Why, oh why, did Lucy have to break things? She had told Lucy of their grandmother’s fascination.
But Lucy had not finished.
“All those Greek temples and Roman statues and so forth,” she said. “They are all so bland and boring and white. Imagine living in a world where every building, every statue, and every item of clothing is the same color. It would be like a nightmare.”
“Go on,” said the duchess, her head cocked with interest.
Cassandra looked back and forth between them. She could not tell if Lucy was expressing a genuine opinion, or if she was being cunning, and it occurred to her, yet again, that she did not know her younger sister at all.
Lucy smiled, all earnest innocence. “I have always thought it would be marvelous if they were painted bright colors. But, of course, everyone would say that is vulgar, wouldn’t they?”
“‘Everyone’ should not talk about things they don’t understand,” Her Grace said, her eyes bright and sharp. “My dear friend Sir Arthur Kenyon maintains that the ancients did paint their temples and statues in bright colors, but that the paint has come off over the centuries. Others say he is full of nonsense, but time will show he is right.”
The duchess beamed at Lucy, who briefly met Cassandra’s eyes and did not give away a thing.
“I shall launch you at my ball next week,” the duchess announced. She turned back to Cassandra, her mouth pinched. “If that meets your demands, madam?”
“We are grateful, Grandmother,” Cassandra said, ignoring her tone. “When this matter with Lord Bolderwood has passed, I shall return to Sunne Park. Would Lucy be able to remain with you?”
“If she comports herself well at the ball, then yes, I shall see her through the Season. You know my view on the matter of Lord Bolderwood, but like your father, you refuse my advice. I suppose you will come running for my help again when you need it.”
“I shan’t come running and I shan’t seek your advice, so you need not concern yourself with that,” Cassandra said, more sharply than she had ever spoken to her grandmother before. Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps she had allowed Joshua to influence her more than she realized. She opened her mouth to apologize, but her grandmother had already turned back to Lucy.
“Then I shall concern myself with you. Come along, Lucy, my dear. We shall have to turn London upside down to get you ready in time. Good day, Cassandra.”
The duchess swept out, with Lucy at her heels. At the door, Lucy twisted around and poked out her tongue, before she flounced out.
Cassandra found Emily in the upstairs parlor she shared with Lucy, in quiet conversation with Mr. Newell, a Shakespeare volume on her lap. When Cassandra came in, Emily fell silent, looking sulkily at her book. Mr. Newell hovered awkwardly.
“Emily,” Cassandra said. “I know you’re—”
“A is for Apple. B is for Ball. C is for Can’t Hear You.”
“Emily, please listen.”
“Not now. I’m learning how to read. As I am only a child. In the schoolroom.”
“We must keep the duchess happy, for Lucy’s sake. I am sorry she was rude to you.”
“D is for Door. E is for Exit. F is for Find Your Own Way Out, Now, Dear.”
“It’s Lucy’s turn, and in a few years—”
“You’ll get rid of me too, the same way you’re trying to get rid of Lucy. You want us both gone so you can lord it over Sunne Park all by yourself.”
Cassandra slapped the book in Emily’s lap. Emily’s chin jerked up. “You can’t have it both ways,” Cassandra snapped. “One day you say I’m locking you both in, the next that I’m kicking you both out.”
“G is for Go To. H is for Hell.”
“Emily!”
“It’s all right, Mrs. DeWitt.” Emily yanked the book away and shuffled back. “I shall stay locked up in the nursery, while Lucy goes out with the duchess to get a ballgown, and Lucy goes out with Isaac to talk to witnesses, and Lucy, Lucy, Lucy.”
“It used to be like that for me, too, with Miranda, always taking the attention. But you can—”
“I don’t care. I’m not like you.”
Then the full meaning of Emily’s words hit her. “What do you mean, Lucy went out with Isaac to talk to witnesses?”
“I is for I Don’t Care. J is for Jump Off A Bridge.”
Cassandra sighed. “Em. Listen. Maybe later we can go somewhere, perhaps to Astley’s Amphitheatre.”
“Mr. Newell can take me. You’re too busy, always so busy, running the household or fighting