“I am standing properly,” Lillian muttered, though she straightened her shoulders fractionally.
“Perhaps I might speak with Miss Gray privately for a moment?” Isadora suggested, noting how the girl’s eyes darted between her governess and the doorway as though calculating escape routes.
Mrs. Hale hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with deviating from established routine. “Well, I suppose... if it’s only for a moment. I shall wait in the corridor.”
When they were alone, Lillian seemed to deflate slightly, her rigid posture giving way to something more natural. She was a pretty girl—would be beautiful, given time—but there was something fragile about her that went beyond the natural awkwardness of adolescence.
“I wanted to thank you for our conversation at breakfast,” Isadora said, settling into the chair Mrs. Hale had vacated. “It’s been far too long since I’ve had opportunity to discuss literature with someone who truly appreciates it.”
A smile flickered across Lillian’s features. “I enjoyed it as well, Your Grace. It’s rare that anyone wishes to hear my thoughts on such matters.”
“Please, call me Isadora when we’re alone. We’re to be family, after all, and I’ve never been one for excessive formality.” She gestured toward the books scattered across the desk. “What are you reading today?”
Lillian glanced toward the door, then seemed to make a decision. “Paradise Lost. Mrs. Hale considers it rather ambitious for my age, but I find Milton’s arguments about free will fascinating. The idea that choice itself might be both humanity’s greatest gift and its ultimate curse.”
“A sophisticated observation.” Isadora leaned forward, genuinely interested. “Tell me, do you discuss such ideas with your uncle?”
At the question, Lillian’s face went pale, her hands clenching in her lap. “Uncle Edmund doesn’t... that is, he prefers that I focus on more practical subjects.”
“Practical subjects?”
“Deportment. Household management. The accomplishments suitable for a young lady of my station.” The words came out flat, rehearsed, as though she were reciting lessons learned by rote. “He says intellectual pursuits beyond the basics are unseemly in women.”
“And what do you think of that philosophy?”
Lillian’s eyes darted toward the door again, fear replacing enthusiasm. “I think... I think Uncle Edmund knows what’s best for me. He’s been very kind, taking me in when my guardians died. I owe him my obedience in all things.”
The change was heartbreaking. In the space of moments, the vibrant young woman who had argued theological philosophy had become a frightened child reciting approved responses.
“Lillian,” Isadora said carefully, “you need not be so guarded with me. I’m not here to report your thoughts to anyone.”
“You’re his wife.” The words held a note of accusation. “You’re bound to tell him everything.”
“I’m bound to respect him as my husband, yes. But that doesn’t mean I must betray confidences or suppress my own judgment. Marriage needn’t mean the complete surrender of independent thought.”
Lillian stared at her with something approaching wonder. “Mrs. Hale says a wife’s duty is absolute obedience to her husband’s will. That disagreement is a form of rebellion against God’s natural order.”
“Mrs. Hale has strong opinions on many subjects, I’m sure. Lillian... Tell me honestly—are you happy here at the Abbey?”
Lillian opened her mouth, then closed it, clearly struggling with competing impulses toward honesty and self-preservation.
“I’m grateful,” she said finally. “Uncle Edmund saved me from destitution. He’s provided for all my needs, ensured my education, protected me from scandal. I would be ungrateful to complain.”
The answer sounded far too rehearsed and Isadora had to bite her lip to not burst out, shake her head or scream. She kept her voice low. “That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s what I can answer.” The words came out sharp, desperate. “Please don’t ask me to say more. Please don’t make me choose between honesty and safety.”
The plea was devastating in its simplicity. This girl—barely sixteen, intelligent and curious and alive—had learned to see honesty and safety as mutually exclusive concepts. What manner of household had Isadora entered, where even family members lived in fear of speaking their minds?
Before she could respond, footsteps in the corridor announced Mrs. Hale’s return. Lillian immediately straightened, her expression becoming carefully neutral.
“I hope you’ve had a pleasant conversation,” the governess said, though her tone suggested she hoped nothing of the sort.
“Most illuminating,” Isadora replied, rising from her chair. “Miss Gray’s insights into Milton are quite sophisticated. I suspect she would benefit from more challenging texts.”
Mrs. Hale’s expression soured. “His Grace is quite specific about appropriate reading material for young ladies. Miss Gray’s education follows a curriculum designed to prepare her for her proper role in society.”
“Of course.” Isadora smiled, though she felt anything but pleasant. “I merely thought that intellectual curiosity should be encouraged rather than... contained.”
