Secrets of a Charmed Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

head. Emmy set the broom and dustpan against the glassless window frame and walked away, amazed at the turn of luck that had come her way. For the better part of a year she’d been peering into Primrose Bridal’s windows on market day, captivated by the gowns that hung fairylike from mannequins and padded hangers. This newfound affinity had eclipsed her fondness for doodling dress designs during math class and making countless paper dolls for Julia. Mum was one to walk right past Primrose Bridal; not so much in a hurry as in indifference. Mum had never married, and if perhaps someday she would marry, Emmy doubted she would wear white. For a half second Emmy wanted to thank the scoundrel who had run into Mrs. Crofton’s window and set in motion the events that had resulted in her being granted an interview.
    She rounded the street corner and nearly ran into Julia.
    “Why aren’t you with Mum?” Emmy gasped.
    Julia frowned at her. “I don’t like the butcher’s. I don’t like the way his store smells.”
    Emmy grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled her down the sidewalk. “You should have done what I said.”
    “Why were you talking to that lady?”
    “Never mind that now.”
    “But I saw you talking to her.”
    “I was just offering to help her sweep up the glass.”
    “She cut her hand.”
    “Yes.”
    Emmy quickened their pace. Mum would surely give them grief about taking so long. But she likely wouldn’t ask why.
    Mum wasn’t interested in why Emmy liked gazing into bridal shop windows.

Three

    EMMY stood before the mirror in the upstairs bedroom she shared with Julia, analyzing the dress she’d plucked from Mum’s wardrobe. She had pressed away the wrinkles, but there had been no way to iron away the trailing scent of Mum’s perfume—a flowery, musty vapor that smelled like an invitation to other things. The midnight blue frock with its ivory collar and sleeve cuffs wasn’t Emmy’s favorite dress of her mother’s, but it was more fashionable than anything hanging among her own clothes, and she was unashamedly hoping there was luck still lingering in its threads. Mum had worn the dress two years ago when she interviewed to be a kitchen maid for the millionaire widow Mrs. Billingsley and had come home with the job. Emmy might not have remembered that detail about the dress except that Nana was still alive then and had been visiting.
    It had been a roasting-hot day in July, and the war then was nothing more than a nasty disagreement between a couple of countries on the Continent. Mum’s mother, visiting from Devonshire, was teaching Emmy to embroider. The girls saw their grandmother only when she made the trip to visit, which wasn’t often. Emmy liked it when Nana came, even though Nana and Mum fought about nearly everything. She was always sad when Nana left except for the fact that the arguing stopped. On that particular afternoon, Mum had emerged from her bedroom wearing the midnight blue dress, and she posed like a model in front of the girls and her mother. Julia laughed and Mum laughed with her. Nana shook her head and told Mum it wasn’t wise to get her hopes too high. Mum had worked in a hotel laundry room up to that point. To Emmy’s knowledge, she had never been a kitchen maid before. And she had certainly never worked for someone with money.
    “And why shouldn’t I?” Mum opened a compact mirror and ran a tube of lipstick across her lips. She sounded as confident as Emmy could ever remember.
    “An upstanding heiress is a different employer than a busy hotel.”
    Mum snapped the mirror shut. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
    “You’re an unmarried mother,” Nana murmured, as though the walls of the kitchen might hear the scandalous truth and broadcast the news to the whole of London. “It matters. If this Mrs. Billingsley checks your references, she is sure to find out your daughters were fathered by two different men, neither of whom you were married to.”
    Mum had