“Sorry for the intrusion, my dear Lady Tremaine. But I wanted to see what you will be wearing this evening. You’ve been in black far too long.” She glanced at the dress on the bed, which was, unsurprisingly, black. Lady Hackle was being playful, of course, but she was right. Lady Tremaine had been wearing black since her husband had died, and though it had been quite some time since his passing, she couldn’t bring herself to progress to wearing purple.

“Friend, it’s been six years. I know you loved Francis—we all did, and we miss him dearly—but it’s time to start living your life again. I shouldn’t tell you this, but some of our old friends are starting to refer to you as the queen, as in Queen Victoria.”

Lady Tremaine was taken aback. “Who is calling me that?” But she had to admit her friend was right, and she had to agree her clothing was rather stodgy and matronly. Perhaps it was time to lighten up. “I suppose you have an alternate dress in mind?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Well, as a matter of fact I do!” It had been years since Lady Tremaine saw such a mischievous smile on Lady Hackle’s face, not since they were girls together. She suddenly missed those days when she and Prudence were in school, not a care in the world other than making their mothers happy by finding the right husband, which they both did, to both of their mothers’ satisfaction. Their mothers couldn’t have been happier with their choices. The only thing that could have made them any more pleased was if they had come home with princes.

Lord Francis Tremaine was a mother’s dream. He was a man of property and wealth, and came from one of the oldest and very best families. So did Prudence’s husband, whom everyone called Piggy. Lady Tremaine laughed to herself, almost forgetting his actual name: Henry. She always found it amusing how most of the gentlemen in her circle had such ridiculous nicknames. Some of the ladies did as well, though thank goodness she never managed to acquire one. She couldn’t imagine being called Bunny, or one of the other names fancied in her social circles. And now she was starting to fear everyone might take to calling her Vicky, since they’ve been calling her “the queen” behind her back.

She realized she had completely drifted out of the conversation she was having with Lady Hackle, and now her lady’s maid had taken over the dress selections. While Lady Tremaine was musing, her friend had brought in a battalion of maids, each carrying a different dress, all of which Mrs. Bramble dismissed in succession.