“My soul’s doing just fine, thank you very much. If you really cared, you’d tell Mistress Masterson that salvation comes second to us finding husbands and that we should stay home to study instead.”
“Salvation comes second to finding husbands?” Cedric put his hands to his chest in horror. “Why, Miss Bailey, that’s the most sacrilegious thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t believe you’d even think such a wicked thing.”
“I didn’t,” Adelaide said, finally giving in to the grin she’d been holding back. “Tamsin tells us that every time we go to church.”
I laughed with them and then realized that I’d left my gloves in my room—a true sin, as far as Mistress Masterson was concerned. “I’ve got to go back upstairs. Safe travels, Cedric.”
“You too.” He patted my arm lightly before returning to his banter with Adelaide. As he did, I heard a gasp the two of them didn’t notice.
I turned and saw it had come from Rosamunde, a girl in the house I liked quite a bit. She was huddled by the wall and murmuring something to her roommate, Sylvia. Both girls’ eyes widened when they saw me approach.
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
“He touched your arm!” said Sylvia.
“It’s true then,” Rosamunde whispered. “About you and the younger Mister Thorn.”
I repressed the urge to roll my eyes. “You know me better! How can you believe that nonsense Clara made up? Just wait. The next time you talk to her, she’ll tell you it isn’t true.”
The two girls exchanged looks. “We were with her earlier today,” Rosamunde said. “And she didn’t say anything about it not being true.”
“Caroline was talking about it,” Sylvia said cautiously. “About you and . . . uh, him.”
“And Clara was saying it too?” I exclaimed.
Rosamunde frowned. “No . . . Clara didn’t really say anything. She just listened and nodded.”
“And smiled,” added Sylvia. “A lot.”
I spun around, searching for Clara, and found her watching me from across the foyer. When we made eye contact, she smirked.
My heart stopped. The stooped man had been right. Clara was calling my bluff. Sort of. Maybe she’d stopped repeating the story herself, but it was still going to spread if she did nothing to curb it. She was tacitly confirming it with silence and smiles. It was enough to make me seriously reconsider carving up her face.
Calm down, Mira, I told myself. She’s not a fanatic trying to kill an Alanzan. She’s not some alley thug trying to steal coins. She’s just a silly girl. Ignore her. You have bigger things to worry about in your life.
Yes, I did. Things like making it to Adoria and helping Lonzo. Things that could be seriously affected if Clara’s lies ran rampant.
Information is real power.
I pondered those words as I continued upstairs. Had the shadowy man been right about that too? Was learning about Clara’s past the way to stop her and maintain my goals? Snooping and sneaking had never been my style. I wanted to face problems head-on.
She’s got something in her past. Everyone does.
Tamsin was finishing up in our room, bending over to buckle her shoes. I fetched my gloves and then stared at the robe I’d left draped over a chair to dry last night. I’d forgotten about the picks concealed in a pocket. I stared at the robe for several moments, and then, with Tamsin’s back to me, I snatched the kit and put it into my skirt’s pocket. It was time to see just how powerful information was.
Tamsin smoothed out her dress and then gave an unexpected laugh when she glanced over at me. “Well, well, you sure are serious this morning. You look like you’re on a mission.”
I managed a strained smile as I walked out the door with her. “I just might be.”
CHAPTER 3
THE RUMORS LINGERED IN THE HOUSE FOR A WHILE, but without Clara fueling them, they eventually fizzled away. She still never outright denied them, and I know a few girls continued to believe the worst of me. Others, familiar with Clara’s style, figured out that it was all another ploy of hers and let the matter go. The stories never reached Jasper—or my roommates. Tamsin and Adelaide would’ve confronted Clara, and I didn’t want them involved.
But Clara wasn’t done with me. Instead of slander, she unleashed a renewed flood of actions to make my life miserable. Stealing my assignments. Tripping me in dance class. Always making little gibes here and there. They were annoying, but I could tolerate them.
