The day I fell in love with Gareth was the day he told me his biggest lie.

"Our mother's off visiting family for a while," came so smoothly from that brilliant smile. It would be weeks later before I'd hear the rumor of a young wife of a family of boys who took her own life due to her husband's mistreatment. No one ever confirmed this to be Gareth's story and I dared not ask Edmond for fear he'd reject Gareth even more.

But that discovery, weeks away, had no impact on the way I felt with Gareth on the day of his false declaration about his mother. There was no reason to doubt such a brilliant grin.

Edmond, having spotted it as a lie immediately, took a lifelong dislike to him therefore he walked away to join Arabella and Raphael some distance away.

Gareth, born and raised in the city, had a grandfather in this area. Bella and I were shocked. Never in all our years of coming had we known that the solitary old man no one talked about had family, had grandchildren our age.

But to say our age was being generous.

Gareth was our age. His three older brothers...were not. Instead of a manor such as Grandmother's, their grandfather had a farm. Gareth's eldest brother did most of the work, a fact that led me to believe he'd been here a time or two. The second longed to go to war and boasted he'd enlist if no fine woman caught his eye. The third? He longed to return to the city.

And then there was Gareth. They all shared one thing—each abhorred the farm, and none were particularly good at it, if Edmond was to be believed.

Still, my parents accepted the invitation and as the adults laughed and made empty chatter in the dining room, the rest of us escaped outside.

That was more of a given considering Edmond and Raphael's understood inability to enter.

In the yard, we joined Gareth in 'unserious' work, as he called it, with the elder brothers keeping clear of us. I'd later come to know it was due to the company we kept.

For that, I blamed Arabella. She stayed behind Raphael's chair. I was grateful when Edmond took to pushing it without asking Bella's permission.

Since Raphael's recovery, she often ran it like a toy. Not a day passed that I didn't fear it tipping over. Poor Raphael making it to adulthood upright might have been a challenge with her around.

I thought to lessen her scolding of Edmond taking her job by reminding her that Raphael was no doll, but Gareth interrupted my readied protest.

"They're so strange, aren't they? I've never seen anything like it."

His meaning eluded me until I focused on Edmond in the distance, towering over Bella's tall-yet-not-tall-enough frame as she admonished him by letting him know she was perfectly capable and trustworthy to push even a chair. It had wheels.

The display wasn't one I relished in polite company, so I stepped before Gareth and asked, "What's your favorite part of the farm?"

Some of Gareth's long dirty blond hair, though tied back, fell before his eyes. "The chickens, I suppose."

"Do you have any rabbits?"

He blinked. "Rabbits? You like rabbits? As pets? They're vermin, aren't they?"

My cheeks heated. Were they? "I suppose anything can be a pet," I fired back.

His blue eyes sparkled when he smiled. "I suppose so." He looked past me to Edmond and Raphael, both standing—sitting at attention as Bella paced before them, letting her authority be known.

"What's that about?" Gareth asked.

I hadn't a clue but whatever it was, I knew, it was mischief.

"How about you stay for supper?" Gareth declared, "I'll even catch you a chicken."

The offer warmed me. "So this is the hunt you have in mind? This is quite far from slaying a dragon or even fox hunting."

He chuckled as well. "This far into the country, forget dragons, the nights are so cold and quiet I fear a trip to the underworld." He folded his arms, leaned back, and squinted, "Do you want my bounty or not, woman?"

I beamed, curtsying, "I'd be delighted."

But five minutes later, as he and I tried with little success to corner a fowl, I laughed for a different reason.

"The ones I've known always came," I said.

Sleeves rolled up, Gareth readied for the next bird to pass but glanced my way and answered, "That's because you're pretty."

A blush crept up my cheeks. He wasn't bad to look at either. His inability to catch my supper was no terrible failing, however, for I appreciated the thought more.

But as success eluded him, his brothers, even the eldest, came to see what the ruckus was about.

There was a change in Gareth then, punctuated more when one brother said, "Why not let one of them get it?" while gesturing to Edmond and poor Raphael.

