Roxie, thirteen, and Freda, fourteen, were not exactly the best actresses. Not that they did not have to feign or imitate any type of character, because they had always been privileged. As the youngest Stratfords, they could get away with anything. And if they could not, they mostly did not mind the punishments. They had a peculiar gift of finding something interesting in any given situation, good or bad. Just like today, of instance.

Most of the Stratfords younger than Damon often found his punishments dreadful. They would prefer Harry's over his, simply because Harry would not bother to get creative. He would resort to the boring ones (confinement in their bedchamber, no extra meal in the day, banishment from the woods), while Damon would entertain himself with creative ideas such as confinement in the well up in Windsong, exchanging roles with a servant, and just like today, on the side of the road, a roleplaying game.

If Damon gave the punishment to any of the others, they would have begged for something else. But not Roxie and Freda. The pair admitted to playing tricks on Geneva Withers many times before—even proudly proclaimed they were rarely caught and punished by the others—and with no heavy heart accepted the punishment from Damon.

In fact, the resistance he received was from someone else: Geneva Withers.

Meeting him on the side of the road, and seeing he was with his two cousins, she took a moment of pause. And vehemently said no as he began to tell her of his plan.

"But why would you do that?" she asked in disbelief.

"Because it is our punishment," said Roxie, guiltily smiling at Geneva.

"This is our way of saying we're sorry for what we have done before," added Freda. "Except for the grasshopper. It was truly not us. It just hopped on your shoulder and we just happened to be nearby."

Roxie nodded. "But we did laugh when you jumped in alarm. We should not have."

Geneva blinked once, then twice. And once more. Turning to Damon, she frowned. "This is absurd."

"Oh, it's not. It's actually quite easy," said Roxie. "Freda and I can definitely do this. And this is for a very good cause."

"A good cause?"

"For Damon's friend, Matthew."

"You do not have to do anything," Freda added.

Geneva scoffed and glared at Damon. "Surely, you would not put them in danger. If you truly wish to punish them, you can do so by...by locking them inside their rooms."

"That would be utterly boring," he droned.

"Not if you make them kneel by their beds until they're done reading the book of Psalms."

It was time for Damon, Freda, and Roxie to blink at her.

"Or close the curtains and keep them in the dark for days," she mumbled.

Damon turned to his cousins, who, by some miracle, looked frightened. He shook his head at Geneva. "That is not punishment, Miss Withers. That would be torture."

She pursed her lips and stared at the girls. "Well, they tortured me many times, have they not?"

Both girls grimaced, and before Damon could say something, Freda piped in, cheerfully saying, "We would rather not be here, to be honest, but we're doing this because it's the punishment Damon wants."

Roxie turned to Damon. "But if Miss Geneva does not want our help, maybe we should not do this."

"I read fast," said Freda. "I'm certain I'll be able to finish Psalms in a day."

"I'm not afraid of the dark," Roxie said. "So long as there would be food."

Damon sighed. "No," he said, smiling at Geneva. "My cousins shall perform today as punishment for what they did to you, Miss Withers. If you do not wish to be a part of it, you can leave."

She considered his words, her gaze jumping from him to both girls, then at the end of the road. She looked genuinely confused. "But this punishment is not—"

"It is favorable," he interjected. "For me, for the girls, and for you. You get to see them do something embarrassing."

She stepped forward, standing too close to him that he could smell her hair. Lavender. And she whispered, "Do they know?"

"They do not ask questions."

"You mean to tell me they will do this and not be curious why?"

He frowned down at her. "They do senseless things all the time. Why would they be curious about me asking them to do the same?"

She blinked a few times, then nodded. "You're right."

"But to ease your mind, I told them this is my way of helping a friend."

When she did not argue, he broke into a grin. "Then you agree?"

She stiffly nodded, stepped back, and squared her shoulders.

"Good," Damon said, stepping back. "This is what has to happen..."

***

"You do not have to do this," Geneva said to the two girls.

"We're doing it," Roxie replied, kicking the ground with her dusty boots.

Damon had already left, saying he was going home.

"He's not coming back," Freda replied to the question Geneva could not give voice. Freda was already staring at her with a quizzical look on her face.

