"I have to be going," she said as she stood. She was fatigued but not in the least ready to sleep, and she felt blearily capable of anything, just as one does after staying up all night.

"But my dear, your condition-"

Elizabeth backed toward the door. "I'm sorry," she said. Her voice had grown loud and clear. "But that was all a mistake."

The house was dark when she crossed the threshold, but no sooner had she removed her cloak then she heard the rattle and creak of the parlor pocket door and saw her mother come out of the darkness.

"I would have thought they'd keep you all night," she said, and though her words were harsh there was something strained in her voice.

"No." Elizabeth tried to catch her breath and let her eyes adjust to the lack of light. It was good to be inside; although the real chill had gone out of the weather and she had sensed a moisture in the air and the return of rain as she climbed the steps. "I couldn't stay there."

"What do you mean you couldn't stay there?"

Mrs. Holland stepped into the foyer, bringing with her that smell of ash that follows all clothes that have lingered by a hearth. Elizabeth could see her face now, and she recognized in the older woman's expression the same nervous indecision that she had been experiencing not an hour before. But for Elizabeth, the nervousness was gone, and she felt in its place a strange fort.i.tude.

"I am going to have a child," she answered calmly. "Will's child."

Her mother made a noise as though she had been hit in the stomach and all the breath had gone out of her. "You will ruin us," she said. But she did not say it harshly, and somehow when the phrase was in the air, it sounded like not such a bad fate after all.

Elizabeth discovered that she was smiling. She kissed the little lady on either cheek and said, "Good night." Then she turned and walked up the stairs to her bedroom. She hadn't the faintest idea what she would do in the morning, but she knew that for the first time in many days she would sleep through the night.

Forty Three The last will and testament of Carey Lewis Longhorn will be read today at the New Netherland Hotel, where the late Mr. Longhorn resided for the last years of his life. Though he was a bachelor, many a society lady will mourn the loss-some of them, of course, hope that today his largesse will live on.

-FROM THE SOCIETY PAGE OF THE NEW-YORK NEWS OF THE WORLD GAZETTE, FRIDAY, MARCH 2, 1900 "M ISS BROAD, WHAT HAS BECOME OF YOU?"

Carolina, or Lina, or whoever she was now that all of her dignity had been scrubbed off her, stepped into the lobby of the New Netherland where she had once been so grand. Her coat dripped a little onto the shiny mosaic floor, and though she had planned to appear slightly less wrecked at this moment, the first familiar whiff of the perfume and coffee, and the sight of Mr. Cullen, the diminutive clerk who had so often handed her the key to her room, brought tears to her eyes, and before she could even begin to explain, she was wailing like a baby.

"There, there, Miss Broad," said Mr. Cullen, as he removed the rain-soaked coat from her shoulders. "Did you get caught in the rain?" he went on dubiously as he examined the coat, which had in truth spent all night inches from the downpour, and now smelled unmistakably of the street. He gestured to a bellboy, and when the offending garment was out of sight he placed a hand on Carolina's shoulder and said, "We will send that to the cleaners and see what can be done. But my dear, you are freezing. We must get you warm and into some dry clothes."

Carolina put her face into her hands and nodded vigorously, although she had not yet found a way to stop crying.

"Do try to contain yourself, my dear," Cullen went on as he drew her into the office. "You are here for the reading of Mr. Longhorn's will, aren't you? Surely the old gentleman must have left you something...."

Carolina pushed her hand against the underside of her nose, wiping away the snot, and tried to believe this. In truth, she didn't hope for much anymore, and had only come to the hotel because she had woken up in a doorway and had no place else to go. She could see, too, in Cullen's face that he was only trying to make her feel better, and this was such a rare kindness that it took all her will not to begin crying again. He called one of the housekeepers, and had her find Carolina a dress, and only when she was properly put together again did he himself escort the young lady to the suite where she and Longhorn had spent so many evenings, talking over what his youth had been and what hers then seemed to promise.

