Lady Tremaine smiled at the old woman. “I’ll remember. Now go, and don’t leave that bed until you are fully restored,” she said as the women walked out of the room.

When she had gone, Lady Tremaine rang the bell to summon another maid, then sat on the bed with a sigh. She had come to the country to relax, not contend with antics such as these. She briefly wondered how Anastasia and Drizella were doing, but before she could get up to write them a quick letter, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.” This time it was a tall, lanky girl, all arms and legs. “Yes, could you please let Lady Hackle know I will need Rebecca to help me dress this evening? Thank you, dear.”

The young maid nodded and skittered out of the room, awkwardly mumbling something as she left. Lady Tremaine shook her head. She realized the dressing gong had already sounded while she had been talking with Mrs. Bramble, and now it looked like she might be late.

Perhaps it’s best I don’t impress this gentleman from dangerous lands, she thought, laughing to herself.

Chapter IV: The Mysterious Sir Richard

Lady Tremaine needn’t have worried about arriving late to dinner. Rebecca dressed her and did her hair with dexterous skill and speed, and she descended in time for dinner after all.

The guests gathered in a large, beautiful room. Two crystal chandeliers holding white candles cast a lovely glow on everyone assembled, catching on jewelry and sequins and causing everything to glitter. Lady Tremaine always found the ladies in these circles amusing. To her they looked like vibrant, exotic birds decked out in all their finery, in contrast to the gentlemen in their black tails. Lady Tremaine preferred the way of actual birds, the male birds with their colorful plumage and the lady birds in their somber browns and blacks.

She had gotten used to mourning-period clothes. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to progress to purple until this evening, and that was only to make her friend happy. So tonight she, too, felt like one of the lady birds, glittering and showy, and she wasn’t sure how that made her feel. It suddenly seemed very audacious to be wearing purple. But she quickly reasoned it was the customary transition color between black and more vibrant colors after the mourning period, and Lady Hackle was probably right. It had been six years; it was time to move on.

Lady Tremaine didn’t quite know what to do with herself. Some of the guests were milling around the room chatting with each other, while others were sitting in little groups on the velvet chairs and love seats having lively conversations. She didn’t quite feel like herself in the dress her friend had picked out for her. She told herself she wasn’t betraying her husband’s memory by wearing it.