She keeps her gaze lowered to the ground, and her words come out tenuous. “It’s…well, I know I shouldn’t ask. If Imogen was here, she would kick me for what I’m about to say. And she always knows best, so I shouldn’t—”
“Your sister does not know best,” I say, keeping my voice gentle while maintaining my firm princess persona, “which is why she’s gone and you’re still in my employ. Just say what it is you want to say.”
She takes a deep breath. “Could you find me a husband?” She wrings her hands and glances up at me before adding, “Your Highness.”
I furrow my brow. “You want me to find you a husband?”
“I thought that if…if I serve you well, you might reward me with an admirable match. I’ll do anything to please you. Just tell me what I can do.”
I’ve never seen Clara so out of sorts. Never seen her beg or plead. She’s always been whiny and entitled, always following in Imogen’s footsteps, always doing everything Mrs. Coleman says.
Part of me wants to laugh in her face, but it’s a very small part. There’s another part that urges me to take a step closer. “What’s wrong, Miss Coleman?”
Her lower lip trembles. “I’m scared, Your Highness, that I’ll never find a husband.”
“You have your whole life to find a husband.”
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t. I…I want to tell you a secret.”
“I’ll listen,” I say, keeping my voice level.
Her eyes flit from me to the floor. “My family is poor. In a matter of weeks, we’ll be destitute. Right now, we’re living on the generosity of a good man, but I’m afraid that if things don’t work out the way he expects, he won’t help us the way he promised.”
I resist the urge to nibble my lip. It isn’t hard to understand what she’s referring to. If I don’t return to claim my inheritance and marry Brother Marus, he won’t keep up his end of the arrangement. There will be no advantageous matches for my stepsisters, no positions at court, no rooms at the palace. They’ll be poor, cast out of good society, and left to toil away in the slums.
I’ve always known that would be the result once I turned nineteen and my stepmother was cut off from her allowance. Not once have I felt sorry. After my father died, my stepmother revealed her true colors. She refused to observe the proper period of mourning and moved us to a new court instead, reclaiming her maiden name to dissociate with me and my father. She spent his money without care, courted new lovers without respect for the man still cooling in his grave.
I may have been the one who killed him, but Mrs. Coleman murdered his memory.
Neither of us deserve my father’s inheritance. Of that I’m certain.
And yet, I can’t help the pang of sympathy I feel for Clara, something I’ve never felt for her before. She may have been a willing accomplice in every scheme, and she’s never been kind to me. But…she isn’t her mother. She isn’t Imogen, either.
Then again…
I recall my stepsisters’ conversation about using a glamour to steal my inheritance. Clara seemed more than willing to go along with that. In fact, she seemed like she wanted to do it herself.
“Surely, you have alternative means should your current plans fail. Every intelligent woman must have several ways to succeed in life.”
She wrings her hands again. “There was another plan, and I think my family still wants to do it, but the more I think about it, the less I like it. When I’m alone, that is. When I’m with my mother and sister, I think their ideas are brilliant. But mostly, like right now, I just want to find my own way.”
“By asking me to pair you with a husband?”
Her eyes meet mine, wide and full of pleading. “It’s the only way I’ll be safe from ruin. He doesn’t have to be wealthy or handsome, and I expect he won’t be, since I may not have a dowry. He only has to save me from poverty.”
“Is that what you want? Marriage to a stranger?”
“That’s all any young human woman can strive for. There’s nothing else I can do.”
It takes all my effort not to scoff. “There are plenty of things you can do, Miss Coleman. You can gain employment, go to university—”
“How can I be employed if I have nowhere to live?” Her voice takes on a note of hysteria. “How can I even fantasize about attending university if I haven’t a moonstone chip to my name?”
I purse my lips. She has a point. One I never cared to consider before. Why do I even care now? My stepfamily deserves whatever punishment they get.
And yet, if one of them is the least bit guilty, it’s Clara. Clara, who’s never schemed on her own, only relished the schemes of her mother and sister. Clara, who’s lamented over the loss of friends whenever we’ve moved to a new court.
“Come, Miss Coleman.” I gesture for her to follow me into the bedroom and join me at the table. Lowering into the seat with contrived grace, I say, “Sit. Tell me what you would do if you could do anything.”
