“Incorrect. Inform the butler that he should be put on duties that will keep him out of public view. There is no point in coddling servants.”

For Charlotte, art class was the focus of the day. She was happiest in the white square room furnished only with twelve easels. They painted the same groupings over and over: two oranges, one lemon; two peaches, one pear. Charlotte didn’t mind.

Julia did. “A pumpkin today!” she would chortle, mimicking Miss Frollip’s excited tone when she introduced the latest still life.

For Julia, there was dance class—and that not because of dance, but because of Mr. Luskie. He was a rather hairy man, a family man: robust, friendly, not a bit of danger with the girls, the teachers all agreed. But Julia thought his whiskers were dashing, and she read messages in the gentle pressure of his hand as he directed her through the steps of a cotillion. “I adore him,” she whispered to Charlotte at night.

Charlotte would wrinkle her nose: “I don’t know, Julia, he’s rather … well, he’s not …” It was hard to put into words. He was common. But how not to insult Julia? She thought a bit uneasily of Julia’s passionate vows of love: She wouldn’t do anything, would she? Of course, Mr. Luskie wouldn’t … but Julia was so beautiful. She was like a peach, Charlotte thought: golden and sweet-smelling and soft-looking. Would Mr. Luskie?

One of Charlotte’s governesses had been stridently opinionated about men: “They want one thing, Lady Charlotte!” she would say. “One thing, and don’t you forget it and get yourself ruined, now!” Charlotte would nod, wondering what the one thing was.

So she would whisper back, “I don’t think he’s so handsome, Julia. Did you see that he has red veins in his cheeks?”

“No!” said Julia. “He doesn’t!”

“Yes, he does,” said Charlotte.

“How do you notice so much?” Julia said crossly.

Finally school drew to a close, and one by one the girls were taken off by titled relatives, or simply by maids: taken off to be fitted and prinked and “tarted up,” Julia said. It was time to start a process that would end in settlements and dowries, balls and weddings.

As the daughter of a duke, Charlotte was regarded enviously. Her coming out would be magnificent. Her elder sister Violetta had made her bow to society in a ballroom draped from top to bottom with white lilies.

It was only Charlotte who didn’t care much. She longed, if the truth be told, to stay in the white square room and paint another apple, or (if the market was particularly exciting that week) even a persimmon. She was good, really good, she knew she was, and Miss Frollip knew she was, but that was the end of it.

She had to come out; Julia had to come out; there would be little time for persimmons.