2
“ Y ou have ruined this family, Amarante!” Lydia said for the third time that evening. She blew her nose into her handkerchief as Genevieve gently patted her back. I continued working on my embroidery.
It had been two days since the Great Tea Scandal. My stepmother was still livid though I had personally apologized to the Donahues and Alderidges per her orders.
Fred and Ted were punished to spend twice as much time on their studies, but I still wanted to give the little scoundrels a good shake for exposing me. Tessa merely stuck her nose in the air and harrumphed, as if she had been the one to drink fertilized dirt.
Julianna and Dame Patricia Alderidge, of course, were both furious. That was no loss to me. I was never on good terms with either of them. But Lydia fell into hysterics when Dame Alderidge declared the end of their friendship.
“Mama, please,” Genevieve said. “It was those boys who stirred up all this trouble. ”
My stepmother shot me a glare. “I raised you for the better half of your life and this is how you repay me,” she said, sniveling. “Patricia won’t acknowledge me. She’ll tell everyone at court what a horrid stepdaughter I have. And Genevieve! Oh, my poor, dear, beautiful Genevieve! Your name will be dragged down with this scandal!”
Genevieve and I exchanged a look. She was trying not to smile. “This hardly counts as a scandal, Mama, and I am sure Dame Alderidge has other people to gossip about.”
“She gossips about everyone. Everyone!” Lydia wailed.
I wanted to remark that Dame Alderidge wasn’t a very good friend, but held my tongue.
“And Mr. Sternfeld. Oh, Mr. Sternfeld is sure to take back his dinner invitation.” Her words were muffled as she buried her face into her handkerchief again. “The tea party was supposed to be in his honor. And you ruined it!”
This time, I couldn’t help but speak. “I’m sure I did him a favor. Julianna was clinging to him like a leech.”
Lydia glared at me again. It would’ve been intimidating if her nose were not so red. “I’m sure he prefers Julianna now! I can’t blame the man. She won’t put dirt in his tea!”
Genevieve cleared her throat. “Actually, Mama, Mr. Sternfeld sent us a note today. He wanted to know if we were still available for dinner tomorrow.”
“A letter? Helene, have we received a letter from Mr. Sternfeld?”
Lydia’s personal maid, who was standing behind the couch, nodded. “It was addressed to Miss Genevieve, Madam.”
My stepmother’s lips trembled. “A note personally written by Mr. Sternfeld addressed to Genevieve?”
Genevieve colored. “It’s nothing, Mama.”
Lydia made a high-pitched noise at the back of her throat. “Nothing, dear? It is everything!” She shot up from the couch, nearly tumbling over the coffee table. “There is no doubt about it! The gentleman fancies you, Genevieve. I knew you weren’t so beautiful for nothing!”
Lydia whooped and laughed. Her handkerchief lay abandoned on the armrest, already dry.
Genevieve was now very red in the face.
“That rotten Patricia will have nothing to say if Mr. Sternfeld chooses Genevieve. Her daughter never stood a chance!”
I sputtered. “But I thought—”
“Hush!” Lydia said, pacing before the fireplace. “We must present ourselves properly tomorrow. Especially you, Genevieve! Hurry! Go upstairs and find something flattering to wear.”
My stepsister blinked. “Now?”
“Yes now!”
Genevieve shot me an astonished look as she left the parlor. Even she wasn’t used to her mother’s odd moods.
I tucked the needle in my embroidery, ready to slip off, but Lydia stopped me with a frown.
“Yes, stepmother?” I said nonchalantly.
She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not done with you. Your conduct has been atrocious, Amarante.”
“I already apologized to everyone!”
“I am not speaking of this incident alone. For the past four years, you have wreaked havoc for no apparent reason other than to make my life difficult.”
“For the last time, stepmother, Julianna—”
“I will hear none of it! Playing pranks as a young lady is most unbecoming. You are almost seventeen, Amarante. It is time to grow up and act like a gentleman’s daughter.”
I crossed my arms. “Papa is a merchant, not a gentleman. ”
“He is as good as a gentleman with the wealth he has provided us. Must you be so contrary?” Lydia rubbed her temples. “You and Genevieve are of marriageable age. I will see both of you settled. Genevieve will be no problem, of course. Whether she marries or not, she still has the makings of a great artist. But you . What am I to do with you?”
I poked my embroidery with the needle. My flowers looked like shrimp on green sticks.
I had never been good at embroidery. I had never been good at anything except causing trouble, as my stepmother told me countless times. A part of me knew it was true and was ashamed of it.
Dread churned in my gut at the thought of Genevieve married or painting landscapes for wealthy ladies in a foreign country. I would be all alone, left for Lydia to throw at every possible suitor. Papa was rarely home. He would not be there to stop it.
Lydia finally stopped pacing. “I know. You will attend the Season.”
I pricked myself with the needle. “What?”
“Yes. You will attend with Genevieve,” Lydia said, punctuating her sentence with a nod. “Duchess Wilhelmina is hosting the Season this year. I don’t expect you to be her favorite, not after you destroyed her gift to Julianna. But it will do you good to have a strict mentor and well-mannered peers. All the better if you find a young man willing to marry you.”
I sputtered at the prospect. “But stepmother, I’m much too young to attend—”
“Nonsense! You will be seventeen in three months. What better age to come out?” she said. “The welcome banquet for debutantes is in a week. That is plenty of time to send your name to the palace. ”
There was a spring in her step as she headed out the parlor, humming to herself.
A drop of blood soaked my embroidery, but I could only stare at Lydia’s retreating figure.
Me? A debutante?