Now, Gareth's expression turned solid as he readied to pounce on a bird.

He gave no answer. Instead, he charged.

When I'd laughed previously, I'd meant it in good faith and Gareth laughed with me. That was not the case now when his brothers chuckled. I could see it, a slow winding down of Gareth's patience, and a building up of his embarrassment.

I hiked up my skirt and hurried to help him.

"Stay back," he told me, "you'll ruin your shoes."

But before I could argue with him, Arabella came and took me by the arm. "Let him."

Gareth did catch his chicken, but it wasn't a pleasant hunt. It ended with his wringing the poor thing's neck. Though the neck was broken, the animal still moved.

Edmond finally intervened. His method was fast and swift, and I sighed in relief because it was all rather terrible until that moment.

Once the fowl ceased thrashing, I looked to Gareth, expecting to see a brilliant smile. What I found was him and Edmond locked in a cold gaze.

Now, with my daughters upstairs, I ate my breakfast with Gareth in silence. I expected Edmond to take his leave, though secretly, I prayed he wouldn't.

Gareth expected the same because he glanced in Edmond's direction often, despite the servant staring straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the man of the house.

Edmond was being a friend. It put me at enough ease to eat my meal. I made sure and plucked a bread roll from the table for Cinderella. It was one of her favorites.

Asking for Edmond's audience in Gareth's presence awakened painful memories so I simply stood and announced, "I will be in the study," with the understanding that Edmond would follow at a later time.

I bowed then made my way out. My feet took me up the creaking steps. No sooner had I entered the second floor that I heard the muffled cries.

Bread roll still in hand, I approached in hopes my gift would help quell the sniffles.

"But he's right, I'll never be a lady." Cinderella sat on the family room settee, her sisters on either side of her.

Poppy pulled her to sit up straight, dabbing her eyes. "You won't with that attitude." Once she was satisfied with Cinderella's appearance, she said, "If you start something thinking you'll never be any good, you never will be. Come. That's the secret. Let's practice."

"Oh, you mustn't cry," Piglet entreated. "Mother hates crying."

My feet froze, betraying me.

The bread roll in my hand felt heavy.

"We will find something you're good at," Poppy promised.

But an hour later after Edmond joined me in the study, Poppy entered alone, singing a different tune. Edmond stood beside me behind the desk, and I listened with quiet reflection, my eyes fixed on the bread roll atop the mahogany.

"She cannot embroider. She cannot play the piano. Her singing voice isn't terrible but when she sits, she has the posture akin to a sack of potatoes. Her walk sounds like a million soldiers setting off to burn a village. She—"

"All this I know."

Poppy sucked in a deep breath. I'd interrupted her, and she knew that meant I was angry.

It wasn't her who kindled my ire, but rather the sorry excuse for a biped, the fountain of ignorance and vitriol masquerading as a father. Gareth.

He'd worn Cinderella down—ruined her confidence. Of course, she was capable of nothing. Her father drank away her education.

I gripped the armrest in hopes of calming but my voice vibrated with rage when I met Poppy's stern gaze masked by the veil.

"My instructions were to find something she was good at. Something of which she was capable. Why tell me what I already know?"

Poppy looked small for the first time. Her confusion brought out her fifteen years and I regretted seeing that.

I intended to calm—to be softer with her—gentler like with Cinderella but no words came from my mouth.

The moment I thought to utter them, the door flew open and Piglet thundered in, hysterical.

Poppy raced to intercept her, but it was too late, my patience had worn out. I was fed up with the day.

Fed up with this filthy house my two highbrow daughters had to scrub from top to bottom. Fed up with the effort put into making our daughter look lovely only for that man to tear her down. Fed up with knowingly signing myself away to that swine in a week's time.

"Go out and come back in," I ordered.

Poppy looked back at me. She had little success in calming Piglet's screams and my nerves were frayed.

"Go out. And come back. In. Properly. And think very long and hard about whether whatever you have to say is worth my time before you do."

Piglet bypassed her sister and hurried to me. "But—"

"Out!"

