“Perhaps rather than trying to understand your father’s reasoning,” Mr. Brand suggested softly, “we can accept him at his word. He wanted you to be safe as you grew up and be free of the meddling of his friends and relatives.”
“Father was murdered,” Severine told him precisely.
“He was,” the man said, looking sympathetic but without answering.
Why! Severine wanted to shout, but she guessed this man was being purposefully vague. He wasn’t looking at her at the moment. He was staring at the statue of Mary and baby Jesus in the garden and taking in the magnificent stained-glass windows. He was avoiding her gaze and side-stepping her questions and offering her the money that belonged to her, without explaining why her father had come up with such an irregular future for her—all just before he had been murdered.
She knew the answer of course: because he had known he was going to die. Or suspected it enough to put plans into place. Plans that meant her father hadn’t been sure of any of the regular choices for guardian. Which suggested, Severine thought with a sudden chill, that she could trust no one.
She listened without commenting as her guardian explained that she would have control of her money, of the houses, of all of it, the moment she returned to the United States. He finished with, “Your father said he trusted you to look after yourself, the fortune he was leaving you, and the accoutrements of being a DuNoir.”
She didn’t repeat that she’d been a disappointment to her parents. Even her name, which they tried to make a joke of later, had been a glaring symbol of that disappointment. Father had told her the story once.
“Sevie,” he had said, using the nickname she’d despised even at ten years old. “We expected you to enter the world screaming. I was prepared to laugh indulgently, press a kiss on your sweet forehead, and tell your mama what a good job she’d done, but you were the most serious little thing I had ever seen—looking as though you were possessed by Lady Justice.”
That had been when he’d laughed nervously. “It’s why we named you Severine, of course. So serious from the moment you entered the world.”
Severine snapped back to the present, completely having missed whatever nonsense the man had been telling her.
When she focused back to him, he blushed again lightly. He cleared his throat a few more times and said, “So, you’ll need me to sign off on things until you’re twenty-one, but for all intents and purposes, you’ll be making the choices. I promised your father that you could make your own way—regardless of my opinion on the matter. That’s a promise I intend to keep.”
Severine hesitated and then demanded, “Why?”
“Your father saved my life during the war.” For once Mr. Brand didn’t avoid her gaze. “I’d have seen him live a long and full life if I had my wish. I didn’t, but I’ll be”—those blue eyes settled on the statue of Mary and he censored himself—“darned if I don’t keep my promise to him.”
Well, Severine thought, that made sense at least. A man who seemed to be one of honor. One who wasn’t connected with Father’s business practices. Who was old enough to stand for her father and beholden enough to him to just do as he wanted. Was this the only man her father had trusted Severine with?
Severine rocked back on her heels. “So if I wanted to go home—”
Severine Euphrasia DuNoir stared at herself in the mirror and saw a stranger. Her face was all sharp angles and high cheekbones. It was what it was, she thought, having vanity thoroughly scoured from her in her youth and then completely buried with living in a convent for six years. She would never be lovely like her mother, and that had been the only useless wish of Severine’s heart when she’d bothered to make wishes. She had once wanted to be pretty and frivolous and as loved as her mother, and she had accepted it would never happen.
The days of useless fairy wishes were long past for Severine and she was stolidly something else. She met the gaze of the shop girl and asked, “Is this a normal dress?”
The dress reached mere inches below her knees, and Severine’s dark brown eyes were fixed on her naked legs. Her legs weren’t actually naked given the stockings, but she certainly felt as scandalous as Godiva on her nude horseback ride after all. The dress was a soft pink that made her want to vomit as she took in her white skin against the color. She looked like a blushing ghost.
She felt naked and ridiculous. Women wore such things here? Clearly, however, they did. The shop girl looked lovely and vivacious. Her pretty dark-brown locks were cut quite close to her head and smoothed into curls that clung to her forehead and cheek. While Severine thought it was quite flattering on the girl, she was sure it would never do for herself, even if one didn’t take into account the difference in their hair texture. The shop girl seemed to be of mulatto descent and had the Creole accent of so many in New Orleans. Severine’s mouth twisted. She had a goal, and that goal required she look the part of one of these bright young things. She had accepted she’d never be frivolous like her mother, so how was she to accomplish her goal?
“This is a normal dress,” the shop girl said gently. “Where you been, cher? The moon?”
Severine paused and admitted, “Almost.” She tried for cheery but failed.
“And people don’t bob their hair where you were? Or—” The girl gestured to the dress rather than explaining. Her horrified gaze was enough for Severine to laugh, but she was positive her humor didn’t really appear on her face.
“Oh.” Severine hesitated, her mouth twisting. “No. Not really.”
“Well, hello, darlin’,” the girl said cheerily, drawing
