“What do you plan to do with him?” Katherine asked, not taking her gaze from the ships.
“I plan,” Madeleine said, “to watch this race with him. And then eat lunch. And then attend the dance he is hosting tonight.”
“Don’t be stupid. You know what I mean. Will you marry him?”
“Katherine!”
Her sister unlinked their arms. She wasn’t smiling. “Will you, Maddy? You’d better figure it out sooner rather than later, because that’s what all this means. Don’t imagine you’re not on trial here. So is he.”
The colonel’s weekend guests stood in clusters along the rolling lawn, some watching the yachts tracing their desultory paths, others chatting. Colonel Astor himself lingered on the terrace in deep conversation with a trim, sallow man he’d introduced as William Dobbyn, his private secretary.
The colonel spoke quickly, gestured calmly, and occasionally took out his pocket watch to check the time. Mr. Dobbyn would only nod, repeatedly nod. It was hard to imagine Jack Astor receiving a no from his secretary very often. Or from anyone else, for that matter.
The sun gleamed razor sharp; whenever the wind stilled, the air sank into a briny, humid heat. The curious slanted light picked out in detail the threads composing Madeleine’s lace gloves, showing every tiny twist and knot. Despite her best efforts, tomorrow she was likely to wake with its pattern outlined on the backs of her hands.
“Look around you,” Katherine murmured. “Look at everyone. There are—what? Perhaps fifteen, twenty guests staying over? Maybe more coming in tonight. Newport cottagers, mostly, plus a few of our own. But none of your friends or mine. The only one here our age is the charming Vincent. This is all for you.”
“Us,” Madeleine countered.
“I am merely a necessary bystander.”
At the southern end of the docks, a pair of lobster boats began to ring their bells, sending seagulls whirling up and away. They gazed at that for a moment, the lofting, the dispersal, before Madeleine admitted, very quietly, “He found me in the library yesterday, after luncheon. He told me I was lovely.”
Katherine only sighed. “And you still think we’re not here because of you?”
Madeleine threw up her hands. “Had he come across you yesterday instead, sitting there with a book in your lap, he likely would have said the same thing.”
“You can’t possibly believe that.”
“I have no reason not to believe it. You’re—you’re better than I am in every way. You’re smarter and prettier and more stylish—”
“Better,” Katherine interrupted, her eyes narrowed. “You mean, better for him.”
“Yes! Better for him. And if I can see that, surely he can, too.”
“I wonder about you sometimes. I truly do.”
“You know I’m right.”
“What I know,” said Katherine coolly, “is that when we are standing side by side before the colonel, I become your shadow. I become smoke, a foxed mirror. I’m invisible, because that man cannot tear his gaze from you.”
The wind picked up, sticky with salt. Katherine lifted her face to it, closing her eyes and holding back her hair from her cheeks with both hands.
“If you won’t believe in your own worth, Madeleine, at least have the sense to allow other people to believe in it.”
“Good day, Miss Force, and Miss Force.”
They both turned. Mrs. James Cardeza and Mrs. August Heckscher approached, clad in sturdy beige and diamond-link chains, and enormous straw hats that left their faces speckled with sunlight. Fearsome dragons, both: Madeleine had met them only once, and only briefly. They had attended a charity tea for the Traveler’s Aid Society in Manhattan months past, had made a single pass among the tables to assess the stature of the chamber’s occupants—and left as soon as they could.
Mrs. Cardeza dabbed at her temples with a handkerchief. “How very unexpected to find you here. I didn’t realize your parents were acquainted with the colonel. I don’t believe I’ve seen either of them in Newport in years.” She looked to her companion as if to confirm it, and the other woman nodded thoughtfully.
“Nor Rhinebeck,” Mrs. Heckscher said.
Katherine glanced at Madeleine, who stood mute, then took the lead. “No, ma’am. We’ve summered here for ages.”
“Of course. Your family summers in Bar Harbor,” Mrs. Heckscher said, with just enough delicate venom flavoring the words Bar Harbor to make her meaning clear.