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lose that look of false starry-eyed innocence. “Right. I’ll try again. He’s my age. He’s handsome, kind, and dreadfully romantic. You know all the advantages that will inure to me once I become a countess.”
    Violet tasted a hint of vinegar on her tongue. “I do.”
    “Once I marry him, I’ll come to love him. Won’t I?”
    Violet knew what her niece wanted her to say.
Yes, you will. Of course you will.
Maybe she’d accept a more cautious,
it’s likely.
    “I did,” she finally said. “And my husband loved me. You’re a caring person, Amanda. The first few months of a marriage are intimate. It brings people together, even if they were not quite there when they first married.”
    Amanda nodded slowly, contemplating this.
    It was what came after those first months that really mattered.
    “I know people who entered a marriage without love and found it nonetheless,” Violet said. “I know people who married for love and hated each other at the end of the year. And I had a friend who did not love her husband when she married him, convinced herself that she did as the first months passed, and…”
    “And what?” Amanda asked.
    “And then she realized she was wrong,” Violet finished stiffly. “If you have an ounce of independence in you, a husband will chafe. He’ll give you rules, and you’ll be expected to follow them. If he wishes, he can control your friends, your idle pursuits, your leisure activities. Some husbands want to mold you into another person, and it doesn’t matter if you’re made of marble instead of clay—he’ll push and push at you nonetheless, and unless you break for him, he’ll make you feel that you’re the lowest, most selfish person in the world.”
    Amanda’s hand rose to her lips. “Is that what happened to you?”
    “Nonsense,” Violet said brusquely. “I told you already. I’m talking about a friend.”
    Amanda swallowed. “But you didn’t break, Aunt Violet. Look at you.”
    Violet looked upward. “We are not talking about me.”
    “Oh, very well.
Your friend
didn’t break, did she?”
    Violet sat very straight and made herself look her niece in the eye. “She was not made of the kind of material that would break. But even if one doesn’t crack in two, apply enough pressure and everyone starts to wear away at the edges. Like crumbs from a scone. We’re all friable matter.”
    Amanda took this in silence. “I’m made of breakable material,” she finally said. “I would break. I’m already breaking. All I have to hear is Mama asking me what’s wrong with him, and when I have no answer—when I say he’s a perfectly nice fellow, but I don’t wish to marry him, then—”
    The door opened, and Violet’s sister swept in.
    When they were younger, people used to say that Violet and Lily looked exactly alike—that they were twins despite the two years between them. All those people had been idiots. Lily was obviously much prettier. Her hair was a glossy, waving brown, her cheeks round and dimpled. She was always smiling, always a delight. She saw Violet now and her face lit. She sailed across the room, and before Violet could say anything, took hold of Violet’s wrists, hauling her to her feet.
    “Violet,” she said. “I am so glad to see you.”
    Almost no one in the world embraced Violet. But Lily did—grabbing her up in a hug so fierce that Violet almost staggered back. It felt lovely. And yet when she raised her hand an inch to pat her sister on the back in return, she felt so dreadfully foolish that she let her fingers hang in midair before slowly—slowly—letting them fall.
    Lily pulled back. “Violet,” she said, “I have missed you so. You are the only person—
literally
the only person in the world—who can understand what is happening at this very moment. I need your advice, your help.”
    “I see,” Violet said. Thank God. Lily
always
needed Violet, and Violet adored her for it. Lily had everything a proper woman should want: a