Anna Godbersen - Envy

• Название: Envy
• Автор: Anna Godbersen
• Издательство: HarperCollins
• Жанр: Исторические любовные романы
• Год: 2009

Jealous whispers.

Old rivalries.

New betrayals.

Two months after Elizabeth Holland's dramatic homecoming, Manhattan eagerly awaits her return to the pinnacle of society. When Elizabeth refuses to rejoin her sister Diana's side, however, those watching New York's favorite family begin to suspect that all is not as it seems behind the stately doors of No. 17 Gramercy Park South.

Farther uptown, Henry and Penelope Schoonmaker are the city's most celebrated couple. But despite the glittering diamond ring on Penelope's finger, the newlyweds share little more than scorn for each other. And while the newspapers call Penelope's social-climbing best friend, Carolina Broad, an heiress, her fortune — and her fame — are anything but secure, especially now that one of society's darlings is slipping tales to the eager press.

In this next thrilling installment of Anna Godbersen's bestselling Luxe series, Manhattan's most envied residents appear to have everything they desire: Wealth. Beauty. Happiness. But sometimes the most practiced smiles hide the most scandalous secrets. .

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“What about your little Di?” Penelope moved toward him, her voice reaching a frightening pitch. She knew it sounded like shrieking, but she couldn’t help herself, not when everything she’d ever strived for was slipping through her fingers.

“What about her?” Now he did meet her eyes, and she saw that his were fatigued, and a little sad, and washed out by some new maturity that one way or another made his gaze that much more piercing.

“If you love her so much, I wonder that you aren’t worried about what will happen when everyone knows she played the whore with you.” She was hurling her words now, her mouth constricting unattractively around every sentence. “It would be my pleasure to tell them, Henry.”

Henry’s black tuxedo jacket fell from his hands, but his eyes remained level in her direction. “I doubt that,” he said. His voice was tentative at first, but when he spoke again it had gained strength and momentum and an angry edge. “I doubt that when you begin to experience the humiliation of being turned out of the Schoonmaker mansion, you will want to add to it by letting everyone know that your husband never loved you, and was already thinking of someone else before you were even married.”

Henry paused to draw his clenched fist across his mouth — for he had spit, just a little, when he spoke. Penelope’s eyes were the least cool blue they had ever been. What he’d said was true. She had flinched, and she knew that he had seen it.

“You wouldn’t want to test me, Henry.”

There was no answer, only a moment that felt to her like it might go on forever. But it did end, at last, when he bent and picked up his jacket — successfully, this time. He gave her one final hard look, and then he turned and began to move away from her. She took one halting step forward, but he was already headed for the door.

Then he was gone, leaving her alone in her sumptuous robe, her hair all undone, the careful architecture of her plan for them flattened. She wanted to smash things up, but was uncharacteristically restrained by the realization that none of the objects in that large and lavish room belonged to her.

Before her angry impulses got the better of her, she admonished herself that she was born to win and that one did not win by throwing temper tantrums — at least not outside of one’s own home, which could result in vicious, spurious rumors. But oh, how she wanted to destroy things, when so much had been destroyed for her.

Twenty Eight

And what of the famous friendship between Miss Elizabeth Holland and the woman who married her former fiancé, the former Miss Penelope Hayes? The two have repaired to Palm Beach together, but of course none of us can see what they do there….

— FROM CITÉ CHATTER, SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1900

THE GIRL IN THE MIRROR LOOKED PALE AND PUFFY, but Elizabeth tried to take a few deep breaths and regain some of the good feelings that she had experienced yesterday. She would have liked to find Teddy and go to breakfast with him, but after his almost-proposal of the night before, she knew she had better stay away. The warm air should still have been doing her good, as should the change of scenery. But there was a rough current inside of her and a sour streak of bile down her throat, and though she wanted very badly to feel contained and in control before leaving the bathroom of her hotel room, another part of her believed she deserved to feel terrible, and anyway she was on the verge of heaving all over again. She wavered there in the white-tiled room; she pinned back a few loose blond wisps and closed her eyes. When she opened them again there was only the same sad, heart-shaped face and a whole day of sun worship that she hardly had the energy for.

She stepped down into the main space of the little room, and was immediately aware of a hostile presence there. Penelope looked up from the scroll-edged settee, with its polished dark wood and white cushion, and gave her old friend a hard look. A moment later her red lips sprang into a smile. She looked oversized, too large for the room, which the Schoonmakers had reserved for them and paid for and which was far, far smaller than their own suite. That much was obvious from Penelope’s lengthy and loving descriptions of the rooms that she and Henry occupied; she belonged there now, Elizabeth thought, not in the narrow second-floor quarters where the Holland sisters slept.

“Good morning, dear Liz,” Penelope said brightly.

Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to Diana, who had returned from the party after she herself had fallen asleep, and who was now safely ensconced under a pile of white bed linens on one of the two twin beds with the yellow silk upholstered head-boards. She had tossed restlessly in the sheets throughout the night, but had not yet given any sign of waking. The mosquito netting was only partially down and her lavender dress, which had been lying on the floor an hour ago, was now hanging in the closet. Elizabeth had put it there after vomiting for the first time that morning; afterward she had carefully made up her own bed.

“Good morning.” She closed her eyes in an attempt to weather the storm of nausea that was coming over her. “How did you sleep?”

“Oh, well enough. What are you doing today? Would you like to go horseback riding with me?” After these staccato statements, Penelope rolled her eyes and let out a sigh that might have pierced steel. “I’m bored of this place already,” she added hatefully.

“Bored already?” Elizabeth was biding her time, repeating what Penelope said in the hope that it would distract her friend long enough that she could form a coherent and polite rejection.

“Everyone is so simpleminded down here, and there is so little to do. It’s like being an animal in a zoo, with enforced feeding hours and the constant indignity of display. They’re all looking at me — us — all the time. We should never have left New York. But as long as we’re here, we could get some exercise.”

“I don’t know—”

“Oh, come on, Liz. You’re my oldest friend.” Penelope leaned forward, sinking her elbows into the voluminous burgundy skirt she wore. “My best friend. Entertain me, please.”

Elizabeth regarded Penelope, who was very neatly done up in white chiffon sleeves, her lap covered in silk the color of crushed rose petals, with a black sash marking the narrow isthmus of her waist. Her hair was layered above her forehead, shiny and dark, like a crown. What trouble did that immaculate veneer obscure, Elizabeth wondered, before she nodded her acquiescence. She was too weak to be contrary with her hostess.

“Oh, goody!” Penelope exclaimed as she stood and clapped her hands. “But you’re not going to wear that, are you?”

“No, I—” Elizabeth had to put her hand against the wall to support herself. Her slender form was racked again. She placed her other hand on the plain white cotton bodice of her dress and closed her eyes. She was about to tell Penelope that she needed just a few minutes, but then she realized that she wasn’t going to make it that long. She spun and hurried to the bathroom on weak legs. Her knees hit the floor and she gripped the wall as she heaved. The contents of her stomach were few, and what came up came quickly.

“Are you all right?”

Elizabeth turned to see Penelope’s narrow figure in the doorframe.

“My God,” Penelope added unhelpfully.

Elizabeth drew her hand across her mouth and tried to look dignified. “Yes, I will be in a minute. I just…took the traveling poorly, is all. There was the motion sickness and now…”

She trailed off, remaining for the moment in a heap on the floor. She would have stood with greater pride and readiness if she thought she could have managed it, but her legs were useless beneath her. Then her old friend extended a hand to help her up. It was an unlikely gesture, and Elizabeth didn’t know what else to do but accept it.

When she was on her feet again, Penelope stepped away and crossed her arms over her chest. She studied the other girl without animosity or coldness, but with a notable lack of compassion. “I don’t think that’s motion sickness that you’ve got,” she said eventually.

“What ever do you mean?” Elizabeth — finally, thankfully — was able to summon the old smile. She was feeling a little steady now, and she parted her lips to show Penelope just a little bit of teeth. They were standing very close to each other on those small, hexagonal tiles, and she knew that Mrs. Schoonmaker was taking in every detail of her appearance.

“Well,” Penelope answered airily, “you can call it whatever you like. But if you want my opinion — and you really ought to — I’d say you’re expecting.”

A soft wind blew in through the little window, tickling the nape of Elizabeth’s neck. Fear began to grip her like vines, starting at her toes and climbing up through her whole body. “That isn’t possible,” she whispered hoarsely.

One of Penelope’s neatly shaped eyebrows elevated itself. She held Elizabeth’s gaze and then shrugged, before turning away and leaving the bathroom. “Maybe horseback riding isn’t the best idea just now. Let’s play croquet instead, shall we?”

Back in the bedroom, Diana began to stir under the blankets, and when she’d successfully pushed the curls off of her sleepy face she looked aghast at the visitor in their room. Elizabeth was by then possessed by the idea that she show Penelope how very normal everything was, how very wrong she had been about the illness, and so she smiled reassuringly at her younger sister. “Mrs. Schoonmaker and I are going to play croquet,” she said, as though this were the most normal thing in the world. Then she took a glass of water from the tray by the door, and gulped.

Already the door was open, and she could hear the sounds of breakfast being delivered out in the hall. “Oh,” Diana said before rolling back under the covers. If Elizabeth had not felt so wretched herself, she might have noticed how deathly her little sister’s appearance was. “Please be careful.”