Geneva looked away. It was odd enough that the three of them were outside church, which were the only occasions their paths crossed. "What is it?" She did not mean to snap, but it seemed that her tongue had a mind of its own whenever she was near these two Stratfords. When Freda did not reply, she stole a look. "What is it?" she asked again.

"What did you do when you were punished to kneel?" Roxie asked instead, walking up to her with open curiosity on her face. "Supposing that's how you're punished."

"Why would I tell you?"

Roxie shrugged and faced the road, waiting.

"Did they catch you lying? Did you steal something?" asked Freda, standing closer.

Geneva's jaw tightened.

"What was it? Lady Barbara's perfume?" Roxie asked over her shoulder.

"Why would I steal her perfume?"

"Right. It's horrible."

"Stockings?" Freda asked. "I once stole Sisi's stockings and was banned from her studio for a month. They're quite costly."

"Studio?"

"She has a sewing room. The old man had it built for her. That's how she makes her peculiar dresses."

Geneva blinked in surprise. "She makes her own dresses."

"Of course," Roxie said, turning around until her skirt ballooned around her. "She's even making her own wedding dress!"

"She wore a feathered gown in the Hutchinson ball."

Lady Hutchinson was a dear friend of her aunts and had always shared their sentiments about the Stratfords. However, Lady Hutchinson also liked being surrounded by good names, and in Abberton, Stratford was the good name. Thus, they were always invited.

Geneva could still clearly see Simone Priest walking around covered in black feathers in the last Hutchinson ball. Her cousin, Lydia, was in white feathers, but it was Simone who stood out the most. Geneva remembered thinking it was rather bold of them, but she also remembered looking at them with envy because they survived the night with pride.

And it had always been like that. Simone would wear something different without an ounce of shame. People would look with curiosity and bafflement, some even with horror. And always, someone else would follow in the coming days. And then more would have the same hat or the same dress.

It might be what attracted the Duke of Dafield to Simone Priest. She had confidence. All Stratfords did.

"We're actually writing a play for her engagement party," Freda said while Roxie raised on her toes to check the end of the road. "You should come see it."

"A play in a party?"

"It's going to be a long party," Roxie provided. "And we're taking advantage. Freda and I are going to write a play to entertain the guests. We're almost done with the story. It's about a lost princess."

"And everyone is fine with you organizing a play during your cousin's engagement party?"

"Whyever not?" Freda asked. "The duke is helping us with the story."

"And you are invited, of course, now that you have forgiven us," said Roxie.

Geneva scoffed in disbelief. "Do you always assume that whenever you do your punishment, you are immediately forgiven?"

"No, of course not," Roxie said. "Lydia, for one, holds grudges the longest."

"What she's trying to say is that we hope you forgive us," Freda said with a smile. "But you can choose not to. I've always thought you're much more like Lydia than Sisi, to be honest."

Again, Geneva let out a scoff. And for the first time, she just shook her head in resignation. She had never had any other conversations with them. It was always one-sided, with either them laughing or snicker, or her blabbering about how they should be ashamed of their behavior.

"You should come see our play," said Freda.

"Plays," corrected Roxie. "Five days of them."

"I cannot watch the same play for five straight days," said Geneva. "That would be quite repetitive."

Both girls looked at each other with a frown.

"Unless you make it a serial," added Geneva. "That shall make everyone come back." Realizing what she said, she added, "Given your story is good enough, of course." The pair, however, were looking at her with wide eyes. Geneva stepped back. "I did not mean to insult you. I only told you what I think—"

"You are a genius!" Roxie cried out with glee. "A serial!"

"A fantastic idea!" Freda excitedly added. "Oh, you don't know how you just turned this party around, Miss Geneva!"

"Who would have thought you have such fine ideas?" Roxie asked, holding hands with Freda and squealing with enthusiasm.

At the sound of wheels against gravel, however, the pair whirled around and a different kind of excitement glimmered in their eyes. They grinned mischievously. "We shall do our best, Miss Geneva," said Roxie before she dropped to the ground, hugging one leg while her head bent as she began to feign a cry.

