Page 61 of The Vanished

Geneva bowed her head. Her aunt was right. There was no excuse.

“And what would you have us do?” Honor retorted. “This is no longer your home, Aunt Clarissa, but it is ours. You and Rose are well provided for, but Geneva and I might find ourselves destitute a few weeks from now. And speaking of amusements, Father wishes to throw a New Year’s Eve party to celebrate his imminent demise.”

Rose looked at Honor in silent admiration, but Honor was crying now, angry tears sliding down her cheeks. “So, we were on his errand when we spent the day with Jesse. We bought records to play at the party and new frocks. We must make Father proud, mustn’t we? Uphold the family honor and present a united front.”

Clarissa’s mouth fell open, her cheeks turning a mottled red at this unspeakable insolence from one who should be seen but not heard, but Honor didn’t wait to hear what she had to say. She set down her teacup with a clatter and strode from the room, slamming the drawing room door behind her in wordless punctuation.

“The situation is considerably worse than I expected,” Clarissa said under her breath. “Rose, go to your room.”

“But, Mama,” Rose protested.

Her mother glared at her in a way that left no room for argument, and Rose nodded and quietly left. She closed the door softly behind her, as if to underline the difference between herself and Honor.

“So, what’s he like, this usurper?” Aunt Clarissa demanded as soon as she and Geneva were alone.

“He’s actually rather charming.”

“How innocent you are. All Americans are common and sly by their very nature.”

“He’s doing his best to fit in, Aunt,” Geneva protested.

“Oh, I just bet he is. Imagine what a boon it must be to come into such a fortune. And to become the head of an ancient and noble family. I wager his mother’s people were scraping by in some mining town before Alan came along. The fool,” she hissed under her breath. “To go and marry some trollop instead of doing his duty to his family. And now here we are, over a barrel.”

“I don’t think Jesse cares about the title.”

“That’s what he wants you to believe,” Aunt Clarissa huffed. “I expect Honor is taken with him?”

She’s smitten, Geneva wanted to say, but thought it would be disloyal to her sister. “She likes him well enough,” she said instead.

“Well, she had better get her silly infatuation under control. There can be no future for the two of them. As the eldest, you must marry the interloper and rescue the family from utter ruin.”

Geneva had no desire to discuss marriage, especially with Clarissa. Her aunt was a woman ruled by duty and an unshakable conviction of her own importance. She had likely never acted on impulse in her life. Douglas had once remarked that Uncle Gerald had probably died simply to escape her. Despite the unkindness of the observation, Geneva could easily imagine how life with Clarissa might have been utterly devoid of hope or joy. She was a dry old stick who, now that her husband was gone, devoted all her energies to browbeating her daughter.

Rose, unlike her mother, was lively and curious, genuinely interested in the world around her. The last time they had all been together—just days before Uncle Gerald had died suddenly of a heart attack—Rose had tried to share her fascination with the recent discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb. She had read every article she could find, and her excitement had been both sincere and rather endearing. Clarissa had shut her down before she could even finish, declaring that no one wished to hear details of the unchristian burial or a culture she considered to be beneath her notice. Geneva had wanted to hear what Rose had to say, and Douglas had been following the story himself, but no one had dared contradict Aunt Clarissa.

Uncle Gerald had remained silent and offered no support to his daughter. It was a pattern that had governed their household for as long as Geneva could remember. She suspected poor Rose could hardly wait to marry and live a life of her own, far from her domineering mother and that stifling, joyless house where one was expected to apologize for laughing too loud or daring to make a joke.

“At least Honor still looks respectable,” Clarissa said when Geneva did not respond to her earlier statement.

“But I don’t?”

“Your hair is a disgrace. You should pin it up.”

“I will not. And it’s too short anyway.”

“This fad will quickly pass. Mark my words. Resembling an orphan after a bout of typhoid fever is not a fashion trend that will endure.”

“Is that what you think I look like?” Geneva asked, aghast.

“You look more like some debauched French artist’s model.”

She of course had to specify that the model was French, making her that much more disreputable.

“Much better, then,” Geneva said tartly.

“Next thing you’ll be putting your bare arms and knees on display. These newfangled fashions make women look no more respectable than ladies of the evening. What’s next, I ask you? Already some younger women are abandoning the corset. They may as well go out naked. As long as I’m alive, Rose will maintain decorum. No giving in to vulgar modern trends on my watch.”

“Times are changing, Aunt,” Geneva said. She was tired of her aunt already, and she’d been there only an hour.