curtains had already been pulled even though darkness had not yet settled. The room was bathed in the soft glow of firelight and wall sconces, revealing the elegant striped wallpaper of alternating light and dark greens, the white wainscoting and cornice, and the large green rug that covered the hard wood floor. She’d had the small sitting room off the bedchamber redecorated several years ago by one of New York’s top designers to reflect her growing maturity as a woman. Now it was one of her favorite places.
“You’re sure you’re warm?” her mother asked from her spot on the settee. Isabelle Cole was attired in an elegant wine-colored evening gown and matching ribbon tied around her slender neck. Her dark hair was fashioned into a high knot on top of her head. Her features were pale but flawless.
Her father always said Mother was as beautiful now as the day she’d pulled him from the sea after his steamer had wrecked in a storm.
He wasn’t exaggerating. Her mother was beautiful. But she rarely left home. Even tonight, although Mrs. Winthrop had invited her to the beach party too, she’d only gone for a short while to put in an appearance before having father bring her back home.
She always had one excuse or another for why she didn’t want to go out in public. But Victoria knew the real reason. Her mother didn’t want to face the whispers and gawking. At parties, dinners, the opera, and other events, she had to accept the fact that she was blind and that people noticed it. Here in the confines of home, Mother could pretend she wasn’t different. Here she expected everyone to ignore her sightlessness and treat her like anyone else.
Victoria had always indulged her mother. And at times, she even forgot that her mother was blind.
“It wouldn’t do for you to take a chill so close to your wedding,” Mother said.
“Don’t worry.” Victoria took another sip of the black tea that contained a hint of honey and lemon. “It was just a tiny tumble in the water. That’s all.”
Her mother seemed to peer directly at the diamond bracelet that Nathaniel had given her, which was now sitting on the end table next to Victoria’s chair. Victoria held her breath and waited for her mother to comment about it. Even if Mother couldn’t see it, she’d probably touched it when she’d come in to hug Victoria. Not only did her perceptive mother know it was there, but she probably realized why Nathaniel had given it to her.
“Nathaniel’s a wonderful man,” Mother said earnestly.
“Yes, I agree.”
Her mother’s sightless gaze moved to Victoria’s face. For a moment, her mother seemed to be straining to see Victoria’s features. Her golden eyes had a desperate hunger in them that Victoria had rarely seen.
Victoria held her breath, wishing that for just one brief instant her mother could see her. But the intense gaze lasted only a moment longer before her mother schooled herself back into her usual calm and dignified expression.
“Promise me that if you have any problems or concerns, you’ll talk to me?” Mother asked.
“There aren’t any problems, Mother,” Victoria assured. “Nathaniel and I are getting along perfectly.”
Her mother nodded, looked as if she wanted to say more, but then closed her mouth. She slid to the edge of the settee and rubbed her hand over the damask. “You brought the cross again.”
Victoria glanced across the room to the bureau at the two dark pieces of driftwood that were fashioned into a cross. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to bring the rough-hewn cross with her everywhere she went, but ever since she’d been given the cross several years ago, she’d gotten into the habit of bringing it along on her trips.
During the life of the cross, it had become known as the cross of hope. Victoria didn’t feel particularly in need of hope. Her life was wonderful. She had everything she ever wanted. Yet, she clung to the cross of hope anyway.
“Do you think I should stop bringing it with me?” Victoria asked.
“Not at all,” her mother replied hastily. “I’m just glad it comforts you.”
“Maybe I should give it away to someone who needs it more than I do?”
“I think you’ll know when you’re ready to let go of it.” Her mother rose, kissed her gently on her forehead, and left the room.
In the quiet of the boudoir, with only the crackling of the fire for company, Victoria stared at the amber liquid in her