The Porter estate is beautiful this time of year. The gardens are afire with bright autumn foliage, Japanese maples and black gum trees in shades of red, dogwood in burgundy and purple, bald cypress in cinnamon orange and ginkgo in brilliant yellow gold. Behind all these are hedges of arborvitae, with pines in the distance a deep evergreen, and all laid atop a sky of perfect blue.

Louise and William’s party is spread all over the estate, with guests in the front yard where the couple stands, all smiles and ready to greet, and on every side. To the northwest, a spreading green lawn is peppered with croquet players, while behind the house the lazy river provides an idyllic backdrop to a courtyard full of minglers and dancers swaying in time with the cheerful swing music. On the southeast side of the house several large picnic tables are spread with the fruits of Mrs. Agate’s labor, only the finest dainties and hors d’oeuvres.

Unsurprisingly, I feel awkward here, surrounded by so many colorful, happy people. It’s always been like this with me in a crowd. I never fit in anywhere.

Thinking I ought to at least make an effort to be sociable, I approach a small group of women my age. Not wanting to interrupt their conversation, I stand on the fringe and listen as they talk of the small children they left at home, exchanging recipes and talking animatedly of the season’s fashion. I can’t relate to a single word.

“Oh, but we are being insensitive,” one woman exclaims. “Talking so lightly when Abagail’s grandfather only recently passed away.”

Everyone gasps at the realization and their eyes go to a plain looking woman in a blue dress. She doesn’t strike me as being in mourning. If anything, she seems secretly delighted to have the attention shifted suddenly to her.

“Tell us what happened, Abagail, I heard it was an awful tragedy.”

“Grandfather was struck by lightning in the storm we had recently,” she says, and all the women exclaim faintly. “He was killed instantly.”

“Oh, that must have been such a shock,” says one woman, and I snort without meaning to. Every eye snaps to me.

“Something funny?”

“Sorry, it’s just, a shock,” I say, and an irrepressible giggle escapes me. Their glares harden.

I feel bad. It’s the worst time to laugh, and yet I can’t help my sense of humor. It’s so awkward, and I can’t stop laughing, and that’s making it even more awkward. Then I start to hear their whispers.

“That’s the eldest Porter sister.”

“Is she always like this?”

“Always.”

“She’s so… unsettlingly weird.”

“I hear she collects bones and mummies and all sorts of death relics.”

“How grotesque…”

Yes, I think as I turn from the group, hurrying away, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes. Yes, I am grotesque. And ridiculous.

I really shouldn’t have come…

I find I’ve wandered to the front yard where my sister’s intended, William St. James Junior, spies me in the crowd and comes forward to greet me with a polite smile and handshake. Though he is taller than me, he strikes me as small somehow, with a shy manner and an unassuming presence.

“Greetings, Miss Porter. I regret we’ve not had more of an opportunity to get to know each other. But I’m sure that will be remedied in the weeks to come.”

“I hope so, Mr. St. James,” I answer in what I hope is a normal voice.

“Please call me William. We are to be brother and sister soon, after all.”

“Are we?” I blurt, evidently still affected by my humor before. William blinks at me, and I could kick myself. “I mean,” I make an attempt to salvage the conversation, “one never knows, really. Anything could happen.”

“I, uh, suppose…”

That wasn’t it.

A very uncomfortable looking William seems about to dismiss me when our conversation is interrupted suddenly by a broad shouldered man in a very expensive suit. Noting a certain resemblance, I take him to be William St. James Senior, Rettonia’s Secretary of Commerce. A handsome man of about fifty, he has a commanding, charismatic presence that stands in stark contrast to his mild mannered son.

“Hello, hello, Miss Frances,” he greets me enthusiastically, swallowing up my hand in his hot fist. “It’s my first time meeting you, isn’t it?”

“A pleasure, Mr. Secretary.”

“That’s Will, to my friends. And I’m delighted, dear girl. Louise has told me so much about you.”

I stare at him doubtfully. If Louise has told him about me, it can’t have been anything good.

“I say,” his look turns scrutinizing. “I say, has anyone ever told you how well you resemble…”

I wait for him to finish his thought, but he only trails off, studying my face intently. “Yes?” I prompt him, now curious. “Whom do you say I resemble?”