And I wasn’t done with her either. I began experimenting with the lock picks in secret around the house. Sometimes I did it just to learn the tools and see what I could do. Other times, I actively searched for blackmail material. My boldest act involved breaking into Clara’s room and going through her possessions. I didn’t uncover any secrets, but I did manage to open a jewelry box with a complicated lock. I felt like I’d passed an exam.
“We have a few changes to our schedule today,” Mistress Masterson told us one morning over breakfast. We all stopped eating and stared up at the imposing figure she always made, sharp featured with her gray hair pulled severely back. “Your regular classes are canceled. You’ll each have a private meeting with Professor Brewer to determine the most essential language skills you need to improve on and will just focus on them during your language lessons now, in order to speed up their progress. Ah, well, everyone except Adelaide, of course. You won’t be meeting with him and can spend the morning studying.”
Adelaide brightened, probably because she had no intention of actually studying. Professor Brewer tutored us in speech. I might be the only one here born outside of Osfrid, but many girls had come with local dialects far worse than anything of mine. If the Thorns wanted to prove to our suitors that we could hold our own with the upper class, then we needed to sound like the upper class. After first meeting Professor Brewer, Adelaide had been excused from further lessons. Her refined Osfridian was the only thing she’d perfectly picked up from her time as a fine lady’s maid.
“After the assessments,” continued Mistress Masterson, “we’ll have a special guest over lunch.”
We left breakfast in a buzz. Mistress Masterson maintained a strict regimen in our manor. Deviations rarely occurred. Most girls were excited to have a break from classes, but Tamsin was suspicious.
“Something’s going on,” she told Adelaide and me. “This isn’t normal. This is a break from the Glittering Court’s routine.”
“We have assessments all the time,” I reminded her.
Tamsin shook her head. “We already have private sessions with Professor Brewer. What’s so special about this one that they’d cancel classes for it? And why suddenly try to speed up linguistics? We have five months left. Plenty of time to fix our core language issues and then work on embellishments that’ll really impress those Adorian gentlemen. I’m telling you, something weird is happening.”
“You aren’t actually worried about how you’ll do, are you?” asked Adelaide. She put on her mischievous grin. She had a thousand different smiles. “Both of you sound incredible. Just try not to use ‘bloody’ so much, Tamsin.”
Tamsin didn’t smile back. She remained thoughtful all morning, barely saying a word to me as we sat outside the office where Professor Brewer conducted the meetings. But even while introspective, Tamsin never missed anything around her—like when Clara attempted a shot at me.
“You must be nervous, Mira. Anyone who looks at you might think you’re Osfridian. But once you open your mouth? There’s no question where you’re from. I wonder if the Thorns have ever had a girl without any offers.”
“Oh, hush, Clara,” Tamsin snapped. “You still sound so much like the butchers’ district, I can almost smell the pork rotting. If you haven’t shaken that by now, you’re never going to.”
Clara’s eyes bugged, but her name was called before she could retort. I grinned, happy to see the return of the
feisty Tamsin I knew, but it was short-lived. She grew introspective once more, her sharp mind still trying to puzzle out what was going on.
Professor Brewer beamed when my turn came. I fretted constantly about my accent but knew I was one of his favorites. He’d told me on the first day that he liked new linguistic challenges. “You’re much more interesting than curing girls who overuse ‘bloody,’” he had said. “Not sure how much more of that I can take.”
I sat down opposite him now and smiled back, still a little nervous after all these months. “You’re probably going to have a hard time narrowing down my worst problems,” I noted.
He scoffed. “Hardly. You’re imagining you sound worse than you do. And don’t think for an instant that the Adorians—the ones born and raised there—don’t have atrocious accents of their own. Just because you’re being trained to act like nobility doesn’t mean your future husbands are. They sound like Flatlanders, only worse. They stress all the wrong syllables and do unbelievable things with their vowels. Did you know they say vayse instead of vahz?”
“I still wish I sounded like a native.”
