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her come home last February. If she hadn’t, she might not have been there when Papa took ill. His heart, the doctors had said. There had been something wrong with his heart, and now there was something wrong with hers.
    Papa was gone, and he was never coming back. Never. There was no one to depend on now, no one to share with, no one to turn to. Last May Papa had started out for one of the gold mines, and he’d never come back.
    That was death. Someone was alive, and then they weren’t, and there was nothing you could do to bring them back. You were left with a hole in your existence. You felt all broken inside, but you still had to go on living. You had to get up in the morning, get dressed, eat, and work, even though you’d much rather follow Papa so you could be with him instead of all alone and lost. But someone had to take care of Mama and Zachary and Robbie. Someone had to manage business while the boys were in school.
    Mama couldn’t. Mama hadn’t left her bed for three months after Papa died, and that was why Kate had to do all that getting up in the morning, getting dressed, eating and working. It was also why she was standing on this cold white marble floor when she’d promised herself she’d never have to stand on it again. Mama was more broken than she was, and Kate was hoping that coming home would mend Mama. Anything was worth seeing Mama smile again, even returning to Maitland House.
    A week later, Kate was waiting for Ophelia on the stair landing, scuffing her boot on the carpet. Her hopes for her mother were rising. Ophelia’s own mother had died a few months after Papa, and Sophia had been able to find comfort in shared grief. Mama was getting better.
    Unfortunately for Kate, Society hadn’t changed in the time she’d been away. There just wasn’t much for Ladies to do, not much that was interesting. So Kate chafed even as her mother improved.
    Yes ma’am, here she was—in the land where Ladies dwelt, damn them. If Mama hadn’t had her poor grieving heart set on returning to her old home, Kate would still bein San Francisco with her brothers. Busy. With no Ladies to put up with. Kate was trying to keep from wishing Papa was with her when Ophelia flounced out of her room, chirruping a hello.
    Kate followed Ophelia down the staircase, almost laughing at the contrast between their progress. Ophelia glided along in her cage composed of crinoline, petticoats, and skirt, while she, crinolineless, stumped down each step with a violence that revealed her lack of enthusiasm for another afternoon carriage drive in the cold English sunlight. Kate had to admire her cousin. This year’s wider crinoline made her look as though she were a child’s toy rolling along on oiled wheels.
    Ophelia sailed across the entry hall. The butler opened the door. Ophelia oozed forward—and stuck. Kate was right behind her cousin and rammed into the edge of the silk cage. The hoop swung down in response to pressure from Kate’s own skirts. The front half of the crinoline tilted. Ophelia shrieked and rammed her arms down to stop the whole edifice from rising up, while Kate hopped backward and reached out to steady the wayward hoop.
    “Sorry,” she said. “Here. You hold it down in front, and I’ll squish it so you can get through.”
    With the butler averting his eyes, Kate helped Ophelia maneuver through the door. On the porch, they paused to straighten mussed hair and dresses. As a groom opened the door to the carriage, Kate couldn’t resist whispering to her cousin.
    “Told you that would happen. How are you going to get into the carriage?”
    Kate grinned and pretended to adjust her mantle while Ophelia appeared to behold a carriage door for the first time in her life. The carriage was an open vehicle with doors made to accommodate ladies’ wide skirts, but its designer had never envisioned the advent of hoops.
    “If the hoop tips—” Kate began.
    “I don’t intend to embarrass myself,” Ophelia said.