“We are sixteen and a half,” provided Ivy.
“Very good,” said Drew. “You are sixteen, and not yet ‘out,’ and so you are not included in adult social events; you are not engaged in conversation by adults, especially men outside your family.”
Drew waited for a resentful chorus ofit’s trueorI hateitorwe are not children—but none came. The girls simply drank their tea and waited.
Drew cleared her throat. “However,afteryou are introduced into society, this regard will switch almost overnight. After your debut, you will be permitted, nay, encouraged, to attend parties, dinners, balls, and the theater in the company of adults—men and women. You will be engaged in conversation with men and women, and asked your opinion about topics ranging from the weather, to literature, to exhibits at a museum, art, politics, and society gossip. You will dance, you will drink champagne, you will be courted by men of all ages with romantic intent. As you do all of this, you’ll project the most authentic and interesting version of yourself so youmight match up with a potential husband, enter a courtship, become betrothed, marry, and begin a family.” Drew took a sip of tea. “Among fifty other things, at least.”
“Oh no,” said Ivy, a whisper.
Drew glanced at Lady Tribble, hoping she would either assure her daughter or contradict this (admittedly) frank description of a Season. The baroness said nothing.
“Never you fear, Ivy,” Drew went on. “We have plenty of time to prepare. I explain it not to alarm you, but because neither deceit nor willful ignorance improves our chances of success. And please keep in mind this is a broad, generalized view and I color it with my own opinion of the enterprise. I am happy to entertain objections or amendments to this view.”
Drew poured herself more tea, waiting again for someone to object or amend.
Lachlan stared into his teacup.
Lady Tribble had not opened her eyes.
Ivy had taken on a faintpurplishhue, as if she might be ill; but Imogene’s detachment faded, and Drew leaned in, just a little.
“If I may be even more frank, I do think it’s a rather odd custom, and not entirely fair—rather like a whipsawed version of growing up. It is meant to protect a system that keeps a certain set very close-knit and tends to reward those who marry their first cousins.” She made a face. “But that’s the way it’s done, whether any of us likes it or not. Your uncle was correct to bring you to London months in advance. And I am here—‘brought in,’ as Imogene has suggested—to ease the way for you, to make sure you’re smartly dressed and aware of what is expected at any given event. I’ll also help you bolster the bits of your personalities that will best serve you.”
“What if we...” ventured Ivy, “...cannot be bolstered? What if we’ve no wish to be bolstered?”
Before Drew could answer, Imogene cut in. “Your own debutante Season must have been a smashing success,” thegirl remarked. “You made a brilliant match with a husband met during your debut?”
Drew blinked. She opened her mouth and then closed it.This girl...
“What an excellent question...”
She glanced in the direction of the duke. Naturally, he listened with rapt attention.
“In fact, my Season was a great disaster,” Drew said brightly. “I was rather a different girl then, and I made many mistakes. Embarrassing mistakes. A pity, really; because for all its challenges, a Season can be jolly good fun. Unfortunately I did not have proper guidance; in fact I received quite the opposite of what one might call ‘guidance.’ As we go along, I’ll share with you the tragic tale of my Season—or should I say,Seasons. The details are not important now. What’s more important is that I have transformed from that unpopular girl to the woman I am today. I have changed. It’s too late to enjoy my own Season done properly, obviously—”
“How oldareyou?” Imogene inquired.
Drew glanced at the duke. He stared at her.
Drew cleared her throat. “I am twenty-eight years old. Old enough to understand what it means to embody the very best version of myself but not so old that I’ll insist upon netted veils or chastity belts.”
“But do you live with your parents?”
Technically, these were not overtly rude questions; however, the delivery and intent toward rudeness were very apparent. They had such work to do. Luckily, Drew had once been very rude, herself. She could manage.
“My father is deceased,” Drew said. “I live with a sister, Ana, and her husband, the Earl of Madewood.”
“Oh, but you are a spinster,” realized Imogene.
“Imogene,” Lachlan warned, “must you be deliberately obtuse?”
“I am a spinster,” confirmed Drew, “yes. Unrepentant. Proud, really. I did not marry—this is true. But I ammaking my own way. Not having a husband or family allows me the freedom to work with girls like you. And it is work that I enjoy very much.”
“Why?”
“Well,” she began, “several reasons. First, I love fashion and millinery and colors and fabrics; and finding the most advantageous wardrobe for you girls and styling your hair will be among our very first steps.
“Second, I am excited by the notion of making the debutante Season a bit... less onerous and, if possible,fairerfor everyone involved.”