“You know the grammatical and phonetic rules by heart—better than most of the girls here. It’s all practice now, correcting the sounds imprinted by your first language. Training your mouth to say sh and get those short vowels right. Keep up with that, over and over.” His wizened face turned thoughtful. He’d once been a professor at the university Cedric attended. “You know, one exercise I’ve seen that can help people improve their Osfridian is learning the accents of other languages from Evaria.”
I appreciated that he always said “Evaria,” instead of “the continent,” like most Osfridians did. But I was skeptical of his suggestion. “How would that help?”
“When you understand the differences and problems other speakers have, it gives you a greater sense of how your own language fits in. I’ll bring you a book on it when I’m back next week.” He gave me a wink. “I’m also just curious to see you do it. I think you’re better at languages than you realize. It sounds like you picked up Osfridian quickly. They teach you a smattering of Lorandian here, don’t they? It uses the same Ruvan roots as Sirminican. I’m sure you’ll have an easy time finishing that workbook.”
“I already did,” I replied.
He laughed and slapped his knee. “See? You’re a prodigy.”
“More of a cheater. My father traveled in Lorandy when I was little and taught some to my brother and me.”
“You should learn the whole language. I’ll bring you a Lorandian dictionary too.”
“Thank you, sir, but I feel like I should just work on perfecting one language for now.”
Professor Brewer’s expression turned kind. “You’ll do fine over there, Mira. Just fine. Something tells me you were made for a place like that.”
Adelaide rejoined us at lunchtime, and more anticipation spread through my housemates as we speculated over our mystery guest. Mistress Masterson waited until we were seated at the dining table before finally revealing the news.
“One of our former girls has sailed back to Osfrid for the summer and will be coming by today to share her experiences. I expect you to be on your best behavior. This is a great opportunity that isn’t always offered. I hope you appreciate it.”
Jasper, barely able to contain his pride, arrived with our guest soon thereafter. The rest of us had been chattering excitedly but fell into silent awe as she entered the room and took a seat at the table.
Her name was Florence, and she was a wonder, clothed in a wine-colored gown with pink rosettes around the neckline and sleeves. It made our day dresses look shabby, and they were finer than anything I’d ever owned. Her golden hair was arranged in perfect curls. Jewelry decked with brilliant red gems sparkled everywhere. If I had seen her on the street—which seemed improbable, even hypothetically—I would have thought she was Osfridian royalty, not an afternoon guest.
“Florence was the top girl in her year,” Jasper told us. “Bid after bid came in. The man she chose had the highest offer. He’s one of Denham’s wealthiest shipping magnates.”
Florence fluttered her lashes and gracefully lifted her teacup. A large diamond ring flashed in the sunlight. “Abner was impossible to resist,” she said, her speech almost as fine as Adelaide’s. “I couldn’t help but fall in love.”
A few girls clasped their hands, dreamy-eyed. I wondered if Florence’s husband’s fortune had been equally loveable.
“Achieving that took a lot of work,” said Jasper, prompting her to tell us all about how hard she’d applied herself at Swan Ridge Manor. Everyone listened avidly, but not nearly as avidly as when she began to describe the balls and wonders of Adoria. Seeing us so engaged, Jasper rose after finishing his meal and politely excused himself.
“Mistress Masterson and I need to assess some files. But please—enjoy yourselves and ask Florence any questions you like.”
Tamsin raised an eyebrow at the mention of our files, and I could only imagine the increase in her paranoia. The opportunity to learn more about Adoria was too strong a lure, however, and her attention shifted back to Florence.
“Is it true we’ll get clothes even better than what we have now?” asked Clara, her eyes fixed covetously on the satin gown.
Florence laughed prettily. “Oh, yes. Some like mine. Some even richer. All gorgeous and sparkling. They want us to be a fantasy—to bewitch everyone we meet. And you will—you’ll see.” Still smiling, she added in a low voice, “Sometimes, those dresses were a little uncomfortable to wear all night. But you can’t meet elite men if you don’t go to elite events.”
