After selling his ancestral estate, Archibald Colston decides to exchange the pastoral serenity of country society for a chance to make a new life for the Colston family in the wealthy elite of New York City. Upon their arrival, Archibald and his si...
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"Livie!" Archibald called up the staircase in search of his sister. He glanced at his pocketwatch; at this rate they wouldn't make it to De Rosier's dinner party before the final course was set. "If you make me wait in the carriage with mother a minute more, both you and her ladyship are walking to Fifth Avenue," he shouted as he took the winding steps two at a time until he reached the third floor landing outside Olivia's room.
The door hung ajar; Olivia stood at the foot of her bed fully dressed, her hands worrying the lace ring purse looped over her belt.
"What are you doing?" Archibald said, exasperated. He gestured to her person and the emerald green gown that sat off her shoulders. "You're dressed! Get your coat, and let's go."
"I can't go," Olivia said with a shuddering sob.
"You look fine," Archibald said crossing to place calming hands on his sister's shoulders.
"I don't care how I look." A sniffle. "I can't show my face at Harry De Rosier's townhouse. I just can't"
Archibald's dark brows pushed together in confusion. He had no idea why Olivia would say such a thing, but he was starting to worry she'd inherited her mother's flare for dramatics. "The invitation was for all of us. He even sent a note this afternoon that he was eager to see both you and I tonight."
Olivia finally looked up from her hands. "You don't understand," she said. Her blue eyes glimmered with the threat of tears.
"Make me," Archibald said. He caught one of her tears with a knuckle before it could leave a trail in the pearlescent pink powder she'd dabbed on her cheeks.
"I've ruined, perhaps forever, our relations with Harry De Rosier."
Archibald had to stifle a laugh. "What? When?" The thought of Harry, the most affable man in New York, turning his back on any acquaintance seemed quite improbable.
"He stopped by this morning. I was so awful to him," Olivia said, smoothing down the lapels of Archibald's jacket. "I yelled at him; I said the most hurtful things—"
"Livie?" Archibald said, holding his sister at arm's length so he could get a better look at her. "What did you say?"
"That it's his fault we are here in New York because he put the idea in your head. And I called the house he picked ugly." Olivia's gaze fell to the floor.
Archibald's hands dropped to his sides. "Livie," he said. He didn't bother to disguise the disappointment in his voice. "How could you say such things?"
Another sniffle. "It's so hard being here — never knowing if we'll see England again—"
Archibald crossed his "But Harry? Of all people, you blamed Harry? He's been far kinder to us than any of our London acquaintances were, and he insists on inviting you everywhere he invites me! I wish you would have yelled at me — in fact, I wanted you to! I have barely gotten more than ten words out of you since we set sail from Liverpool. And then you yell at Harry, who has so generously concerned himself with personally ensuring our happiness here?" "I know!" Olivia fisted her hands and pressed them to her brow. "I felt terrible the moment I said it. So you see — I can't go."
