Her eyes searched my face, and I got the impression that I was supposed to say something. Except I didn’t know what. All these things she thought I should be were fine qualities, but I didn’t like the idea that their only purpose was for the entertainment of rich men.

“The Marquis keeps us in very fine style,” she continued. “He pays for all this,” she gestured around the house, “and for everything you have, for everything you know.” One finger coiled around a lock of hair, her eyes intent. “But I am not getting any younger, and soon he will tire of me and look for a replacement. You could be my successor.”

I pulled my chin out of her grasp and looked at the fire, everything becoming clear. That was why she’d wanted me educated, trained, and brought to live with her in Trianon. Not because she wanted her daughter close, but because she wanted insurance that she’d be kept in the style to which she’d grown accustomed. To live off the coin I could secure by being interesting.

“The Marquis must not have much regard for you if he’d put you aside for aging,” I said coldly. I watched, waiting for her eyes to light up so that I’d know my barb had sunk deep.

Instead, she smiled and lifted her chin. “Such is the nature of men, Cécile. They will keep you only so long as there isn’t something better within their reach; then they will discard you. Best you hear that from me now than learn it the hard way later.”

The smoke from the fire made my eyes burn and water as I took in her words. “Papa didn’t discard you.”

The room seemed to shrink, sucked in and made small by the silence.

“Is that what you think?” she whispered. “Is that what he told you?”

The truth was, my father never spoke much of it at all. It was Gran who’d told us the story of how we’d come to be in the Hollow, but I knew as well as I knew the back of my own hands that my grandmother was no liar. It was my turn to lift my chin. “Are you saying it happened differently?”

She rose abruptly to her feet, tripping on the hem of her skirt as she walked swiftly over to the sideboard. I heard the clink of glass and a splash of liquid. “I should have expected that you’d believe his side of the story.”

My heart skipped a little. Was there more to it than what Gran had told us? When I was a child, I’d daydreamed that my mother had only allowed us to be separated by necessity – that secretly, she’d always wanted us to stay together as a family. Time and much evidence to the contrary had beaten those dreams out of me, but what if my child-self had been right? “It’s the only side that’s ever been told to me,” I said, trying to keep my greed for the truth out of my voice. “But if there’s more to hear, I’ll listen.”