But Inez surprised her. With trembling fingers, she unfastened the faded bodice of her own dress, pulled it over her head in one practiced motion, and dropped it on the floor next to Gilly without a word. Her chemise was clean, but threadbare. The bruises across her shoulders were fading from the harsh violet to yellow, though the memory of them remained stark in her eyes.
Rose’s heart twisted. No debut ball, no Season in Town, no Paris dressmaker had ever earned the reverence with which Inez looked at that simple muslin.
“It’s just pins and seams for now,” Vella said, her voice gruff, but careful. “We’ll cut the real stuff once I see where you breathe.”
Inez stepped up, back straight, chin lifted a touch too high. As if daring anyone to say she didn’t belong.
Bravo!Rose wanted to shout.
A warm, almost unbearable press of emotion swelled in her chest. Not because she pitied Inez—but because in that moment, the girl didn’t look broken.
She looked brave.
Rose cleared her throat. “We shall meet in the second parlor for lessons on conversations.” Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. “Will fifteen minutes suffice, Vella?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Fifteen minutes later, Rose entered the smaller sitting room armed with a stack of notecards and something dangerously close to confidence. The young women had already gathered—all but Gilly and Vella—lounging in various states of disinterest and skepticism, and a little of Rose’s confidence faltered. But she lifted her chin and forged ahead.
“Today,” she began, smoothing her skirts as she settled into the high-backed chair, “we shall practicedinner conversation.”
That earned her a blink from Kadida, and something that might’ve been a snort from Lena Sharifi. Inez, of course, remained mute, looking somewhat confused.
“But we’re going to tea,” Kadida pointed out. “Not supper.”
“Yes, well—” Rose cleared her throat. “The topics are largely the same. Polite society values consistency.”
Mabel Clark raised her hand, solemn as a bishop. “Will there be cutlery involved?”
Rose frowned. “Pardon?”
“Because if this is the kind of ‘polite society’ where they change out forks between courses, I’d rather starve.”
Giggles erupted around. Rose couldn’t resist the touch of a smile and drew a card from the top of her stack. “Let’s begin with a common topic:weather. I’ll start.” She straightened in her seat. “‘This damp is dreadfully persistent, don’t you think? I’m afraid the roses will never recover.’”
Lena raised a brow. “You have roses here?”
“It’s hypothetical,” Rose said, her smile turning strained. “Miss Botha, would you care to respond?”
Kadida propped her chin on her hand. “‘Suppose it’s better than snow. Snow keeps the bodies frozen longer.’”
Rose dropped her next card.
More laughter erupted, but she plowed ahead. “Local events.A perfectly inoffensive prompt. For instance, ‘Did you attend Lady So-and-So’s musicale last Thursday? I thought the soprano strained a bit in the Italian.’”
Inez looked genuinely worried. “Do we need to speak Italian?”
“Certainly not.” Rose tried to keep her tone light. “Miss Clark, your response?”
Mabel didn’t miss a beat. “‘I found her pitch ideal, given she was bound and gagged.’”
The room howled. Rose pressed an ungloved hand to her brow.
“Ladies,” she said finally, “the purpose of this exercise is to help you feel prepared. Antonia’s dinner—er,tea—may not include gagged sopranos, but there will be conversation.”
“But we already know how to talk, my lady,” Lena said, leaning forward. “Just not the sort of talk that pretends we’ve always belonged.”
That stilled the others.
