She took her rose-colored shawl from the back of her chair, draped it around her shoulders, and sat on the red velvet couch. The room had felt so lonely since her husband had passed away more than six years ago, and she wondered why she still used it as the family room after he was gone. She supposed it was out of habit. All the ladies she knew used their front parlors in this way. This was where the ladies of the house spent their mornings, greeted their children, or entertained their closest friends. Larger gatherings were of course held in grander rooms, but Lady Tremaine hadn’t held a large gathering since her husband was alive.

These days the lady attended parties at the houses of others. She was besieged by invitations after her husband died. Well-meaning and thoughtful invitations meant to distract her from her grief. But now that so much time had passed she was starting to long for the days when she was the one to throw the party, and she missed having someone to walk up the stairs with after the last party guest left, and someone to chat with over breakfast about their plans for the day, or in the evening after going to the opera. She wondered if it wasn’t time to consider finding a new companion. A new husband.

When she woke up that morning she hadn’t expected this was something that would cross her mind, but as she sat on the red couch in her parlor, she felt she might at last be ready to fall in love again.

“Ah, Daisy,” said the lady, looking at the sweet-faced little maid who brought in the coffee. She was hardly more than a girl, with sparkling eyes and small, delicate features that reminded Lady Tremaine of a little mouse. “Please put the coffee there. Thank you, Daisy.” The maid placed the coffee service on a small round table in front of her. It was Lady Tremaine’s favorite coffee set, black with gold trim.

“Cook would like to know if you wanted breakfast this morning, my lady,” Daisy asked timidly.

Lady Tremaine laughed. Her cook, Mrs. Prattle, prompted her maids to ask this every morning knowing full well what her answer would be.

“Please tell Mrs. Prattle just to send something up for the girls in the schoolroom if she hasn’t already. And we will want a packed lunch for our journey to the country.” The lady smiled at the mouse of a maid.

“Yes, my lady; she already has a hamper packed for you and the girls.” She quickly corrected herself, “I mean for Miss Drizella and Miss Anastasia.”