She made a sound at the bellow. I hadn't meant for it to be so loud.

But it was too late now. The fear that was once in her eyes drained away, leaving something I could not recognize.

She was on the verge of tears, desperate to tell me something, but all I wanted was a proper house—like the one I'd abandoned to come to this festering estate.

I longed for nothing more.

After swallowing hard, Piglet lowered her gaze and turned to obey my orders.

Pace languished, she made her way to the door and closed it behind her with a gentle click. I waited, everyone waited, but she didn't return.

I found myself shivering. But whether it was from the disobedience, my nerves, or disgust with the idiocy of this entire situation, I could not say.

Landing on her feet like the survivor she was, Poppy sauntered out the door and returned with a suitcase.

She meant to offset her failings with something grand. I sat back, more than ready and willing for any good news that would rid me of this urge to march down those stairs and commit spousal murder, in the shadow of my pending wedding day. This wasn't how we usually behaved—I usually behaved.

The blue dress emerging from the case stole my breath. Poppy brought it to the desk and presented it for display.

"This has taken me over two years," she affirmed. When her voice shook, I knew it held sentiment. "I'd started it when father was ill, intent on showing him how I may look in a wedding dress. At the very least, show him." The detailing and threading alone must have taken ages. Snowflakes. She'd put care into them, each looked distinct. This dress was a masterpiece. And that she'd offer it to me now, meant more than she'd ever know. Regrettably, my late husband passed away without seeing it. As with most things pertaining to her father's memory, she nearly lost her usual composure. After clearing her voice, she sounded steady again. "But it's luck that I've finished in time for your own wedding. Especially since you're marrying for love—"

"What?" I picked my head up, torn from this somber state. Our eyes met and the shock and worry there reminded me that Poppy was no ordinary girl. She was trained and bred to perceive far more than any fool could see.

Dress still in hand, leaning over to offer it, she stood to her full height.

For love? She thought I married for love? But what other possible explanation was there? The estate was clearly in disarray. With their help and a lot of our soon-to-be meager money, we'd managed to disguise that fact temporarily. And this location wasn't better than our previous home. Gareth was a fool, a fraud, and a drunk. Why else would someone of my stature stoop to the level of marrying a man like this?

There was no logical conclusion, and so she formed the only other illogical one she could...love. That I'd loved him.

She was right about love motivating me, but not for that ape. It was love for my children.

For the first time, I realized how dangerous this situation might become. Here, my steadfast, mature, hardworking, brilliant daughter, nearly believed in some foolishness such as love.

"He's a drunk, a letch and a louse," I told her, making no sweetening of my words. "On top of that—"

Edmond caught his breath, having sensed my train of thought but I pressed on.

"He's also ill with syphilis."

"Miss!" Edmond protested.

I ignored him. This was my daughter. And all my daughters, as young women, required the one thing my mother never afforded me when I'd so desperately needed it seventeen years ago when I'd met a despicable man who I'd foolishly trusted—knowledge.

Poppy, though visibly shaken, lowered her gaze. She was no longer proud of her gift to me, a fact that was unfortunate. I wanted to give her good news, to show her hope and strength, not allow her to think I was an imbecile—a fear that crept into my mind almost hourly.

"Brilliant," Poppy said. "Then he must have something of value, something we can use?"

Even without knowing what that may have been, her trust in me made her believe there was something further she could not see.

Her eyes settled on Edmond and she asked him, "I'm sorry, but how many like you do you believe are in the country?"

Edmond flinched. After considering it for some time, he admitted, "So few you may never know we exist without looking."

"And in the upper class?" The way he quieted was her answer. She met my gaze again, impressed. "So, there's a title in this house—some prestige, even if it was once tarnished. Perhaps a distant ambassador, explorer, researcher? Someone who may have even had contact to the very king."

I sat back. While her smile came from under the veil, mine couldn't live past a weak attempt.

She was right.

How could I have been so shortsighted?

The determination in Poppy's voice sent a shiver through me when she said, "I know how we can use this to our advantage, but you must postpone next week's wedding."