by Maya Rodale
Harriet looked just like she always did, just ever so slightly more.
Except for her mouth. Her reddened lips were shocking.
Or sensational.
Or scandalous.
The pigments on her face issued a command: Look at me. Look twice. Notice me. It did this in a world where women went about their day clad in full-length gowns that covered nearly every inch of their bare skin and often even hid behind a veil. In other words: Do not look. Nothing to see here! Women were supposed to make it easy to forget about their existence. To hide the fact that they were flesh-and-blood humans who wanted things.
In such a world, it was best just to stay home, then.
After all, the only women who wore face paints wanted people—men people, particularly—to look at them. It was actresses and prostitutes who dared to attract a gaze, to hold it, own it, and demand to be seen and recognized.
Or perhaps women who wanted to change the world and challenge the world to notice them.
“Daisy, do you really mean for respectable women to wear all this out?” Ava asked softly.
“Adeline has spoken often of the power of an excellently made dress to make a woman feel comfortable and confident as she ventures out of the home and into the world.” At this there were murmurs of agreement. “What if these cosmetics also functioned to give women confidence? The attention I have received has not always made me feel my best. I am so happy with myself but why can I not have this little something that makes me feel even more confident?”
This elicited more intrigued chatter from the group of ladies. They, too, were aware of tired eyes or dull complexions or loath to leave the house due to a blemish, so aware that the world was evaluating them upon their face. “What if being able to make oneself feel prettier made one also feel more confident to go out into the world? Then imagine what she might accomplish.”
The women burst into conversation. Agreeing and disagreeing passionately. One voice, Elizabeth’s, rose up.
“I don’t know that I would feel confident with a red mouth like that. I’d be terrified that everyone would be looking at me.”
“And questioning my virtue,” another woman added.
“And once it is in question . . .”
“Would it really be the worst thing in the world?” Daisy asked. It was a question she, who was earning her own fortune and determined to be a spinster and had the protection of an engagement to Theodore Prescott the Third, could afford to ask.
“Why should women in those professions be demonized anyway?” Elsie asked. “Especially by women like us? They are only trying to support themselves and their families. Are we really so very different? Aren’t we all just people trying to succeed with the opportunities available to us?”
“It would not be the worst thing but . . . a woman’s good reputation is what enables her to find a good husband and to move in good society. What is more important than family and friends?”
“Our good reputations are what enable us to advocate for other women. Our efforts are only taken seriously because we are virtuous, upstanding models of ladyhood.”
“Or because we appear to be,” Harriet corrected.
Daisy wanted to protest “it’s just lip paint!” but it wasn’t. Alone in her lab, it was just mixing compounds and materials and it was just science. And then it became much more significant. She had only aspired to make herself, and other women, feel beautiful. She never thought it would be making a statement, too. She could see now that it wasn’t just lip paint at all.
“If enough women wore it, all at once, society couldn’t possibly decide all of a sudden that all women were compromised and that such a significant group of women should all be ostracized from good society. If it were a common enough thing . . .”
“But someone will have to be first.”
Daisy knew it would have to be her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
For the first time ever, Theodore Prescott the Second is opening his doors to Manhattan society to show off the size and opulence of his ballroom and the immensity of his wealth. The occasion is a party celebrating his son’s upcoming nuptials to Miss Daisy Swan.
—The New York Post
The Prescott Ballroom
901 Fifth Avenue
Tonight Daisy’s face was one that would, if not launch a thousand ships, at least turn heads and get society talking.
Not just because they were all in attendance at a soiree to celebrate her looming wedding. It was her mother’s idea for Prescott Senior to host a party to honor the match and make it even more impossible to get out of. Prescott Senior obliged; Evelina Swan was hard to say no to. Even Daisy and Theo didn’t complain when they both immediately spied the opportunity it presented.
It was a chance for Daisy to step out wearing cosmetics. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to attend a party where she would be the center of attention, celebrated for the man on her arm and the respectability he conveyed, and a party where everyone would have to notice her and be nice to her.
She was going to take full advantage.
Daisy emerged from the ladies’ retiring room with lips distinctly redder than when she’d entered. In full view of her fellow females she had leaned toward the mirror and applied a sheen of her Lady Rebel lipstick. Before she left the house she had oh so subtly darkened her eyes and highlighted her cheekbones with a dusting of her Fair Maiden blush.
She looked sensational. A little rebellious.
Not pretty but quite possibly beautiful.
She looked like a new woman.
With a quick, satisfied smile at her reflection, she slipped the small jar of lip paint into the pocket of her gown, ignored the open-mouthed gasps of her fellow attendees of the ladies’ retiring room, and strolled back to the ballroom.
Miss Daisy Swan was a respectable young woman—so much so that marriage to her was penance and a chance at redemption for the Four Hundred’s wayward, scandal-plagued golden boy. If any one woman could pull off lip paint in a ballroom at her own engagement party and be invited out again tomorrow, it was she.
Daisy “Ugly Duck” Swan.
