"Then you will never speak of being a doctor again," Annabel said sharply. "Unless you want to be seen as a foolish child."
Juliet was astonished to see that Annabel showed no indication that she recognized Susannah's infatuation. Perhaps she had blinded herself to the obvious, since he was the husband of her friend.
A glance at R.J. and his father confirmed that they were also oblivious to the signs that Susannah had given away her heart.
Boston society was much like shipboard society. Or London society when it came down to it. Those who possessed the ability to hold other's at arms length very often chose to do so based on the flimsiest of reasoning. It was maddening.
Juliet suffered under Annabel's scrutiny in the drawing room for a lingering moment, as Susannah stood beside them growing noticeably more tense. At last, to ease the girl's tension as well as her own, Juliet laughed. "Goodness! Surely I am not a hair out of place. Your maids have been most diligent."
"This afternoon is quite important. We must get you to take. It has been a month and still you get no invitations."
Susannah pointed to a silver tray heaped with cards and invitations. "But, mother, what of these?"
Annabel dismissed them with a sniff. "All climbers hoping to better themselves. Not an invitation of account in the bunch." Juliet looked at the piles. Some of the senders were no doubt delightful people, who she would treasure as friends. If she had her own home and could issue her own invitations. But Annabel's advice itself was sound. Many of those invitations were issued by those who cared nothing for Juliet, and had some faint hope of one day hosting a real-live duke in their parlors.
"Why is it that I am treated so coldly here?" She often felt as frustrated as she had when R.J. forbade her Susannah's company.
"Your ways are different." Annabel said briskly. "Which is to be expected considering you were raised in England." She smiled encouragingly. "I find your willingness to understand that you must change yourself in order to be accepted a hopeful sign."
Change herself. Juliet sighed. "How much do you think I will need to change?" Ever since she was a child, everyone had always wanted her to change herself. None of the changes, however, had pleased her critics.
Annabel paused, gave her another head-to-toe survey, and then shrugged. "Until you are accepted, I suppose."
Since R.J.'s stepmother was in such an agreeable mood, Juliet pressed further. "And you do think that possible?"
"Of course I do." Annabel walked a circle around her. "With my help you cannot fail."
"Thank you for your kind assistance." Juliet wished she could put some warmth in her thanks. Whenever she talked to Annabel, though, she found herself waiting for the woman to pounce, claws out.
"I just want to keep the Hopkins name one to be proud of, Juliet. If you remember that and keep yourself aimed toward that goal, you will have accomplished much."
Claws. Juliet was surprised to feel a touch of relief to see them at last. "I will."
"Good." Annabel could not completely mask her doubtful expression. She added with a tight smile, "I am certain you will make the family proud."
Trying to imagine Jonathan Hopkins with an expression of pride, she answered a trifle tentatively, "I hope to."
Susannah patted her arm. "R.J. has chosen a beautiful English rose to transplant here. All you need to do is adapt yourself to our soil."
A little of her frustration bubbled to the surface, making her response more heated than she would have liked. "I have been trying — "
Annabel held up one hand to halt Juliet's words. "I'm sure you have, dear. You only need a little guidance.
More than guidance. Drastic change seemed a likely necessity to her. "Tell me honestly, Mama Annabel, how much do you suppose I will have to change?"
"Not much. Just a nip here and a tuck there." Annabel's reassurance was not convincing. "Don't worry; we shall have you acting the proper Boston wife before you know it."
Juliet could not suppress an inarticulate sound of distress. Annabel had said acting the proper Boston wife. Did no one think her able to be a proper wife. She turned to Susannah, who took deportment, dancing, and music lessons every afternoon for several hours. "Perhaps I should join you for your lessons, to make me over more properly?"
Susannah's smile wavered and her voice was faint. "I don't think you need such rigor. Of course, it would be a shame for you to wholly lose your charming English ways."
"If learning to conduct myself as you do in Boston will allow me to enter a room without feeling as if I were wished instantly back across the sea, I will be a good student." Juliet hoped that she could be. She had never been the best at studying.
