“It would be easier if he were cruel or stupid,” Maria gave up. “He is neither.”
“Then treat him as a problem that requires a plan, not panic,” Charity said. “We were raised to sort problems. It is our only real skill.”
“I can think of other skills,” Temperance said, counting on her fingers. “Stealing jam, mending sheets….”
“Temperance,” Prudence warned.
“I am being supportive,” Temperance countered, unrepentant.
“You are,” Maria said, laughing in spite of herself. “All right. Plan. What is the plan?”
If there was anyone in the world who could save her, it would be her girls.
“Do not run,” Prudence said first. “Running gives people stories they do not deserve to tell.”
“Attend your fittings,” Charity added, deadpan. “It is unwise to marry in a half-made gown.”
“Eat,” Temperance said. “And sleep. And throw something at a wall if needed, as long as it is not a plate.”
“Talk to him,” Prudence finished.
“What would that be?” Maria asked. “I cannot think of a thing to say to him.”
“Then ask for specifics,” Charity said. “Where you will live. Whether he means for you to host or hide. Whether he expects children or silence. Whether he thinks you are a project or a person.”
“That last one matters,” Maria looked down at her hands.
“It matters most,” Prudence said softly.
It was that moment that the dressmaker came back into the room.
Temperance went to work, humming under her breath, her hands quick and bossy. Prudence and Charity took turns distracting Maria with lists: flowers, guests, music. At one point, Violet came in, read the room in two seconds, kissed the top of Maria’s head without knocking pins loose, and left again.
“Alethea wrote,” Prudence said after a bit, sifting envelopes. “She is still in Bath. Honeymoon is going well. She says Oliver has discovered that walking is improved by holding hands for miles.”
“Of course, she says that,” Charity said fondly. “She will return in a few days, in time to tell us we tied the bows incorrectly.”
“Did she say she was happy?” Maria asked, surprising herself with how much she wanted the answer.
Prudence smiled down at the letter.
“She did not use the word. She does not need to, though. It seems very much implied.”
Maria let the thought sit in her chest. Alethea is happy, far away for now, returning soon with stories. It steadied her more than she expected.
By noon, the seam was decided and the hem obeyed. The dressmaker declared victory and went to boss someone else. Temperance shook out her hands, proud of her own work. Charity collected the pins like a small general accounting for troops.
“Eat,” Prudence said again, and no one argued.
“Do you remember,” Temperance said suddenly, “when we once planned a fake wedding for the laundry cat?”
“It was a real wedding,” Charity looked appalled.
“It was a cat and a broom,” Prudence said.
“It was love,” Temperance insisted. “And I made a veil out of the good muslin.”
“You were punished for a week,” Charity reminded her.