Archibald Colston had to admit, it was a strange sort of house with delicate gingerbread woodwork framing every window, eave, and gable, but that might be expected when the planning for living arrangements was left to a designer of women's underclothes.

    "It's purple," Olivia Colston said. The small blonde of eighteen years, hung halfway out of the carriage, one foot planted firmly and safely inside. She gripped the door as if leaving it would mean that she couldn't have the carriage turned around and driven back to the port.

"Yes, Livie. It's purple." It wasn't just purple. The shingle siding was deep eggplant, the window trim a pale lavender, the doors a violent magenta, and the spandrels a faded shade of Iris. Event the transom windows were a collage of purple stained glass. Archibald furrowed his brow as he took a closer look at the effect of all the home's embellishment. In truth, he would have preferred to live in one of the simple brick townhouses that flanked the detached Victorian, but a house on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 17th was the closest they would get to the Millionaires Row. "We can have it painted," he said flatly. Regardless of the color, the location was too good to pass up.

"And it's so small," Olivia continued. "I just don't understand. How can a house be so small and still so loud?" It was the most she'd said since they'd left Liverpool.

Archibald had to laugh. "This is America, and it's the only house Harry could find for sale in this neighborhood. Considering we are foreigners with no one but Harry to recommend us to the bank, it's a miracle they sold it to us at all," he said.

He picked up his sister's tiny frame by the waist and deposited her on the sidewalk, safely away from the slush-covered street.

"Well it's very kind of Mr. De Rosier to lend us his good name," Olivia said with thinly veiled sarcasm before marching towards the house.

His mother, Lady Colston, followed. At the sight of the piles of the grey, half-melted snow in the street, she made a displeased clucking sound with her tongue.

"Don't make that sound, mother," Archibald said as he helped her through the gate and up the walk and the steps to the porch.

Lady Colston's lips formed a thin line as she got a closer look at the purple gingerbreading. Archibald ignored his mother's displeasure — a coating of white paint and no one would be any wiser. Inside the home, the sight was much improved. He removed his top hat and reset his black hair with a swipe of his fingers through it. The decor had been kept up well, but the style was decidedly more french that Archibald was accustomed to seeing — a proper English gentleman can only tolerate so much damask. As a result, the empire furnishings they'd saved from the country estate looked slightly out of place.

Olivia and her mother stood arm in arm in the circular foyer before venturing cautiously into the parlor. Archibald gave them a moment to silently judge the appearance of the room, but he gave them no time to formulate words to their criticisms. There would be plenty of hours in the new year to redecorate.

"I tried my best to tell the new staff how to set up everything as it was in the London house... " Archibald said to the women. "I know neither of you approve of this decision, but father left us no choice." He'd explained the decision to them over and over, but it seemed like they'd never accept it. At least he hoped they'd understand the true gravity of such a decision, and that he hadn't made it lightly.

Olivia looked down at the rug and gave a small nod. Her new reserved nature was starting to cause Archibald some concern, and the entire journey across the Atlantic she hadn't seemed like her usual, joyous self. To see his sister in such pain at leaving her home almost made him cancel the move altogether. But they had all the reason to leave England and he knew that if he could improve just Olivia's prospects for an advantageous marriage and a life of security, it would be worth the initial pain.

"I have a surprise for us tonight," Archibald said, hoping to lighten the mood. He took one of his sister's hands and patted it in a way he hoped was somewhat reassuring. Olivia looked at him with curiosity and almost a smile. Almost. "Put on your best gowns. We're going to the winter premiere at the Society of Music."

The theater hummed with a palpable energy like a hive of bees, and all of it seemed to revolve around its queen, Mrs. Alexander.

Olivia was allergic to bees.

They were clearly the outsiders in the tiny theater, foreign bees from another colony squatting in someone else's slice of the comb. From where she sat rigidly beside her mother and brother, in a box high above the stage, Olivia couldn't see the famed Mrs. Alexander or her loyal following who'd dubbed themselves the "Three Hundred". She had, however, lost count of the women in oversized hats that turned to look at them. Couldn't they see how obvious they were with a head full of Ostrich plumes?

She gripped her fan and tried desperately to slow the thrumming of her pulse as her instincts screamed to run away. Judging by the looks on the faces of the feathered women, they weren't welcome in this hive. And nothing of her preparation for coming out into English society could have prepared her for this. It was supposed to have been her premier season that winter, but Archie had sold their ancestral home, Hanscomb Court, and moved them to a more "economic" area of London before their final journey to New York City.

As she tried not to think of all the relations and prospects that had disappeared like morning frost upon the news of their move, she felt the reassuring weight of a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Relax," Archibald said. He flashed his sister a casual smile that made her wonder how he could be so easily sure of himself in so hostile a place. But social occasions such as this were always easy for Archibald. He had a fine appearance, but even if he hadn't, he had enough good spirit to charm the entirety of the Three Hundred.

