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allowed me to call myself a lady. I’m no longer the sort of daughter any man would want.”
    “Oh, miss…” Mary shook her head. “You’re being so hard on yourself!”
    Leona closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. She felt like she needed to be hard on herself. One moment of stupidity would cost her a lifetime of potential happiness. When she opened her eyes and saw the concern on Mary’s face, Leona felt a little relieved. At least there was one person in the world who wouldn’t despise her.
    Well, maybe two.
    As if reading Leona’s mind, the maid said, “Miss Westcock stopped by today.”
    “Silly!” Leona exclaimed.
    “Yes. I believe that’s what you call her,” Mary chuckled.
    A crease formed between Leona’ eyes, marring her flawless face, like a crack on a porcelain statue. “Why did no one tell me?”
    “Your father turned her away as soon as she got here,” Mary explained. “He said you were feeling under the weather… that you weren’t up to receiving visitors.”
    “Oh, that’s awful! He’s cutting me off from everyone, isn’t he? Is that what he’s planning to do?” Leona bit into another cooked carrot, and it tasted blander than ever. As she chewed, she thought about how impossible it would be to explain everything to Silly. Her friend would lose all respect for her. After a moment’s consideration, Leona amended, “No… he’s right. It’s for the best.”
    Mary started to head for the door. “Well, miss, I’ll leave you to enjoy your dinner. If there’s anything you need--”
    “Thank you, Mary,” Leona interrupted. As soon as Mary left the room, Leona added in a whisper, “I appreciate your concern. You may very well be my only friend.”
    And she shoved her dinner aside.

    * * *

    A few days later, Leona heard her father’s voice in the hallway. It was the first she had heard of him since she cloistered herself in the bedroom. She’d been writing in her diary for nearly an hour, but the sound of his voice made her drop her quill.
    When Leona heard the knock on her door, her body went into a state of petrification. It was a miracle she got her lips to move. “Y-yes?” she reluctantly called out.
    “It’s your papa.”
    Papa? If he was referring to himself as “papa,” maybe he’d had a chance to soften? Nevertheless, Leona didn’t want to get her hopes up. “Come in.”
    When he entered the room, Leona kept her back to him. She was sitting at her desk, using an old handkerchief to dab at the spilt ink from her dropped quill. She was afraid to see his face, but she knew she had to look at him eventually. After he was silent for several seconds, Leona clenched her ink-stained handkerchief and turned to face him. “Father,” she acknowledged quietly.
    “Yes. Good morning.” His face wasn’t friendly, but at least he wasn’t firing daggers with his eyes.
    “Good morning.”
    “You’ve been in your room for a week.”
    “Yes. I suppose I have.”
    “That’s foolish. I didn’t mean that you had to stay in here all the time.”
    “Oh,” Leona looked down at her hands, which were restless on her lap, twisting the handkerchief. “I see. Well… now that I know I am at liberty to wander around the house, I guess you’ll be seeing me more often. However, I wish you would let me choose whether or not I want to send my friends away.”
    “Are you talking about that Westcock girl? You’re better off without her… or… she’s better off without you,” he coldly replied. “And I didn’t think you'd want to see any beaux in the state you’re in.”
    “Beaux?!”
    “Yes. Of course. There’s been gentlemen coming and going every day. Didn’t you know?” her father asked. “I told them you were feeling ill, and they sent you their regards. There’s a small garden of flowers sitting outside your door.”
    “Oh.” Leona felt a wrench in her gut, like someone was twisting her handkerchief inside her stomach. A ghost of Leona’s former life came to haunt