Page 69 of The Lost Heiress
Chapter Twenty-Five
September 1958
Dear Scarlet,
I’m sorry that it’s taken longer than I intended to write to you, but let me start by allaying any worries you might have—all is well here. We have been busy to distraction these past several weeks, and that is the only reason for my delay in writing to you. So let me hastily fill you in, as I’m sure you’re eager to hear all our goings-on.
The honeymoon was a dream. We stayed in a small seaside town called Minori, in a hotel a stone’s throw from the beach. There was much to see and do there, including visiting the ruins of an ancient Roman villa and a very old church. The food was better than you could imagine. All the pasta was handmade, and the sauce came from the best San Marzano tomatoes grown in the countryside. I’m sure I could eat nothing but that for days on end and never grow tired of it. We all enjoyed ourselves very much and were sorry to leave.
Since returning from Italy, we’ve settled in London. Mr. Sinclair’s townhome is large and grand and you cannot beat the location. Astrid says the furnishings and decor reek of bachelorhood, so she is determined to do up everything in a style that suits her, and Mr. Sinclair has given her free rein to do so. The remodel has kept Astrid very busy, but she has not neglected her duties as a wife. She has hosted many dinner parties for Mr. Sinclair and his friends and associates, and we have gone out to two operas and a ballet since we arrived. Astrid has been very well received here; everyone remarks on her beauty, style, and her good manners.
I realized that before I left I did not have a chance to put your mind at ease about the cut of Astrid’s wedding dress. I know you thought it was too low, but I did see at least half a dozen women at the reception whose gowns were at least a half inch lower than Astrid’s, and so I do not think anyone thought that her gown strained the bounds of propriety.
I hope you are well and I would love to hear what you have been up to since we’ve been gone. How is Verity doing at school? Did Charles’s conference go well? How is Birdie? I miss you all so much.
Yours faithfully,
Florence
Florence reread the letter for the hundredth time. She could not find it within herself to outright lie to Scarlet, but she felt comfortable omitting certain truths. For instance, she’d written:There was much to see and do there, including visiting the ruins of an ancient Roman villa and a very old church.That was a factual statement. She didn’t mention that Astrid and RJ had neglected doing either of these things and instead had spent their entire honeymoon drinking and dancing and stayingout all night. Writing that would only give Scarlet a conniption, so it was best to leave it out.
Florence also left out the part about what had happened in the hotel room on their last night in Italy. She didn’t know how to write about that. Neither Astrid nor RJ had ever mentioned it since. They acted like it hadn’t happened or, if it had happened, that it didn’t matter. And maybe it didn’t. Florence had never been married before; how was she to know what a marriage was supposed to look like from the inside? The Bible said, “Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.” Astrid and Florence had laughed at RJ when they shouldn’t have. Maybe it was right for him to be angry. In the Bible, even God was wrathful when people behaved wrongly. Maybe, if Florence told Scarlet what happened, Scarlet would be angry at Astrid for misbehaving. Or maybe she would be angry at RJ, but what then? Florence was sure Scarlet would never countenance a divorce. And was it really Florence’s place to stir up strife in Astrid and RJ’s marriage because of her misgivings of something she had witnessed? She was just a witness, after all, not an active party. It seemed devious to intercede.
Besides, all seemed well, or well enough. The townhome that Mr. Sinclair owned in Trafalgar Square really was beautiful—three stories tall, with coffered ceilings and a private garden. And he had given Astrid free rein to do with it what she pleased, with seemingly no budgetary restrictions. Astrid had hired two designers, one for the upstairs rooms and one for the downstairs, and an architect to enlarge the dining room. She threw herself into redecorating with a feverish passion, with fabric swatches, wallpaper samples, and catalogs unfurled on the coffee table in the living room, on her nightstand, in the downstairs hall. Twice before the construction started on the dining room, she had hosted a dinner for RJ and his associates from the bank and their wives. Everyone seemed to adore her—a pretty young American, lively and vivacious.
At a party one evening, Astrid and Florence were introduced to the Countess of Sandington, the first member of nobility they had evermet. She was very beautiful, with blond hair, striking blue eyes, and a long white neck.
“Cressida, please,” the countess said, when they were introduced. “I inherited the title with my marriage, and anytime someone calls me Countess, I still look around the room to see who they’re referring to.”
“Yes, I know what you mean,” Astrid said. “I’m still not used to being called Mrs. Sinclair. Every time someone uses it, I look around the room for RJ’s mother.”
The countess laughed. “I’m so glad to finally meet you,” she said. “RJ and I are very dear friends.”
“Well then,” Astrid said, “you should come to dinner sometime. Any friend of RJ’s is a friend of mine.”
Later, Astrid and Florence found themselves in the midst of their usual group—the wives of RJ’s bank associates, Gemma Thompson and Eloise Winthrop.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” Gemma asked, her gaze sliding across the room and landing on RJ and the countess standing very close together, talking.
“What?” Astrid asked, following her gaze. “My husband talking to the countess? Oh, I’ve met Cressida. She’s lovely.”
“It would drive me crazy,” Eloise said. “The way they’re always seeking each other out.”
“They’re good friends,” Astrid said. “I’m of the mind that members of the opposite sex can be friendly without there being anything untoward going on.”
“You’re more generous than I would be,” Gemma said.
“I mean, she’s very pretty,” Astrid admitted, “but I hardly think I’m an ugly duckling in comparison.”
“Yes, but I was referring to the fact that they were previouslyengaged,” Gemma said. “I won’t let George talk to his ex-girlfriends, let alone an ex-fiancée.”
Florence was very glad she didn’t have a drink in her hand, because she would have dropped it. She looked over at Astrid. Astrid had her lipspinched together slightly, but only for a moment before she smoothed them into a complacent smile.
“Did RJ ever tell you why Cressida ended things between them?” Eloise asked.
Perhaps she laughed at him,Florence thought but kept her mouth shut.
Astrid shrugged. “They weren’t as compatible as they thought at first,” she said. “It was amicable and mutual. Nothing salacious, I’m sorry to report. I love a good juicy piece of gossip as much as the next person, but there’s nothing of that sort here.”