Mr. James, the lawyer, was sitting at a wide table and he looked up at Carolina in a way that made plain how unwelcome she was. Luckily, Cullen was still there with her, and he walked her to one of the chairs that had been set out, and only once he was sure that she was solidly placed in her seat did he leave her side. There were a few other women, occupying chairs and crying theatrically into their hankies. Lucy Carr was among them, but she would not meet Carolina's eyes.

"Welcome, ladies, gentlemen..." Mr. James began, before coughing rather disgustingly into his hand. A preamble followed that Longhorn's former favorite could hardly listen to. This was a doc.u.ment that the old bachelor had ordered drawn up when he was contemplating his own end, and she had failed him so miserably there. She was still enduring the consequences of that selfish decision, and she suspected she would endure them for a long time to come. Most of the beautiful objects in the room had been wrapped up, she observed, and the life had gone out of it.

"To my second cousin, Mrs. William Barre," Mr. James was saying. That lady gasped a little and sat up like a rod. "I leave all my large silver platters and one thousand dollars."

Mrs. William Barre then loudly praised Longhorn's generosity, even while looking slightly disappointed.

A series of small bequests followed, to which the people in the chairs made tepid responses. Carolina couldn't expect anything from the old man-she had known him only a few months, and had failed him when it most mattered-but still she couldn't help but think how much more five thousand dollars would mean to her than to the Society for Young Girls Orphaned by Fire, which had been her former benefactor's favorite charity. She too was an orphan, she thought as she dabbed her eyes.

Then she heard the words that let her know it was the end, and she stood to leave.

"And the remainder of my estate," Mr. James was now saying, somewhat reluctantly, "including all of my holdings in real estate, stock, business, and cash, I do leave to my dear friend, who gave me such joy in the final chapter of my life, Miss Carolina Broad."

Everyone in the room gasped and turned to look at the girl who already appeared headed for the door. For a moment, Carolina thought that she had been called out for bad behavior or some other infraction against good taste, and her eyes roved back and forth from the women a.s.sembled there to the lawyer. Then she saw Lucy Carr smile at her, and she knew that her fortunes had turned around again. She was still cold, and it would take several hours before she began to really understand how utterly her life had been transformed. But already a sense of safety was returning to her limbs, and the women who had come with hopes of their own crowded around her to wish her all the best. Longhorn had seen promise in her youth after all, and oh, with what infinite kindness, what eternal magnanimity had he gone about ensuring that that promise would be fulfilled.

Some hours later, and outfitted from the wardrobe that had been rightfully restored to her, Carolina arrived at a west side address of no particular distinction and instructed the hansom to wait in the street. The rain had finally stopped and you could feel the coming of a kinder season in the air. Still, she pulled her coat-the old broadtail one, which Longhorn had purchased for her in the springtime of their friendship-close around her shoulders as she crossed and approached the stoop.

The housekeeper, when she opened the door, did not at first have anything to say.

"Don't worry," Carolina said with a smile that showed off every one of her teeth. "I am not here for my back pay. Nor will I ever be."

The older woman's eyes darted down the hall, and she was evidently nervous, because she had to pause to wipe the sweat on her palms against her dress. "I don't think Mrs. Tilt will be happy to know that you came here."

"Oh, I don't give a fig about that!" Carolina laughed. "And anyway, I didn't come for her. Is Mr. Wrigley here?"

"Yes, but-"

"Good." Carolina brushed past the woman and into the hall, where she turned just enough so that her long, lavender skirt could twist up sculpturally behind her and catch all of the electric light from the ceiling. "Where are they?"

The housekeeper glanced at her hands. "First-floor parlor."

"Ah, yes."

Carolina entered the room with her furs still on and her face incandescent with victory. She knew perfectly how well winning looked on her, and posed in the doorway so that Mrs. Tilt and her friend Tristan could take in the full glory of the effect. At that moment, all of her suspicions about her own greatness seemed to have been confirmed, and so she had no trouble at all using one of the tricks of fine ladies everywhere, the proper employment of which had eluded her until that evening. Her timing was all right.

"I told you never to return here," Mrs. Tilt said eventually, and though she was trying very hard for cold, the strain melted some of the ice out of her tone. Tristan, sitting next to her in a red and white upholstered wing chair, appeared uncomfortable for perhaps the first time in their friendship. She was gratified to see that he was already dressed up, however, in a black jacket and waistcoat, and with his light-colored hair more neatly arranged than usual.

