But then Drew had been hobbled; run through by heartbreak over James Summer. Cynde had learned of the betrayal through court gossip and sought her out. Drew had been too miserable to reject the overtures of her once-maligned stepsister, and they’d had their first authentic, loving exchange. After that—because of the grace shown by Cynde—Drew’s transformation had begun.
Now here they were again, against all odds. Only thistime, the two stepsisters were already friends, and Drew wasn’t heartbroken, she was . . . she was—
“I cannot account for what has happened,” Drew told her. “I cannot begin to describe what led to my part in it. None of it is ideal, obviously. But...”
“You’ve no regret?” guessed Cynde.
Drew closed her eyes and shook her head. She was many things, but regretful was not one of them.
“And you are certain that the duke did not press himself upon you?” asked Cynde.
Drew looked into her giant blue eyes and again shook her head. “I wanted it, Cynde. God help me. I wanted it. I would... I would—”
“Do it all again?” suggested Cynde cheerfully. She clapped her hands. “Oh lovely. Because it sounds as if the duke has done the honorable thing and arranged exactly this. To do it all again—and for the rest of your lives too.”
“Oh God,” rasped Drew.
“And, why not? That’s what I should ask anyone who challenges you. Most marriages are formed on far less.”
Drew bit her lip. She had no model for how most marriages were formed. Their sister, Ana, had a strange, violent union with Madewood that she found very unsettling. Their mother had been married four times and counting, each union for the purpose of increasing money and rank.
“But youwantto marry the duke,” surmised Cynde carefully, “and youaremarrying the duke, so...?”
“What I don’t want is Lachlan feeling forced to marry me against his will. Cynde? How could he want it? How could he wantme?”
Cynde held up a tiny hand. “I simply cannot indulge this kind of talk. Remember what I’ve said about the prince?”
Drew combed through the myriad of bizarre things Cynde had revealed about her royal husband. “That he likes for you to sit naked on the edge of his bath and sing to him?”
“No,” cooed Cynde. “I’ve said that I was the orphaneddaughter of an impoverished earl, living as a glorified servant to a stepmother who hated me, when that chance meeting brought Adolphus and me together. His attraction was impossible to miss, and I leapt at the chance to escape my old life and embrace whatever life he might give me instead. What did I do?”
“Wear borrowed clothes and sneak, uninvited, to a royal ball to make his acquaintance?”
“Whatever it tookto make it happen,” Cynde corrected. “And it worked, didn’t it? Adolphus rescued me from your mother’s house and we are both so very happy.”
“Are you happy?” Drew asked.
“Of course I am happy. I am a princess, my future children are in line to be Sovereign, and I’ve learned to love Adolphus. In fact, we suit rather well. I quite like singing naked on the edge of his bath. How lucky for you—you seem to enjoy the duke outright, even now. There will be no ‘learning to love’ the Duke of Lachlan. And that is saying quite a lot. Dolph has suggested that he’s odd and prickly and not well-liked.”
“He is—” began Drew, but she stopped short of saying,dizzying. In the best sort of way.
Instead she said, “He is considerate and clever and he loves his family. He is a fine man, Cynde. I like him very much—too much, probably. But I am...” She gestured to herself.
Cynde raised her doll-like hand again, a royal proclamation. “You are regal, and striking, and interesting. People take you seriously, unlike me. Most importantly, you seem to be exactly what Lachlan enjoys—that is, if he is entwining himself with you in the gallery.”
“I can barely understand what happened in the gallery.”
“Events of the gallery may call for less intellectual study, and more for... instinct, if you will? Goodness knows I should never have managed to marry a prince if brains had been required.”
“I’ve no instinct in this, Cynde. You know this. I rebuiltmy personality, trait by trait, after James left. I am a . . . a creation of loose parts. Itaughtmyself to be pleasant. And that says nothing of how I loo—”
Cynde stood and began fluffing her copious skirts. “I’ll not be a party to this again, Drewsmina. You didn’t rebuild your personality, you allowed heartbreak to smooth away the frightened, desperate, jagged edges. It was either that or become even more bitter, which would have been very bitter indeed.” She made a face. “Although thiscanhappen; look at your mother. Instead, you left the lash-y, rage-y bits behind and emerged the authentic and thoughtful woman you truly are. The result is the actual Drewsmina Trelayne, lovely and clever, minus the influence of your dreadful mother.”
Drew’s eyes filled with tears. “But... but Cynde. What of my—”
“Do not say it,” said Cynde, patting her hair.
“I’m not...”
