Lucy: Daughters of the Sea #3 Read Online Free

you betcha. They got themselves a pavilion for it. The dances go from four to six in the afternoon. That gives you a couple of hours after the tennis games.” She nodded knowingly at Lucy.
    Lucy doubted that she would be much good at tennis, but her mother seemed so happy, and she did not want to spoil her anticipation.
    “You know so much, Mrs. Simpson, about Bar Harbor and the life there,” Marjorie Snow said with a sigh.
    “Well, I got more than a dozen clients that go every summer.” She had finished measuring the lawn cotton fabric and was folding it. “Let’s see — the Van Wycks, the Benedicts, the Bellamys, the Astors.”
    “The Astors!”
    “Oh, yes. Been sewing for Mrs. A for almost five years now.”
    “My goodness!” Marjorie exclaimed as if she had just glimpsed one of the seven wonders of the world. “Oh, and, Mrs. Simpson, I nearly forgot. I think Lucy needs some combinations.”
    “But, Mother, I have so many chemises and drawers.”
    “Now, Lucy.” Mrs. Simpson shook her finger. “You want to have the slimmest silhouette possible. Separate chemises and drawers are a thing of the past. You must let me whip up some combis for you. I have the prettiest pink pearl — mind you, not real pearl — for the chemise top buttons. You’ll love them. And I can run a little ribbon through for decoration. You’ll look slim as a reed. No bunching up of the drawers and chemise. So figure hugging. And that’s what we’re after, isn’t it?”
    “Of course,” Lucy murmured.
    Mrs. Simpson continued. “Now, for the evening affairs, it’s a bit fancier. A bit of a show, but nothing gaudy like them Newport families. All these folks come up from Boston and they got a bit of the Puritan in them. Matter of fact, I just made Mrs. Astor a dress inspired — mind you inspired, not copied — from a Charles Frederick Worth design. Gorgeous green chiffon with a cascading back. Looks like waves from the sea.”
    “Oh, I’d like that!” Lucy said.
    “Well, dearie, ’fraid I can’t make you one. Wouldn’t do for you to show up in something like Mrs. Astor’s gown. But I’ve got plenty of ideas. Plenty of fabrics. So let’s get to work. When did you say you leave?”
    “Three weeks. First of June,” Marjorie answered. “They want us there early, unfashionably early, I suppose. Most likely the important people don’t get there until later.”
    “Yes, that’s so. First big round of parties begins late June.”
    “Oh, I do hope we’ll get invited.” Marjorie pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows as if she dared not say more.
    “Of course you’ll get invited. You’re the parson’s wife.” Mrs. Simpson turned to Lucy. “And the parson’s daughter.”
    Lucy saw her mother wince. Marjorie Snow loathed the term parson . It made them all sound like country bumpkins. Or, worse yet, confirmed her secret terror of living on the edges of society instead of in its midst. She did not want to be included merely because she was a minister’s wife, but for her own merits. She was from Baltimore after all, and although Prissy was perhaps not a true blood relative, they were as close as any sisters, despite the differences in their backgrounds. Their lives in fact had fallen into an odd synchronism, for they had been born within a month of each other, and each had lost a parent shortly after her birth. After Marjorie’s father died, Marjorie and her mother, Rose, were invited to move into a cottage on the Bancroft estate, seeing as Rose had been Prissy’s mother Adelia’s best friend. The two girls seemed destined also to become best friends and were inseparable until their respective marriages at twenty-one.
    Neither Marjorie nor Prissy had been blessed with conceiving a child. Marjorie and Stephen had decided to adopt, but Priscilla could not, owing to certain legal entailments from the Bancroft estate. Marjorie and Priscilla remained fast friends throughout the years, and Priscilla often