Before the arrival of the boys, Netherfield Academy had hardly been a hub of activity, yet it was setting new records in the Olympic sport of being dull.

Gideon seemed to be happy enough in his situation. Nervous, that was obvious, but looking forward to a change of pace. I was glad that I could offer my sincerest wishes for his future happiness. It was difficult to get that point across while Lisa was wailing at my side, clutching at Gideon's hand, and begging him not to go, but at least I'd tried. I was even trying with Wyatt and Georgia whenever I spotted either of them. Try, in this case, being not shaking Georgia by the shoulders until she saw sense whenever we were in the same room.

As we neared winter break, I'd convinced Jenny that my plan was an amazing one, even though I was losing some faith in it by the time it came to execute our little plot. Her mother had been easy to convince. Ms Ayers was always up for a little adventure, and skiing during Christmas appealed to her greatly. She'd tried to invite me along, but I'd declined. If I had to face Charlie after all the trouble he'd caused, I was liable to break his nose. It would take more strength than Jenny could muster to hold me back from showing the boy exactly what I thought of the way he'd treated her.

Besides, I couldn't have attended even if I'd wanted to.

I had to spend Christmas in Paris.

It didn't matter to my parents that I was eighteen and had every legal right to refuse their demands; my father insisted that I spend time with my mother. He was a fair man and thought that familial ties were important, thus; they were worth maintaining. I wanted nothing from my mother, and I certainly had nothing to offer her. To me, it was better to put an end to the connection between us before we grew to resent one another. Sadly, that wasn't a decision I was permitted to make while I was still living in my father's house and while she was paying for my education. It would have to wait until I was independent and got a say in what I did with my own life.

The only upside was that I wouldn't suffer alone.

Wyatt was coming with me.

Somehow, he'd convinced Georgia to be a part of this farcical celebration and her parents had agreed. I suspected that they'd used me to convince them that she was in safe hands because no parent in their right mind would allow their teenage daughter to spend an important holiday overseas in the company of strangers. Not if their almost-but-not-really-boyfriend was amongst said strangers. I knew that she wanted to spend time with him, and perhaps prove to me that I was wrong to assume that they wouldn't work out, but she was only going to hurt herself by stepping into the middle of my unconventional family drama.

My mother wasn't a woman I'd wish on anyone, least of all my friends.

The flight to France was painfully silent, but it was also a mercy. I knew I wouldn't have a moment's peace once we landed, and I revelled in every moment we spent in the air. My stomach clenched as we descended, and I spared a glance in Georgia's direction. She seemed nervous, and Wyatt had placed his hand over hers. I'd promised to try, but I couldn't help but find it creepy. I didn't know if it was the man or the age difference that I disapproved. It may well have been both. Had that been the case, then I was doubly glad that I'd never tested the waters with Gideon. Doing so would have made me a hypocrite and likely cost him his job. I had to wonder at Wyatt and his willingness to risk himself for the sake of being with Georgia. That said, I didn't know that he took being a teacher all that seriously. He spoke often about his connections and recommendations from others. I got the feeling that he planned to rely heavily on such beneficial relationships to find his way to a comfortable, easy life.

It was my first time meeting my latest stepfather, and my first impression was that he was entirely ridiculous. Monsieur Courtenay exuded wealth. He greeted me with a hug and a peck on each cheek while he wafted around expensive cologne. I wasn't a connoisseur of designer clothes, but I estimated that his outfit was worth more than most people earned in a year. I didn't know if I was meant to hug him back and so froze up, my spine rigid and my arms pressed flat against my sides until he released me.

As much as my mother tried to assure me that this was a French tradition – and everything about him was exceptionally French – I couldn't help but find his approach strange. We discovered over dinner that night in his vast home that he had quite the taste for wine. It was a wonder his liver didn't vacate his body and run screaming from the room after the vast quantities he imbibed throughout the three courses. All the while, he boasted about the success of his vineyard, from which the wine had been brought, and made snide remarks about his lovely wife's ex-husbands and their businesses. It took all my self-control and a warning glare from my mother to stop me leaping over the dinner table to throw the cheap red swill all over him.