"Did you? Since I have no desire ever to return to this place, I believe I shall be able to do as you ask." Carolina leaned insouciantly against the doorframe. "Tristan," she went on, lowering her voice and taking her gaze permanently off Mrs. Portia Tilt, "come with me."

Tristan's chair sc.r.a.ped against the floor as he adjusted awkwardly, but he did not yet stand. "Mrs. Tilt and I were planning on dinner at the Waldorf. We were just having a c.o.c.ktail to begin the evening and then-"

"Nonsense. You are having dinner with me, at Sherry's. You see"-and here she paused to smile Carolina's smile-"I have just inherited a great fortune, an amount higher than I think your Mrs. Tilt even knows how to count to, and I want to toast myself."

Tristan did not hesitate after that. He came to Carolina's side without so much as acknowledging the western lady, and they left the room without bidding her goodbye. Carolina did decide to glance back at her one last time, and the look of wounded pride and indignation that her former employer wore at just that moment was something the Longhorn heiress would have paid quite dearly to see. As it turned out, though, this was a sight Carolina was able to enjoy for free.

"It will be in all the papers tomorrow!" she called over her shoulder.

Tristan helped her into the hansom, and as they sat beside one another being jostled by crosstown traffic, she found that all of a sudden she had run out of things to say. The story was too large to begin to tell, and she only wanted someone to celebrate with for a night. Her old friend the Lord & Taylor salesman would do very well for that-not for much else, she had come to realize over the last few months, though he had been very useful in putting Mrs. Tilt in her place. She would have preferred Leland a thousand times over, of course, but she had read in the paper that afternoon that he was already on a ship many miles out into the Atlantic, and so she had resigned herself to waiting a few more months before their romance resumed. For now, the rain had cleaned the air, and she was dressed regally, and her escort-whoever he was-looked very handsome indeed. The night was young, and so was everything else.

Forty Four More than one new society bride is with child, although I am not yet at liberty to say which ones....

-FROM CITe CHATTER, FRIDAY, MARCH 2, 1900 T HE FIRE SNAPPED, AND ELIZABETH'S BROWN EYES twitched upward to meet her mother's. Neither woman flinched, and they went on staring at each other for a long minute. The rain was again falling outside after clearing for a time that afternoon, and Diana was still asleep upstairs despite the fact that the evening was nearly upon them. Edith had the look of death about her, and could form no words about the party at the Hayeses' the previous night. So they had run out of things to talk about, and now the elder of the Miss Hollands could do nothing but try to keep warm by the fire and suffer her mother's accusatory glances. She felt a little nervous and unsure of the future, but now she had something greater than herself to protect, and it made her feel less frightened.

"Mrs. Holland," Claire said, adjusting the pocket door as she came through it. The shadows of a gray day played across her milky face.

Edith made a grunting noise and covered her eyes. "For G.o.d's sake, be mindful of my headache and keep a little quiet," she said, even though Claire had most certainly spoken in a quiet tone to begin with.

"I'm sorry," Claire whispered. Since Mrs. Holland steadfastly refused to look up from the hearth, the maid glanced at Elizabeth, who nodded for her to go on. "There's a guest here."

"Who is it? We're in no state to receive anyone," Mrs. Holland went on sharply. Edith groaned, but did not mention her headache again.

"It's Mr. Cairns."

"Ah!" Mrs. Holland's expression changed. "Show him in."

Elizabeth straightened as he entered the room. She had been so absorbed in her own troubles that she had not noticed the outdoorsman's absence since her return from Florida, and indeed his thick features, and the extreme paleness of his blond hair, were almost unfamiliar to her. She felt a little bad about this, because he had done so much for her family, and she tried to smile more broadly at him to make up for it.

"Mrs. Holland, Miss Holland, Miss Elizabeth," he said and bobbed his head.