After that, everyone wanted to know more about the dresses and if the men were romantic and doting. I was less concerned about romance than finding a man who’d respect me—and be generous enough with his pocketbook to let me pay off Lonzo’s bond.
“Is it true everyone can find work? That there are opportunities and education for all?” The question came unexpectedly from Tamsin and was a shift from the lighter topics.
Florence looked a little surprised but was quick to answer. “Oh, yes. Not everyone is rich, of course. There’s still crime and poor parts of Cape Triumph. But nothing like you find in some of the Osfro slums. Nothing like that.” A small frown was the first break in her bubbly countenance, and I remembered that she too had come from humble roots. “But anyone willing to work hard can find a way to better themselves. Any Osfridian can, that is.” As she spoke, her eyes lingered briefly on me. I kept my expression neutral, even as my heart sank. The Adorian colonies, it seemed, would be no different than their motherland.
Adelaide had noticed Florence’s gaze. “What about people who aren’t Osfridians? Other Evarians come to the colonies, right? And I heard there are even Balanquan settlers.”
Florence wrinkled her nose. “Balanquans. They’re a strange people.”
“What are they like?” exclaimed Caroline.
“They look kind of like Sirminicans.” She blatantly stared at me again. “But not exactly the same. You’d know one if you saw one. And they dress so strangely—especially the women. Sometimes in pants.”
That elicited a few gasps. “Are they nomads like the Icori?” asked Sylvia, her eyes wide. “Do they wear kilts too?”
“No,” Florence admitted. “The Balanquans aren’t like that. I hear they have cities and books and laws . . . and other kinds of civilized things. But obviously, not like our civilized things. I’ve only ever seen a couple of Balanquans. They keep to themselves.”
“But there is always a need for more people, right?” asked Tamsin, steering us back. “It’s all still new. It needs to be built.”
“I suppose.” Florence seemed uncomfortable at such a serious topic. After several awkward moments, she brightened. “Would you girls like to hear about how amazing Abner is?”
She waxed on about how handso
me her husband was, how he catered to her every whim. How he bought her anything she wanted. “Being married to a man like him has been more wonderful than I ever dreamed.”
“In all ways?” asked Ingrid. “Even in . . . intimate ways?”
Shock and giggles ran around the table. Florence’s cheeks turned a dusky pink, which somehow managed to make her look even prettier. “Well, it wouldn’t be proper to go into detail, but I will say it’s quite lovely most of the time.”
“Most of the time?” I asked pointedly.
Florence looked surprised I’d spoken. “Well . . . what I mean is, some days I’m just so tired, but it is a wife’s duty. Which I gladly do for him. And as I said—it really can be lovely. And, oh, the sweet things he always says afterward. Pouring out his emotions. Compliment after compliment. Telling me how much he adores me. He’s even recited poetry.”
I didn’t really find “lovely” to be a compelling endorsement, but her words brought more happy sighs from my housemates. It must have stuck with Adelaide too, because later that evening, while we were preparing for bed, she remarked, “I don’t remember poetry ever being mentioned in our Female Studies book.”
Our Female Studies class was meant to prepare a young lady for her wedding night and other matters not discussed in polite company. Adelaide was fascinated by the whole subject. Its textbook was the only one I ever saw her diligently studying.
“That book is nonsense,” Tamsin scoffed. “All cut-and-dried. Its whole focus is on making men happy without ever saying how it can be just as good for women.”
Adelaide and I exchanged glances behind Tamsin’s back. Neither of us was brave enough to ask how she could speak with such confidence on that matter.
Adelaide finished unbraiding her hair. “I don’t need poetry. I just want love. Someone I can look at and feel an instant connection to. Someone who’s meant for me, and me for him.”
With a wistful sigh, she pulled on a robe and disappeared out the door to go to the washroom. “I hope her expectations lower a little by the time we get there,” I said. “I don’t want to see her hurt when reality sets in.”
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