What new horror was this? She couldn’t play games any longer.

“I have a headache,” Jane demurred. But Geraldine tightened her grasp on her wrist.

Genevieve came to stand by her side. “Miss Fairfield,” she said gently, “there is no good way to say this. Sometimes…” She looked over at her sister. “Sometimes, I think that you are…”

Geraldine gave a sharp nod. “Sometimes I think that you are not always good at understanding other people’s intentions.”

Jane stared at them, her mind reeling.

“And so maybe,” Genevieve said, “maybe you didn’t understand what it was that Bradenton was saying to you. And I don’t think you saw when you turned away—that look on his face, and the thing that he did.”

Jane had understood it. She had understood it perfectly well. That they had, too… She couldn’t let them see, couldn’t have this conversation. Hearing it from their mouths made his threats feel real in a way that she couldn’t explain. He wanted her hurt. He wanted her humiliated.

“But we did,” Genevieve said. “His intent was unmistakable, even through the window.” She took a longer, deeper breath. “We haven’t always been kind to you.”

What were they saying? What were they doing? It took Jane a moment to look into Genevieve’s eyes, to see that this wasn’t going to turn into some jealous tirade. The two sisters exchanged glances, and then nodded at one another.

“In fact,” Genevieve said, “since the first few weeks we knew you…we probably haven’t been kind to you once. We’ve been making use of your particular skills. I know this may be hard to hear, that you might not understand what we’re saying.”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t say anything at all.

“But,” Genevieve continued, “please believe me when I say this—I do not think you should ever be alone with Lord Bradenton again. Not even for a walk in a garden with other people nearby. We haven’t been very kind to you, but we did promise when we started that we’d keep you from the worst of it. I can’t be sure of Bradenton’s meaning, but I refuse to stand idly by while we find out.”

“That was foul.” Geraldine folded her arms. “Extremely foul. I don’t care what nonsense you spout. That was outside the bounds of fair play. And given what Hapford told me of his conduct…” She made a disgusted sound. “No, Miss Fairfield. I should have spoken before now. You oughtn’t be alone with him.”

Jane didn’t know what to say. She’d expected the worst for so long that she didn’t know what to do when it didn’t come. Her throat was closing up. She hadn’t expected…this.

Genevieve touched Jane’s elbow. “Maybe you don’t understand this, either.” Her hands were gentle. “But no matter what—no matter how we’ve treated you in the past—we aren’t going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”

Jane let out a slow, shaky breath, then another. Then another one. She looked from side to side. The sisters were half a foot shorter than she was, but they seemed to loom over her. She wasn’t sure which of them saw the suggestion of tears in her eyes first, which of them moved closer, putting her arms around her.

“There, there,” Geraldine said. “There, there. It’s all right. It will be all right.”

She hadn’t known how much fear she had—how alone she’d felt—until they spoke. And now that they had—now that they’d broken through that barrier—there was no stopping the flood of emotions. Jane let out a gasp, and then another one. She had thought herself entirely alone, a wizened, puny, ugly thing of spikes deserted in a sea of sand. But when she staggered, Genevieve caught her.

“There, there,” Geraldine was saying. “There, there.”

“I’ve felt worse and worse with every passing month,” Genevieve said. “Dirty. No better than Bradenton. We’ve been awful, truly awful.”

“It was just so fortuitous,” Geraldine continued for her sister. “You were the perfect excuse to drive Genevieve’s suitors away.”

Jane couldn’t help herself. She’d been angry, frightened, and then taken utterly by surprise. At that, she began to laugh.

“I don’t think she understands,” she heard Geraldine say.

Jane straightened. She took a deep breath and looked around her, at a world that she no longer quite understood. Then she exhaled slowly.

“Geraldine,” she heard herself say, “Genevieve, I have a confession to make. I haven’t been very kind to you, either. Not from the first few weeks.”

They stopped, their matching china-blue eyes widening.

“I…” She took a deep breath. “I’m this awful on purpose. I owe you both an apology.”

“Oh, no,” Geraldine breathed, stepping forward, a smile spreading across her face.

“Indeed.” Genevieve laughed. “Skip the apology. I’d rather have an explanation. This has to be good.”

The women walked for hours, talking, scarcely looking at the plants around them.

“You see,” Genevieve said solemnly as they finally came to the end of their time together, “I don’t wish to marry. Every time I think of a man pawing over me, I just start to panic.”

Geraldine patted her sister’s arm. “Mama says she’ll grow out of it. But Geraldine and I do everything together. We had our first menses on the same day. It’s foolish to imagine that this will change when we’ve always differed on this score. So I am supporting her out of sisterly solidarity until she’s of age.”

“It’s such a shame.” Genevieve sighed. “I’d make such a marvelous wife, if I could marry the equivalent of her Hapford. I’d so love to spend my husband’s money on charitable works. Instead, I shall be forced to economize. So she’s going to have all the babies. And I shall spoil them and be the exciting, wicked aunt. I shall give them sweets until they’re all riled up, and then hand them back to the nurse and be on my way.”

“You were such a godsend,” Geraldine said. “We’ve always done everything right until now. Genevieve was so afraid that she’d be lambasted into accepting some reasonably ordinary gentleman, and being miserable all her life. And then we met you. All we had to say was, ‘Oh, no, we couldn’t possibly attend without our bosom friend Miss Fairfield,’ and suddenly our invitations dwindled. It was so fortuitous.”