, found herself pressed to cover her mouth with a lace handkerchief to stifle a snort. To have been there would surely have been the highlight of her year.

Finally, Florence regained her composure, dabbing at her eyes before taking a measured sip of her tea. She prepared to recount her own afternoon or what she had attempted to achieve of it.

"I managed a visit to the atelier," she began. "Lillian is now presiding over the shop entirely, surrounded by her most adorable children. I went with the intention of gathering intelligence on our resident ‘follower of the mode'..." Florence felt herself giggling again at the thought of Rosemary’s calf-length disaster. "...only to discover that they have not been on intimate terms for some time. The only tidbit Lillian offered was that Rosemary visits the museum every Thursday. I find that quite peculiar; surely the exhibits do not change with such frequency?"

Florence paused to sip her tea, her expression turning thoughtful.

"I also encountered our sweet Aunt Mary. She was most gracious, commissioning new Easter bonnets for us both. She also extended an invitation to join her at the opera tonight. I did not commit you, as I recalled you mentioning your own arrangements, but she expressed a sincere desire to see us both in attendance."

Chapter Text

“All of it is true. I swear it. Mrs. Whitman has never met with Mrs. Robinson face to face. At least, not that I am aware of. Mrs. Whitman was just blindly bombarding Pearl with invitations for tea these past few months. I believe the only reason she attended to today was because I had finally acquiesced.” Sarah continued to giggle, though her fits were finally under control as she grabbed her tea and took a long sip. “Mrs. Robinson is certainly a character. I assume the spectacle was merely a test to see what she could get away with. Mrs. Whitman’s face turned beet red when she was given the ultimatum that if the dog could not stay, then Pearl was leaving!”

Sarah managed to regain her composure as she too dabbed the corner of her eyes, removing the wetness from her face and drawing in another deep breath. She listened intently to her sister talk about her eventful afternoon. While, it wasn’t nearly chaotic as tea at the Whitman’s it certainly had its own share of taboo intel.

“I am glad that you were able to reconnect with Lillian. She has never given me bad millinery advice.” Sarah couldn’t recall the last time she had frequented the shop but Lillian was most definitely not in charge at the time. It did gladden her heart to know that the woman was taking over the mantel.

“That is rather peculiar. As far as I am aware, the exhibitions at the museum have been static, though I haven’t been out much myself as of late. Then, of course, I never suspected Rosemary to be the scholarly type?” Sarah would have been taken back if it had been unequivocally proven Rosemary could read. As far as she knew Rosemary had very little schooling growing up due to her family circumstances. “Did I mention the manor they relocated to barely had a stick of furniture within?”

That little tidbit of information should have sent her into a new fit of giggles but Sarah just found it sad.

“Did you now? How is Aunt Mary? I have sent her many invitations but she has yet to visit. Sean just tells me that she wishes to give me space as I navigate motherhood. I told him that it is not necessary but I believe it falls upon deaf ears.” Sarah had tried on multiple occasions to have her Aunt visit but it was beginning to feel as if the woman was avoiding her. “My plans for this evening were not finalized. I would be happy to see her.”

Sarah thought that perhaps she could get some answers as to why her Aunt refused to see her.

Chapter Text

Florence leaned back, a soft, conspiratorial smile returning to her lips as she took another sip of her tea.

"That is a terrible shame," she murmured, shaking her head slightly at the sheer absurdity of the Whitman affair, "but I feel as if they are trying to climb on the backs of others to reclaim some social standing."

She certainly wasn't about to let the Whitmans' desperate, mid-calf-length misfortunes cast a shadow over her own family's prospects. However, Sarah's mention of Aunt Mary, and the revelation that invitations had been sent but seemingly ignored, gave Florence pause. A quiet curiosity stirred beneath her poised exterior. If there was friction, or if Sean was simply playing an overprotective gatekeeper to a new mother, tonight at the opera was the perfect neutral ground to coax the truth into the open. This could be her aunt and sister's chance to finally get things ironed out.