Theo was waiting for her with a smile on his lips, ready to escort her into the crowds. He was as boyishly handsome and exceptionally dressed as ever. The man did know how to wear a tuxedo. But what made her a little bit breathless was the deeply appreciative way he looked at her. Like she was beautiful. Like he was lucky to stand beside her. Like they were co-conspirators and he liked it.
“Hello, Daisy. You look sensational tonight.”
“That is part of the plan, isn’t it?”
Her gaze locked with his. She felt that now-familiar heat of wanting for him. She reminded herself that this was just an advertising scheme. It was Theo’s idea. They would trade on their good standing in society and their notoriety as a couple to take the shock and scandal out of the sight of a respectable lady wearing lipstick.
They would make it acceptable.
Then they would sell it. And break up. And live happily ever after?
“Shall we take a turn around the ballroom?” Theo asked, and Daisy linked her arm with his.
“We are here to cause a scene after all.”
Her years of good behavior had to be good for something. She was ready to trade her past for her future. And so she stepped into the crowd, confidently on the arm of one of the most adored men in Manhattan.
People took notice. Perhaps it was her gown. Her face. Him. The two of them together. Whatever it was, people looked twice. And then they turned to their neighbor to discuss the sight of Theodore Prescott the Third happily strolling through the ballroom with Daisy Ugly Duck Swan. Except she wasn’t so ugly, really.
“She looks . . . different.”
They couldn’t help but overhear as they moved through the crush.
Daisy held her head high. Because she hadn’t changed her appearance that much. Just a little splash of color, really. Her nose was still a trifle too much, her eyes a
smidge too close. Her mouth might not be fashionable—yet. But hers was a face that would now turn heads and she felt good about it. That made all the difference in the way she moved through the ballroom, in the way she dared to lift her head high and meet people’s gazes.
Arm in arm, Theo and Daisy kept walking. She was almost enjoying herself. This almost felt right.
“They’re noticing,” he murmured.
“You do tend to draw attention,” she said.
“I think it’s you.”
“I daresay most of them wouldn’t have noticed me in a fully made-up face if you weren’t on my arm. It’s you. And me. Us. Together.”
Theo handed her a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and she was glad because the conversation was verging precariously close to the topic which must be avoided until . . . later. The what is going to happen to our fake engagement conversation. She was loath to have it. Because even though she liked him and what they created and the way his kiss and his touch thrilled her . . . Daisy didn’t love the feeling of needing him. She still dreamed of her freedom, and wasn’t ready to marry him.
Daisy had the impression it might hurt him to say so.
Not just his reputation, either.
She did not want to hurt him. She cared enough about him for that.
“Is she wearing . . . lip paint?”
“Yes! Blanche saw her apply it in the ladies’ retiring room. In full view of everyone!”
A chorus of shocked female voices. They could not believe she would be so brazen. And forward. So wanton. And untoward.
“Only certain kinds of women wear cosmetics.”
And then there was that. And there it went. Her unquestionable virtue. Gone forever on a whisper in a ballroom.
“Well, they are engaged so . . .”
“The more they discuss it, the more publicity we get,” Theo murmured.
“But the more they talk about it, the harder it will be to break the match,” Daisy said. This, she realized now, was the flaw in their plan.
“But if a little lip paint is what it takes to snare a man like Theodore Prescott the Third . . .”
Daisy and Theo turned to each other, bright eyes and smiles. Because there it was, the first glimmer of possible acceptance. The first hint that their plan was working. The first indication that maybe all of their efforts hadn’t been for nothing.
But then the tenor in the ballroom changed, suddenly, as if a cold wind swept through. The uproarious chatter quickly became somber as voices dropped to just whispers and murmurs and the sickening sound of grave concern. As if a president had died or a bridge collapsed.
Her mother came rushing toward her.
Daisy knew something terrible had happened when her mother didn’t flirt with Theo or express the slightest outrage over her daughter parading around a ballroom in a full face of cosmetics. She didn’t even bat an eyelash.
“Daisy, we have to go. Immediately.”
“What is it?”
“It’s all over, is what it is. We need to leave now.”
Oh. This. Was. Happening. Now. Tonight. Of all nights. Daisy had known this was coming; something bad with her father’s business that would ruin everything, for everyone. It was why Daisy had to find protection—or a way to stand on her own. It was why her mother schemed and pushed to get her daughter married. It was all a race against the clock and they had lost.
One of the evening’s guests, Mrs. Waverly, cut through the crowd with her sights set on the Swan women. Thick coils of pearls were roped around her neck, tumbling over her bosom, falling to her waist. Her complexion was ashen. She clutched a flute of champagne, which sloshed over her fingertips and she didn’t even notice.
She stopped a foot from Daisy and her mother and tossed the contents of her glass in their faces.
Daisy shrieked in shock. If there had been any doubts that she’d been wearing cosmetics, there were none now. There were dark streaks and clumps of rouge and powder running down her cheeks. Not her best look. But no one looked at Daisy anymore; they were more interested in Mrs. Swan.