It was not a carriage that was approaching them. It was a wagon. And as it rolled closer, Freda jumped in the middle of the road, waving her arms and jumping up and down. "Help!" she shouted. "Please, help us!"

Geneva was frozen in her spot as it came to a halt. The driver looked concerned and his eyes fell on Roxie who was now whimpering on the ground. "What is it, little miss?" asked Theodore Vernon. His eyes jumped to Geneva.

Did he expect her to answer? How could she when she was breathless and speechless at the same time?

"She twisted her ankle, Sir," Freda provided. "We live not far away. There, in Abberton House."

Theodore Vernon immediately nodded. "Of course! If you don't mind my wagon, I will take you all home. Are you one of them Stratfords?"

"Yes, we are!" said Freda, stepping back as Mr. Vernon jumped down to go to Roxie. "This is my cousin, Roxie."

"Well, hello, Roxie. What happened to your leg?" asked Mr. Vernon, dropping on the ground to peer down at the crying girl. "Do you mind if I carry you up to the wagon?"

Roxie, face still bent, shook her head, a thank you escaping her lips in between fake sobs. And all the while, as their plan unfolded before her eyes, Geneva remained rooted in her spot. She watched as her father carried the whimpering Roxie off the ground and onto his wagon, and then helped Freda hoist herself up to sit beside Roxie where she wrapped her arms around her cousin for comfort.

"And you, Miss?" asked Mr. Vernon.

Geneva opened her mouth to speak. She was supposed to say something. Damon told her what, but she could not remember a word.

"Are you with these young ladies?"

He had gray eyes like her, his hair black with gray strands at the temples. And he looked just as he always did whenever she encountered him in the market, at the butcher place. But he did not seem to remember her. To him, she must just be one of the many ladies who frequented the market.

"She's our governess, Sir," Freda replied, her reprimanding look telling Geneva she should stay focused.

"Allow me, please," said Mr. Vernon, extending his elbow.

"Miss Geneva!" Freda hissed when she did not move. "Roxie is in pain. We should hurry."

She finally snapped. Then she held her father's arm. He felt warm, his coat dusty. The smell of sweat and afternoon sun almost made her tear up. And as they walked to the wagon, she realized he was much taller. And he felt solid, his gait steady. She could run into him and she was certain she would crumble at his feet.

He e helped her up on the wagon and she almost did not want to let go. "Please forgive the lack of space," he said, "I was just out making deliveries."

"It's alright, Sir," said Freda. "We're truly sorry to be such a bother."

"It's my pleasure!" The man smiled at them, then at her. "Miss Geneva seems to be in shock."

"She is easily shaken, Sir."

Mr. Vernon nodded and ran back to front and climbed back behind the horses. Then they were traveling down the road to Abberton House.

Over his shoulder, Mr. Vernon checked on them. And when his eyes veered back to her, Geneva blinked away and cleared her throat.

Freda filled the journey with a fantastic story of how Roxie twisted her ankle. Damon never said there was a story, but the young woman must have felt it was necessary. Then, when she was done, she changed the subject. "You are Matthew's father, are you not?"

"I see you're familiar with my son," said Mr. Vernon with a light chuckle.

"He's friends with our cousins," said Freda. "Damon speaks greatly of him."

"Truly?"

"Yes! Damon says he is a bright young man."

Geneva listened as Freda talked to her father about her brother. And she wanted to cry because she did not know what they were talking about.

"I heard he wants to study in Coulway," said Freda, moistening her lips, eyes intently staring at the back of Mr. Vernon's head.

There was a long pause. "He does?"

"Well, that's what I heard," Freda said with a chuckle. "Damon said he wishes to Matthew would go and pursue his dreams."

Mr. Vernon only nodded and said nothing as he pulled at the reigns.

In surprise, Geneva blinked at the Abberton House. They've arrived? Already?

***

The Abberton House was best known for its courtyard, one you had to go through to enter the manor, and one that was teeming with life. Not only was it the only entrance to the manor, it was also a passage to the gardens and the vast lawn that led to the woods. Animals and people, mainly merchants, passed (or stop for a nap) by the courtyard anytime of the day. But most of all, the Stratfords wasted their spare time there.

