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Back Ladies of the House Save as PDF
Chapters (59)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Praise
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. January
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. February
  13. Six
  14. Seven
  15. Eight
  16. Nine
  17. Ten
  18. Eleven
  19. Twelve
  20. March
  21. Thirteen
  22. Fourteen
  23. Fifteen
  24. Sixteen
  25. April
  26. Seventeen
  27. Eighteen
  28. Nineteen
  29. Twenty
  30. Twenty-One
  31. Twenty-Two
  32. Twenty-Three
  33. Twenty-Four
  34. Twenty-Five
  35. May
  36. Twenty-Six
  37. Twenty-Seven
  38. Twenty-Eight
  39. Twenty-Nine
  40. Thirty
  41. Thirty-One
  42. June
  43. Thirty-Two
  44. Thirty-Three
  45. Thirty-Four
  46. Thirty-Five
  47. Thirty-Six
  48. Thirty-Seven
  49. Thirty-Eight
  50. Thirty-Nine
  51. Forty
  52. July
  53. Forty-One
  54. Epilogue
  55. Acknowledgments
  56. Author’s Note
  57. Ladies of the House - Reader’s Guide
  58. Questions For Discussion
  59. Excerpt

At the end of the allée, delivery vans and catering trucks packed the roundabout, the flag staked in the grassy center snapping in the breeze of the sound. Staff in black uniforms hurried into and out of the Cottage—we’d adopted the Gilded Age nickname—with trays of glassware, round tables, flower arrangements bigger than bar stools. I tapped my brakes for a guy with a stack of boxes, then again for a young woman hauling a crate of liquor bottles. All this commotion for my sister’s engagement to her childhood sweetheart. Make no mistake, Maggie and Jack deserved to be celebrated. I just wished I didn’t have to face half of Newport in doing it.

I heard a mechanical, grinding hum, followed by the twin clanks of the gate slamming behind me.

Maybe it was the five hours on a fabric seat, or being back on the island, that had fatigue suddenly tapping at the backs of my eyeballs and raking its fingers down my neck. I came to a full stop at the spot where the driveway branched—one direction looping toward the Cottage, the other toward the rear dependencies. I rolled down the windows, took a deep breath, and closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, a goat was staring at me, its fur a flat gray, its horns wrapped in what appeared to be white packing foam. The animal ambled past my front bumper, sniffing at the license plate, nosing around the lights, then simply wandered off, nibbling at weeds between the gravel as it went.

Sending upward some half-muttered prayers that the winds would be favorable, that the memories of Newporters would be short, I released my foot from the brake and coasted down the drive.

Chapter 2

The mammoth bronze front doors to the Cottage were open, gas lamps on either side flickering in welcome. Valets in red jackets assisted guests out of their cars. Servers arranged themselves on the stairs, silver trays of champagne in hand. However entitled, I’d loved this place in my youth, thinking The Land majestic and mysterious and mine. But technically, nothing on this property had been ours for going on fifteen years.