“You can tell what’s in a letter just by looking at the outside?” Rosalie’s voice held genuine fascination. “That’s remarkable. Like reading tea leaves or palm reading.”
“Hardly so mystical.” Sybil moved to the next bed where little Emma’s rag doll lay abandoned on the pillow. “When you know someone well enough, their handwriting becomes as familiar as their voice. And when that someone has a habit of offering unwanted advice disguised as concern…”
“Ah.” Rosalie settled carefully into a nearby chair. “Family, then. Parents, I’m guessing, based on that particular expression of disgust.”
Too perceptive by half, this one.
“Perhaps we should discuss something more pleasant,” Sybil suggested, tucking the doll under the blanket. “How are you feeling about your debut? It’s only two months away now.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Rosalie said with a grin that reminded Sybil painfully of another spirited young woman. “I find family drama infinitely more interesting than discussions of my own social prospects.”
Of course, you do. Just like Emmie always did.
“There’s no drama,” Sybil lied smoothly. “Simply correspondence I have no desire to read.”
“From parents who presumably heard about the fire and suddenly remembered they have a daughter?”
The accuracy of the observation made Sybil’s hands still on the blanket she was folding. “What makes you say that?”
“Experience.” Rosalie’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Adults have a remarkable ability to ignore inconvenient relatives until those relatives become either useful or embarrassing. Then suddenly they’re full of opinions about what should be done.”
This girl understands far too much about the world for someone her age.
Chapter Eight
“You speak as though you have personal knowledge of such situations,” Sybil observed.
“Our grandmother.” Rosalie’s expression grew thoughtful. “Papa’s mother. She spent years complaining that we were too wild, too unruly, that we needed proper feminine guidance. But the moment Mama died and Papa was left alone with three daughters, suddenly she was full of helpful suggestions about boarding schools and finishing academies.”
“And what did your father say to these suggestions?”
“That she could take her opinions and—” Rosalie caught herself, grinning. “Well, let’s just say he was quite firm in his refusal. Papa doesn’t appreciate interference, even from family. Especially from family.”
A man who protects his daughters from meddling relatives. That’s… unexpected.
“He sounds like a devoted father,” Sybil said quietly.
“He is.” Rosalie’s voice carried absolute certainty. “Sometimes too devoted, actually. He worries constantly that we’ll become reckless like Mama was. Hence, his recent overreaction to…” Rosalie’s eyes went wide, as if she said something she didn’t mean to.
“Ah, yes, I heard about your little adventure at the lake. I hope your sister is well?”
Rosalie waved her good hand dismissively. “She is fine. A bit ruffled but not harmed. And yet, Papa acted as though we’d been attempting to scale Everest instead of jumping between a few rocks.”
A few rocks. In a lake. With a twelve-year-old who apparently can’t swim well.
“Perhaps your father’s concern was justified,” Sybil said carefully. “Water can be dangerous, especially for children.”
Something shifted in Rosalie’s expression—a flicker of defensiveness that reminded Sybil of every stubborn teenager she’d ever tried to counsel.
“We aren’t children. Well, Melanie is, but Leah and I certainly aren’t. And it wasn’t truly dangerous. I’ve done it dozens of times without incident, and I was there in case she needed me.”
Just because you’ve been lucky doesn’t mean the risk wasn’t real.
“Your father must have been terrified,” Sybil said instead of voicing her concerns.
“He was angry,” Rosalie corrected. “Shouting and lecturing about responsibility and proper behavior. Just like…” She trailed off, her expression growing distant.
“Just like what?”
