“What will be done now that Uncle has gone?” whispered Ivy Starry with a quavery note of fear.
Each time the girl spoke, Drew’s heart felt like a wet cloth being wrung out.
Imogene spoke next. “Do not worry, Ivy.” Her voice held no fear.
“I asked your uncle to go, Ivy,” Drew said calmly, “because the very last thing I wish, ever, is to embarrass the two of you or make you feel... abashed or chagrined.”
“Never you fear,” drawled Imogene. “We are not troubled by ‘abashment’ or ‘chagrin.’” She made a scoffing noise and rolled her eyes. It was an unnecessary boast; her hubris was dimming.
“Right,” said Drew, “I’ve no wish to embarrass you. Not ever.My wishis to teach you confidence and self-assuredness, to raise your spirits, not to skewer them. Some conversations go better when fewer people listen in, that’s all I mean. I believe this is one of them.”
“You believe you canembarrassus?” asked Imogene.
“No, no,” said Drew, refusing to rise to the bait, “I believe your uncle is a great ally to you, and it’s not necessary for him to hear our every conversation, especially this one.”
“This conversation is to be very bad, is it?” Imogene asked. And then, God love her, she actually braced; her posture square, chin high. She leaned, just a little, to shield her sister.
What had these girls endured?Drew wondered. Ivy looked petrified and Imogene appeared ready to hurl herself in the path of a flying object.
Drew looked away for a moment, composing herself. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lachlan hovering in the shadows of the servants’ entrance. He’d gone, but not far. Another protector. Or perhaps he was just curious. Either way, he was invested in these girls and what happened next. She tucked away this particular selflessness for later examination. She’d not known her own father, so it was difficult to predict the attitude of male guardians.
Given the choice, she’d prefer for himnotto hear what she was about to reveal, but this job was not about her or her pride, it was about the girls. And either she conducted herself with honesty and forthrightness, or she was no different than other stylists. So be it. It made no difference if he overheard.
“What I wanted both of you to know,” Drew said, turning back, “is that there is nothing you can hurl at me—no rudeness, no insult, no accusation—that is more terrible or damaging than the thingsIhave hurled... or said... or done. To friends, and members of my family, and servants, and even strangers. Nothing.
“You callyourselfterrible? Drewsmina Trelayne—” she pointed to herself “—was the Originator of Terrible. When I was younger, I was known to be mean-spirited, conniving, hurtful, sour, loud, and deceitful. I’ve been petty and ungracious. And I made no effort to disguise any of it. Iwas, in a word,terrible—just as you’ve threatened, Imogene. I existed only for myself, and I was very good at it.”
“What do you mean?” challenged Imogene.
“Oh, let’s see,” sighed Drew, thinking back. “For example, my sister Anastasia and I could have doubled our wardrobes if we’dshareddresses and jewels between us, but I was shrewdly proprietary over every stitch of clothing and scrap of ribbon—I shared nothing—meanwhile I would steal from her wardrobe and either swan about in her things when she was out or, on more than one occasion, I pawned her things for money.
“I tattled on Ana constantly, including about things she hadnotdone.
“If she received letters from friends or, God forbid, a young man, I would read them and put them in the fire without telling her. I lied about which of her friends called and what they wanted and misrepresented the nature of parties so that Ana would turn up at the wrong time or dressed out of keeping with the event.”
Drew took a deep breath and pressed on. “I was the very devil to servants. Shouting, complaining, criticizing. I was demanding beyond all reason.
“I was a malicious gossip to my friends—what few I had—and I falsely accused tutors of sleeping on the job or lying about my poor marks.
“Worst of all,” she finished, “I had another sister—astepsister—and I was particularly hateful to her. My mother disliked her and forced her to do chores in our house like a serving girl. Anastasia and I, who were crushingly jealous of her beauty, leapt at the opportunity to march her about, berate her, and invent new chores for her to do. It is, perhaps, my greatest regret, because unlike Anastasia, who was just as terrible as I was, Cynde was a sweet girl, innocent, who’d just lost her father; and she was ill-equipped to combat the petty cruelties that I heaped upon her.
“And that just names a few of my many sins. I’ve done penance for the terrible treatment of the people in my life, I’ve asked forgiveness, I’ve endeavored to find some peace. However, I shall likely never forgive myself for the way I treated Cynde. The great irony is that she has treated me with nothing but forgiveness and grace. She rose above my mother’s terrible household and is actually married to a royal prince and lives in Kew Palace. Your invitation to be presented to Queen Charlotte at court came from her.”
“But how did you stop?” whispered Ivy.
“Stop?” asked Drew.
“Being so terrible? You are... You’ve not—”
“Never you fear, Ivy,” said Drew. “I’ll not unleash my Terribleness on the two of you. I’ve actuallyretiredthat part of myself, and good riddance. It is a long story, perhaps for another time, but the short of it is, I had my heart broken, terribly, so badly that I lost the energy to lash out and be spiteful. I lolled about, suffering in a miserable sort of... well, hopelessness, really. And it was actually my stepsister, Cynde—who by this time had escaped my mother and caught the eye of Prince Adolphus—who reached out to me in a manner so very kind and forgiving. The shock of her compassion, of how little I deserved it yet how willing she was to show it, reordered the way I viewed the world and, ultimately, the way I behaved. There’s more to it than that, it’s a long, rambling story, and I’d be happy to tell you all about it some time. This night, however, I should like to hear more about you.
“Just keep in mind...” Drew paused, trying to find the correct words. “That is, I should like you to be aware: There is nothing you can say or do that I’ve not already said or done. Call me names if you like, suggest that I am poor, or unsuited, or self-interested. You may say I’m terrible company, or ill-mannered, or too ugly to sit across from you at breakfast. You may ignore me or refuse to cooperate. I will not be bothered and I will not be deterred. I am not afraid of rudeness, and I am not afraid of you.”
“You do not know us,” declared Imogene, this retort a little hollow. “You do not knowme.”
“How correct you are, Imogene, I do not know you. I feel certain, however, that the... unpleasant behavior you’ve shown me since I arrived does not come from you—not theauthenticyou—but instead from some very burdensome place in your personality thatprotectsthe most authentic ‘you.’ You are notinherentlymean-spirited or ungenerous or unwelcoming or rude.This, I know.”
Drew paused, taking a sip from her goblet. The girls stared at her with wide eyes.
