There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but I turned to look back as if I had heard a roll of thunder. All the birds had left the lake, and the shadows from the sun dropping in the west had grown and widened, casting a dark silver sheet over the water. It looked like ice.

He tugged on my hand. “C’mon. I want to tell you more about the plans for the wedding reception. Guess what we’re going to have to practice?” he said, as we entered through the French doors.

“The waltz?”

“Exactly. It’s an important wedding dance. See? That’s another reason I want you to stay until the wedding and, of course, forever after that. We’ll practice in the ballroom. I bought a brand-new Edison phonograph with a cylinder that has waltz music so we don’t have to have an audience watch us practice. And occasionally, I’ll have a pianist on my new piano playing for us. How’s that?”

I nodded. He did seem to be thinking of every little thing.

He opened the study door and stepped back. “Now, go get some rest, my darling girl. Look at all you’ve done today, and we’re going to have a wonderful dinner. Mrs. Wilson has prepared your parents’ favorite, larded sweetbreads with peas.”

“I detest that,” I said.

He stared at me. “Your mother never said . . .” He grimaced. “Don’t worry. I’ll have her prepare some chicken for you. Now, as I said, with all you’ve done today . . .”

“All I’ve done?”

“The traveling in your condition and . . .” He looked to his left, as if he wanted to be sure no one was listening. “And the act we both performed for your mother. I know you were tense throughout. That’s why you fell asleep on the grass back at the lake,” he said, as confident as someone who knew everything. “Now, go rest and freshen up. Dora will be attending you, and there will be a surprise in the room for tonight.”

I looked at him suspiciously. “Surprise?”

“Just go up and see,” he said. He stepped back and, even before I took a step in the hallway, closed the door.

For a few moments, alone in this still strange, immense house, I froze. When would this feel like home to me? Could this ever feel like home to me? Foxworth Hall was filled with rugs and drapes, bedrooms with comforters and blankets, but as I looked about at the tall ceilings, angry ancestors peering down as if anyone who entered was violating their sanctity, and the cold statues, I thought about my own bedroom at home, in which I slept so comfortably, feeling safe and cuddled by its warm walls and familiar scents.