Free Beautiful Days by Anna Godbersen

hurried up and followed Charlie and Astrid as they ascended the stone steps to the stately front entrance of their home.

Chapter 6
    BY TWO O’CLOCK ON THE FIFTH OF JULY, MOST OF THE young women who lived in the big neighboring estates had already heard that Astrid Donal was wearing Charlie Grey’s ring, and that apparently it was very large. Several of these young women—who had gone to dances with Astrid and copied her irreverent style of dressing for years—went to the White Cove Country Club for lunch that day in hopes of getting a better look at the thing. But alas, Astrid had other plans.
    â€œBrenda, if you lay them like this, you see, you can get at least four more pairs in . . .” she was saying as she flitted back and forth between several open suitcases propped up on luggage stands across the room. Brenda, Astrid’s personal maid, was accustomed to fixing frayed hems and packing for a few days on a yacht, but was less skilled at fitting every single pair of Miss Donal’s considerable shoe collection into the old Vuitton cases that Mrs. Marsh had used when she and Astrid went to live in a string of European hotels following the death of Mr. Donal. The Donal women were in those days accompanied by Mrs. Ransom, who was much better at organizing large quantities of ladies’ clothing, but had unfortunately expired in the interim.
    Astrid had not dressed in her much-copied style that morning, but in a prim twill suit that fit close to her hips with a high-collared cream blouse. If she had trouble moving in the skirt—and from the look of it, most girls would—she didn’t let on. She was not wearing her hair in the usual way, either—it was slicked so that the high yellow shine was muted to a more grown-up shade. The message she was sending—that soon she was to be a married woman, and should no longer be treated as the kind of pleasure-seeking creature one might find swinging from a chandelier—was not intended to be subtle, and the various maids and butlers and cooks that worked at Marsh Hall understood it perfectly.
    Word had also spread to her stepsister, Billie, who was sitting in one of the pale pink velvet armchairs in the corner of Astrid’s room, an ankle rested against the opposite trousered knee, watching the proceedings. The only person who presumably had no idea of Astrid’s change in stature was her mother, who had not yet risen from bed.
    â€œIt’s going to be lonely around here without you,” Billie said, her dark eyes shining. Like her eyes, her hair was black and gleaming, and it was worn in a mannish style just long enough to peek out from behind her ears. She was very much her father’s daughter—observant, shrewd, hedonistic, and fond of automobiles—and was known to dress rather like him.
    â€œAren’t you off for London any day now?” Astrid replied distractedly, as she picked up two satin-covered pairs of shoes and tried to assess their respective merits.
    â€œI keep delaying,” Billie answered in a faraway voice, as though she were speaking of the actions of some other person.
    â€œAnd then you’ll be back to college in the fall, and you’re always out and about, and anyway, you will come to Dogwood often,” Astrid went on without breaking her breezy tone. “I would, if I were you. This house is large, but not large enough that I can keep enough distance between Mrs. Marsh and myself.”
    â€œOh, don’t let her bother you.” Now it was Billie’s turn to be breezy. Astrid turned, wearing a skeptical expression, and watched her stepsister as she lit a cigarette. “She’s only jealous of you, you know.”
    â€œYes, that’s precisely what I find so disgusting. Brenda—these can stay, or you can have them if you like.” Astrid went on, changing the subject and thrusting a worn pair of satin heels toward her maid. She had never been a