“Always diligent,” he said. “You are a treasure, Miss Mederos, do you know that?”
She said nothing. He waited a moment, then shrugged, still keeping his smug smile.
“The children were disappointed that you were unable to teach them their astronomy lesson after all,” he said. “Perhaps another time this week?”
“Yes, I hope so,” she said.
He had not come farther into the room and she waited, book in hand, tense. Would he try something? She wished she had her pistols.
“I met your uncle – Samwell Balinchard, is it? – down at the coffee house,” he said. “He said you had stayed overnight and it confused me, of course, because you had said your mother needed you and you had to cancel.”
Yvienne’s expression remained unchanged, but inside she was seething. Damn. Blast. Hell. “Uncle doesn’t always follow the conversation at home. I expect he knew I was meant to stay over, but didn’t hear about the cancellation.”
“No doubt.” Now he came in, looking around as if he had never been in the schoolroom before. He ran a hand over the table, flicking away invisible dust. “I know you are a good girl, you see, and you wouldn’t lie to Mrs TreMondi or your mother about staying out all night.”
Now he was in front of her. The schoolroom door was still open, but he reached out and slid the back of his hand down the side of her face, and she flinched, because it was where she was still bruised. She had dressed her hair particularly to hide it, but he had seen it.
“You see,” he said, “I know good girls. I know girls who don’t sneak out of their parents’ house, and don’t lie to their employers. I know bad girls too, and I know girls who get hurt when they act – indecorously. I would hate it if you fall into the latter category, Miss Mederos.”
When she was fourteen and got a kiss from the gardener’s boy, she had been enthusiastic and kissed him back. Now she was rigid with disgust, revolted by Mr TreMondi’s advance. She glared at him. “Don’t touch me,” she said.
“Or what? You’ll tell my wife? I’ll tell her you lied about the astronomy lesson. I’ll tell her you’ve been sneaking out and made your advances to me. Whom do you think she’ll believe?” He let his hand fall. “Believe it or not, Yvienne, I have your best wishes at heart. You can ill-afford to transgress any further. Your family is in disgrace. Don’t you think the last thing they need is another wayward daughter? Your sister is bad enough.”
She swallowed hard against the disgust. “Mr TreMondi, the only reason I don’t walk out of this house this instant, never to return, is because I genuinely care for your children and your wife. Believe me, sir, you don’t deserve them. But if you ever even think to touch me again, I’ll leave, and I’ll make sure that your wife knows exactly why.”
He was furious, thin-lipped and pale except for two points of color high on his cheeks. He looked like a dramatically painted tin soldier, she thought. He grimaced a smile, as if he were trying to laugh.
“Are you threatening me, Miss Mederos?”
“I am promising you, Mr TreMondi. Your wife comes from a very disapproving family, sir. I wonder that you have the courage to make your advances.”
Her shot hit home. He paled, and then walked off, stiff-legged, as if he were forcing himself not to run. She would revel in her triumph except that it was only one battle, not the war.
Enough of this, she thought. She and Tesara had to talk. It was time to plan the final gambit.
Chapter Sixty
When Alinesse found out they had been invited to tea at the Sansieris, her reaction was one of disgust and contempt. The Mederoses and the Sansieris had been business partners many years before the Mederos downfall, and the girls had been friends. Then the families had a falling out, and after that, Alinesse had always referred to the Sansieri family with a superior air.
“Well, I’m sure I wouldn’t go,” she had said, upon being informed of the invitation. “No doubt they just want to impress upon you their station over yours. But you girls may find it useful to renew an old acquaintance.”
Mathilde had worked wonders with their dresses, and re-hemmed and mended and blotted and pressed their everyday frocks. Yvienne’s had a small burn mark on the hem where the iron had gotten too hot, and Mathilde had to darn a few holes along the side seam on Tesara’s, but otherwise, they were almost presentable.
Tesara was in the parlor, where the morning light was the best, sewing a few loose buttons that Mathilde had missed. The work was calming. Her fingers were biddable, even her crippled hand. She hummed a little at her work. She was so absorbed, that when her mother came in the room and spoke to her, she jumped a little.
“A very pretty picture you make, Tesara,” her mother said. Alinesse carried in a sheaf of tall day lilies, and set them on the table to cut the ends and arrange the flowers for the dining table.
Tesara snipped the end of the thread with her teeth. “Thank you, Mama,” she said. She stood and shook out the dress. It was faded but in the light the delicate stripes stood out.
Alinesse kept her back to her, arranging and re-arranging her flowers. “Your fingers – do they still pain you?”
Tesara’s eyebrows shot up with surprise. “Not so much any more, Mama,” she said.
“Good.” Alinesse turned. Her chin was up and her voice tight. “Perhaps more needlework or gentle arts will help restore their usage.”
“Perhaps,” Tesara agreed. It would do no good to become angry. Alinesse would always be Alinesse.
“Samwell,” Alinesse jerked out, entirely unexpectedly.
“I – beg your pardon?”
“Sam was always difficult. When he was young, we
