warm bed at night, food in her belly, and she never feared harm. Such was her solace. She knew this world was not kind to those without the protection of good family—and in particular to women without men of some influence and financial stability to provide security. There were workhouses. Foundling homes. As terrible and unsavory as those fates could be, she knew even worse existed beyond that. Terrible, unspeakable things.
Olympia sank down in the chair beside her. “What is this morose face?”
Primrose blinked and schooled her features into a properly pleasant expression. “I was worried you weren’t coming.”
“The florist had a longer line than expected.” Olympia clapped her hands together and rubbed them gleefully. “Now, what is it to be? Where and when will you be making your grand debut? Has your mother decided what you can do first?”
A server approached the table to take their order. Mrs. Zaher crisply removed her gloves with elegant movements and ordered tea for the table. Her gaze swept over Olympia and Primrose. “Shall we have some scones before you girls indulge in your ices? It’s a special day, after all. We should have anything and everything we want.” Her dark eyes glittered with merriment as she turned her attention to their server to inquire about the various pastry options in her dulcet voice.
Prim took advantage of her distraction. It was rather embarrassing to admit her mother’s failings when Mrs. Zaher was a mother who lovingly pampered her daughter and lavished her with attention.
Prim leaned toward Olympia. “There will be no marking of this day, I fear,” she confessed.
Olympia released a puff of laughter as though Prim had just made a jest. “Well, certainly there will be some recognition given of your birthday. You’re now allowed out into Society. What shall you do first?”
“Oh. Um. Something.” She winced at the vagueness of her response. “Next year. Hopefully,” she replied with a small, unavoidable amount of rancor. Her indignation still bubbled very close to the surface. It was impossible to keep out of her voice. “Maybe.” If Aster was betrothed by this time next year—something she appeared in no hurry to do.
Mrs. Zaher finished ordering and Prim felt the return of her attention keenly.
“So you will not have even a small party in your honor?” Olympia pressed. “Nothing at all?”
Prim nodded. “Correct.” Another nod. “There will be no party. No dinner.”
Olympia digested that. “Not even a tea? No special outing? You will not go . . . anywhere?”
“Nothing,” she confirmed again.
“Olympia,” Mrs. Zaher said softly, reaching for her daughter’s hand and giving it a telling squeeze.
“Oh.” Olympia blinked several times in rapid succession. The single word fell heavily between the three of them. “I see.”
“Good.” Prim was relieved she did not have to keep explaining.
“You will simply slide into Society alongside Aster.” Olympia fixed a forced, overly bright smile on her face. “It will be fine. Isn’t your family attending the theater on Tuesday? You can—”
“I’m not even to be granted that. I am not permitted out. Yet.”
Olympia’s smile slipped. “What do you mean? You’re still consigned to the nursery like a—a child?”
Apparently Prim was not finished explaining.
“Until Aster becomes betrothed. Mama does not wish to usher both of us through the season at once. Evidently two daughters on the marriage mart is not to be endured.” She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Mama insisted such a habit was vulgar behavior.
“She only now informed you of this?”
Prim shrugged. “She informed me this morning when I came down to breakfast that my entrée into Society would be delayed.” She shook her head. “I should have expected as much.”
“Expect?” Olympia scoffed. “You are now ten and six. You are in a position to expect things, Prim. You are in a position to demand—”
“No.” Primrose took a ragged breath and shrugged. “I’m in no position to demand anything of my mother. You know that. I’m at the bottom of the hierarchy in my family. I cannot expect . . .” Prim trailed off.
It was not self-pity speaking. It was not defeat. Prim liked to think of it as pragmatism. If she wanted something badly enough, it was up to her to get it for herself. She had long ago realized that. If Mama denied her, she simply went around her.
Ever since she was a little girl, if Mama said no more biscuits, Prim merely stuffed them in her mouth when she wasn’t looking. If Mama said no to a walk in the park, Prim would