Ameerah had been the awkwardly gangly, spotty, desperate-to-fit-in girl at school. Though she was holding her own, Nory could see she was having to fight to prevent herself from falling—or being pushed—back into the role of pet minion. She had already stood her ground against two or three requests of “Ameerah, darling, could you just . . .” Nory was sure Pippa and Jenna weren’t aware of what they were doing, and to be fair to them, they both inhabited worlds where they were used to people doing their bidding.

For Nory’s part, she was the scholarship girl all over again, a beloved part of the group and yet ever so slightly on the outside. She was still less traveled and unpolished. She had been welcomed into their world at school, but through no fault of theirs, she had never quite belonged. And in a cruel twist, her acceptance into Braddon-Hartmead had made her belong a little less in her old world too. Now she found herself playing the part of the commoner once more, despite living a very middle-class lifestyle. She hammed up her working-class roots and played up to the old image they had of her in their minds: a sort of Eliza Doolittle character, the everywoman perspective of the group.

Nory supposed it was inevitable. This was the state in which they had known one another best. Though it pained her to think it, she wondered if some of them would have lost touch completely if Tristan hadn’t died. But life was like that, wasn’t it? A never-ending series of events, the ripples of which would either push you away from people or pull you toward them. Nory thought it made this second chance even more poignant.

After dinner they all filed back into the drawing room, before the men excused themselves to go to the billiards room—Camille looking distinctly like she wished to skewer Guy with a cue.

“What’s with the men taking themselves off after dinner?” asked Pippa. “It’s not 1902!”

“The men have to go off and talk about big-boy stuff like politics, and we women have to stay here and talk about kittens,” said Jenna dryly.

“Fuck that shit! I’m off to kick some arse at billiards,” Pippa announced, and scooping up the front of her gray waterfall gown, she marched out of the room.

“I might head off to bed and read,” said Camille. “Reading is such a luxury for me these days. So is sleeping, for that matter.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Nory. “My sister-in-law has two boys, and she says sometimes she locks herself in the toilet just for five minutes’ peace.”

Camille laughed. “Been there, done that!”

“What’s Guy like as a father?” asked Jenna.

Camille bit her lip, wondering how much to say.

“I wouldn’t say he’s hands-on,” she said diplomatically. “He loves them, but he finds them . . . challenging.”