“Is it true, Mrs. Swan? Is it true?”
But her mother stood still, champagne dripping from her face. Theo handed her a handkerchief, which she accepted.
“Mrs. Waverly, please. This is not the time for theatrics.”
But Mrs. Waverly begged to differ. “I asked you if it was true, Mrs. Swan. Is your husband’s brokerage firm a sham? Has he really been stealing from new investors to pay returns to everyone else? Is it true that this nefarious scheme has collapsed?”
Daisy felt her lungs constrict so much that it was impossible for air to move in and out. She’d had hints. She’d had her suspicions. She just hadn’t known for certain. Now here it was, the moment of truth. Awful, ruinous, disastrous truth. It was far, far worse than she had suspected. Her father was a fraud. Worse—his victims were their friends and acquaintances.
She dared to lift her gaze to Theo.
He was plainly shocked by the sudden turn of events.
Once the shock wore off, she detected betrayal. She ought to have confided in him and she regretted that she hadn’t.
“I don’t know what you are talking about, Mrs. Waverly.” Her mother forced a little laugh. “You know society wives like us don’t bother with their husband’s business.”
She tried to laugh it off. But no one was laughing because if it was true . . . if it was true . . . the truth was too unbearable. There was an unnatural silence in the ballroom. The ease and laughter that had been there a moment ago had now vanished, leaving something cold and hardened in its place. They had all trusted their fortunes with him and reveled in the wealth he’d showered upon them. A genius, they had called him. Now they were revealed as unfortunate fools.
“They are saying that his entire company was a sham. That new investments paid off previous investors. That the funds have all been taken and spent. That all our money is gone. Do you know what that means for the families in this ballroom?”
No one needed to explain. Everyone understood that the party was over—literally and figuratively. Her family was finished in this town. Many others would be taken down, too.
Daisy watched as ashen-faced men turned to leave. Wives and daughters trailed behind—their vibrantly colored gowns and ornate jewels a mockery of the present moment. Fortunes were lost. Families ruined. Lives over.
Not the least of which included her own.
Daisy turned to Theo to say something, but any words died on her lips. He still looked so shocked and hurt.
“Did you know about this, Daisy?”
“Yes. No. It’s hard to explain. Not exactly.”
“I see the urgency for us to wed now,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t about you and me at all.”
She watched as he put the pieces together—he wasn’t just a pretty face—and understood the reasons that Mrs. Swan was so insistent they wed. And why Daisy was so determined to earn her own fortune.
While everyone in the ballroom moved numbly toward the exit, one man strode determinedly through the crowd and halted before them. He leveled them with a stare that made Daisy grip her mother’s hand tightly. That stare was positively lethal. That stare made Daisy question her very existence.
Theo stepped away from her. An almost imperceptible step away from her and toward his father.
Theodore Prescott the Elder spoke: “It should go without saying that if this evening’s revelations are true, this match no longer has my support.”
Once upon a time, Daisy had made a list of ways to get out of the wedding and this had not made the cut.
Did you hear about the scandal with the Swans?
—Everybody in New York, practically
Later that night
854 Fifth Avenue
Either news traveled fast or the servants of the Swan residence had been given orders earlier to start packing once Daisy and her mother left for the ball. When they returned, their town house was frantic with ac
tivity as servants rushed to and fro to pack one steamer trunk after another.
Mrs. Evelina Swan was leaving town. Indefinitely. And she would be taking anything that wasn’t nailed down—and anything she didn’t want seized by the authorities. Jewels. Paintings. Silver. Whatever solid gold trinkets were lying around.
Daisy nearly tripped over her own satin shoes trying to make sense of it all.
She had expected a scandal tonight.
Just not this one.
She had known something was coming—some news that would shake her equilibrium—but she had not anticipated a scandal of this magnitude. Some bad investments, perhaps. Not a carefully constructed web of deceit that involved many of their family’s friends and acquaintances. This was the sort of scandal that didn’t just blow over in time. It was the kind that blacklisted a girl forever.
It seemed her mother knew it—and had known it all along.
“I have passage booked on the HMS Majestic,” her mother said. “We sail for France tomorrow morning. We can’t possibly stay in New York now.”
“But I don’t want to leave New York.”
Her mother gave her a sympathetic smile. “I know, darling. But what choice do we have?”
No wonder she had insisted that Daisy marry sooner rather than later and that she marry someone like Theo who, in theory, could offer Daisy the wealth, connections, and security she needed to weather a storm like this and to stay in the city she called home.
It was love that made her mother force the marriage.
The revelation took Daisy’s breath away.
“The news hit a little sooner than anticipated,” her mother admitted. “But I think we shall be able to set sail before anyone comes for us. I managed to switch the tickets I had reserved for your honeymoon. Why would anyone want to come for us anyway? We are just some silly women.”
Her mother fluttered her lashes. With a little pout she instantly transformed into a sweet, brainless woman who was best just sent out of the way of the men and their important business.