“Will the Season be...” ventured Ivy in a whisper, “...terribly unfair?”
“Not in as many words,” began Drew. “How can I explain? Before the Season gets underway a flood of young ladies will arrive in London from all over England. Some girls will come from America as well... Scotland... there will be so many girls. Some will be well prepared for the great whirl of it and so very eager. Others will be anxious and reticent. Some will be thrust into the parties and outings before they are fully comfortable with the city and the crush and the expectations. Many will be overwhelmed and out of their depth. Every level of preparedness and enthusiasm or awkwardness and disdain will be seen. Even so, a handful girls will, in a way, shine. With little effort, they will take to the enterprise like a fish to water. They’ll exude poise, manners and wit, beauty—they will appearincomparable.
“Some will have been brought up to triumph in this moment, with perfect manners and natural beauty; others will float along on a river of Mama’s jewelry and Papa’s money. Others seem inherently confident or somehow naturally popular. And good for them.
“I have no interest in these girls,” Drew proclaimed, warming to her favorite topic. “None at all. They are pretty, they are droll—fine. I’m lulled to sleep by the sheer boredom of girls such as this.
“Instead,” she went on, “the girls that interest me are the ones who have not, perhaps, been brought up to shine; those who may have no dowry or no jewels; who are clever but perhaps not yet so very witty, who are talented but not yet polished. I admire the girls whose beauty is unconventional; whose humor is sharp or subtle or evolving; girls who are, perhaps, more... ‘interesting’ than poised.
“Theseare the girls who fascinate me; and these are the girls who I am excited to groom and guide into confidence.”
“Really?” challenged Imogene. “But what care have you for a girl such as this?”
“Well, Imogene,” sighed Drew, “if I’m being totally honest,Iwas this girl. And as difficult as it was to transform into the woman I am now, the journey was exciting and rewarding. I merely want to usher along other girls on the same path.”
If Imogene had something to say about this admission, she did not articulate it. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and subjected Drew to open scrutiny. She stared at Drew’s tidy pink hat, her red hair, secured tightly in the signature braid that ringed the crown of her head. The girl looked at her face, including the generous spray of tapioca-colored freckles, down her long neck to her pale pink dress.
Drew stared back, allowing it. Color rose to her cheeks, her heart pounded, but she did not look away.
Finally, Imogene said, “Uncle fancies us to be this sort of girl, then.” She looked thoughtful, as if trying to reckon with this notion.
“Your uncle made no assumptions—that is, he made no such mention to me,” Drew hurried to say. “Please do not misunderstand; no one is speculating about the potential for your success. And anyway, the truth is that His Royal Highness, Prince Adolphus, and the Royal Princess Cynde actually... er—”
“My old friend Prince Adolphus has arranged for you to be presented at court, Imogene,” finished Lachlan, coming away from the window. “A court presentation means you’llbe introduced to his mother, the Queen of England. Perhaps you’ve heard of her? It is a very great honor and, from what I understand, not easily managed without copious practice and instruction. Miss Trelayne’s tutelage comes in conjunction with the invitation to meet Queen Charlotte. If you have a problem with her, you may take it up with the prince.”
“Hmm,” mused Imogene, popping a grape into her mouth. “Here we go again.”
Drew wanted to study Lachlan’s face, to see the expression that went with his highly edited version of their arrangement, but Imogene’s comment took precedence.
What did she mean,Herewe go again?
Drew waited for her to elaborate, but she said nothing.No onesaid anything. The silence closed in on all sides, squeezing the room.
Fine, thought Drew.If no one else will ask, I will. But not yet.
“Now that you know what I intend to do with you and why,” Drew said, “I’d like to share my philosophy onhowwe shall go about it.”
“Beatings, no doubt,” said Lachlan idly, drifting to a stack of papers on a desk.
“Very clever,” said Drew, “but I’m not paid enough for beatings. And anyway, I’m referring to my regard for the girls, not how I’ll bend them to my will.”
“I am less cooperative after a beating,” offered Imogene. “Just to be perfectly clear.”
Drew stared at her. The girl appeared entirely earnest. She glanced at Lachlan. He’d frozen in the act of rifling through the papers.
“Noted,” said Drew carefully. She cleared her throat.
Again, she waited. Imogene said no more.
Drew went on, “What I meant to say is, I shall be respectful of your feelings and preferences. I will listen to your points of view. I’ll also be honest. You will hear what I truly think in all things, from which fabrics look best withyour skin to my honest opinion of the rules and customs of London society. My one request—no, that’s not true, one of several requests—is that you show me the same respect, openness, and honesty.
“As such,” Drew forged ahead, “I wonder if we might return to the topic of your prior schooling? And your friends.”
“What about it?” asked Imogene.
“Well,” began Drew, “has your home... always been in Dorset?”
“No,” sighed Imogene, bored again.
