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Livvy appreciated the woman’s kindness, especially her acceptance of Livvy’s refusal. Most people were offended when she declined their offers, deeming Livvy cruel or thoughtless. The truth of the matter was that Livvy could never agree to socialize in an environment where she knew she wasn’t wanted.

Which was why speaking with August had been so simple, so comfortable. Because she’d actually felt wanted.

But that was in the past now.

“’Fore we leave,” Miss Pengelly said, “I do wonder if ye’ve heard o’ the assembly at in Marazion, a fortnight from tomorrow.”

Livvy tensed. “I ’aven’t.” That was a lie. She’d seen the notices outside of the inn in Marazion. After she’d humiliated herself emerging from a thicket of bushes.

“We’d love it if ye could come,” Miss Pengelly said. “We always ’ave a nice time. I think ye might, too. Don’t ye, ladies?”

“Absolutely,” Ophelia said with a stiff smile.

Portia just nodded weakly.

Clearly, the girls wanted to leave.

Father was about to interject again, but Livvy spoke before he could. “Thank ye. I’ll consider it.”

Considering.

Considered.

Done.

She would not be attending the assembly.

An awkward silence traveled round the group, then Miss Pengelly nodded. “We shall leave ye to your evenin’, then. Good day, Miss May, Mr. May.”

“Goodbye,” Livvy mumbled.

The ladies left, their footsteps traveling back down the corridor. Before the front door closed, Livvy had already built up her defenses. She would need them with Father.

To her surprise, however, he merely sat down in his chair in silence. Where was his usual lecture? His critique of her not going out in public?

Instead of asking for either of those things, she sat in silence, finishing up the final handkerchief. Before long, however, the silence grew unbearable. The lecture would come at some point. She may as well get it over with now.

“’Ave ye nothin’ to say ’bout me refusal, then?” she asked.

Father shook his head.

“Surely ye must. I can see ye thinkin’ a great deal o’er there.”

He sucked on his pipe, staring into the fire. “I just be thinkin’ ’bout when ye used to play with the other children on the Mount.”

Livvy looked away. The memory was not a pleasant one, if only because of the feelings of longing and regret that accompanied it. She had once been the most sociable child on the Mount. But after Mother’s death, the gossip began, and she couldn’t bear it any longer.

“What ’appened, Liv?” he asked softly. “What ’appened to make ye not want to go out anymore?”

She’d been asked this question before by him, and she always said the same thing. “I dealt with Mother’s death differently than ye, Father. Ye took comfort in friends at the Sugar Loaf. I took comfort in books.”

But there was more to it than that. There was always more. Like what Mother revealed on her deathbed for only Livvy’s ears to hear. Or like what the children began to taunt her about.

“That don’t explain why ye behave such a way now, though,” he said. “Your mother’s been gone for ten years. Surely ye ’ave healed enough to go to the mainland with those girls now.”

She bit back a scoff. Yes, much time had passed. And she had healed much from Mother’s death. But then, some of those wounds would no doubt be reopened if she returned to Society. Questions would come back. Rumors would abound. And Livvy would feel the brunt of them all. Especially if the secret she held closest to her heart was revealed—the truth about Livvy’s past.

“Ain’t it better for me to remain away from others, so ye aren’t embarrassed by me more?” she asked.