Her own governess had thrown up her hands in dismay at times, claiming Juliet would learn nothing she did not wish to learn no matter what incentive she was given. And yet, as Juliet caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she hardly recognized the colorless creature reflected in the glass. "I do appreciate your help in choosing new clothing. Perhaps a few other lessons would do me well." Certainly Juliet would never have chosen these styles for herself.
"We were fortunate that my seamstress could see you so quickly." Annabel frowned as she straightened a non-existent crease in Juliet's skirts. "I suppose she took pity on you." R.J.'s stepmother, in consultation with the seamstress, had looked her up and down as if she were a piece of furniture in need of refurbishing. The two of them had not consulted Juliet at all as they discussed color, cut, and ornamentation of an entire new wardrobe.
She had made one protest, early, when a particularly hideous shade of forest green was paraded before them. Annabel merely shook her head and said, "You must learn not to make a spectacle of yourself."
A spectacle? She suppressed her urge to argue with Annabel. "How do I do that?"
Annabel said promptly, "Don't solicit compliments from other men."
Juliet could not hold back a protest at that unfair remark. "I don't solicit them; they just offer them."
Annabel raised a brow in disagreement. "My dear, no man offers compliments to a woman he knows will not accept them."
"But I — "
"The way you dress, carry yourself, the tone in which you speak — all contribute to the way you are perceived. Surely you understand that? You are no green girl, after all." Annabel stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. Sternly, she said, "I thought you wanted my advice."
Juliet calmed herself and said meekly, "I do."
"Very well." Annabel nodded her head once sharply. "If you want to be accepted, you will dress more soberly."
Juliet shut her eyes to the image in the mirror. "R.J. has not complained about the way I dress."
"R.J. is a man. He has no idea of what is right in these things. You are a matron now."
"A matron?" Juliet could not completely hide her horror at the word.
"You might be a mother soon enough." Annabel looked at her with a speculative eye.
"Not too soon, I am sure."
Annabel smiled condescendingly. "Nature has a way of making a mockery of our expectations."
So that Annabel would not realize how badly the conversation had rattled her, Juliet said breezily, "I try not to have too many expectations for nature to mock."
Annabel poked at Juliet's middle, pinched in tightly by the corset. "I hope you do not have as fickle a womb as you have a spirit, my girl."
A shock ran through her. She had been pleased the last two months to find that she was not yet carrying a child. The rush into marriage and the voyage to America had all happened with dizzying speed. To add a child would only make the strain between them worse. But now it seemed that she was failing in yet another duty to be a good wife.
Would R.J. be pleased with her new wardrobe? Had he disliked the way she dressed before? Did he worry that she would fail to give him a child?
Behind them the finches were singing. Abruptly, Annabel rang for the maid. "Sally, do cover these cages. I do not want anything to mar tonight's entertainment."
Juliet had thought the London Season made one feel like a confection on display for both gourmands and gourmets. But that was nothing compared to Annabel's musicale, for which Juliet had been corseted tightly, stuffed into a gown a size too small, then fussed over until not a hair dare slip out of place for fear of Annabel's wrath.
"I will do my best tonight, Annabel, I know how important it is to R.J." And to them escaping from under Annabel's roof, she added silently. "But, truly, if tonight my singing does not impress these women, I must take another path to make my reputation. How else does one gain reputation enough to do one's husband credit. Perhaps I ought to put myself at Susannah's side and learn everything as if I were a schoolroom miss?"
"Nonsense. You have charming manners," Susannah volunteered, the color high in her cheeks. "Perhaps you may try charity work. I know that one or two of the women are connected with the institutions that help the unfortunate and the orphaned."
"Perhaps that should be my path?" Juliet turned a hopeful eye on Annabel, who glared at Susannah's unsolicited suggestion, but had no time to let her sharp words slice at her daughter, as the guests began to arrive.
