The Wedding Veil(86)

“You’ve always reminded me of your father,” Edith said. “You get your creativity from him. He felt such peace here at Biltmore and hoped you would too.”

“I used to,” Cornelia said. “But it’s such a media circus now. It used to be my escape. Now it’s just one more place the papers can find me, and people can judge us for being too rich.”

Edith sighed. She couldn’t change the way that, after the stock market crashed, the rich who had once been admired were now viewed with such disdain. But she did feel somewhat responsible for the media circus caused by opening the house. She had done everything humanly possible to maintain the estate when she was in charge, to keep it from swallowing them whole. Opening it to the public wouldn’t have been her first choice. If she had known the toll it would take on Cornelia, she would take it back. She would take it all back. But then, these past few months, as Cornelia threw herself back into Biltmore, Edith felt like things had turned around.

Now, in this grand dining room that held her best memories, she waited anxiously for her daughter, her back to the doorway, Jack and Judge Adams sitting across the table. When they gasped in unison, she felt her heart stop.

She turned, hesitantly, as her daughter walked into the room. Her hair, her dark, sleek, shiny mane of glory, was now a glowing pink. Edith felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her daughter—her nearly thirty-four-year-old daughter, no less—had dyed her hair. Pink. She wanted to say something, ask something, but her throat felt closed.

Cornelia took the seat they had left for her at the head of the table. This was, after all, her announcement. “Mother, Jack, Judge Adams,” she began. “I have decided that the boys need to be in school in England, and I am going to accompany them.”

Edith’s first thought was that her grandsons were too small to be in boarding school. Jack had preached its virtues to her ad nauseum, but she felt sure that—after protests from Cornelia—Jack and Cornelia had decided to keep them home. Yes, of course, it was common for people of their set to send their children off when they were young, but it wasn’t how George and Edith had raised Cornelia, so she had always just assumed… But, looking at her daughter, she realized that it was no longer safe to assume anything. She tried to catch Jack’s eyes across the table, but they were fixed on his wife. Then again, she had to consider that perhaps this pink-haired mother of theirs was in no shape to raise them. Maybe they were better off abroad.

“Neely,” Jack whispered. “Your hair.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to understand it,” she said pointedly. It caught Edith off guard. No one had been more understanding than Jack. It was an instance in which she believed Jack being quite a bit older than Cornelia helped tremendously. Everything Cornelia did, it seemed to Jack, was a youthful lark. But judging by the horrified expression on his face, it appeared the spell had been broken. Cornelia’s tone softened, and she explained, “That is the other reason I have brought you here today. I am nearly thirty-four now, which is my age of becoming pragmatic about reaching my goals.”

Now Edith had to speak up. “I’m sorry. It’s what?”

“In numerology, Mother. Thirty-four is my year for that. And 1934 is also my year for exploring my creativity, talents, and life choices.”

Jack met Edith’s eyes now, both their faces alight with terror.

“And the pink hair?” Judge Adams chimed in.

“It’s the color of my aura, of course,” Cornelia said.

“Of course,” he replied.

Edith wanted to smack him. Yes, Cornelia’s interest in numerology and spirituality and her life path had grown even stronger as of late. But she hadn’t gone to this extreme yet.

“It all makes sense now,” Cornelia said. “My life-path number is twenty-two, which means that was the age I needed a partner’s support most, the year I met Jack.”

Edith knew from all Cornelia’s obsessive chatter about numerology that the life-path number—derived from a formula based on one’s month, day, and year of birth—was the most important one. But it wasn’t until this moment that she realized just how much her daughter was letting this nonsense control her life.

“And now, at almost thirty-four, you no longer need me, I assume,” Jack chimed in. Edith could tell he was aiming for an angry tone but he barely managed sad—he sounded resigned. He had to be tired from facing down the hurricane that was her daughter day after day, explaining her absences to her children, running a behemoth of an estate with far too little staff.

“I need some time to pursue my goals,” Cornelia said. “Not forever. But this is my year. It is my time.”

“Cornelia—” Jack said.

Edith needed to say something, but she didn’t know what, so she went with something simple. “Darling, you can’t really believe that numbers define your fate. Are you okay?”

Cornelia sighed. “Yes, Mother. I do indeed believe that. Plus, I have spent my entire life surrounded by the press and prying eyes. I don’t want the same for my children. This way, I can escape, just for a few months. I can work on my art; I can find my way.”

“I know you weren’t sure about boarding school. I didn’t mean to push you into making a decision so quickly. I can keep the boys here while you work on your art, and plan what will be best for their education,” Jack said. “You’ve been gone so much these past couple of years that we’ve managed quite well without you.”