“Of course.” Elizabeth smiled a lofty smile and thought to herself, That’s precisely what I’m doing. She could feel her control again, retuning to her with every passing second, giving her just a little extra height and glow. She was going to need every ounce of it to keep Penelope from growing sure of what she already seemed to believe.

The two girls stepped onto the croquet field, affecting their old closeness and confidence, and they spoke with great exactitude over many small and petty things. The blonde smiled, and the brunette smiled back, and they held their hats elegantly when the breeze picked up and tilted the landscape away from the sea, rearranging their skirts. Elizabeth made sure to play a good game, but not to win, and when they were through she insisted on a rematch with a certain ladylike gusto. All the while she held her shoulders high and casually, though she could not stop herself from once or twice resting her hand on her belly and wondering what she carried there.

Twenty Nine

DIED, Longhorn, Carey Lewis, Saturday evening after a short illness. The last of a great family and a notable man about town. He left no survivors, but a great fortune. Services will be held today at his residence in the New Netherland Hotel. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Society for Young Girls Orphaned by Fire.

— FROM THE OBITUARY PAGE OF THE NEW YORK IMPERIAL, WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 1900

THE VIEW FROM THE NEW NETHERLAND WAS stark and entirely lacking in reassurance. Carolina remembered spending many evenings looking out at that huge swath of park, with its wealth of trees, imagining that it was the backyard of her benefactor, and therefore very nearly hers. When she’d closed her eyes, she had believed that if she fell back into it, it would catch her gently, the way a featherbed might. The truth of the matter was as unadorned as all those bare branches down there, as simple as the ice gray sky. None of it belonged to her, and whether or not it had ever belonged to Mr. Longhorn didn’t matter now. He was gone and he couldn’t help her anymore. With that in mind, she turned from the window.

“Miss…Broad.” The second syllable was pronounced with great skepticism, the way an anarchist might have used the phrase “Newport cottage” when referring to those sixty-four-room mansions that faced the Rhode Island shoreline. Carolina blinked furiously. Mr. James wore thick muttonchops and large black lapels and was shaped like a pear. He had a manner that might have unnerved generals; it certainly unnerved her.

“Yes?”

“A word about the jewels.”

Over his massive shoulder, she could see the last mourners taking leave. Robert stood — sadly, but also warily — by the table of cold cuts and pickles, which had lain out for several hours now and just barely been picked at. There had been few visitors, most of them women who had once upon a time hoped for the crown of Mrs. Longhorn, and this only increased Carolina’s suffering. For he had asked her so plaintively to stay with him, and she had shaken him off and left him to die alone.

“The jewels, Miss Broad?”

Carolina batted the moisture away from her eyes and tried to look wounded. She felt wounded, but still there was this urgency to put on a face that could be clearly read as dolorous. “What jewels?”

Mr. James waved a stack of receipts at her. “Seems Longhorn purchased a lot of jewels over the last six months of his life.” His eyes widened threateningly. “Those belong to the estate.”

“Mr. Longhorn purchased a lot of jewels over his lifetime,” Carolina snapped back. She was experiencing a tingle of dread, but still her voice was hard. “You can’t hold me accountable for all of them, and anyway, the ones he bought with me in mind were gifts.”

“They were on loan to you,” Mr. James returned firmly. He waved the receipts. Across the room, blue afternoon light played against the finials and crests of antique furniture and washed out the gold threads in the upholstery. “We own them.”

“I wonder how you’ll get them, since he gave them to me.” There was nothing Carolina could do about the insolent look on her face. The anger had come back, the way it always did when she knew something was going to be unjustly taken from her and that there was nothing she could do to stop it. It had not served her well as a child or as a lady’s maid, and it was unlikely to serve her well now, but it was a reflex she could hardly control. “Or perhaps you’re planning on dragging every woman Longhorn ever took a grandfatherly interest in into court.”

“I highly doubt you want to go to court, my dear.” Mr. James’s lips were full and moist, and though her ire was strong as ever she found she had to look away from him. “And my people are over in your rooms now, packing your things. They’ll put what you need in some of the bags nobody has any use for. The jewels we will be taking custody of — your maid told us where they would be.”

The volume of her black skirt, with its tiered ruffles below the knee, made her instinctual response to this undetectable: She stamped her foot — twice, silently — against the polished wood floor. All the guests were gone now, and across the room men from Mr. James’s office were moving to wrap up what finery remained and cart it off. Soon all the parties, the whole life Mr. Longhorn lived there, would be scrubbed away. She saw clearly what she had half-consciously feared during her train journey: This game was over. She saw, too, why Mr. James had been so conscientious in seeing her to the graveyard; so that he could have his staff go through her things while she watched, through a black net veil, Mr. Longhorn being lowered into the ground.