The room went quiet, and I opened my eyes to see my mother swaying across the floor. She settled down on a banquette in the middle of the circle, always the star of the show.

“Thank you all for coming,” my mother said, pausing to blow steam off the cup Julian had handed her. “I have very exciting news that I’m finally able to share.” She paused again for effect. “I am so pleased to announce that the Regent’s wife, Lady Marie du Chastelier, has commissioned our company to stage and perform a masque for her annual winter solstice party.”

Most of the company exchanged confused glances, but history of the arts had been one of the things I’d studied in Trollus. I cleared my throat. “Haven’t masques been out of fashion for, I don’t know, two hundred years?”

My mother raised one tawny eyebrow. “What is old is new again, dearest.”

There was nothing she hated more than having her ideas contested. She always had to have her way.

“What’s a masque?” Sabine asked.

“It’s a performance,” Julian interjected, “in which all the important ladies of the court will be a part. Lady Marie intends to spare no expense.” Rising to his feet, he retrieved sheets of paper and distributed them to the group. “I will be playing the devil,” he said, handing me a page. “Genny will play Vice and Cécile will play Virtue.”

I scanned the pages, my interest in the idea briefly pushing away Thibault’s compulsion. But only for a moment. The lively murmurs of the group buzzed like a hive of bees, but I didn’t join in. All I could think about was how I didn’t have time for this. I rubbed my temples with my fingers, but nothing seemed to reduce the tension in my skull.

“Attention, attention!” my mother trilled. “I also have one more announcement to make.”

Conversation ceased and heads swiveled back around, everyone curious about what else Genevieve might have up her sleeve. Even once she had our attention, she took her time, slowly smoothing the lace overlay of her dress while she fed off our anticipation. “This is bittersweet,” she finally whispered.

The whole company leaned forward.

“I…” She hesitated, the corners of her mouth tipping slightly downwards. “I’ve decided that the Regent’s court masque will be my final performance.”

I felt my mouth drop open. No one in the room spoke a word, such was our collective astonishment. Genevieve, retire?

“Years ago,” she continued, reveling in our shock, “I made the decision to put my career ahead of my family. I know you all, as artists, can understand why I made the decision, and it has been a rare moment I’ve had cause to regret it.”

Her words stung, undoing all the goodwill from the night prior I’d barely realized had built up. I remembered all too clearly the number of times I’d sat waiting for her on the lane leading toward our farm on the day of a promised visit. A visit that only rarely materialized.