The Luxe Read Free Page A

by training, a lady. “Miss Holland, will you dance?”
    “Of course, Mr. Coddington.” She raised her hand so that he could take it. As his damp palm pulled her through the crowd of costumed dancers, she looked back to smile reassuringly at her mother. She could at least have the gratification of seeing her pleased.
    Instead, she saw her mother greeting two men. Elizabeth recognized the slender figure of Stanley Brennan first, who had been her father’s accountant, and then the imposing figure of William Sackhouse Schoonmaker, patriarch of the old Schoonmaker clan, who had made a second fortune inrailroads. His only son, Henry, had dropped out of Harvard back in the spring, and since then the daughters of New York’s elite families had talked of nothing else. At least, the letters Elizabeth received from Agnes while she was in Paris were full of his name, and how all the girls were aching for him. He had a younger sister, Prudie, who was a year or two younger than Diana, though she wore only black and was rarely seen because she disliked crowds. Elizabeth’s impression of Henry Schoonmaker was still vague, though she had seen him and heard his name spoken often enough in their younger years, usually attached to some prank or other.
    Elizabeth’s partner must have sensed her thoughts going elsewhere, because he brought her attention back with a pointed comment. “Maybe you wanted to stay in the drawing room with the ladies,” Percival said, bitterness surfacing in his voice.
    Elizabeth tried not to stumble on her partner’s poor footwork. “No, Mr. Coddington, I am just a little tired is all,” she told him, not entirely falsely. Her ship had missed its arrival date by three days; she had been home for less than twenty-four hours. She barely had her land legs yet, and here she was dancing. Her mother had insisted by letter that she not retain the services of her French maid, so she had been left to do her own hair and care for her clothing all by herself during the entire journey. Penelope had stopped by in the afternoonto teach her the new dance steps and to tell her how furious she would have been had the ship been any later and caused her best friend to be a no-show on one of the most important nights of her life. Then she’d gone on about some new secret beau, whose identity she would reveal to Elizabeth later, as soon as they had a moment alone. There were simply too many servants hovering during those pre-ball hours for the naming of names to be prudent. Penelope had seemed even more competitive about her looks and dress than usual—because of the boy and because the ball was the debut of her family’s new home, Elizabeth assumed. Also adding to Elizabeth’s strain, of course, was her mother’s odd behavior.
    Plus there had already been quadrilles, and dinner, and polite talk with several of her aunts and uncles. She had had to give the same account of her rocky transatlantic passage several times already. And just when Elizabeth had finally sat down with friends for a glass of champagne and a little talk about how absolutely stunning everything was, she had been forced back into the center of activity. To dance with Percival Coddington, of all people. But she kept smiling, of course. It was her habit.
    “Well, what are you thinking about, then?” Percival frowned and pressed his hand into her lower back. Elizabeth couldn’t think of anyone she would trust less to move her backward across a floor of exuberant, slightly tipsy people.
    “Uh…” Elizabeth started, realizing that she had beenthinking that even the drawing room was not a total respite. Truthfully, she had been just a little bit relieved to leave Agnes, even though Agnes was such a loyal friend, because the leather-fringed dress she wore was ill-fitting and unflatteringly tight. Elizabeth had been distracted with pity during their entire conversation. Agnes seemed, especially next to her new glamorous Parisian friends, like an