6 - Pages of Sin

hold.
    I truly didn’t want Elaine to be hurt, but I was still excited to have a front row seat for the unraveling of an almost-twenty-year-old mystery, along with any accompanying fireworks that might take place.
    Marjorie breezed in a minute later, looking very chic and blond in a red wrap dress with black patent leather heels. A double gold rope chain hung around her neck and braided gold hoops dangled from her ears. She was all dressed up for a fancy cocktail party rather than for a memorial for her dead sister.
    I remembered meeting Marjorie once or twice when I was much younger. Back then, Mom had called her the vivacious Bradford sister, and she still held that title.
    I was currently having a hard time feeling much sympathy for Marjorie. She’d slept with the guy that one sister had loved and the other had married. And what kind of woman showed up in a red dress for her sister’s memorial service? I mean, come on!
    I tried to tamp down on my initial reaction to Marjorie by reminding myself that she and Elaine had recently suffered a great loss. Who knew what went through someone’s mind when a beloved sister died? I only prayed I wouldn’t have to suffer that fate for many, many years.
    Marjorie cast a wary glance at Elaine, who was standing by herself across the room. She hesitated, but then seemed to draw on some internal strength and strolled directly over to her, clutched her by the arms and said, “We’re sisters and we always will be. Wanda would want us to make amends. Despite our differences, I’ve always loved you and . . . I need you, Elaine. Byron needs you. He needs us both right now.”
    Well. That was unexpected. Seconds ago, the lady in red hadn’t looked like she needed anyone—unless it was to fetch her a cocktail.
    I didn’t have to look at Elaine to know that tears were forming in her eyes. The woman was a natural crier. It was no wonder I liked her so much.
    Despite the tears, Marjorie and Elaine’s reunion looked happy. Were we about to throw cold water on their warm feelings?
    A moment later, Marjorie looked around and seemed to remember her role as a world-famous author and international jetsetter. She had people to schmooze. Giving Elaine’s arm another quick squeeze, she headed straight for Mom and Dad and greeted them effusively with hugs and air kisses. “Becky, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Hello, Jim. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
    Whatever that meant.
    Elaine managed to ignore her sister’s flirty behavior as she serenely studied the artwork on the walls. At moments like these, it was easy to see what had attracted the wealthy Earl of Radisson’s eye. And that reminded me: Elaine was a member of the British nobility, however minor. She looked polished and dignified, especially when compared to her flamboyant, famous-author sister.
    But Elaine had also written a number of books, so she certainly was no slouch in the creativity department. Okay, her children’s books were all about llamas, but still, her world famous older sister had nothing on her. Tonight, however, Elaine seemed perfectly happy to allow Marjorie the spotlight.
    My thoughts drifted to poor Wanda, who had been tucked away in her ivory tower all those years while these two had roamed the world, living adventurous lives, quelling revolutions (and perhaps starting one or two), and collecting a lifetime’s worth of stories that the rest of the world clamored to read. Had Wanda been jealous of her more worldly sisters? Had those feelings eaten her up inside?
    Then I pictured her beautiful gardens and all the charming and dramatic furnishings she’d surrounded herself with. Perhaps her own world hadn’t been all that drab, after all.
    Ten minutes had passed and Byron still wasn’t here. I was in danger of hurling if I had to hear one more of Marjorie’s gushing comments to my father.
    Mom didn’t seem at all concerned with Marjorie’s flirtations, but she noticed my agitation and slipped her arm through mine. “That’s a pretty blouse, Brooklyn. Is it new? I don’t think I’ve seen you wear it before.”
    “Thank you, Mom.” We smiled at each other and shared a silent moment of familial camaraderie. “I just bought it last week.”
    “Great color on you.”
    “Thanks.” I didn’t mention that Derek had picked out the blouse for me. It was bad enough that I was a fashion faux pas waiting to happen without advertising that even my boyfriend had better taste in clothing