"Giana, I must fix that bow in your hair, it's hanging over your ear. And do hold still. We don't want to be late. Charles will be here soon and we cannot keep my future husband waiting for his dinner."

Giana stood quiet, eyeing herself in the long Derber mirror as Derry patted the blue velvet bow at the back of her head and tugged at the cluster of black curls over her ears.

Derry stood back, admiring her handiwork from several angles. "You're lovely, Giana," she said. But Giana was staring blankly at her in the mirror, paying no attention to her matching blue velvet gown.

"Derry," Giana said, "you have told me often enough how dashing Charles is, and that he loves you. But does he truly love you more than anything? Will he love you forever?"

Derry Fairmount regarded her seventeen-year-old friend Georgiana Van Cleve with the indulgent air of a girl who was a year older and engaged to be wed.

"Of course he loves me, you silly girl. And besides all that, he's everything I could wish for in a husband -- he is ever so handsome and distinguished, and he is quite wealthy. It's true he lives in New York, though," she added with a thoughtful frown. "My father is a dreadful snob, as only a Bostonian can be. But you've heard me tell you that often enough. Well, he saw last summer that dear Charles finds me quite to his liking, and has been busy, I can tell you, with all the marriage contracts and agreements. Boring stuff, but I suppose everything must be worked out before I return home."

"He won't ever leave you, Derry? He will stay with you always, and you'll never have to worry, about anything?"

Derry's happy smile stayed firmly in place, but she quickly hugged her friend. She knew Giana would miss her. And she knew that Giana, raised by nannies and governesses, looked to marriage for a sense of security, and of belonging, that she had never felt. Derry had visited Giana and her mother in London two years before, and although Mrs. Van Cleve was charming and beautiful, Derry had seen that her young friend was like a guest in her mother's house, feted, but somehow separate and apart from her. "No, love," she said. "Married to Charles, I'll never have to be alone, nor will I ever worry. Someday, soon, Giana, you will have a husband and family of your own."

"I cannot imagine that," Giana said. She wished more than anything that Derry were younger, and not about to leave her. She cocked her head to one side, watching Derry buff her nails, and said, "But, Derry, isn't your Charles terribly old?"

Derry laughed a full-bodied laugh abounding with life, a laugh that Madame Orlie and her minions had failed to contain.

"Old? Well, he is thirty-something-or-other, which is not at all old for a husband, especially one as rich as dear Charles. Did I tell you that his only child by his first wife, a daughter, Jennifer, is only two years younger than I? Of course I did. I'm rattling on like a chirper. Think of the fun she and I will have, just as you and I do."

"But what if she doesn't like you, Derry?"

"Really, Giana, why ever should Jennifer not like me? I'm not a wicked stepmother." The gay laughter bubbled over again. "Me, a stepmother. That concerns my mother, you know, and I must admit, it does give me pause, sometimes. But Jennifer, after all, is a daughter, not a wife, and the two are quite different. She will have no cause to dislike me."

"Yes, I suppose you are right," Giana said. "But if one believes all the romantic novels, the stepdaughter must hate the new mother."

"Bosh," Derry said. "Those books were dreadfully silly, but" -- she rolled her eyes--"so very informative. At least I think they are," she added, blushing slightly. Derry's face took on a dreamy look, and slowly she began to dance around their room. "Boston was so beautiful that summer, and Charles so enjoyed waltzing with me."

Yes, Giana thought, feeling tears prick her eyelids, any man would want to waltz with Derry. She didn't want to feel envious of Derry, truly she didn't, but the thought of loving and being loved in return, of belonging to someone and never having to be alone again, was like a magical dream, a dream that had come true for Derry.

"You are awfully quiet all of a sudden, Miss Van Cleve," Derry said, drawing her imaginary waltz to a close.

"I was just thinking," Giana said.

Derry merely laughed. "Remember when we first met, goodness, it was over three years ago. My ever-so-snobbish parents dumped me here in Geneva at Madame Orlie's exclusive young ladies' seminary to finish me off properly." Her eyes twinkled. "They will be so disappointed. After all your good influence, I still haven't achieved your clipped, starchy accent. You English -- I think you are born speaking that way."

Giana's twinge of envy dissolved under Derry's laughter. She lowered her head and whispered, "You will leave in but three days, Derry, and I will be alone again."

"Nonsense, Giana. You will not have to put up with another colonial like me. Next week you will have a new roommate, a nice English girl, who, from what she told us in her very nice English letter, is blessed with a handsome brother. Who knows, perhaps he will be a prince charming."

"Unlikely," Giana said, knowing that Derry was merely trying to cheer her up, and hating it. "There will be no one to tell you what to do," she said suddenly. "You will have servants, and do just as you please."

"Yes, and eat cream puffs for dinner, if I like. Old Maevis would have a fit, I know, the dear old dragon." Derry pursed her mouth tightly together and hunched her shoulders, doing a credible imitation of Maevis Danforth, their deportment teacher. "Like she sucks lemons." Derry giggled.

Giana smiled at her antics, as always, but the hated tears were still there, waiting for naught in particular to send them streaming down her face.

"Come, Giana, whatever are you daydreaming about now? You really must stop that, you know. I've told you often enough that people will think you're myopic, and we both know you've the eyes of an eagle."

"I will miss you, Derry," Giana said.

Copyright © 1984 by Catherine Coulter