"How lovely that you've returned to the city," said Mrs. Holland as she rose from her chair. She looked less worried somehow, and Elizabeth felt grateful to him for it. Her father's old a.s.sociate had such a knack for showing up when the family was in the greatest need, she observed, and that made him seem not so strange to her. "I wasn't sure you'd be back."

"Yes, and I plan to stay awhile. I know how compulsively hospitable your family is, and I didn't want to disturb you until I had settled in. I have taken an apartment at the Dover on the park-it is not as charming as all this, of course, but it will do for a man like me." His gaze was steady on Elizabeth, who turned to her mother, who looked at Snowden. "I received your cable," he added, addressing her mother, Elizabeth a.s.sumed, although he went on watching her.

"Welcome back to New York, Mr. Cairns," Elizabeth said sweetly as she stood, touching her belly unconsciously as she did. She hoped that that was all that was required of her in the moment, but she was not to be so lucky. His gaze covered her whole body, and then he crossed toward her and sank on one knee.

Elizabeth's eyes darted to her mother, but that lady was facing elsewhere now.

"Elizabeth, I hope you don't think it is overly forward of me to say that I know of your situation and that I feel I can be of service to you. I know how you loved Will-after all, it was I who married you. Of course you must have his child. But you will do that child, and the late Mr. Keller, a disservice if you bring it into the world outside of the traditional covenant of marriage. I know you do not love me, at least not as a wife loves a husband, and I do not expect you to try." He paused, to adjust his knee's position on the floor, and looked up at her cautiously, as though his words might unintentionally do her harm. "I want to settle here in the city, and have a home. I think that if we wed, we could form a family of a kind-I could offer you protection from the world's censure, and you would make this city a happy place for me...."

He trailed off, and Elizabeth closed her eyes. For a moment, the room was quiet and there was only the sound of the flames snapping and, outside, the rain against the pavement. Then he spoke again. "Will you marry me?"

Her mother had raised her to be such a marriageable girl, and so she had seen not a few men on their knees before. It was a bizarre twist that this man-perfectly acceptable, but hardly the social ally a debutante should seek out-was to be her husband in the end. Elizabeth knew Mrs. Holland would have preferred Teddy Cutting, though not as much as Elizabeth herself would have. But Teddy was nowhere in sight.

The full meaning of Snowden's offer swept over her slowly, and when she realized everything it would mean to her, and what a sacrifice it was for him-for he would give up any chance of finding true love himself, to protect her and Will's unborn child-she reached out for his hand.

"Oh, yes," she whispered. "Thank you."

When she opened her eyes again, he stood and, still holding on to one hand, kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I will give you a good home, Elizabeth."

She could not quite bring herself to smile, but she did nod. Then her mother came over to them and put her hands over their hands.

"Mr. Cairns," she said. Her dark eyes flicked rapidly as she stared at him. "You must take good care of my child. She is everything I live for."

Then she embraced him. Edith had come across the room, and though her headache was still obvious in her face, she tried to smile a little. She put her arms around the young couple-to-be and whispered her congratulations.

"I remind you that I knew Mr. Holland not a little," Mr. Cairns said to none of them in particular. "And I know how he would want me to treat you right."

Elizabeth nodded again. The world was such a marvel-it gave you trials, but if you were still and concentrated, if you tried to do the right thing, it always provided you with salvation. She had imagined that a solution lay in one direction, but that didn't matter now, for the road to there hadn't yet been built. It was not to be. This was to be, and it was just as well. She was going to be a mother-the thought suffused her with joy.

"I think you will agree with me that it must be done quickly, to avoid suspicion, and that in fact we should move as soon as possible...." Snowden was saying to Mrs. Holland, or maybe Aunt Edith-Elizabeth wasn't paying attention anymore; she was thinking of Will, of his honorable nature and his willingness to work hard and everything he had done for her, and how perhaps she would finally be able to do right by him.

Forty Five Many of my usual sources have been silent at this quiet time of year, although some of my new friends have pointed out to us the striking presence of the younger Holland sister, Miss Diana, at the Hayeses' last night, where she was said to be the special guest of the family scion, Grayson. Whatever could it all mean?

