Aoife sighed, but did as she was told.
“Chin up. Shoulders relaxed.”
Aoife obeyed. “Is this necessary?”
“Lord Halverton has standards to uphold.”
“For who? I can’t imagine you and the other staff care whether I slouch or not.”
“Well, he does, miss.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone coming or going from the estate. What does it matter how I dress, how I sit, or how I say my vowels?”
Mrs Harrow looked behind her, checking that Kit hadn’t returned and slipped silently into place. She lent down to Aoife. “You didn’t hear it from me, but we’re due to have visitors next week. Visitors his lordship is hoping to impress.”
“Why?”
Mrs Harrow straitened. “You ask an awful lot of questions.”
“Is that another thing ladies don’t do?”
“No, they do not.”
“Because most ladies are born knowing these things.” Aoife pointed out. “I’m like a mortal in the Otherworld here. I don’t understand any of the rules and routines, and most of all, I don’t understand why any of it matters.”
“I suppose it doesn’t,” Mrs Harrow said after a pause. “So you should stop focusing on why and start thinking about how. We have ten days to make you a lady.”
“And if we fail?”
Mrs Harrow smiled, but there was darkness behind her eyes. “We won’t fail.”
Chapter 11
Evenings settled into a steady pattern. Clara dressed her in layers of silk and velvet, colours Aoife had never worn, jewels pinned into her hair until her reflection looked like a stranger’s. Each night brought a new trinket from Halverton: a bracelet, a brooch, a necklace heavy with stones. They weren’t gifts. Each one was a small claim laid against her.
A lavish dinner followed. Dishes she couldn’t name arrived in careful succession, carried by the footmen who moved as silently as ghosts. Aoife ate what she could and sat straight-backed, listening while Halverton held forth across the table. He spoke easily about campaigns and conquests, about the Empire’s distant territories: deserts, jungles, cities she had only read about in borrowed books. When he recounted his triumphs at Bayforth University, he watched her closely, waiting for the admiration she had learned to perform.
He questioned her, too. Small, precise questions meant to sound flattering: her schooling, her tastes, what accomplishments she had or lacked. She recognised the pattern quickly as he took stock, deciding which parts of her to smooth away, which to reshape. And beneath the charm, beneath the praise, was the assumption that she should want to be reshaped.
She did not mention the famine again. Not yet. Instead, she smiled, nodded, and let her voice fall into the soft, agreeable cadence he preferred. She did not yet know how she could affectchange, but she did know it wouldn’t be through coming at the problem directly.
After dinner, she became his project. He walked her through the house, showing her its grand rooms with their foreign carpets and wall-sized portraits, the Emperor’s stern face appearing again and again. There was no sign of Halverton’s own family, no childhood portrait of him. Only vast and impersonal wealth.
And so the days passed with jewels in her hair, strange foods on her plate, and Halverton’s voice shaping each evening, Aoife reduced to a block of stone sculpted for display.
In the middle of unmarked time, her birthday came and went. It was the first time she wasn’t with her family to celebrate. She would miss her father’s in a few weeks’ time, and her siblings’ birthdays in the spring. Every day brought fresh reminders of what was now lost to her. She ran her fingers along the bracelet, the one gift she’d received.
Aoife was on her way to Halverton’s study one morning when she passed James in the hallway, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable as he walked. He inclined his head as she approached.
“Miss.”
“Do you know whether this is a convenient time to speak with Lord Halverton?” she asked
A flicker of something crossed his face before it smoothed away. “His lordship is occupied.”
“Oh,” she hesitated. “Do you know when he might be available?”
James considered this, eyes shifting briefly toward the closed door before returning to her. “I couldn’t say. He doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s busy.”
