Glamorous Illusions by Lisa T. Bergren Page A

enough. She undoubtedly needed time to unravel all she’d discovered. He closed his eyes as the hours went on, lulled by the swaying motion of the car and the rhythmic sound of wheels crossing one segment of track and then another and another. He dozed, feeling every one of his sixty-odd years as the pressure of the last days edged away.

    He woke to a servant setting a table between his seat and Cora’s, then jumped when he saw her empty seat. His heart skipped a beat, and he looked quickly around the car, putting aside the silly thought that she’d leapt from the train. She’s merely gone to the ladies’ lounge to freshen up before luncheon.
    The servant slid an impeccably white linen tablecloth across the small table, then, drawing from a cart, set it with sterling silver and crystal goblets. Even a small vase with a rose. The train line was clearly trying to better its image. Usually one got no such service except on one of the bigger lines. Dimly, he remembered his late wife telling him something of the sort—that the line had plans to upgrade its first-class cars. That’d been a year ago or so, not long before she died.
    The servant unfolded a napkin and set it across his lap.
    Cora arrived then, and the servant moved to pull out her chair. Wallace rose, but Cora did not look at him until seated, her own napkin across her lap. She took a drink of water from the goblet and declined the wine from the decanter when Wallace raised it in silent offering. “Your other children…” she began, eyes on the goblet as if she could see her siblings’ faces in it. She raised her eyes to meet his. “They will loathe me.”
    He considered her words. “The wind will be against you for a time. But stick with it, and you will win them over.”
    She raised an eyebrow. “So you believe that I can enter their circle—a girl raised on a dirt-poor farm miles from the nearest city—and we will be one big, happy family?”
    â€œPerhaps not happy. But it shall be tolerable, in time. I hope you shall invest yourself in the opportunity, regardless of how your siblings treat you. To see England, France…Austria, Italy. To complete your education, enter the social circles that are your birthright…Is it not every young woman’s dream?”
    She took another long drink of water and sat back as the servant brought them china plates laden with fried chicken, steaming mashed potatoes and gravy, and “ haricots verts ,” the man said.
    Uppity name for little green beans , Wallace thought.
    He never suffered such foolishness lightly. His staff knew to never refer to a foreign word if there was a perfectly good one in English. Consommé was broth , in his house. One needn’t put on airs just because one was wealthy. But with Cora being so fragile, so tender, he elected to hold his tongue for now. He didn’t wish to upset her with anything further, no matter how small.
    He hoped that bringing lowborn, sensible Cora into the mix might break his heirs out of some of their less admirable traits. He loathed the lack of a work ethic in Felix, Vivian’s overdeveloped sense of pride, and Lillian’s spoiled entitlement. Perhaps in the arrival of a new sibling, there’d be a sense of competition that would sharpen them all in some ways and mute the less desirable aspects.
    â€œMost young women I know dream of little more than marriage and children,” she said, so softly that he barely heard her. The question had lingered so long he had almost forgotten asking it. She chewed her bite of chicken as if she lacked the strength to swallow.
    â€œDo you leave behind a young man?” he asked, studying her. Perhaps he’d received less than complete reports.
    She shook her head, eyes on her plate. “I’ve never been courted.”
    He took a bite, considering how to respond. “That shall not be the case for long, my dear. You are a