Fortunately, we weren't doomed to spend the entirety of our trip in the South of France. It was a lovely area, but the absence of the pompous sack of wind who wouldn't stop grabbing at my mother like she was a piece of meat whenever he thought that we weren't looking vastly improved its beauty. My mother was still an attractive woman; lithe frame, store-bought breasts and professionally dyed hair which concealed her age. It was no wonder that she kept feeding on the bank accounts of rich men she'd enticed with her... assets. Monsieur Courtenay was in for a rude awakening when he realised that he wasn't in the least bit unique or special to my mother. He was just the latest in a long line of men who had more money than sense.

We only stayed two nights in the chateau – thank God – before they whisked us away to Paris and the home of his sister Madame Courtenay.

After hearing so much about this woman from Wyatt and Gideon, I was eager to meet her, if only to observe her snobbery and gaudiness up close. It was more grim fascination than admiration, and I wasn't disappointed when we made the approach to the imposing townhouse in a grand arrondissement on the outskirts of the city. It was hardly convenient for the local nightlife or shopping, but it afforded the owner a considerable amount of land which had been landscaped into gardens which would put the palace of Versailles to shame.

I couldn't believe that she'd agreed to keep us as her guests for winter. Her brother and his new wife were understandable invitees. Even Wyatt, to some extent, as he had been previously introduced to her and she may have found his sycophantic nature pleasing to her ego. Georgia was from a wealthy family, to be sure, but a rich woman had nothing to gain by associating with people so financially beneath her, no matter how good their reputations.

And then there was me.

The grubby daughter of a garage owner who had a penchant for ripped jeans, battered trainers, and band t-shirts.

I wasn't sure that a creature such as myself had ever graced her chintzy home. I could feel the displeasure in her eyes as we approached the drawing-room where she was already receiving guests. Madame Courtenay occupied a vast, throne-like seat in the room's heart which demanded the attention of everyone gathered. They had arranged the rest of the chairs and chaises in just such a way that anyone sat in them would stare at the occupant of said throne, like artists surrounding their life-model, so they might better study and capture her likeness.

I clung to Georgia's hand, seeking the comfort of another person who would be just as intimidated as I was. My mother entered without a care, smiling in just such a way which spoke of her familiarity with the dreadful woman. She spared not a single glance in my direction and offered no reassurance. Thankfully, Georgia squeezed my fingers, and it relieved me to know that her palms were as clammy with fear as mine.

There was no way, I thought, that this could be any worse than it already was.

Then I saw him.

'You are come at last,' Madame Courtenay said. She didn't condescend to rise, or to shake hands with anyone. She looked over us all with equal distaste in our attire, although I detected a hint of pleasure in her gaze when it fell upon Wyatt. There wasn't a wealthy woman alive who didn't thrive on the attentions of simpering young men ready to grovel at their feet.

Said gaze fell to me, and the change was both instantaneous and drastic. The frost she exuded from her aura could have brought on a second ice age and ended all life on Earth as we knew it. There was nothing about me to praise. I was born a nobody and I would die one as far as she and her society were concerned. Everything about a person like me would be offensive to her, and she didn't need to utter a single word to communicate her contempt.

'Hi,' I said when the silence became awkward.

'You are Mrs Courtenay's daughter, then? Elisabeth, if I remember.'

'Yep.'

There was safety in monosyllabic answers.

'How brash you are.' She looked to my mother. 'Her father raised her, you said?'

Oh, good. They'd been discussing me behind my back. That made me feel so much better about what was to come.

'Yes, Madame. She doesn't have much exposure to society.'

'So I can see. Fix that, Mrs Courtenay. Otherwise I will never approve of her.'

I was remarkably okay with that.

'You have guests already,' my stepfather pointed out.

I'd noticed the other guests as we'd walked in, but I hadn't paid them too much mind. They were nothing to the frightening woman who was working out whether she could have me thrown out of her house without upsetting her brother or his new wife.

If I had taken more of an opportunity to glance in their direction, I might have found someone I recognised.

William Darcy.