Her mother knew this because Kitty had told her several times, but Mrs. Carter was determined to get whatever it was she wanted. It was a trait Kitty had inherited from her mother, which was why their arguments frequently ended in shouting.To avoid that outcome, Kitty kept her hands busy threading an embroidery needle with a shimmering silver thread. She wasn’t nearly as skilled as Mrs. Julien at this art, but the bodice of Mrs. Heron’s dress was missing something, and that lack was like an itch in Kitty’s brain.
“Money isn’t everything, my dear,” Mrs. Carter said with a huff.
Kitty put down her sewing. Something about the way her mother had said those words made her temper rise. She turned around. “Do you and Father not wish me to pay you back what you loaned me to open this shop?”
“Of course, but…” Mrs. Carter’s lower lip trembled. “I-I cannot bear the idea of Betty growing up without knowing her older sister.”
Kitty suppressed a groan. She had thought her mother had been serious for a moment, but it had merely been another attempt at manipulation. She should’ve remembered Mrs. Carter was not above using guilt to make her daughter bend to her will. Kitty had spent most of her childhood coming up with increasingly creative ways to detect and avoid her mother’s tactics. She’d even memorized the unique sound of her footfalls and mapped how her tone and demeanor changed according to her mood. Such vigilance had taken a heavy toll on her youth, which had been almost entirely devoid of fun.
“Betty can visit me here,” Kitty said. She should have stopped there, but she felt the need to defend herself. “In any case, I distinctly recall spendinghoursevery night preparing Betty for all those events you insisted we attend.”
Dances. Garden parties. Village fairs. Mrs. Carter was incapable of declining any invitation that crossed her desk. Despite being no more than the second cousin of a baronet, Kitty had loitered in enough claustrophobic, sweaty, perfume-scented rooms to last a lifetime.
She’d been lucky her father had finally given in to her pleading and had found a dressmaker willing to take her on as an apprentice five years earlier. Most girls started their education much earlier, but Kitty’s determination, and her father’s coin, had convinced Mrs. White to take Kitty on. Now Mrs. White was retired and operating a boarding house, her hands twisted from years of hard work.
It was not a future Kitty intended for herself.
“Betty is a young lady now,” Mrs. Carter said. “She needs your guidance during her debut.”
Debut!
That was quite enough.
Kitty crossed her arms. “I spoke to Mr. Hendricks at the market yesterday.”
Mrs. Carter’s cheeks reddened, telling Kitty everything she needed to know. Once again, she was to be the instrument of her parents’ salvation. They hadn’t even consulted her because they’d known they hadn’t needed to. If she gently requested her father pay what he owed Mr. Hendricks, her father would agree—and then promptly forget. It was much easier, and more efficient, to solve the problem without involving him. Or so Kitty told herself, while being very aware of her own weaknesses when it came to her family. No matter how many times she sworethistime she would let them deal with the consequences of their actions, her mother was always able to peel back the layers of Kitty’s defenses and slice at her tender heart until she gave in.
“What was it this time?” she asked. She had intended to say it harshly, but it came out resigned. Last month, her mother had begged that they dearly needed a new rug in the drawing room. Two weeks earlier, it had been a particular set of emerald earrings Betty couldn’t live without, as she had “cried and screamed” until their mother had bought them. In each incident, her father had forgotten to pay the bill until Kitty hadtraveled home and reminded him. It happened so often, she was surprised there were any merchants left in London willing to take Mr. or Mrs. Carter as customers.
Kitty sometimes wondered if she had been placed in therealKatherine Carter’s crib as a child, replaced like in the stories of the fey. That would explain why she had dark, straight hair and brown eyes, but her mother, father, and sister all possessed sunflower curls. They were spendthrifts, with an inability to imagine a future beyond the next season. She was a pinchpenny, focused on achieving her dreams, even if it meant making short-term sacrifices.
Being of magical origin would also clarify why none of them ever struggled with potent smells or how they seemed to meet her gaze easily when meeting anyone else’s eyes made her feel as if her skin were being peeled away.
“Accessories for the new gowns I ordered from Miss French, if you must know,” Mrs. Carter said. She sniffed. “No daughter of mine will debut with an outmoded wardrobe.”
There was that word again.Debut.As if the Carter family were in any position to join theton. As if her parents hadn’t spent the last decade trying to be accepted within society despite such a task being as pointless as attempting to shove a square peg through a round hole.
At least her mother’s decision to patronize Miss French instead of her own daughter meant Kitty would not have to explain, yet again, that she required payment for her efforts.
She jabbed a thread through the eye of a needle.
It didn’t matter that Betty had hundreds of articles of clothing. Once she had worn a dress, their mother would never allow her to wear it again. The one time Kitty had gently suggested she alter one of Betty’s beautiful shimmering scarlet evening gowns so Betty could wear it a second time, her mother had responded by cutting the garment apart with shears.
Kitty pushed her needle through the fabric in her hands with such force that she nearly caused a tear.
She was the only person in her family with any head for numbers, including her father. Before she had convinced him to hire a secretary, he had nearly spent them into the poorhouse.
“Well, please consider visiting,” her mother said. “We would love to have you. And…” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for handling Mr. Hendricks. I am sure your father will be relieved.”
Kitty remained focused on her work, certain if she spoke, she would start another fight.
The sound of the door opening and closing reached her. She stabbed through the bodice again and pricked the side of her index finger. She quickly dropped the dress and stuck the digit in her mouth before staining her work with a drop of blood.
The coppery taste reminded her of how she’d sucked on coins as a child. It had frustrated her mother to no end, but Kitty had been helpless to stop. Rolling the coins around with her tongue had been one of the few things that had provided comfort amid the chaos of the house. She would have continued the habit were it not for the odd glances she’d have received from customers.
She sucked her finger until the wound had healed enough that it wasn’t a danger to her work, then turned around to find her mother had indeed left.
That was for the best because Kitty’s patience decreased in proportion to her exhaustion. She picked up her work again when the door opened and the most beautiful couple Kitty had ever seen walked inside. The woman was short, with bright-red hair, light-blue eyes, and an ample bosom. The man was her opposite in nearly every way. He was so tall that the top of his unusually wide-brimmed hat had brushed the door frame, his cheekbones were as sharp as the woman’s were soft, and his eyes were dark brown. His broad shoulders were clasped in a brushed woolen suit that had been well made, judging by the lack of tinythreads sticking out from the seams and the way it was fitted to his lanky form with such precision.
