“Yes!” Grace called, then sighed and set down the chisel she was holding. She was in her workroom on the topmost floor of their townhouse on Broad Street, where she carved small delicate things out of wood. She was rarely disturbed here, and it was never a good thing when her sister sought her out.
Natalie opened the door and walked in with a cup of milk on a small tray. “Bertha said you wanted some milk, and I took the liberty of bringing you some.” She set it down on Grace’s work table beside a block of mahogany.
Grace regarded her warily and patiently waited for her to tell her what she wanted because a good gesture from Natalie was hardly what it seemed.
“Why do you gaze at me so strangely?” Natalie asked.
“I want to know why you are being courteous toward me. Is there something you want?”
It had been a decade since their mother died of a mysterious illness, and during the long years that followed her death, Grace had learned, in a rather difficult way, that her sister had no love for her. Thankfully, she had a doting father, who she did all she could to never disappoint, including walking away from the pleasure she knew she would never find again in her life.
“Must I want something to bring you some milk?” Natalie asked sweetly, walking around the table. She reached for a jewelry box that had just been painted, and Grace’s hand shot out to stop her.
“The paint is yet to dry,” she explained.
“My apologies,” Natalie said, stepping back with a slight smile before pursing her lips and regarding Grace expectantly. “I wanted to ask if I could wear your blue dress.”
Grace knew she wanted something, and she asked, “Which of my blue dresses? I have several.”
“The pale-blue velvet.”
Grace frowned. “It is new and I am yet to wear it, and you ruined the last dress I gave you with mud when you went walking in the park.”
Natalie’s smile faded. “Bertha cleaned the dress.”
“Yes, but the dress is no longer white,” Grace retorted.
“So you will not give me your blue dress?” Natalie asked as though she had heard nothing of what Grace had just said.
Sighing, Grace shook her head and explained. “I never wore my white dress before I gave it to you, and I am afraid this one would suffer the same fate. Perhaps I will give it to you when I have worn it.”
Her sister’s gaze turned into a glare. “That is very selfish of you, Grace.”
“No, I think you are the selfish one here.”
“Saying that to me was a mistake!” Natalie picked up a bird figurine and threw it on the floor. The head broke off and rolled down the wooden floor.
Grace dove to catch it but she was too slow and it rolled beneath the cupboard where she stored paint and her tools. She had been working on that delicate crane for a week because once completed, she would be able to sell it for a good price. Now it was ruined, and it twisted her heart.
Her father’s business was not doing well, and she no longer had any hope of marrying a nobleman because most of them wanted a wife with a fortune, or a title, or both, and Grace had none. She was making some money from the ornaments she carved, which she hoped would aid her to get the independence she had always wanted.
She straightened and stared at her sister, disbelief amalgamating with pain. “Is this what you wanted to do when you decided to come here? Make matters difficult for me?” she asked.
Natalie rolled her eyes. “I would not have done that if you had not angered me.Youdid this.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Besides, it looks like it was carved by a child.”
“That is because it is unfinished!” Grace defended, her ire rising. She disliked encounters like this with her sister because it further eroded their tenuous relationship, and pushed Grace’s emotions to levels she did not want them to be.
“It does not matter,” Natalie smirked. “What woman hoping to marry well trades? And woodwork, too. I would not be surprised if you become a spinster, for no man would want to marry a carpenter.”
“At least, I am doing something with my life,” Grace retorted.
“Father has worked very hard so we can be genteel women,” Natalie reminded her.
“But we are not, Natalie, and might never be. Have the last social seasons taught you nothing?” Grace was angry now. “Our father is not a gentleman, and thetononly sees us as the daughters of a merchant.”
“Perhaps that is what thetonmakes of you but I am an accomplished genteel woman.”
Yet she had been unable to find a husband despite all those shiny accomplishments, and Grace told her. “Return your expectations to reality, Sister. Being a virtuoso at the pianoforte or embroidering Kensington Garden onto a piece of linen will not get you a husband from theBeau Monde.”