She returned the smile half-heartedly.

Lady Colston gave a short sigh. She was apparently even more displeased with the atmosphere of the theater than Olivia, and lately, she'd made her every displeasure known on an altogether more frequent basis. "Yes, dear. Please do relax," she said to Olivia's surprise. "These are just Americans after all — they can't be any worse than our own." Lady Colston tugged the sleeves of her gloves higher so the wrinkles disappeared.

"Yes, but who can I speak to?" Olivia exclaimed. "Who makes introductions? In England they would have to come to us — those with new money at least — not the other way around." Words that had been pent up, rattling around Olivia's chest for weeks poured forth. "How am I supposed to confidently strike up conversations if I don't know what will cause offense? And how do they know who goes first into the dining room from the parlor if they don't have any rank."

"Oh calm yourself, Livie," Archibald said with his eyes stuck to the page of his opera program. "You'll figure it out soon enough."

Lady Colston snapped her fan open. "It's pure anarchy if you ask me," she said, her pursed frown directed at Archibald. "I don't know how you expect us to build a social calendar when we don't know anyone."

Archibald set the program in his lap and folded his hands over top of it. He gave his mother a pointed look and a shake of his head. "One ball is all it will take to make new acquaintances. And besides, we were a country family — we never had that many acquaintances to begin with. I'm sure Olivia certainly isn't missing the company of that horrible Innsbrook fellow who was so fond of her."

"No indeed," Olivia said with a chuckle. It was the first she'd laughed in weeks, and it seemed to brighten her brother's spirit as much as it did hers. "And I'm sure you're glad to be rid of the sight of Holly Ambrose."

Archibald smiled at his lap. "I wouldn't go so far as to say that. I do wish her well in her new marriage," he said as he fingered the bent corner of his program.

"If you say so—" Olivia started to say, but the arrival of a fourth person to their box made her stomach jump into her throat.

The lights were lowering for the opera to begin as a tall man in black coattails burst into the box and gave Olivia no time to collect herself before he sat in the empty seat beside her. He had light brown hair, blue eyes, a ready smile.

"Harry," Archibald said with a laugh.

"Archie," Harry De Rosier said as he reached around both Olivia and her mother to shake Archibald's hand.

Olivia silently cursed the man for his lack of concern for her personal space and the fact that she was hopelessly attracted to him.

"Sorry I'm late," he whispered to her brother. "I got held up at the shop."

Olivia stared intently at the stage as the overture began, determined not to acknowledge the man in the dark beside her. The task was harder than it seemed when her entire body felt more achingly alive when he was near. To be in love with Harry De Rosier was like falling into Charybdis' whirlpool — from the moment Archibald has brought him to their London townhouse, Olivia had been drawn into him, and before she knew it, she was in too deep to escape.

He had a certain presence about him, something enchanting she couldn't put words to — like he had a little bit more life inside him than the rest of the world. He laughed when he felt like it and could wink without looking silly. It was a terrible situation to begin with, but considering the fact that Harry was the main reason she had been dragged to New York City, Olivia wished he was easier to hate.

Even worse, he had no idea the effect he had on her or anyone for that matter. Olivia could see now from the glint of the stage lights off lorgnettes and opera glasses pointed in their direction rather than the stage, that they were in De Rosier's box. Young, handsome, and a corset designer, it was no surprise that he was somewhat of a sensation to the young ladies of New York.

A hand brushed hers, and Olivia nearly jumped from her seat.

Harry chuckled softly as he pulled her program from underneath her hand. "My apologies," he whispered. "I didn't mean to startle you. I want to take a look at who's performing."

"Take it," Olivia said without turning to look at him.

He opened the program then crossed his left ankle over his right knee and Olivia's heart stopped altogether. She wasn't sure how, whether Mr. De Rosier had mistaken her own leg for the arm of the chair, but his knee was pushed right up against her own. How he took up so much space was beyond her understanding but she didn't dare move. To move would be to acknowledge him, and to acknowledge him would be to risk revealing her feelings for him — at least it felt like it.

Regardless of her infatuation, affection for Harry De Rosier, or any American, was dangerous if she was ever going to find her way back to England without her heart broken.

Thank you so so so much for reading! This chapter dedication goes out to my writing bestie, ViridianHues! Your enthusiasm and support have been so overwhelming in the most wonderful way possible. I'm so excited for you, all the recognition you are getting here on Wattpad, and the wonderful writing career you have ahead of you! You are pretty much one of my heroes and I consider my self so stinking blessed to have you as a friend. I could pretty much dedicate this whole novel to you! May you have a very merry Christmas with lots of swoons!!