I steadied her arm as we walked down the stairs together. “Build up the fire a bit,” she said. “I will make us something hot to drink.”

I mindlessly stirred the coals and added wood to the fire, my mind all for Tristan and what could possibly be going on in Trollus. Where was he now? What were they doing to him? And worst of all, what was I going to do about it? The promise I’d made his father felt like it was crawling through my veins, a separate living thing that had found its way inside me against my will.

“Sit with me.”

My mother had returned to the great room with two steaming cups in her hands, the faint smell of mint and chamomile drifting through the air. I settled next to her on the well-padded settee, tucking my chilled feet underneath me to warm them. She waited until I was settled to hand me a cup, and for a long time we both silently watched the fire. It felt comfortable and warm, and for the first time ever, the austere townhouse felt almost like home and Genevieve almost like a real mother. I clung to the feeling, letting it drive away the black thoughts threatening to overtake me.

“Where were you?” I asked. The water clock showed the time as five in the morning. I hadn’t slept for more than an hour. That I’d fallen asleep at all was astonishing.

“The Marquis’ salon.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing her profile. In the firelight, I could see little crinkles were starting to form around her eyes, black little lines where the kohl had caught in them. “Some gentlemen he conducts business with are here from the mainland, and he wanted them well entertained.”

I hesitated, a question that I’d been dying – but also afraid – to ask burning on the tip of my tongue. “What exactly does that mean?”

She turned her head to look at me. “What,” she asked, raising one eyebrow, “do you think it means?”

“That you sing?” I ventured, because that was what I hoped. I might have been born in the morning, but not yesterday morning. I’d heard the gossip and the rumors, and though he’d never outright explained his dislike, I believed that was why Fred refused to have much of anything to do with her.

“Sometimes.” She set her steaming cup down on the table. “But mostly, I talk.”

Not what I’d expected her to say. I took a large mouthful, burning my tongue. “About what?”

“Everything. Anything.” She pushed out her bottom lip. “Women of the nobility, or at the very least, of quality, are limited by propriety in what they can discuss. I am not.” She pointed a finger at me. “Neither are you. And that makes us far more desirable company than any of their wives.”

I started to look away in discomfort, but she caught my chin. “That is why I sent tutors for you in the Hollow, Cécile. Because for you to succeed in this world, you must not only be beautiful, you must be educated, clever, and above all things, you must be interesting.”