“Ice.” She shook her head. “Now, our guard was always eyeing Maxine. Coming in too close. Touching her. Freaking her out. It was a matter of time, especially with that Edgar and you gone, which meant Edgar wasn’t coming down checking on us regularly, before he took liberties. And he wasn’t real gentle with me. Still.”
Mom grew alert, her eyes locking on me.
Then she whispered a warning, “Maxie…”
“Satrine,” I hissed. “And this is all effed up. That guy was gonna rape Maxine and he was rough with you?”
“He’s very dead now. Your fiancé slashed his throat.”
I was oh-so-totally okay with that.
Which was nuts.
I caught myself from falling back and hitting Maxine, and instead fell forward and moaned, “God, we’re in crazytown.”
Again, her gaze slid to Maxine. “She hit her head falling off a horse as a little girl?”
My momma had fallen in love.
That wasn’t surprising either.
“Yes,” I confirmed softly, gave her a second with that, and then pressed on. “Mom, we have to go to the constabulary. We have to get our story straight. Fleuridia. Where we lived. How we lived. How Dad-not-Dad brought us back. Who knows what he’s going to do and say?”
She came and sat in front of me on the bed. “Not much he can say, baby. You look exactly like her. And I look exactly like a portrait in his study. If no one knows of our world, then what other explanation can he have?”
I’d noticed that painting, after Loren kissed me stupid, when we were on the way out.
At least we had that going for us.
“We have to have it down,” I pushed. “Twenty years of it. Or an outline we can stick to. And you’re going to have to have a crash course in living in his world and doing it like a lady. And sorry to say, that part is going to have to start tonight too. Loren’s going to be here at nine for breakfast.”
“You like him.”
“He saved you.”
“No, you like him.”
“He’s hot.
“No, you like him.”
Gods damn it!
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I like him.”
She assumed an expression I never saw on her. A mix of sad and worried and happy and hopeful.
I totally got that expression.
Living it.
“You’re right, as ever, my brilliant daughter,” she said softly. “We have no choice. We go at this one day at a time.”
Yes.
That was it.
That was always it, what we always did.
I grabbed her hand and held on.
And repeated, “Yeah, Mom. One day at a time.”
Mom then struck her claim (again).
“You, me and, well…Maxine.”
I held fast and repeated firmly.
“You, me and our Maxine.”
Chapter Eleven
The Countess of Derryman
Satrine
A few things of note for the start of our next day in this world.
The first, when I was in middle school, I used to panic about big reports or projects I had to do. I never really knew why. It was just a block.
Whenever this would happen, Mom would dig in with me. Stick by my side all the way.
I was an A-B student, mostly Bs (admittedly, a few Cs). I didn’t love school, but Mom impressed on me how important it was to be educated for a variety of reasons, including future employment, cultivating an open mind and nurturing what she thought was essential: a lifelong joy of learning.
Plus, I was good at it.
Every report or project I did with Mom, though, got an A.
By the time I hit high school, I was over that block, and all on my own made honor roll every semester from freshman to senior year.
In other words, wearing negligee sets, in a parallel universe, pulling an all-nighter in Dad-not-Dad’s library, Mom and I dug into our latest big project to face not only what was to come at the constabulary, but what was to come for us in that world.
In order to kick its ass.
And, maybe a bit bleary-eyed, we met the day ready to do just that.
The second, I should have let Carling call the modiste.
The outfit Mom had to wear to the constabulary had huge skirts, including an overskirt, heavy embroidery and poofy sleeves. It was nowhere near as awesome as mine, and peering out the window of the carriage, it didn’t look anything like what we saw the ladies strolling the pavements were wearing.
And everyone knew, when you had to inhabit a role, you had to have the proper costume.
I was, by the by, in all violet this time. Not a traveling outfit (in other words, no little jacket), but an outdoor one. Long fitted sleeves, high collar that tickled the skin under my jaw, silk covered in lace from chin to toe, with some thick grosgrain ribbons stitched over at the sides of my knees where the thick gathering of skirts flounced out.
The train was ridiculous.
And I picked this dress because the hat that went with it was the biggest I had. Violet with hints of black in a massive bow, a bunch of trailing ostrich feathers and massive rosettes (yes, all of that).