* * * * *
Juliet could sense the evening was a failure, but she kept a smile pasted to her lips as she divided her attention among all the women who Annabel had expressly ordered her to impress. She couldn't help her frequent glances toward the doorway. R.J. had promised he would try to break away and attend. He knew how nervous she was, singing to this difficult to please group. She needed him here, she needed that steadiness to calm the fear fluttering through her. To remind her that she was more than an English oddity in an American land.
He had not arrived by the time she took her place by the piano, knowing that if her singing did not charm these society stones as the sirens themselves charmed sailors to their doom, she would have to take Susannah's suggestion and find a way into the best society through charity work of some sort. The idea of helping orphans appealed to Juliet. After all, she was an orphan herself, wasn't she? She had tired of Annabel at her elbow whenever she left the house. Surely if she were doing charity work, she would be allowed a little more latitude to come and go as she pleased?
Her voice slipped a note as a terrible thought struck her. Susannah had found a way to escape her mother's attention every afternoon. Could it be that she was not going to the lessons as her mother had arranged? Could that have been the reason for her lack of enthusiasm at the idea that Juliet might join her?
She recovered from her stumble and finished the last few notes of her piece. With a gracious smile at the stiff young woman accompanying her rather poorly, she tried to assess whether she had at last broken through the frozen wall the society matrons had put up against her. It was not a good sign that the accompanist did not return her smile.
"Lovely, my dear. You must have applied yourself to your singing lessons," Mrs. Vandeveter said perfunctorily. "Was that the duke's doing? To fit you for the, what do they call it? The Season?"
Juliet swallowed the scathing comment that threatened to reveal exactly how infuriating she found Mrs. Vandeveter's lukewarm appreciation of her voice, never mind her pretense of boredom all the while asking about "the duke" as if they were bosom friends.
She could live like this no longer. After a month of finding conversation silenced when she happened to approach, she was ready to uncover an answer to becoming the toast of the city. The ladies had little to do with her but snipe. And the gentlemen were much too attentive for Annabel's approval. Besides Annabel, she now had to meet the approval of Drusilla Abernathy as well. The past few weeks had been exhausting, but Juliet was determined to succeed, no matter what it took.
That she sang like an angel was the other thing beside her beauty that she was certain of. Even her sisters, who had always teased her mercilessly about beauty being fleeting, had unfailingly given her her due when it came to her voice.
Mrs. Vandeveter, however, either did not recognize a good voice when she heard it or, more likely, would not acknowledge it in a woman like Juliet despite all of her attempts to behave circumspectly.
Turning to the pianist, the older woman said, "Phoebe, what improvement you have shown in your playing, my dear. I quite imagined myself in a concert hall listening to a virtuoso."
Juliet did not show her astonishment at such a prevarication. Poor Phoebe, beaming at the compliment, could use it more than Juliet, after all. She not only had no ear for musical notes, she had no chin to speak of.
Mr. Darnell came forward to offer a compliment. "The birds have become silent in awe of your talent, Mrs. Hopkins," he gushed.
"More likely because of the drapes over their cages." Juliet laughed.
She had meant to attempt a bit of dry wit so that she offended none of the ladies and Annabel would not accuse her again of unseemly encouragement of a gentleman. But Mrs. Vandeveter's expression tightened, and the woman's three chins lifted in affront. "Birds like a bit of darkness. It keeps them from becoming over stimulated." Apparently Annabel was not the only woman in Boston who liked to keep birds in cages for personal amusement. And, clearly, Mrs. Vandeverter felt that Juliet's voice had an over stimulating effect on men like Mr. Darnell.
Susannah, trying to rescue the situation, leaped to her feet. "Poor things. Mr. Darnell, please help me uncover them so they can enjoy the company."
Juliet watched as the pair whisked the covers off the birdcages and the birds came to life again. Or as much life as Annabel allowed them. As she had the unpleasant thought, R.J. entered the room and helped his sister, who was struggling to remove the last of the coverings.
Juliet hurried over, needing to see a friendly face. Though he returned her smile, he pulled her aside and asked urgently, "What is the matter?"
"Your mother's guests prefer the bird's singing to my own, I'm afraid."