Momma’s lips purse into a tight line. She doesn’t approve, and honestly, I’m uncertain of where Livingston stands. It was days ago when the bachelors convened on Belgrave, and the number went from thirty to fifteen. Since then, Livingston’s been remarkably quiet, and I haven’t heard much from him, something I find oddly unsettling. Livingston is many things, but quiet he is not
Truthfully, I’m unsure of where I stand. At the beginning, I resisted the very idea of finding a husband, but the men were not deplorable. Serene did a wonderful job of selecting each bachelor. And thus far, the experience has not been altogether unpleasant. As of now, I’ve had dinner with Philip or, as Serene called him, “bachelor number twelve.” Conversation was pleasant, but whenever a quip slipped from my mouth, Serene and Étienne would laugh, and he would stare at me with a blank face. My words were lost on him. That wasn’t a positive sign.
I strolled down The Battery during a pleasant sunset with Franklin. Also known as “bachelor number three.” At least, the sunset appeared pleasant. I wouldn’t know. Franklin was personable, and his witticism had me laughing more than once, but Franklin liked to sing. A lot. High or low pitch, it made no difference to him. Singing was singing.
I wasn’t creating my happily ever after, but I was open to the idea of discovering whether one of them would be a fitting husband. However, I drew a fine line at having no humor and constant singing at every turn.
“Who shall be there with you?” Momma asks.
My maid tugs on my hair as I sit in front of my vanity, causing me to wince. “Étienne and his wife.”
Momma’s brows lift in an elegant arch. “Oh?”
Only Leonore Pleasonton can place such heavy emphasis on the word, “Oh.”
I look at Momma in the mirror. “Is that not satisfactory enough for you?”
“Étienne is a very respectable gentleman,” Momma replies.
“But not Serene?”
Momma pauses before she says, “She’s quite … crass. And no one who’s so heavy with child should be in public.”
I lift a shoulder. “Serene has been nothin’ but gracious to me and instrumental in findin’ such upstandin’ gentlemen. I think once you get to know her, you’d be pleasantly surprised.”
Momma doesn’t reply as she watches my maid weave the headband through my chignon. “My Lord, Momma, it’s a miracle you’re not becomin’ seasick with all your pacin’.”
I hiss in a sharp breath as my maid tugs on my hair once again and focus my attention on Momma’s reflection in the mirror. She waves a hand at me and makes another lap around my room. The last time I saw Momma walk this much was durin’ a sale at a local store.
“You would understand my worries if you were in my situation. It’s only a matter of time before people about town began to question why you’re suddenly hangin’ off every man’s arm from here to Georgia!”
I bite down on my tongue to keep from saying that it’s certainly better than the alternative: losing everything we own. I give the maid a furtive glance and smile tightly at Momma. “Well, I guess if they say anything, you’ll just have to tell them I’m ready to find love after all this time.”
Momma gives me a less than amused expression. The maid takes a step back while my scalp screams in protest. I stand and walk to my full-length mirror in the corner to inspect her handiwork.
I’m willing to push the pain aside for a flattering hairstyle. Turning to the side, I give my royal blue dress a thorough inspection. The back dips lower than most of my evening dresses, but I happen to love the embroidery of this specific dress. The sash tied around my waist accentuates my curves, and the material swoops low, creating a train in the back. Momma loved it too when she went with me to get alterations. Now, she wears a leery expression as though this is my first season.
I thank my maid for her help and turn to Momma. “Serene and Étienne should be here shortly with my date, Mr. Legare. He’s an upstandin’ gentleman. His brother is a colleague of Étienne’s. He comes from good stock.”
The phrase “good stock” feels wrong coming from my lips, but I need to appease Momma and speak her language. Sure enough, her eyes widen, and I swear color comes back to her cheeks.
“A colleague of Étienne’s?”
I shake my head as I grab my wrap and clutch from my bed. “You seem to have had a remarkable change of heart.”
“There’s nothin’ remarkable about it,” Momma says, trailing me as I walk out of my bedroom. “Your reputation, or what’s left of it, needs to remain intact.”
“It will.”
“And I worry because—”
At the landing of the stairs, I turn and face Momma. “Don’t. Please. There’s already so much to worry about. Why fret over somethin’ that’s out of your control?”
Momma straightens and juts her chin forward, almost as if she’s getting ready to give me a tongue-lashing. Instead, she whispers, “Because you’re all I have left.”
For several seconds, all I can do is blink at her. There are many traits that set Momma and me apart, but one thing we don’t do is share our true feelings. Swallowing, I tentatively lay a hand on her shoulder. I should say something kind and heartwarming. The words exist inside me, but they never seem to find the way out of my mouth.
There’s a knock on the door, saving me from this strained moment. One of the servants opens the door and reveals Beau’s perfect face. I spot the Lacroix car running on the street. Beau sees me and gives me a shy smile. I smile back and look at Momma. “I’ll be home later tonight.”
Placing a bright smile on her face, Momma faces my date as though she didn’t just gut me with her words.
Being ever the gentleman, Beau holds out his hand for me to take. As I step out of the car and onto the street, I can’t help but notice his grip is firm, but not too tight.
Everything about him is so … perfect.
Serene stands beside Étienne with her arm looped through his. Her eyes are as wide as saucers, and she has a smile from ear to ear as she looks at Beau and me. She’s a cat who ate the canary, and I have no doubt that when we retreat to the ladies’ room, she’ll besiege me with endless questions about my thoughts of Beau.
The four of us proceed to walk toward the entrance of the theater. The Garden Theatre opened nearly a year ago. It made a name for itself in Charleston, so it’s no surprise a small crowd has already gathered outside the doors.
While we wait in line, I watch as cars pull to a stop in front of the theater, the brakes lightly screeching. Drivers will step out and open the door for whoever is in the back, and then they’ll drive away. Another car will replace its spot, and the process repeats itself. Downtown Charleston can’t seem to handle the number of cars on the narrow roads. Every so often, I’ll hear a driver impatiently honk their horn. Tonight, the noises and the crowds do not bother me. Standing beside Beau, I feel hopeful. Serene’s bachelor plan could go better than I ever dreamed.
After several minutes of waiting, we receive our tickets and make our way inside. The entry was designed to complement the theater’s name with a garden of flowers and trellises. If that wasn’t enough, there are caged canaries. Their singing voices combine with the sound of women’s heels echoing on the tile floor. Crystal chandeliers are hung, illuminating the shadows near the ornate archways.