Chapter 2
Cordelia arrived at the garden pavilion twenty minutes later.
Sixty-one.
Perfect posture.
Pearls.
The expression of a woman inconvenienced by other people discovering her decisions too early.
She looked first at the engagement ring.
Then at Desmond.
Finally at me.
“You ended it?”
I almost laughed.
“You sent a car for my daughter.”
Her eyes moved toward Priscilla.
Not guilt.
Assessment.
“She was supposed to spend thirty days at Rose House.”
Priscilla heard.
“No.”
Tiny voice.
Powerful.
I crouched beside her.
“You’re not going.”
Cordelia sighed.
“This is exactly why children shouldn’t be present for family discussions.”
I stood.
“She is the family discussion.”
Cordelia’s expression hardened.
Then she explained the tradition.
The First Month.
When the head of Huxley married while already having a young child, that child temporarily stayed with a trusted branch.
Thirty days.
No daily contact.
No sleeping in the new marital household.
The stated reason was adjustment.
Give the new marriage space.
Allow the new spouse to establish household authority.
Prevent a child’s attachment from being used to resist the new family structure.
Every sentence made the previous one uglier.
“You expected me to agree to this?”
“You were not supposed to be asked tonight.”
There.
Honest.
“When?”
“After the ceremony.”
I stared.
“You planned to tell me after my daughter was already gone.”
Cordelia’s silence answered.
Desmond finally spoke.
“It was temporary.”
I turned.
“You already told her she was being replaced.”
“I lost my temper.”
“No.”
My voice stayed low.
“You said the quiet part too early.”
His face changed.
Cordelia intervened.
“Enough.”
I looked at her.
She had used that tone on me since I was twelve.
It no longer worked.
“Who else knew?”
She hesitated.
Five senior Huxley relatives.
Two old capos.
The driver.
Three household staff.
Eleven adults.
Not one thought the child’s mother needed to know.
Then Priscilla tugged my gown.
“Mommy?”
I crouched.
“Yes?”
“Rose House bad?”
I looked at Cordelia.
She dropped her eyes.
Interesting.
Not just old-fashioned.
Not just temporary.
May you like
Something about Rose House still frightened the woman who had organized the trip.
And now I needed to know why.
