"That I had no right to make decisions about their futures without her consent," Anthea said. "Despite the fact that she agreed to let me sponsor them. That she took money for the arrangement. That she has been perfectly happy to let me handle everything until she discovered Veronica's match was not grand enough for her tastes."
Gregory's jaw worked. "I should speak with her. Make clear that any interference with Veronica's wedding will not be tolerated."
"You will do no such thing," Anthea said firmly. "Veronica handled it herself. Beautifully. And any intervention from you would undermine that. Would make it seem like she still needs protection from her mother rather than being capable of standing up to her."
Gregory considered this. "You are right, of course. Though it galls me to let that woman continue breathing the same air as your sisters."
"She has no power anymore," Anthea said. "Today proved that. Veronica chose her own future, claimed her own voice, and Beatrice could do nothing but make empty threats." She smiled. "It was rather glorious, actually."
"I wish I had been there to see it," Gregory said.
"You will be there for the next confrontation," Anthea assured him. "Because there will be a next one. Beatrice is not the type to accept defeat gracefully."
"Then I will be ready," Gregory said. "Though I suspect your sisters will continue to surprise us all with their strength."
"They already have," Anthea said softly.
Gregory reached across the table and took her hand. "You gave them that strength. You showed them it was possible to stand up to her. To choose differently. To be brave."
"I simply showed them the door," Anthea said. "They chose to walk through it themselves."
"Perhaps," Gregory allowed. "But you made the choice possible. That matters."
Later, as Anthea prepared for bed, she thought about her sisters. About Veronica's courage. About the way Poppy had watched the confrontation with thoughtful calculation, as though cataloging lessons for future use.
They were going to be fine.
All of them.
And when the next crisis came—because there would always be another crisis—they would face it together.
As a family.
As sisters who had finally, finally learned that their voices mattered.
That their choices were their own.
And that love—messy, complicated, terrifying love—was worth fighting for.
Always.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The morning of Veronica's wedding dawned clear and bright—perfect weather for what should have been a perfect day.
Anthea woke early, her mind already spinning with the thousand details that required attention. The flowers had been delivered to the church. The wedding breakfast was prepared. Veronica's gown hung in her chambers, pristine and beautiful. Everything was arranged with the precision that had become Anthea's signature.
She was reaching for her dressing gown when Gregory's voice drifted through the connecting door.
"Are you awake?"
"Unfortunately," Anthea called back. "I have been awake since dawn reviewing lists."
"May I come in?"
Anthea hesitated. They had been growing closer since the house party, but she was hardly dressed for visitors. Still, he was her husband. And the thought of seeing him made her chest feel warm in a way she was still getting accustomed to.
"Yes," she said.
