"I look like a cupcake."

"A delicious cupcake," my father offered, unhelpfully, but shut his mouth the moment I glanced his way. "Right."

"You have to stop her," I begged for the fourth time today. "She ordered ten new dresses this morning, father. Ten. I'll have enough to change at every meal."

My father snorted.

"Father," I said, my firm tone bringing him out of his joviality.

"I will speak to her," he promised, gently. "But you know your mother. Once she sets her mind to something..."

"We all suffer."

My father frowned. I sighed, closing my eyes and attempting to rein in my displeasure.

"I was doing fine in the country, father. Well even," I told him, my voice softer.

"I know, dear," he replied, his own tone one of measured exhaustion. "But while assisting in the birthing process is a noble pursuit and while I am proud of your success in the field while medicine in general is not for the faint of heart, such tasks are below your station, Norah."

"I did not ask for this station," I snapped and then, thinking better of it, took a breath. "What I mean, father, is that it is not my intention to allow myself to be traded off to the highest bidding gentleman."

"I have no intention of entering into a betrothal contract without your consent."

"Mother made it sound as though–"

"Your mother has the gift of stretching any truth into whatever fits her desires," he interrupted me, leaning over his desk between us and fixing me with a gaze that I knew, from experience, meant he was serious on the matter and was leaving no room for argument. "I am not bartering away your future, Norah, not without your say so. All I ask, all we ask, is that you participate in the season. You debut and you consider your options. If, by the end of it, you've no interest at all in pursuing any of the gentlemen you meet, then you may return to Lord Watt's country estate with my blessing."

I watched him for a moment, taking in the tired eyes, the sunken cheekbones, the pallid color of his skin. He was sick. We hadn't discussed it since I'd arrived, just as we hadn't discussed it for the last five years since the first signs of the illness began to show. But it was there, a shadow hovering over our lives, seen but unspoken of. As if talking about it would bring it into the light and solidify its position in our reality.

"Fair enough," I replied to my father now, seeing how tired just this slight discussion had made him. I had no wish to cause him further discomfort. I wouldn't have come to him with this at all had I known he was having another one of his bad days. So I gave him a nod that indicated I promised to try and then left him alone in his office, striding back through the halls toward my room.

I could deal with my mother. I had been doing so for the majority of my life already. Though I'd always had a buffer before. My father, my sister. Now, it was just me. Now, I was alone in facing her. It would be much more difficult to turn her away, to deny her anything she decided she wanted. I had already failed this morning when she had dragged me into town and declared she was purchasing nearly a dozen new dresses for me since I was finally planning to debut this season. She'd made that announcement loud enough to set every woman in the shop to whispering and I'd bit my tongue while she selected gown after gown while tossing insults at the "country" dresses I'd brought with me from North Yorkshire.

I did not say anything while she and the seamstress poked and prodded at my body wrapped in silk and satin and chiffon. I did not say anything when she dragged me down the street to have tea and parade me in front of her friends. I did not say anything when she pulled me into the cobbler and ordered more pairs of shoes than half the gentry owned. But I drew the line at jewelry. I hated the accessories. The gems were too heavy and the chains made my neck and wrists itch. So I let my mother stroll through the glittering shop and I headed back out on the street where I promised to wait by the carriage.

Luckily for me, the driver had parked the carriage just outside of the local doctor's office. I'd made plans to visit the man at the earliest possible opportunity. Back in North Yorkshire, the local doctor had taught me everything I knew about midwifing. Once he had seen my interest in the process during my sister's childbirth, he had informed me that he was in need of an assistant so far out in the country where the universities never sent highly trained medical experts. He offered to train me in the more practical subjects. How to staunch the bleeding of a wound, how to remove a bullet, how to assist a woman in childbirth. And then some of the more medicinal remedies. A poultice to ward off infection, a tonic to alleviate a headache, a brew for contraception. It was all logical, practical, invaluable information and I was eager to continue my studies. I hoped that I could find someone willing to teach me outside of the country but I was disappointed to find the town's local doctor quite sexist in that regard. He shooed me out the door the moment I informed him I could read and I truly did spent the next hour waiting miserably by my mother's carriage while she bought more jewels then we could likely afford and came striding out with a manservant at her heels overloaded with various boxes and bags.

"Lady Norah," a maid spoke suddenly, interrupting my train of thoughts. I looked up to see my own lady's maid watching me, hands folded and tucked in front of her.

"Yes, Ingrid?" I asked.

"You have a visitor."

I was following the maid a moment later, my skirts sweeping against the polished tile as we made our way to the foyer. The moment I stepped into the corridor, I let out a gasp and sprinted ahead of Ingrid.

"Silvia!" I cried, running to the woman and throwing my arms around her in the warm embrace of beloved friends. She hugged me back and then I pulled away, holding her at arm's length to examine her. The lithe, thin frame she had possessed when I'd left had grown curvier in my absence. She had the same chocolate hair, the same sparkling brown eyes, and the same crooked smile. I had missed her tremendously.

"It's good to see you too, Norah," she replied, chuckling.

"Come, sit!"

I pulled her into the drawing room and down onto the closest loveseat situated next to the fire burning low in the grate.

"How did you know I was here?" I asked.

