Dear Debutantes,

When a gentleman accuses you of being a witch, he is unwittingly acknowledging the considerable power that you possess.

Sadly, some men will feel threatened by that power and attempt to undermine you with dubious claims about your character. Some may try to sabotage your efforts to gain knowledge. Some may forbid you to discuss and share your ideas.

Do not be intimidated.

A man who disparages you does so because of his own insecurities and because—oh, how shall I put this delicately, dear readers?—because he may not measure up in other regards.

It gives me no pleasure to say this. Indeed, I think it safe to say that it gives no one pleasure. However, you should know that a gentleman’s derogatory comments have much less to do with your faults than they do with his own—pray, forgive me again, dear readers!—rather sensitive shortcomings.

But all hope is not lost. There are plenty of confident, strong, and capable men who will encourage you in your pursuits and celebrate your triumphs. Seek a partner who will not be threatened by your power, but instead, be in awe of it … and of you.

In the meantime, embrace your power. Cast your spells. Follow your dreams.

And never, ever apologize for who you are.

Sophie’s cheeks were burning by the time she read the last sentence. She looked up from the paper to see Mama’s eyes had grown wide as saucers. Mary stared blankly. “Nothing very instructive in there,” she said, biting into her toast. “Why on earth are you blushing, Sophie?”

“I’m not certain,” she lied.

“Perhaps it’s best if you don’t show us the accompanying drawing,” Mama said, before taking a fortifying sip of tea. “Now then. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you girls how important tomorrow night’s ball shall be. Come Sunday morning, everyone will be talking about Lord Singleton’s ball—and his betrothal to Sophie. We must not give the gossips any reason to ridicule us.”

Sophie reached over and patted her mother’s thin, pale hand. “Forgive me for saying so, Mama, but the gossips are likely to find fault in something we do. Even if our manners are flawless, they will misconstrue a word or gesture and invent a faux pas in their imaginations.”

“Perhaps,” Mama said, frown lines creasing her forehead. “But I’d prefer that we not make it too easy for them. I, for one, will ensure that your father is well rested and in good form.”

Sophie nodded gratefully, for she knew the task of keeping Papa relatively sober would require a great deal of time and effort, including hiding some spirits and watering down the rest.

“Mary,” Mama continued, her tone uncharacteristically stern, “you shall wear your prettiest gown, pretend to enjoy yourself, and dance at least three sets.”