Frances made a face. “I am doing better than the others who work for the same modiste. She is one of the most popular, and there is no shortage of clients. Most of the profit, however, never leaves her accounts.”
Bryony frowned. “Is there anything to be done about it?”
“Max wants me to open my own shop.” Frances wrinkled her nose.
Bryony nodded. “But that would require an even greater commitment to a career you do not enjoy.”
“And a loan to get started,” Frances said with a grimace. “That’s part of the problem.”
Bryony’s eyes widened in surprise. “Max won’t loan you money?”
“Correct. He will only give it to me.” Frances’s eyes were fierce. “He won’t let me earn my own way.”
Bryony thought this over.
“If I had the money, I would loan it to you with interest,” she promised.
Frances grinned. “And I would accept every cent, if I wished to deal with clients, manage a shop, settle accounts, and still sew all day.”
Fair enough.
“What would you rather do?” Bryony asked.
Frances gave a crooked smile. “Be paid to read all day?”
“We can wish,” Bryony agreed with feeling.
“I have had one impossible wish come true,” Frances admitted. “I presume I have you to thank that Max owns colors again.”
Bryony blinked. “He didn’t own any colors?”
“He never came out of mourning after our mother died, because he felt he had failed a deathbed promise to keep me safe. It wasnothis fault.” Frances blinked rapidly. “An armband wasn’t enough. He swore never to wear colors again until he had a reason to, and that reason would be that he and I had made it. No longer dependent on or beholden to anyone else.”
Bryony bit her lip. She was part of the reason that hadn’t happened. No wonder he was so desperate to procure the deed.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” Frances said firmly, “you’re wrong. Max kept his word until this past month, when he met you. The only possible explanation for him to wear colors again after all this time, is that you’ve given him a reason to finally see beauty in the world again.”
Bryony’s throat grew thick. She did not deserve compliments.
Max strode into the room with a tea tray and a scowl. “You’re whispering. It’s troubling behavior. I presume I’m superfluous now.”
“I am the one who is superfluous, and ought to be going.” Bryony rose on unsteady feet. “I do love your sister, Max. You are more fortunate than you realize.”
“I can hear you,” Frances stage-whispered. “I’m still right here.”
“I am treating you as my family treats me,” Bryony told her. “There is no greater pleasure than to be spoken about like an object when one is present in the same room.”
“I preemptively dislike your family,” Frances said sorrowfully.
“Just my parents,” Bryony said quickly. “The rest of my family is quite charming.”
A wonderful idea sang through Bryony’s veins.
As much as her mother frustrated her, she had also gifted Bryony with the key piece of clout that had afforded all the Grenville siblings not just a secure place in Society, but also an achievement they could be proud of. Something that brought joy. Something they could share with others.
“You should come to the family musicale,” she said in a rush, excitement causing her to trip over her words. “Both of you. I can secure your invitations. The festivities will be held in my parents’ home tomorrow night. The salon is often standing room only, so I advise you to come a little early. You’ll also have a chance to meet my—”
“No,” Max said curtly, his tone bricking neither argument nor explanation. “We will not be anywhere your family might be found.”
