Star's Crossing

17: Our Doubts Are Traitors

"You should have told me." Alison's voice came sharp, at last as serrated as Mare had expected after the icing-sweet coo all the way to the park. Matilde had just stepped onto the lawn, and Alison's fine brow furrowed as she followed, looking stung as she spoke. "He is my cousin, Mare!"

"I hadn't the time," Mare protested, following Alison from the step. Mr. Henry bowed, returning to his box, and Alison fiddled with her gloves and purse, a daub of angry pink upon each cheek. "He's only just initiated the courtship, and I hadn't decided-"

"You'd decided enough to tell your sister," snapped Alison, "and no doubt your parents-"

"My-"

"Mother is so pleased." Matilde turned back, looping one arm through Mare's and the other through Alison's. "It will be a smart match, do not you think, Alison? The two of you, cousins!"

"Indeed," said Alison, smile strained. "My. Look at this. I've never seen William's Park so extravagant."

Mare vied for her friend's eyes, but the girl stubbornly aimed them elsewhere: at the taffeta draped between the bur oaks, and the tables laden with glass bowls of hydrangeas and rhododendrons, and the twice-tiered cakes studded with cream flowers and frosted bows, and the dozens of baskets spilling brie and wine and strawberries ripe to bursting.

It was a remarkable spread, but even the cakes soured in Mare's current mood. She, Alison, and Matilde appeared to be among the last to arrive, pairs and trios parted off this way and that between the trees and parading round the William's Pond, or else settling upon blankets or benches to await the introductions from the organizers.

"There's your mother," said Alison. Her expression darkened. "Ah, look. She is with mine."

"And there, Mrs. Doores," said Matilde, elbowing Mare. "Headed straight for them. Mare's future mother-in-law. Already it feels as though they are married and we are family!"

"I've always wanted a sister," said Alison helpfully, looking at Mare over Matilde's shoulder. Her warm brown eyes were pointed as daggers. "Tell me, Matilde. Are they more often allies or foes?"

Matilde opened her mouth, but Mare beat her to the punch. "You'd be surprised how often those two things overlap."

Alison narrowed her eyes. "Allies and foes, I'd foolishly thought, are rather mutually exclusive."

"In war, perhaps," said Matilde, slyly directing her step toward their mothers on the lawn beside the pond. "In business and in life, however, you might be surprised. Mother!"

"Ah, my girls. Mrs. Watt, you remember my youngest, Mare. And just married, Matilde." Mare's mother looked properly bright in a white and blue gown and hat, her face pink and sheened by the heat and exercise. She gestured Mare and Matilde forward. "Mrs. Doores, I'm so pleased to introduce you. Mare?"

Mare curtsied, grateful her petticoat hid the quake of her knees. "It is a pleasure, Mrs. Doores. I've heard so much of you from Alison over the years."

Mrs. Doores was a handsome, stern woman. She seemed devoid of any inclination to smile, and despite the weather and season, wore a piercing black gown with spills of white lace at each sleeve and collar. In contradiction of her years, her hair was black as a raven's down, her eyes much the same. When she spoke, her voice was deep as a distant cave echo, and pert with the memory of her early life in England.

"Ms. Mare Atwood. I've heard a great deal about you, as well." Her black eyes slid toward Mare's mother. "My sister speaks highly of you. As does your mother."