"Then it is settled. We shall attend," Florence stated, her eyes bright with sudden inspiration. "In fact, I think I have the perfect dress for you to wear tonight. It will be the talk of the town."

She clapped her hands together, a genuine, radiant smile warming her face as she looked at her sister. For a fleeting moment, a shadow of the morning's unsettling doubts brushed against her mind, the overheard fragments, the lingering heat of Sarah's hands contrasting with the outdoor chill, the lingering question of Arthur Lowell. If Florence thought for even a single second that her sister truly wanted the attention of her husband, she might have suggested entirely different gown from her wardrobe. But watching Sarah's unbridled, sisterly joy in this moment, Florence felt a wave of reassurance. She was quite sure that was not the case.

Softening her tone so as not to seem overly demanding, Florence added with a teasing wink, "That is unless you have something you would prefer to wear, dear sister. Do not feel that you have to continue to let me force my taste on you."

Chapter Text

LATER THAT EVENING

‘Let me think on it.’

They were Sarah’s last parting words with Florence in the parlor earlier that afternoon when they discussed attire for the Opera. Sarah had thought her mind had been made up that morning, but then again, that was before her unspoken invitation had been rescinded by Pearl. At least, that was what she felt on the cold carriage ride home with the woman. She was still seething at the thought of poor Arthur being led out to slaughter. How could Pearl be so cruel as to offer him up to the ‘witless’ girl. As if, his life was but a game!

It was noted by Sarah that the dinner that evening was relatively elaborate for just the two of them. Only amplified, when the conversation remained light in nature. Most of the dialogue focused on young Percy and what Sarah envisioned for him the coming months. Sarah was thankful for the absence of her husband and hoped Corn had already grown bored of playing dutiful family man in front of Florence. With luck, he might stay away until Percival’s christening.

Sarah couldn’t be that fortunate. Not after their discussion the night prior.

“Florence?” Sarah was in her dressing gown when she lightly knocked on Florence’s bedroom door. Draped over her arm was the dress she initially intended to wear for the evening. Even now, she was still undecided on what dress to pick and hoped trying both of them on in front of her little sister would help her decide. “May I come in?”

Sarah had given Etna the evening off, assuming Florence could help with her ensemble. She had also checked on her son to make sure Siobhan would attend to him throughout the night, should she remain out of the house until the wee hours. Thankfully, the woman agreed rather eagerly after a proper compensation had been met.

“I have my dress but I’d like to physically see what you had in mind as well.” Sarah lightly knocked on the door once more before cradling the rich red fabric.

Chapter Text

“Absolutely,” Florence called over her shoulder, carefully anchoring the final hairpins into the intricate, coiled pattern framing her face. The rest of her hair cascaded down her back in a waterfall of soft, glossy spirals.

As she caught her reflection in the vanity mirror, her eyes also snagged on her sister’s posture in the glass, there was an unmistakable unease in the way Sarah carried herself. Rising from her stool, Florence cinched the silk tie of her dressing gown and crossed the room to bridge the distance between them.

“I was envisioning this wine-colored gown for you,” Florence said, gesturing toward the wardrobe. “The structure of the bodice is utterly exquisite, and the weight of the duchess satin lends it such a regal drape. The beadwork alone is dazzling. Of course, if you are looking toward something lighter tonight, I have this piece as well, I quite adore this blue with its gold embroidery. Either would look magnificent on you.”

She paused, offering a reassuring smile before indicating her own selection. “As for myself, I have decided upon the cream silk with the black trim.”

The gown she indicated was a masterwork; the delicate rosettes were a pale cream, each petal edged in stark, striking black. Though the neckline was perfectly modest, chosen deliberately with their Aunt Mary’s expectations in mind, the sheer craftsmanship of the garment was astonishing. Florence knew that no one in the city possessed anything of this caliber. The wardrobe she had brought back with her from abroad was bound to be a showstopper; it would be a full season before the local modistes could even attempt to replicate the style.

“I also have the matching gloves and satin slippers, should you care to borrow them,” Florence added softly, her gaze searching her sister's face for any sign of the shadow that seemed to hang over her