"You thought word wouldn't make it to me after your mother announced it in the center of town this morning?"

I sighed, rolling my eyes.

"You know how she can be," I said in explanation and she nodded, still smiling.

"I've truly missed you, old friend," she told me and I placed a hand on her lap to show her I felt the same. "How is your father?"

My smile faltered.

"Unwell," I confessed. "No one will talk about it but..."

"I am sorry, Norah. I know how close you are with him," she replied and I nodded somberly. "How is your sister? And the child?"

"She is doing well. She's happy in North Yorkshire. Finnley has always been so good to her. And Bernard is doing incredibly. He already knows his numbers and he's not even two."

Silvia was smiling, nodding her head politely at my account.

"And how are things here?" I asked.

"Not much has changed," she told me with a shrug. "I debuted and failed to secure a match so I'm basically the shame of my family at this point."

I frowned, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze.

"There was no one that caught your interest?" I asked.

"Of course there was," she replied, blowing a strand of hair from her face as she did. "But I apparently failed to catch his and so now I'm doomed to suffer through yet another season in which I wear my prettiest gowns and twirl around in front of him while he chats to his friends and doesn't even notice I'm there."

"Who?"

"Leo Temby," she told me. "The Earl of Bedford."

I raised a brow.

"He's so handsome, Norah," she sighed dreamily and I couldn't help but smile as she lost herself in her reverie. "He's got the most gorgeous dimples and his hair–"

"His hair?" I asked with a snort and her gaze shot to mine as her cheeks flushed pink.

"Oh dear."

"No! No, Silvia, please. Tell me more about Lord Temby's hair."

I sank back into the cushions, propping myself up on an elbow and quirking my brows. She fell to giggles, covering her mouth with a hand to reign in her hilarity.

"I'm being foolish, aren't I?" she asked, watching me with a grin.

"No," I told her. "It's good to have a crush, Silvia. But this season, let's make sure that Lord Temby knows of it, yes?"

Her cheeks tinged pink again but she nodded her agreement. At that, we fell into companionable conversation. Silvia told me all the gossip I'd missed out on while I was away in the country. I confessed to her all that I had learned and the passion I had found in healing. She listened with a smile and offered no judgment as she always did, as a good friend would always do. Finally, the evening approached and Silvia excused herself to return home and ready herself for the ball that she had informed me would be occurring this very evening. I saw her off and then practically sprinted to my room to make haste in feigning an illness of some sort so that I wouldn't have to attend the engagement myself.

Just as I suspected, my mother prowled into my room not half an hour later, a horde of maids in tow carrying options for gown, shoes, and jewels. She clapped her hands and I rose from my bed with a groan, my dressing gown rumpled and soaked with water from my washroom that I hoped would appear as sweat.

"What is the meaning of this, Norah?" my mother barked the moment she got a good look at me with my auburn hair plastered wetly to my forehead, my slow-blinking eyes and lazy frown.

"I'm not feeling well, mama," I told her, making myself sound as miserable as I dared.

My mother wasn't buying it. She propped her hands on her hips and glared down at me.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "I know you were speaking with Silvia in the drawing room just an hour ago."

"I started feeling it then," I tried. "I think it's something I ate. This city food isn't sitting well after so long spent in the simplicity of the country."

"Theodore!" my mother's shrill voice rang out so sharply that even the maids flinched.

I thrust a hand to my head as if the sound of it had worsened an ongoing headache as footsteps sounded from down the hall and my father rounded the corner to stand in the threshold of my room a moment later.

"What the devil–" he began, glancing from my mother to me and back again.

"Your daughter says she's sick," my mother told him. "That she is suddenly too ill to come to the ball with us this evening, despite the fact that she seemed to have no difficulty entertaining other social engagements this afternoon."

My father met my gaze and I knew in that moment he was aware of just how not sick I was. I felt guilty then, if only for faking an illness while he was battling a true one of his own, but I had never expected my mother to bring him into this.

"If she is feeling unwell, we should delay the debut," my father said a moment later, slowly, quietly but not without authority. "We wouldn't want to jeopardize her first night out in society. And we wouldn't want her to pass along whatever she has to anyone else present."

"That is most sensible, papa," I told him, maintaining eye contact and trying to show my appreciation through that simple gesture alone. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as though he had gotten the message, and waited for my mother to respond.

"So this is how it is to be," my mother huffed, crossing her arms and glancing between us. "The two of you conspiring against me always?"

"Katherine," my father tried, reaching for her.

"I will be in the carriage when you are ready, Theodore."

Then my mother turned on her heel and stormed from my room, her beautiful gown skimming the doorway as she left. I turned to my father once she had gone.

"Thank you," I told him.

"Don't make a habit of it," he warned and then turned and followed after his wife.

I sighed and settled back into my bed as the maids filed out. Eventually, I would have to let them dress me in those ridiculous gowns, let them slide my feet into those uncomfortable shoes and drape those heavy jewels around my neck. Eventually, I would have to follow my parents to their carriage and ride off to some palatial estate owned my members of the nobility I didn't care about and had never liked. Eventually, I would have to participate in this crude mating ritual of English society and fluff my skirts and bat my eyes at men far more interested in shipping routes and whores.

Eventually. But not tonight.