“We had the Vanderbilts over for dinner the other night.” My mother is clearly eager to change the subject. “Charles came too. He is such a lovely young man. He’s very happy at Edgewood, so you two will be classmates next semester.”

I nod absentmindedly, already beginning to tune her out. Belatedly, I realize she can’t see me. “That’s nice, Mother.”

“He told the most charming story about being nervous to hand you a bouquet of flowers when you two were little. He’s a very nice young man. I invited them over again the week after you return. They’re all eager to hear about your aid trip. Which reminds me, I had Richard set up a meeting with Helga’s daughter. She actually did one of those trips a couple years ago and said she’d be willing to tell you about it so you have some stories.”

“Mm-hmm, okay,” I reply.

“I really do think he’d be an excellent choice,” she continues. “So keep that in mind when they come over.”

“Excellent choice for what?”

“Your husband.” That word certainly catches my attention. Not because it’s surprising my mother would mention it—she’s made her feelings toward Charles quite clear—but because a heavy ball of dread settles in my stomach at the prospect of marrying him. I know my epiphany in the Williams’ barn is the source.

“Mother, I still have another few years before I’ll have to get married.” I fight to keep the trepidation out of my voice.

“I know, but these things do require a lot of planning, you know. And Charles is such a catch. You don’t want some duchess to snap him up.”

I roll my eyes, relieved my mother can’t see me and amused by the thought of placing a hold on my future husband like he’s a library book.

“Sure, mother. I’ll keep that in mind. Now, I’ve got to get to class. I’ll talk to you next week.” Thankfully, she’s never asked for a copy of my schedule, so she has no idea I’ve just left my last class of the day.

“All right, dear,” she responds. “Make sure you’re being careful over there.”

I shift uncomfortably as I think of the idea that’s been forming in my mind all week, which my mom would undoubtedly strongly disapprove of. Once again, I’m grateful she’s not here in person to see the guilt written all over my face. I’ve let my guard down here more than ever before, meaning I’ll have to practice my poker face before returning to the palace.

“I will. Say hello to Papa.”

Thanks to his extended stay at the cottage, I haven’t talked to him in several weeks. I miss his gravelly voice, but I’m also grateful. My father has always been more perceptive of my true feelings than my mother, which is the last thing I need right now.

I end the call but remain sitting. The same anxiety that overtakes me every time I receive some reminder of the life I’ll be returning to in a matter of weeks lingers.