Free The Luxe by Anna Godbersen Page B

NEW YORK IMPERIAL , SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1899

S UNDAY WAS ELIZABETH HOLLAND’S SORT OF DAY , which was one of the reasons that Diana had first come to despise it. She hated Sundays because they usually started with church and ended with informal visiting hours, although informal was a completely erroneous way of describing these visits, as everything was done appropriately and triple-chaperoned by their mother, their divorced aunt Edith, and a small army of help. At any rate, there had been no church this morning, because—as their mother had explained on the stair as they approached the parlor—they were going to have to have a very serious talk.
    They were now situated in that prison of a room—that was how it seemed to Diana, anyway, when she was forced to sit there for hours and act ladylike—amidst an embarrassment of riches. The floors were crowded with Persian carpets and the walls with gold-framed oil canvases of all sizes, depicting, among other things, the stern faces of their ancient relatives. Above the wainscoting, the walls werecovered with embossed olive-colored leather, which ended only at the carved mahogany of the ceiling. The moldings were filigreed with gold, and the fireplace, with its marble mantel, was large enough to crawl into, as Diana and Elizabeth had often done when they were children, and which the younger Miss Holland sometimes still imagined doing during particularly boring visiting hours. Everywhere she looked, there was something delicate or silky or rare that Diana was at constant risk of staining or scuffing.
    There were plenty of places to sit, settees and chaises in a jumble of styles were arranged across the floor, but the room had never been comfortable since her father died. He had always said that there was humor in everything, and had tempered Mrs. Holland’s formal hostessing style with sotto voce sarcasms. Diana wasn’t sure if Sunday afternoons had ever been fun, but they had been at least bearable then. Since her coming out, Elizabeth had assumed her role with extreme seriousness, while Diana developed the habit of retreating to the Turkish corner, where dozens of striped and tasseled pillows were heaped on the floor. She was there now, curled up with the Hollands’ oversize Persian cats, Lillie Langtry and Desdemona. Diana had always known it was her father she took after, temperamentally. They were the romantics, while her mother and Elizabeth remained aloof and practical.
    “What is it, Mother?” Elizabeth asked, arranging herself on her usual settee, underneath the great portrait of their father wearing his top hat and finest black suit, a little wild about the eyebrows and looking miffed as usual by the world’s stupidity. Diana wished he were still there in person to watch over them. Then he would give Elizabeth one of his looks, and she would feel foolish for reigning over Sunday visits with such insufferable imperiousness. “What did you want to talk to us about?” Elizabeth went on, folding her hands in her lap just so.
    Diana thought she saw a streak of fear pass through her older sister’s face, but then she was composed again. Their mother stood and moved to the fireplace, her slight frame looking especially severe in her heavy black high-collared dress. Her hair was pulled back tightly under her widow’s cap. She stood looking into the fireplace, where a few unlit logs lay in wait. Aunt Edith waved Claire, who had been serving tea, out of the room.
    “First, I want to tell you how pleased I was to see your glowing reviews in the press. They were absolutely full of your beauty, Elizabeth, and that will be very…” Mrs. Holland paused ominously until Claire disappeared behind the parlor’s pocket doors. “… useful to us in a difficult time.”
    “What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, her smile turning brittle.
    Mrs. Holland turned to look at them, her gaze piercing even from across the parlor. “It is imperative that what I am about to tell you