“I remember her. Wow. Molly’s been spending time with … her? Isn’t she a scholarship student?”

I pause and shoot him a questioning look. “Are you judging her, Alfie? What would your father think about that?”

He looks rather offended by this. I meant it as a reminder of his father’s own middle-class background, not as an insult, and I’m surprised he’s taken it as one. “I see your point,” he allows, but there’s an edge to his voice.

“Please don’t make comments about her being on a scholarship. I’m sure she’s well-aware of it already.”

“Okay, okay. As though I would, anyway. I just thought this was a safe space.” He softens. “What’s she like, then?”

I shrug offhandedly. “Like I said. She’s Molly’s friend. I hardly know her.”

Through the crowd, William Montgomery, one of the family publicists, catches my eye. He cocks his head to summon me, his expression unreadable. “More on that later,” I say to Alfie, who gives me a sympathetic look.

I’ve gotten to know William rather intimately over the past several months. Though I’ve always been aware of him in the peripheries, he’s taken my shattered reputation on as a personal project. Or, perhaps, he was assigned it—I’m unsure. What I can say for certain is that he’s here to keep a close eye on my behavior today: it’s hardly a common occurrence for them to attend state banquets alongside us.

“I’ve been speaking to other people,” I say to William before he gets a word in.

He gives me an exasperated smile. “I haven’t seen you speak to one guest, Rose.”

“I spoke to three of them,” I insist. “Perhaps you were distracted? To think, all that work for nought on my end.”

“Three is a start, but you can do better than that. You have a golden opportunity here to remind some important guests how very charming and mature you are,” William says.

I wonder who he’s describing. It couldn’t be me, surely. “I’m trying. All anyone seems to want to do is gloat.”

“Let them gloat! Laugh with them. This crowd loves a touch of self-deprecation.”

“Almost as much as they love other-deprecation.”

William looks pointedly away from me. I think he’s doing his very best not to laugh. “Have you spoken to the deacon yet?” he asks, still facing the crowd.

“Not yet.”

“Speak to the deacon. If he asks how you’ve been, act repentant.”

“Is this a state dinner, or a confessional?”

“No reason it can’t be both. Oh, and your father wanted me to remind you about Alfie’s birthday.”