“I’d prefer affection.”
“Fear is more reliable.” Mel moved toward him, taking his hand with the casual affection that had become natural over the past weeks.
“But I’ll settle for grudging respect. That seems achievable.”
“More than achievable,” Serena agreed. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have more work to do. Mel still needs to master the art of the devastating exit.”
“The what?”
“When to leave a conversation, a room, or an event in a way that ensures everyone remembers your departure. It’s an essential skill for anyone who wants to control their own narrative.”
Rhys looked at Mel with evident concern.
“Are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure that Serena knows what she’s doing. I’m sure that society is going to be unkind regardless of how well-prepared I am. And I’m sure that if I’m going to face this, I’d rather face it armed.” She squeezed his hand.
“Go play with the children. I’ll join you for dinner.”
He went, though not without a backward glance that suggested he was not entirely comfortable with the transformation occurring in his absence. Mel watched him go, feeling something shift in her chest that might have been affection or might have been simply gratitude for a man who was willing to be uncertain.
“He worries about you,” Serena observed.
“He worries about everything. It’s a recent development.”
“It suits him. The old Rhys never worried about anything because he never cared about anything. The new Rhys has discovered that caring is exhausting.” Serena returned to her chair, resuming the formal posture of instruction.
“Now. The devastating exit. When you leave a room, every eye should follow you. Not because you’ve done something dramatic, but because you’ve done something memorable…”
The lessons continued until dinner, and then resumed the following morning, and then continued until Serena was satisfied that Mel had absorbed everything she needed to know.
On the final day, as Serena prepared to depart for London, she pulled Mel aside for a private conversation.
“You’re ready,” she said simply.
“Not because you have mastered every social nicety, but because you understand the essential truth: their opinions don’t define you. Your character defines you. Everything else is just performance.”
“And if I fail? If I say the wrong thing or make the wrong choice or somehow confirm everything they expect of a governess who wedded above her station?”
“Then you get up, you learn from the mistake, and you try again. That’s what we all do. That’s what Rhys is doing. That’s what the children are doing. You’re not expected to be perfect. You’re expected to be genuine.” Serena reached out and took Mel’s hands, holding them firmly.
“They won’t know what to do with you because you’re not going to play by their rules. You’re going to play by your own rules, with confidence and grace and the absolute certainty that you belong exactly where you are.”
“And if I don’t feel that certainty?”
“Then you pretend until you do. Eventually, the pretense becomes reality.” Serena smiled. “That’s the secret that society never wants anyone to know: everyone is pretending. The ones who succeed are simply better at pretending than everyone else.”
Mel thought about all the years she had spent pretending, pretending she wasn’t hurt by her father’s abandonment, pretending she wasn’t afraid of the future, pretending she was content with survival when she had always wanted something more.
Perhaps Serena was right. Perhaps the pretense could become reality, if she committed to it thoroughly enough.
“Thank you,” she said. “For coming, for teaching me, for believing that I could do this.”
“Thank you for proving that my belief was justified.” Serena released her hands and stepped back.
“I’ll see you in London. Soon, I hope. We have a wedding to plan, and I have a great deal of experience making society behave itself.”
She departed in her carriage an hour later, waving from the window as the horses carried her back toward London and whatever battles awaited there.
