"Oh, yes. The duke’s recommendation." The woman said.

"Yes, my lady."

The older woman rose carefully. "Wait here. I will get her for you. She’s probably fallen asleep somewhere in the house."

"Thank you, my lady," Livia said.

The older woman left. Livia remained near the doorway for a moment, unsure whether to sit, stand, vanish, or pretend she had suddenly remembered a very urgent appointment.

The younger woman kept her face turned away, dabbing at her cheeks with a handkerchief. It was useless. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose pink, and her attempt at dignity had a miserable fragility.

The silence was quite awkward.

"I used to do that too, you know," Livia began gently.

The woman stiffened slightly. "Do what?"

"Hide my tears."

"Isn’t it what we are taught to do?"

"Yes," Livia said. "But why?"

That made the woman glance at her. Livia stepped farther into the room, careful not to come too close.

"I never really understood it," Livia continued. "Why can we not cry as loudly as we should? Who wrote the rule that our tears should not be made public?"

The woman looked down at the handkerchief twisted in her hands. "It is not exactly a rule. It is just... I guess courtesy."

"Courtesy to whom?"

"To everyone else, I suppose."

"How generous of us. Our hearts break, and still we must worry that the noise might inconvenience the room."

For the first time, amusement flickered across the woman’s ruined face.

"My mother says crying too much makes people pity you," she said.

"That’s their problem. Its their pity. They can do whatever the hell they want with it. I mean, if it is quite clear we are sad for a reason, why do we have to be courteous?" Livia asked. She had not meant to speak so much. She was supposed to be quiet, respectable, forgettable. Miss Bellamy, the French tutor. A woman with a borrowed history, and enough sense not to put her heart into other people’s business.

But she knew what it was to be expected to suffer prettily..

"Why can we not be loud about our sadness?" Livia continued. "I do not know why you are crying, but it seems like something has torn your soul apart. You shouldn’t hide it. It will eat you from the inside out."

"I’m Lady Bella," the younger woman said. "What was your name again?"

"Diana." She nearly corrected herself, but caught it just in time. "No lady, please. Just Diana."

"You are not English, are you?"

Livia gave a little shudder. "God, no. I could never keep track of all the rules." She rolled her eyes with a comical movement of her hands. "Stand here. Sit there. Smile now. Do not smile too much. Cry, but not loudly. Speak, but not honestly. Bow, but not so low. Raise your eyes. Don’t have a thought in your head. Honestly, it is exhausting. I would need a secretary just to manage my manners."

Unexpectedly, Bella chuckled. It was small. Barely there but it was laughter. The first one since Thomas’s death.

The moment it left her, Bella looked almost frightened by it. Livia smiled gently and pretended not to notice too much.

"Do not live in the palace then," Bella said, wiping beneath her eye. "It is a new rule every day. It can be hard to keep up."

"You live in the palace?" Livia’s eyes widened.

Bella gave a small, tired nod. "Yes."

"Oh my God! You are..." Livia slapped a palm over her mouth as her brain finally caught up with everything she had learned so far about the monarchy, the court, and the king’s many complications.

Lady Bella. The palace. The dead son. The king’s favourite mistress. Oh God. Bella watched the horror spread across Diana’s face and, for some strange reason, found it amusing. Most people became hungry for gossip once they realised who she was. "It’s okay," Bella said. "People don’t really know me."

"That cannot be true," Livia said.

Bella’s mouth curved faintly. "They know of me. That is different."

"I’m so sorry for your loss," Livia said softly. "I imagine such a pain is not easy to bear."

Bella looked down at her handkerchief. "No, it is not."

There were no words for a dead child.

Bella looked up after a moment. "It is nice to meet you, though. Even though you are a French teacher," Bella added.

Livia’s brows lifted. "Have something against the French?"

Bella gave a soft, bitter laugh. "Oh... you have no idea."

Livia smiled. "That bad?"

"There is a French princess at court who thinks the sun rises because she has permitted it."

"That does sound very French." Livia shrugged.

Bella laughed properly. It was still small, still fragile, but it was real.

"I would say tell me more about this French weirdness," Livia said, "but I fear I have to head back to Kingsmere."

"The Duke of Kingsmere recommended you," Bella said. "Are you a distant relative?"

"We are not related. He is merely helping me get my footing in England. I lost my parents back in Italy, and he has taken full responsibility for me for the time being."

Bella’s brows lifted slightly. That was a dangerous sentence. Every woman in England knew it. A beautiful young woman under the protection of the Duke of Kingsmere? "Then I better advise you to be careful with that one. The duke of Kingsmere is a smooth one."

"So I have gathered. He speaks like women were created for his entertainment and he seems very convinced that his face is a public blessing."

Bella laughed again. "He is best friends with the king. They grew up together, had the same tutors, caused trouble in different ways. The king was always the kind one. Richard was the one making every father lock their doors. And the things I hear about him at court..." Bella paused, her eyes glinting for the first time. "They would make you blush a million times over."