If Gretchen had ever spared a moment’s thought for her sister’s debut then it had been a very long time ago and had been entirely overcome, as had most of her thought processes, by the unspeakable anxiety that had began when Mr Prewett had not written a single word to her. He had kissed her three times now, and made it very clear that he would like to again – a sentiment she very much shared – so why had he not written to her as she had asked?

Had he changed his mind, or worse, had he begun to think of her as a harlot after all?

There had been no suspicious looks shot her way and even the matron had kept her nose out entirely despite almost catching them being a little too close. And Gretchen knew that if there were rumours about her Seneca at least wouldn’t have told her what others were saying.

As such she gave precisely zero fucks about Frida’s dress, or the fact that she had mama’s pearls on – a fact that would normally have infuriated her – but she did at least have an opinion about her sisters to share.

“I doubt anything could possibly help Meta at this point.” She rolled her eyes from where she lounged nearby, wrapped in her black cloak and looking like the dark swan to Frida’s white. “And I…well, I certainly won’t be asking for Nephele’s help. The best she can probably do is marry me off to one of the cousins.”

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Bee is tremendous, isn't she?