-FROM THE SOCIETY PAGE OF THE NEW-YORK NEWS OF THE WORLD GAZETTE, SAt.u.r.dAY, MARCH 3, 1900 W HEN THEY RETURNED FROM THE CHURCH, Diana wanted nothing more than to go up to her room. The ceremony had been short and dour and there had been no guests outside of their little family and a few members of Snowden's retinue. Reverend Needlehouse had officiated, glancing occasionally over at the bride's sister as if she had a bad smell about her. Afterward the bride and groom had gone to their new apartment house, and the Holland family had returned to their home on Gramercy Park, and Diana was once again the lone sister in a sad home. She put her foot on the stair, but before she could return to her own private anguish, her mother blocked her path.

"Di, your sister is very lucky."

Diana looked back at her mother, still dressed in black as she had been for over a year now. The youngest Holland's clothing-a navy wool dress in a modest cut-was not much less somber, and she would have been at pains to declare which of them was the gloomier.

"I know," she said after a moment.

When her sister had revealed to her the secret she had been bearing in silence all these weeks, a stone had flipped over inside Diana and all the vague disquietude she had been experiencing over the thing she had done with Grayson, in one of his family's galleries, showed its full, mossy form in the light. For she had committed an act that could have terrible and unexpected consequences, and the knowledge dragged her further down.

"If it is true what I read in the papers-that Grayson Hayes has taken a special interest in you-then that would be very good," her mother concluded, and then Diana knew that her mother was disappointed by the marriage that had just taken place. For while it would smooth appearances and allow Elizabeth to have her child, it was not the glorious match that Mrs. Holland had so clearly hoped for. "I have not always approved of the Hayes family, as you know, and there might be other suitors whom I would prefer for you. But their fortune is large, and though it pains me to say so, they are the future."

There was no way for Diana to respond to this without telling her everything; and of course that she could never do. So, wincing, she nodded her understanding, and then she went up the dark, paneled staircase, which heaved a little under her weight. The whole house was showing its age. Or its youngest member, at least, was feeling a hundred years older than she had on her return from Florida, and it was with weariness commensurate with this feeling that she drooped into her own bed. What else would she have to go through, she wondered, to fill up the pages of the story of her life? That volume was already very crammed.

The physical act that had joined her and Grayson was not so different from what she and Henry had shared, all those months ago, and yet she felt so different this time. After Henry there had been a wonderful, peach-colored halo all around her body; now she felt sodden with regret. Every time she closed her eyes she was forced to relive those heated moments with Grayson, and the memory scorched her. There was that ghost of Henry in the door in all her recollections, and it hardly mattered whether it had been a real or imaginary witness to her transgression. What she had done had not been for love, and that was all the difference.

No matter what her mother said, she knew she would never marry Grayson. He had told her that he loved her, and for all she knew it might be true. But she could not return the sentiment-she had never felt so little doubt about anything-and that meant she was very tawdry indeed. She had just watched her sister promise herself to a man whom she did not love, and while the expression on her face had been muted, Diana had seen clearly how much it pained her to marry again, so soon, when her love for Will had been so pure and was still so recent and alive inside her.

Diana brought her knees up to her chest and made herself into a ball on her bed. It was there in that room, with the salmon damask walls, the white bearskin rug, the old gold-upholstered wing chair, that Henry had come to her that first time. They had lain together on that rug, over by the small tin-covered fireplace. She would have given anything to return to that moment in time, before she discovered that Henry was not what he had seemed to be, and what gross errors she was capable of. She was exhausted by all she had done, but she could not cry. There was no changing any of it-it was an inescapable part of her now.

She had gotten what she wanted, although not in the way she had imagined. She had wanted to feel different, and indeed she did now-she felt worse. She was older, and she had lost a good deal of innocence, but if she had believed that Grayson could make her stop thinking about Henry, she had been outrageously mistaken. Henry had taken up permanent residence in her mind, and for the first time what he had done to her no longer seemed so terrible, for she had done exactly the same right back to him, and now knew how thin the rewards were.

Forty Six By this evening Elizabeth Holland will have wed her father's former business a.s.sociate, Mr. Snowden Trapp Cairns, in a private ceremony at the Grace Church. One can only a.s.sume that after all she endured last fall, she wants a quieter life, and a less showy man than Henry Schoonmaker to share it with....

