Lord, she was tired of this, of feeling like the odd sister out. Mamie, the self-assured and strong one, not to mention Daddy’s favorite. Justine, their mother’s favorite daughter, was the righteous and kind one. Florence was . . . nothing. The daughter they rolled their eyes over; the girl no one understood. She hated society, while Mamie and Justine tolerated it. She wanted to explore the city, while her parents insisted they stay north of Forty-Second Street. She had no interest in marrying and turning her life over to a man, while Mamie was practically betrothed, the understanding arrived at years ago.
Florence had always been the problematic one.
Florence, be a good girl in church today.
Florence, do not say anything outrageous during tea.
Florence, stop encouraging the housemaids to unionize.
So she’d learned to play the part. To lie and pretend. Whatever the situation required, Florence adapted to blend in. Mamie had once called her a chameleon. Florence rather liked the comparison. Changing was certainly easier than fighting to be noticed all the time.
Only her grandmother seemed to comprehend Florence’s real nature, the burning need to do something else with her life. Which was why Florence loved their grandmother like no other person on earth.
“Look, they’ve torn down those two houses over there, the ones up the street from Granny.” Justine pointed out the window. “Who lived there?”
“The Turners and the Hoffmans, I think,” Mamie said. “The houses were stunning. I wonder why they were torn down.”
Florence murmured in agreement, though it wasn’t that unusual. New York City was forever building up and tearing down. Old and new. Outdated and modern. And some of the people who lived up here had more money than sense. Why, there was a castle with an actual moat a few blocks north.
And in less than two years there would be a casino just for ladies. Wouldn’t that send Knickerbocker tongues wagging? She’d be an independent business owner, relying on no one other than herself.
The carriage slowed to a halt in front of a large four-story stone house in the middle of the block. The house’s front door cracked before the wheels even stopped rolling. Granny appeared on the front stoop, her tall frame clad in a smart purple silk morning gown. Her hair was mostly gray, with only a hint of the dark brown from her youth. She was a handsome woman, still fit and sharp as a tack. A formidable society matron, Granny held the annual Forsythia Ball each spring, which made Mrs. Astor’s Patriarch Ball look like a child’s tea party.
The three sisters piled out of the carriage and stepped to the ground. Florence let Mamie and Justine precede her, as she always preferred to enter her grandmother’s home last.
“You look tired,” Granny said when Florence finally climbed the step. “Should I be worried?”
She melted at her grandmother’s concern. That was one of the hundreds of reasons Florence loved this woman. “Hello, Granny. I’m fine, just out late causing trouble.”
Granny patted Florence’s cheek, her expression filled with understanding and affection. “I’d expect nothing less from you, sweet child. We are alike in our restlessness, I’m afraid.”
“And beauty,” Florence added with an exaggerated wink.
“Not to mention our fondness for cards. Speaking of, we missed you at the weekly game yesterday. I won a diamond brooch.”
Florence hated missing her grandmother’s weekly euchre game. “I hope you weren’t cheating again.”
Granny chuckled. “As if I need to stoop to such antics. Come in and you may catch me up on your week.”
Florence smiled and nodded. As they went inside, she caught a glimpse of another empty lot farther up the street. “Why have all these houses been torn down recently?”
“Probably for another tall office building. Dashed things are a blight on our city. They offered to buy me out of this house.”
“Buy you out?” Florence closed the heavy wooden door, one that still had an indentation from her shoe. At nine years old, she’d been furious with Mamie and thrown a boot at her sister—thankfully missing—only to hit Granny’s front door. Her grandmother had laughed over the damage, telling Florence to work on improving her aim. Florence knew every inch of this house. She’d practically been raised here. “You didn’t sell, did you?”
“Goodness, no. They keep sending me letters with offers and I just let them pile up. I do not even bother to open them any longer.”
“That’s a relief. I love this house.” Granny’s home had been Florence’s refuge during her childhood. She’d spent nearly every weekend here. Now the entire Greene family gathered at Granny’s for each holiday.
“I know you do. That is why I left it to you in my will.”
This was not news. Granny had been saying as much for years, ever since Florence’s debut. “But you are never allowed to die.”
Granny’s mouth softened. “It happens to all of us, I’m afraid. I have such fond memories of this house, though. You know, your father terrorized his younger sister and brother right in these very halls.”
“He did?” Florence asked.
Granny took Florence’s arm and began leading her to the sitting room. “Oh, I have stories about your father that would make your toes curl. Maybe I’ll share them one day.”
“Can’t you tell us just one for today?”
“Oh, let’s see. There was the time he put a garden slug in your uncle Thomas’s slipper . . .”
Chapter Four
Heart pounding, Florence didn’t know what to expect when she knocked on the now-familiar bronze door that evening. Clay had agreed to mentor her, yes, but they hadn’t decided on a schedule or discussed the topics to cover. Would he turn her away? Or would he make time for her?
It didn’t matter, she realized. He’d agreed not to bar her from the casino, and just walking inside was an education. So if she didn’t see him tonight, she’d still find the experience beneficial.
And any disappointment over that possibility needed to be quashed.
The young man at the door lifted his brows when he spied her. “Looks like I owe Bald Jack twenty dollars. Thought for certain you’d change your mind about lessons from Mr. Madden.”
Ah, so word had gotten out amongst the staff. “You bet against me because I’m a woman?”
“Name’s Pete,” he said as he waved her in. “And my bet had nothing to do with you being a woman. I’ve seen grown men piss themselves at the idea of spending time with Mr. Madden.” His expression grew sheepish. “Beg pardon, miss.”
“Oh, I’ve heard worse. No need to censor yourself on my account.”
“That’s what Mr. Madden said. He told the staff no one should make allowances for you or change their behavior when you’re about. I can’t see how that’s proper, though. We don’t have any other women in the club, except for Annabelle, and she don’t mind a bit of bawdy talk.”
Annabelle? Who was that, Madden’s relative? An employee she hadn’t met? His paramour? She put that thought aside for the moment. “In this case, Mr. Madden is correct. I don’t require any special treatment. Now, where shall I go? To the floor?”