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence. At any rate, it’s no business of mine. Ah! Here’s the girl I came to see. Louise, Darling,” he kisses my sister who giggles, obviously thrilled by this important man’s affection while her fiancé stands off to the side, watching the exchange with a nervous look.

“Frances,” she turns her gaze on me. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just saying hello—”

“Not in front of the house,” she hisses. “You’ll frighten away all my guests with that depressing face of yours.”

Was I making a depressing face? I didn’t think I was making a face. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.

“Excuse me,” I murmur, glad for the excuse to hurry away. Still, I can’t help but think of Will’s reaction at seeing me for the first time. I wonder who it was he thought I resembled. An important man like that, with many connections in the capitol, perhaps he knows my real mother. I must find an excuse to talk with him again someday and ask him about it.

Finding myself on the southeast side of the house where the food is being served, I help myself to small portions of deviled eggs, stuffed mushrooms, grilled prawns, cranberry brie bites, cheese-stuffed cherry tomatoes and filo pesto pinwheels. Mrs. Agate’s outdone herself, I think as I savor these delicacies, already looking past my plate to the dessert table laden with lemon blueberry tarts, pineapple upside down cake, black cherry clafoutis, mascarpone scones and chocolate peanut butter cupcakes. With so much good food on hand, at least now I have something to occupy myself with at this awful party…

“There you are, Cutie.”

I look up in surprise at this address to a somewhat familiar face. Jackson, I think my brother calls him, though I’ve no idea whether it’s his surname or given name. He’s a tall man of middle complexion with narrow eyes and a shiny bald spot on the back of his head. He wears an ill-fitted, sleazy looking suit and several gold rings on his fingers.

My mouth full, I take a minute to chew and swallow before answering. “Cutie?”

“Well, you’re not all bad to look at, Sister. Not when you come with a chunk of the Porter fortune,” he laughs crassly, revealing a large gold tooth. “What are you, almost thirty now? Isn’t it time you settled down?”

“I’m twenty-six. And I’ve no interest in marriage.”

“That’s cuz you don’t know what you’re missing,” he leers at me meaningfully, and I feel my skin start to crawl. “I can teach you. Right now, if you like. I’m sure you know a lot of private places we could slip off to…”

This isn’t the first time I’ve been propositioned by men like Jackson, though it is perhaps the most direct proposal I’ve received to date. Though I am the ugly duckling, the wealth I stand to inherit is enough to make any man overlook that and pretend to be in love with me.

“You insult me, Mr. Jackson.”

“Not at all, Sweetheart. Rather I’d say I’m doing you a favor,” he grins at me, snatching a tomato right off my plate and popping it into his mouth. I feel my face grow hot with indignation. I’m about to tell him off when he looks over my shoulder and suddenly hails my brother.

“Ey, Benny!”

Ben, dressed in a smart brown suit, is going around with his new pocket camera, taking pictures of the party guests. At Jackson’s call he turns his lens on us for a photo, only to lower it when he realizes the subject matter.

“Jackson. Didn’t imagine they’d let a cad like you on the premises,” he jokes, coming this way.

“Sure, I’m an old friend of the family, dontcha know? Say, you got my money, yet?”

Ben goes scarlet at his address. He fakes a smile and hurries the last few steps to Jackson’s side. I know that look in his eyes well, and it leaves me cowering as he draws up to us.

“This isn’t the setting for your jokes, Jackson.”

His friend shrugs with another carefree grin. “Telling me to read the room? That’s never been my style, you know that, Benny.”

“Even so,” Ben says through clenched teeth. “These are high class people. Try and show some tact, would you?”

“Sure, old pal,” he claps Ben’s shoulder. “I’ll play nice. Just don’t forget to pay up, eh?”

“We’ll settle later,” Ben answers, and he startles me by grabbing my arm roughly and steering me away from Jackson. I lose my grip on my plate and it falls to the lawn, but he doesn’t stop, and I don’t make a sound of protest, terrified of making my brother angrier than he already is.

Pulling me behind a shrubbery just underneath my bedroom window, he finally releases my arm only to cut me viciously with his glare.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing—”

“Don’t play games with me, Cowbird!” he shouts, and pulls his arm back as though to strike me. I cringe beneath his shadow, but the blow doesn’t fall. Ben breathes sharply through his nostrils, blue eyes sparking dangerously. Slowly he lowers his hand.

“Tell me what he said to you.”