-FROM THE "GAMESOME GALLANT" COLUMN IN THE NEW YORK IMPERIAL, SAt.u.r.dAY, MARCH 3, 1900 T HE DOVER WAS A CREAM-COLORED BUILDING OFF the park in the mid-seventies, and its apartments contained parlors and libraries and maid's quarters. There were elevators and laundry chutes on every floor, and the whole place gleamed with its brand-new modernity. The Cairnses' unit took up the whole fourth floor, and to its new mistress it looked very strange. The furniture had never been used, by her or by anybody, and it appeared to have been arranged with more practicality than art. Everything looked expensive, and yet there seemed to be not nearly enough objects.

"What a beautiful place," Elizabeth said as she came through the door.

Snowden smiled at her, and held out his hand for her cape. One of his men had made a fire in the fireplace, and her husband gestured for her to sit near it. The rain had continued on, and now that everyone knew under whose protection her child would be born, their attention had shifted to Elizabeth keeping healthy and not moving about too much.

They had gone together as a family to the church, and then, in case there were any watchful eyes looking to see if there wasn't more to this match than the papers were reporting, Elizabeth and Snowden had returned home alone just like any married couple. "No one ever thought a Holland would live that far north," her mother had said obliquely when they parted.

Elizabeth had never been so tired. It was that exhaustion that comes only after a prolonged and terrible worry has been put to bed. But she was far too weary to pa.r.s.e her mother's choice of words, and after a moment she followed Snowden's gesture and went to the white muslinupholstered Eastlake sofa and sat down. It was soft but a little boxy, and she wasn't sure quite how to sit on it. Tomorrow she would make this place look more like home, and on every following day, until her child was born. But there was no need to worry about all that just yet.

Snowden was still standing in the entryway in his dark brown suit, which he had bought earlier that same day at Lord & Taylor, the department store. Elizabeth's simple ivory dress had been purchased there as well. It had a mandarin collar and sleeves that were full almost to the wrist, and it had been ready-to-wear and not crafted especially for her. There had been something discomfiting about all this, and she realized during the exchanging of vows that this was because it was all so similar to her and Will's wedding day, and that in fact the suit that Will had worn was strangely like the one that Snowden had chosen.

"What are you thinking, my dear?" her husband asked from the shadows.

"Oh," Elizabeth sighed. She took a quick breath and attempted a smile. Then she moved forward on the seat and shrugged. "It's only..." Perhaps it was the fatigue, but Elizabeth suddenly feared she might cry. That seemed awfully ungrateful after everything that Snowden had done for her, and she frowned, trying to will away tears.

"Go on," Snowden said gently. "You can tell me. There's nothing you can say that would bother me."

She closed her eyes. "I was just thinking that until this evening I was Mrs. Keller," she whispered.

Snowden came over and sat down beside her on the sofa. She looked at him a little reluctantly, and then when she saw that his expression was a kind one she sighed, and fluttered her hands, as though to say it was all just ridiculous sentimentality, even though that couldn't be further from her true feelings.

"Of course." Snowden smiled at her. "I know you will always be Mrs. Keller in your heart."

"You were only being kind," Elizabeth replied remorsefully.

A maid was hovering in the doorway, and Snowden gestured for her to enter. She came over to the little geometric oak table in front of the pair and poured them each a gla.s.s of red wine. Snowden waited until the woman in the black-and-white uniform had disappeared, and then he raised his gla.s.s. Elizabeth blinked and picked hers up too. Their gla.s.ses met, and then she tried to take a polite sip, although in truth she had no taste for alcohol just then.

"To our family," Snowden said before he drank.

Elizabeth smiled and placed her winegla.s.s back on the table by the stem. Then something else occurred to her.

"I suppose I am legally married twice now." She said it almost as she thought it, and without concern for how it would sound to Snowden. Then she looked at her new husband, and saw something strange behind his eyes. "I am-aren't I?"

A terrible silence followed, and at the end of it, Elizabeth knew that the next sentence she heard was going to be a lie.