With or without a handful of her daughter’s hair.
In a perverse way, then, Alva was right. The best thing I could do for my cousin was comfort her and help her face her impending marriage bravely. But to do it I would have to disavow everything I believed in, such as a woman’s right to choose her own fate, as I had chosen to do only that morning. To help Consuelo, I’d have to lie to her and do so with a smile.
How I dreaded the role I must play.
“Is she upstairs?” I asked in quiet resignation.
With a victorious spark in her eye, Alva nodded. Her smile returned, but her chin lifted and her nostrils flared in a way no doubt intended to remind me of my place—my lowly place—in the family. “She respects you, Emmaline. Even has a silly notion that you’re better off than any of the rest of us Vanderbilt women. That’s why if you, of all people, tell her this marriage is in her best interests, she’ll believe you.”
As she spoke those last words she took in my carriage dress, the dark blue one formerly belonging to my Aunt Sadie, but which Nanny had freshened with new velvet trim and shiny jet buttons. Her assessing gaze didn’t stop until it reached my hemline, where Nanny had done a splendid job of concealing the slight fraying of the fabric where it skimmed the floor.
“Remember, Emmaline, as a duchess, Consuelo will never want for anything. And if it’s a bit of independence she’s after, between her new title and her inheritance, no doors will be closed to her. Good grief, think of the good she’ll be able to do, if that’s what she wants. She’ll have the means to fund charities, form scholarships—whatever strikes her fancy, as long as the cause is a suitable one and her husband is agreeable.”
Yes, independence. Aunt Alva’s definition of the word dripped its bitter irony on my already sagging spirits.
She reached out and gave my shoulder a little nudge. “Go on. She’ll be delighted to see you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t think I’m not aware that she called you earlier. The little sneak. Why, I should have—oh, but we’ll work it to our advantage, won’t we?”
“Our advantage?”
She nudged me again. “Just talk to her. She adores you. And make her come downstairs. Tell her I have a surprise for her.”
“What is it?”
Alva rolled her eyes. “A surprise. Now go.”
I turned and began walking, wondering how much Consuelo would adore me—or respect me—once she discerned my part in this debacle. Somehow the task ahead seemed even more difficult than tracking down a murderer, nearly being murdered myself, and clearing my brother of false charges. Gripping the cold, wrought-iron banister until my knuckles whitened, I started up the staircase.
Alva’s parting words drifted from the doorway of the Gold Room. “I’m counting on you, Emmaline. Do not let me down.”
The or else hovered in the air between us.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2014 by Lisa Manuel
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-9082-3
First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: April 2014
eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-9083-0
eISBN-10: 0-7582-9083-7
First Kensington Electronic Edition: April 2014
Murder at the Breakers Page 29
