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nose.
    “Excuse me?” Even wading? Did he want to suck every last bit of fun from her life?
    “Marguerite, you’re young and naive.” Her mother graced Roger with a practiced social smile. “All sorts of people swimming together is hardly proper. I’m sure you can entertain yourself with more acceptable things to do.”
    “Yes, that’s it.” Roger pushed up his spectacles. “Something befitting a young woman of your position.”
    She gaped at them. For several seasons now, the lake had entertained hundreds of people. Young and old, rich and poor, men and women, enjoyed the water. There had been a time when genders remained separated, but it was 1895. Times had changed. At least, they had here at the lake. What did her mother expect her to do? Be content with milling about with the socialites, displaying their season’s finery like plumage?
    Her mother’s frown deepened. “I agree with Roger. I think I shall have to forbid this foray.”
    “What would be more acceptable, Mother? Sailing?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. Ladies do not sail.”
    “I did.” She cocked an eyebrow, lifting her chin in defiance and fighting the smirk trying to come to the surface. “Today. On the Argo . Father took me.”
    Her mother’s face paled while Roger’s colored a vivid shade of crimson.
    “H-h-how could you?” he asked. “What will people say?”
    “No one will say anything, and I don’t care if they do. I found it to be most exhilarating.”
    Roger scowled. “Mrs. Westing, what are you going to do with her?”
    Her mother lifted a water goblet to her lips with shaky fingers and sipped from it. “I simply don’t believe you. You’re saying this to shock us so we’ll approve of your intentions to swim in the lake. A greater evil to make a lesser one look more appealing. I know for certain that no man would let a lady sail on his vessel.”
    “Of course. I should have realized your ploy, my dear.” Roger laughed. “Never enough to keep you entertained, is there? That will change soon enough.”
    Although she’d enjoyed watching them both squirm – much more than she should have – the effect was short-lived. Her mother’s ability to shroud her emotions in a veil of propriety never ceased to amaze Marguerite. She ached for a genuine reaction – a mother’s honest concern, a shared moment of laughter, even anger. Any of it would fill the empty space in her heart.
    The conversation effectively dismissed, Camille and Roger began to discuss the unseasonably warm weather.
    Marguerite released a long sigh. She would share no more about the day. Roger would not hear about the thrill that had surged through her on the water. She would keep the yearning to repeat the experience a secret. Her secret. Roger would call it a childish whim, and her mother would be mortified at the thought. Neither of them cared about what made her happy, so neither deserved to know the desires of her heart.
    Fresh pain seared her. Perhaps it was better that her mother didn’t believe her, because that way she wouldn’t question her comings and goings. Besides, keeping the truth hidden was the Westing family motto, and no one did it better than her mother. Whenever anything occurred that her mother thought might tarnish the Westing image, no matter how insignificant, she was quick to admonish Marguerite and her siblings to keep the event a secret. It simply wouldn’t do for Camille Westing to be seen in an unflattering light.
    The sound of laughter from the entryway drew Marguerite’s attention. She spotted Trip Andrews and his crew entering the dining room. Harry appeared to tease Trip and then rough up his sun-kissed sandy brown hair. Trip caught her gaze and gave her a broad, dimpled grin. Quickly she averted her eyes. The last thing she needed right now was for Trip to saunter to their table and greet her.
    The waiter arrived and Roger ordered for all three of them. Fried beefsteak, mashed potatoes drenched in white gravy, and egg