“No one has told herwhat, Imogene?” demanded Lachlan. He shoved from the door. “What does that mean, ‘no school and no friends?’ And who the devil are ‘Matron’ and ‘Proctor’? I’ve been hounding you for a month to explain what happened after Tribble died, and you’ve said nothing. Now you wish to elaborate?Now?”
“Perhaps I didn’t remember,” said Imogene thoughtfully. “Until now.”
“Imogene,” Lachlan said, his frustration clear, “I want to help you, God knows I do. I want to help all of you. But you must communicate with me when I ask, or when I don’t ask, or whenever you can bear to tell me. Please.”
“But...” concluded Imogene, “not in the company of Miss Trelayne? She’s been brought in to—”
“Why not?” Lachlan cut in. “If that’s what you wish—to shock and alarm Miss Trelayne, why not? My priority is to learn what has happened.”
The girl chewed her bottom lip, saying nothing.
Lachlan continued. “I’ve no idea what I’m doing, Imogene. I’ve said this again and again. There is no guidebook for sorting out one’swaywardnieces, is there? I am a bachelor. I’ve no experience with nieces or children of any stripe. I’m doing all of this for you: the Season, the city, andMiss Trelayne. But you must help me.” He began to pace.
Drew looked back to Imogene. She smiled the spiteful, self-satisfied smile of a child who’d pushed an adult beyond the limits of his patience. Meanwhile, Lady Tribble had closed her eyes and balled her hands into fists at her sides. Ivy stared at her lap with wide, worried eyes.
The mood in the room had gone, Drew thought, from expectant... to strange... to something like a runaway cart. Now they dealt in the realm of wayward nieces, unsaid things, proctors and matrons, and girls with no friends.
Drew was put in the mind of the birds in the antechamber. Yesterday, she’d wanted only to bring calm to the room, to settle the birds. Meanwhile, Lachlan had wanted to shatter glass and chase chaos out the window.
At Kew Palace, they’d done it his way. Here, they would do it hers. They would bring calm to the room. Everyone would be given time to settle.
With truly enlightened timing, a young maid hurried into the room bearing a tray of pastries. Two footmen followed with a rolling cart.
“Out, Meredith,” intoned Lachlan, “not now.”
The maid froze, stricken by the reprimand.
“Meredith, is it?” Drew cut in. “Is that tea? Lovely. Perhaps the duke would allow you to station it near the window? Close the doors as you leave, if you please. That’s it, thank you ever so much.”
“Very good, miss,” said Meredith, hustling out with the footmen and closing the doors with a whoosh.
“Most things are improved by tea,” recited Drew. “Lady Tribble, do you mind if I pour?”
“None for me, please,” sighed Lady Tribble, not opening her eyes. She nestled more deeply into her shroud, now fully reclined on the sofa.
“Very good,” said Drew. “Ivy? Can I ask you to lay this small table with four cups and saucers? Yes, that’s it—lovely. Imogene, perhaps you can locate the strainer? There it is, brilliant. I see the pastries, but does the kitchen typically send up some savory choice—oh wait, here is a tray of sandwiches. Brilliant. But thisisa proper tea.”
The girls did as she bade, laying the tea with ungraceful but dutiful movements. Spoons were dropped. Napkins were unfurled in the manner of a flag waving surrender. Pastries were claimed in an escalating volley of, “Do notthinkyou’ll have the apple tart. It’smine.” “I will think of it, and I will eat it.”
When the time came to pour, Drew glanced at Lachlan, worried she’d overstepped. The duke stood in the middle of the room, arms folded, face bleak.
Drew flashed a smile that she hoped was both encouraging and professional, the smile of a woman who knew just what she was doing.
“Now,” Drew said, distributing cups of steaming tea, “shall I continue going over what can be expected from my time here? I should also like to hear of any special interests or areas of training the girls would like to learn more about. Or to avoid, if we can indulge in a few omissions.”
The girls stared at Drew, munching on tarts and sandwiches, and said nothing. Despite their lack of knowledge about laying tea, their table manners seemed in perfect working order. There was no smacking or slurping. The duke drifted to the window, propping his hip on the sill. He drank his tea and stared into the street.
“Perhaps I should go back. Do we all understand what is meant by aLondon Season?”
More silent chewing. Ivy’s eyes were large and wary. She looked as if Drew was explaining how to rout a charging bear. Imogene’s expression was wholly disinterested, as if Drew recited the taxonomy of moss.
In a perfect world, Drew and the girls’ parents wouldhave reviewed their plans and budget for the scale of their Season. But Lady Tribble seemed willfully detached, and the duke had hardly chosen Drew as a collaborator. He’d been saddled with her. Furthermore, he seemed not to know or not to care about the fine details of their Season. Drew saw no other option but to make it up as she went along.
She continued, “As you may know, young ladies are regarded by the world as children until the very week of their debut. After that, and only after that, they are considered ‘out’ in society.”
Ivy took a quick, hungry bite of sandwich, rapt. Imogene rolled a grape between two fingers and sighed in boredom.
“Perhaps you have experienced this,” Drew said, “being regarded as children, despite being very nearly grown. If I might inquire, how old are you girls?”