“IT’S ALL JULIANNA’S fault!” I said, fuming as Theodora helped me into my nightgown.
Despite being a house away, Julianna’s operatic singing reverberated through my walls. I had learned to tolerate her singing lessons for the past twelve years, but tonight I found her voice especially irritating as she went up and down the scale.
Rowena fluffed my pillow. “It’s partly your fault too,” she said, tucking a stray curl into her bonnet. “Freshly fertilized dirt in tea? Honestly, Amarante. You’re depriving my rose bushes.”
Theodora began combing my hair. The scent of this morning’s raspberry tarts lingered on her apron. Both of them had shirked their duties in the kitchen and garden to see me to bed for the past two days. They usually did when I was upset or in trouble, or both. I was immensely grateful. There was comfort in Theodora’s steady hands and Rowena’s jokes. It reminded me of my childhood, when the two had been my nannies.
“Your stepmother never goes through with her punishments,” Theodora said, meeting my eye in the mirror.
“She seems serious this time.” I slumped my shoulders, brushing a speck of dust off my vanity.
“Don’t fret, dear,” she said. “You’re too young to attend. ”
I shook my head. “I’m turning seventeen in three months.”
Theodora dropped the comb with a clack. “What?”
I repeated myself.
Rowena sucked in a breath. “Seventeen? Already?”
The two of them exchanged a glance. Julianna hit the highest note of the scale and held it with a strong vibrato.
“Exactly. I am old enough to attend.” I hopped onto my bed and sunk into the freshly fluffed pillows with a sigh. “If only Papa were here.”
Papa always prevented my punishments, like the time he stopped Lydia from shipping me off to a boarding school for troubled young ladies. But even boarding school seemed tame compared to the Season. Attending would mean passing the threshold from girlhood to womanhood. And there was no going back after that.
“Yes, of course!” Theodora exclaimed, pacing the room with sudden energy. “We will write to him immediately.”
Rowena nodded. “Not a moment to lose.” She gave the bedsheets one final tug and kissed the top of my head. “Sleep tight, dear.”
With that, she exited my room just as Julianna began practicing her trills.
I gave Theodora a questioning look. She, however, was too busy pacing to respond.
“Theodora, you really don’t have to worry at my expense,” I said at last. “I’m sure Papa will change Lydia’s mind.”
She patted my cheek. “Of course, dear,” she said, sounding distracted. “Rowena and I will write to him immediately.”
I was about to tell her that I could write to Papa myself, but the words died in my throat when the door clicked shut.
THE NEXT DAY, LYDIA ordered me to help Rowena with the marigold bushes along the fence, which were ruffled after Fred’s hasty escape. I knew my stepmother would assign me a more unpleasant task if she knew I actually enjoyed gardening.
Still, last night’s conversation with Lydia weighed heavily upon my shoulders, making it difficult to enjoy anything at all. Even Theodora’s raspberry tarts tasted bland that morning.
I heaved a sigh as I packed in the loose dirt with a shovel.
“Theodora sent the letter this morning. I’m sure your Papa will get it soon,” Rowena said, sweeping away the fallen marigold petals. They burned fiery yellow against the brown and green debris.
“How can you be sure?” I squatted and picked at the weeds around the bushes. Papa had yet to reply to the letters I sent him three months ago. The postman told me they must’ve been lost at sea. I wondered how many I had to write before one made it to him.
“Those aren’t weeds,” Rowena said without looking down.
I had unconsciously ripped out a fistful of grass.
“Sorry.” I patted the uprooted grass back into the dirt. “I’m just nervous.”
“Don’t worry about things out of your control,” Rowena said, rolling up her sleeves. Her brown skin had tanned even more in the past month. “You’ll get a headache.”
As I was about to reply, a smudge of color bloomed at the corner of my vision. It drifted beneath a rose bush several paces away, a deep violet vibrating at the edges. It didn’t look solid, but neither was it transparent.
I straightened. “What’s that?”
Rowena turned, squinting to where I was pointing. “What’s what?”
“You mean you can’t—?”
The smudge vanished, but Rowena approached the spot.
“Crabgrass,” she said when I walked over. A round patch of green was hidden under the foliage. There was a peculiar look on her face as she regarded the weed. “How did you spot this all the way over there?”
“I don’t know. I thought I saw a violet...” I trailed off. The base of my head ached as I shook my head. “Never mind. Maybe I have been worrying too much.”
Rowena shrugged. “What did I tell you? Go rest. I’ll finish up here.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ll manage. Besides, you have dinner with the Sternfelds tonight.” Rowena gave me a knowing look. “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”
I had. With a groan, I trailed back to the house. My stepmother was scribbling a letter in the dining room when I entered.
“Helene, take this to the post,” Lydia said, giving the envelope to the maid. Helene curtsied and swept out the door.
“Who was that for?” I asked.
Lydia looked up. “That was—heavens! What are you wearing?”
I lifted my dirt-streaked skirts. “A dress, stepmother.”
She gave me a look I was all too familiar with—disappointment mixed with disgust. “Honestly, Amarante. Next time, enter through the back door. I do not want the Sternfelds thinking you’re a scullery maid. ”
As I climbed the stairs to my room, she spoke again.
“That was your application for the Season,” Lydia called out. “You’ll receive your invitation soon.”
I froze. “What?”
“Just think. You’ll attend the welcome banquet with Genevieve in a week,” Lydia said. “The sooner you surround yourself with proper society the better.”
“But Papa hasn’t approved yet!”
“Oh, pooh. Julien will approve. You know, he has been saying he wants you to—”
The rest of my stepmother’s words cut off as I flew down the steps.
I had to get that letter back.