At the moment, Damon, Harry, Webster, and Daniel, the Duke of Dafield, were having their afternoon tea under the shade of the tree in one corner, waiting as the wagon rolled outside the arched entryway of the courtyard.

"This is a very odd pursuit, brother," Damon said, frowning as Mr. Vernon jumped down and circled to the back to take Roxie into his arms.

"Did I miss something?" Daniel asked, eyes on Geneva Withers. She was glaring at Freda who asked for help getting down. "Are they not enemies?"

"Not quite," said Damon.

Harry stood as Mr. Vernon walked into the courtyard with Roxie in his arms.

"My lord!" the man said, carefully putting Roxie down. "I'm afraid your cousin hurt her leg during their walk."

"She did, didn't she?" asked Webster, eyes on Damon.

"But I don't need Doctor Peters," said Roxie, limping her way toward Damon. With her back now at Mr. Vernon, she beamed at her cousin. "Oh, it hurts," she dramatically added as settled in Harry's chair. "Please, thank Mr. Vernon for us, Harry."

Harry smiled at the man. "Thank you, Mr. Vernon."

"It was no bother, my lord," said the man. "I was on my way to the market when I chanced upon them and their governess."

Webster sputtered and coughed. Harry threw Damon an incredulous look.

"The market?" Damon piped in, standing to his feet, eyes jumping to Geneva as she and Freda approached. "Miss Geneva, I just remembered. Lydia and Sisi went to the market and left word for you. They were hoping you'd join them there." He grimaced and added, "But I'm afraid the horses are indisposed. Doctor Skelton is currently checking them for signs of flu."

She looked arrested and was beginning to shake her head when Mr. Vernon said, "I can give Miss Geneva a ride to the market," he said. "If she doesn't mind, of course."

Damon silently waited for Geneva to voice her protest. Her eyes went to Mr. Vernon and any objections she may have had softened into a curt nod.

"Perfect," Damon said.

Mr. Vernon's smile widened. "By the by, Mr. Priest," he said to him, "My son, Matthew speaks highly of you. All of you, as a matter-of-fact. I hope he doesn't bother you with his talks about machineries."

"Your son has an impeccable mind, Mr. Vernon. He is the most innovative thinker I've ever met."

Mr. Vernon's face was stunned with wonder for a while before it lit up with pride. "That, he is." He turned to the others, bowed, and waited for Geneva to move. When she could not, Damon approached and gave her a tiny nudge and whispered, "Wait for me at the park."

She nodded, gave the others a quick curtsy, and walked away with Mr. Vernon.

"That was quite easy," said Freda as Roxie jumped to her two good feet. "Do you think he will allow Matthew to study in Coulway?"

"If you did a good job," Damon replied.

"We did a tremendous job," Roxie proclaimed, hooking arms with Freda and the two of them disappeared back into the manor, content that their punishment had just been fulfilled.

"Who did a tremendous job?" Simone's voice asked from behind. She just emerged from one side of the manor with a book, her hair tied in a variety of ribbons.

"No one," said Damon.

Simone sat on the arm of Daniel's chair. "Was that Geneva Withers with Matthew's father?"

"Yes," he replied, sitting down.

"I don't understand." She looked around the table. "What's happening?"

"You and I both, darling," said the duke, also looking confused.

Damon shot Webster and Harry a look of warning before saying, "We urged the girls to apologize to Geneva Withers."

"But she was the one who made them cry."

"And rightfully so," he said. "They've played tricks on her too often than we're aware of, apparently."

Harry sighed and sat down. "Get a chair, Sisi," he said.

"I am in one."

"Get a chair," Damon sternly added.

With a sigh, Simone left Daniel's side. "I'm marrying him, you know."

"He may not," Webster retorted.

Daniel laughed with everyone, then coughed into silence when Simone shot him a look. "I am," he said, clearing his throat. "Marrying you."

"Good. Then give me your chair, Your Grace."

"You take mine," Damon said, standing. "I shall not be joining you for supper," he added to the rest.

"Going somewhere?" Webster asked, gaze filled with meaning.

He walked away with a secret smile and without an answer.