Page 2 of If The Fates Allow
Willa wanted to say she had a great number of opinions on a great number of things, but dresses were not one of them. “I like it,” she replied. “What do you think, Lucy?”
Poor Lucy looked miserable, staring out the windows with her shoulders slouched. “It’s acceptable,” she mumbled, obviously displeased by the choice. “If I cannot wear my lovely blue dress, I suppose this brown one will do.”
“Yes,” their mother agreed. “Itwilldo.”
Smoothing a hand down the skirt, Lucy’s lips twisted in disgust. “It matches my eyes, at least.”
“It matches your hair, too,” Willa offered. “Almost perfectly, I would say.”
Tears welled in her sister’s eyes, and Willa winced. At seventeen, Lucy never missed an opportunity to be dramatic. “I do not have brown hair!” she screeched, patting the bun on her head, which was made up of the brownest hair ever to exist. “My hair is auburn. Why do you have to be so terrible to me, Willa?”
The corners of their mother’s mouth curved upward, the growing smile a signal of her displeasure. Lucy was well past the age of having childish fits, and this outburst would only fuel Margaret’s spite.
“Lucinda, if you cannot behave, you will not attend The Gathering.” Margaret clasped her hands in front of her, circling the room at a measured pace. “I hear Violet Templeton will be in attendance. Perhaps she can entertain Paul Anderson since you won’t be able to join us.”
Paul Anderson was one of the county's most eligible bachelors and the only son of Ulrich Anderson, owner of a massive sawmill just down the bayou from Haven House. There were whispers that he and a couple of his cousins were arriving today with Cal, the four of them traveling down from the north together.
Poor Lucy had loved Paul from the moment she laid eyes on him, and last year, they heard from Cal that their father had made an agreement with Ulrich Anderson regarding the pair.
“I was only joking.” The tears in Lucy’s eyes quickly evaporated. Their mother could not abide crying in any form, and even if Lucy were prepared to weather her wrath, she would never give up the chance to spend time with Paul. “I know my hair is mousy brown.”
Margaret halted in the center of the room. “I wouldn’t go that far, but it is most assuredly not a beautiful chestnut like Willa’s.”
Their mother excelled at pitting them against one another. It was a new phase—one none of them cared for—but thankfully, Willa and her siblings caught on before any damage could be truly done.
Lucy’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “No one has hair as beautiful as Willa’s.”
If they had been alone, Willa would have snorted at her sister’s poor acting. Lucy was the beauty between the two of them. At three and twenty, Willa was well past her prime and readily preparing for an inevitable life of spinsterhood.
Or, in other words,heaven.
Because what woman wouldn’t want a life consisting not of marital duties but of napping and books?
“Thank you, Lucy,” Willa replied, knowing she had to lay it on thick so their mother would believe the charade. She and Lucy would laugh about this later, as they usually did. “One day, you might achieve a shade as lovely as mine, but for now, I’m afraid you’ll just have to deal with that horse’s mane of yours.”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed in outrage. “Horse’s mane?”
Perhaps the insult went too far, but there was no going back. “Well, what color would you relate it to?” Willa examined her nails as if bored. “I thought we all just agreed that you’re not exactly mousey. Naturally, a step up would be a horse.”
Sucking in a deep breath, Lucy fisted her hands at her side. “Mother, do you need me for anything else?”
Their mother’s smile widened. “No, you are dismissed.”
Careful not to stomp out of the room, Lucy held her head high as she exited.
“I expect you to behave during The Gathering, Wilhelmina,” her mother warned once Lucy was gone. “I’ve invited John Richards, and he has sent word that he will be joining us.”
Oh, no.
Her days of spinsterhood flashed before her eyes, destined to be lost forever thanks to the circulating rumor that Willa was headed towardsa life of maritalbliss. Ten years her senior and on a wifely hunt, John Richards was on the lookout for someone to care not only for himself but also for his six offspring. The gossip on their last visit to Hollingsdale said that Mr. Richards had narrowed his choices to three women, with Willa being one of them.
Her father had been thrilled with the idea. Mr. Richards possessed a large farm on the outskirts of town. Good land, according to her father. The kind of land he could use to increase Fairweather’s pine production.
“You’ll want to make an impression,” her mother continued. “Wear Lucy’s blue dress.”
Wear the dress your sister wanted to wear is what she meant. Lucy would understand, but it didn’t make the betrayal hurt any less for Willa. “Yes, mother.”
The sound of hurried footsteps and a murmur of excitement carried about in the hall, and Margaret’s stern expression melted immediately into rapt anticipation. “That would be your brother,” she said, rushing from the room to greet her favorite child. “He mentioned something about traveling with friends in his letter. Do not antagonize them like you did the last ones who visited.”
