"I am merely practical. There is a difference."
"There is not." Rosanne lifted one hand to wipe at her eyes, then took a deep breath. "Thank you. I do not know why that helped, but it did. The idea that I could survive the worst, that life would continue even if I made an utter spectacle of myself, it is strangely comforting."
"Strangely is better than not at all."
Rosanne squeezed Lillian's hands once more, then released them and sat back in her chair. She looked calmer now, the tension in her shoulders easing, her breathing returning to its normal rhythm.
"Will you help me?" she asked. "To prepare, I mean. Lady Smith's gathering is in two months. If I must attend, I would like to do so with some semblance of composure."
"Of course. We can practise conversations, if you like. Role-play various scenarios. Develop strategies for managing the anxiety when it arises."
"You would do that?"
"I would be honoured to do that." Lillian smiled. "Besides, it will give me an excuse to spend even more time at Wynthorpe Hall. Your brother will be thrilled."
Rosanne's laugh was brighter this time, less burdened. "He will be enraged. Which is almost the same thing, for Daniel."
"I had suspected as much."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the afternoon sun slanting through the windows and casting warm patterns across the floor. The letter from Lady Smith lay crumpled on the table between them, its power diminished somehow; reduced from a death warrant to merely an inconvenient invitation.
"Lillian?" Rosanne said quietly.
"Yes?"
"I am very glad you are my friend."
Lillian felt her throat tighten unexpectedly. It had been a long time since anyone had said those words to her, a long time since she had allowed anyone close enough to mean them.
"I am very glad as well," she said.
And she truly was.
***
Daniel had not meant to eavesdrop.
He had been walking past the morning room, on his way to the library, a perfectly legitimate destination, when he had heard Rosanne's voice through the partially open door. Her tone had been high and strained, trembling on the edge of tears, and he had stopped without thinking.
His first instinct had been to enter. To fix whatever was wrong, to manage the crisis, to deploy the cold efficiency that had served him well through every challenge of his life. Rosanne was distressed; therefore, he would address the source of her distress and restore order.
But before he could move, he had heard Miss Whitcombe's voice, low and steady, calm as still water, asking a question.
What is the worst that could happen?
He had frozen in place, listening despite himself, as Miss Whitcombe walked his sister through the catastrophe she feared with the patient precision of a general surveying a battlefield.
And then?
And then?
And then?
Each question had stripped away another layer of Rosanne's panic, revealing the simple truth beneath: whatever happened, she would survive. Life would continue. The world would not end.
It was not the approach Daniel would have taken. His instinct was always to solve problems; to identify the obstacle and remove it, to impose order on chaos. He would have offered Rosanne practical advice: how to conduct herself at the gathering, what to say and what to avoid, how to project confidence even when she felt none.
He would not have askedand then.
