Merciful heavens, Thomasine had no idea what had possessed her to invite Lady Roche to her private sitting room. The sacrifices one made for one's children.
Through lowered lashes she observed the beastly woman. How she took in the rich comforting opulence. How she must itch to take her supposed rightful place in the household once her hopes of Esmeralda snagging Prince came to fruition. Hah. Not bloody likely.
But Thomasine sat quietly, courteously sipping her tea. Smiling politely in the appropriate places as Lady Roche prattled on. Esmeralda's love red locks compared to Pricilla's beautiful pale blond. Did the woman ever take a breath?
"Oui, Madame, they are beautiful young women," Thomasine agreed. Or could be with a slight attitude adjustment, she amended. Though, in retrospect, Esmeralda had certainly stepped up. If Prince had not fallen so hard for his mysterious princess, Thomasine would actually have admitted a preference for fluttering-eyed Esmeralda. 'Twas an unfortunate affliction she had to bear, however.
"My daughters have many, accomplishments, Your Majesty. Why, Esmeralda is a supreme embroiderer, has a wonderful singing voice, plays the pianoforte with astounding accomplishment. And, well, Pricilla is, accomplished…" she coughed, her face turning a blotchy red.
"Oui, Pricilla?" Thomasine prompted.
"Pricilla. Well, she…she is quite the, um, manager," Lady Roche finished weakly.
Thomasine reveled only a moment in Lady Roche's discomfort. "Manager?" Intriguing. Thomasine hadn't considered how intelligent the young women were. "Are you speaking of her intelligence?" she asked.
Lady Roche blustered, scrambling to avoid further discussion in that vein. Curious. Thomasine was sensitive on the matter of society's ignorance on a woman's wisdom. She managed to not shake her head, disgusted. What a ridiculous notion that women did not have the brain of a pea.
It appeared Lady Roche persisted in that medieval thought process. Thomasine took pity and let Lady Roche off the hook. "What of their father?"
"He was a very attractive man," Lady Roche said darkly.
"I see. Would this be the same sire as Cinderella's?"
"W...we…well," she sputtered, turning a dull red. "Alas, Olivier, Lord Roche was their stepfather." For a moment, something oddly human crossed Hilda Lady Roche's expression. Unreadable. After an abrupt pause her face cleared and she went on, her voice soft. The change startled Thomasine. "Gustaf Simmon, my daughters' father, expired just beyond Esmeralda's third year. I remarried straight away."
Thomasine found herself at a loss for words.
Then Lady Roche threw out her hand. "But Olivier was most kind to my…my girls." Again she stopped. Thomasine glimpsed something like pain. But it was gone quickly.
Lady Roche picked up her tirade with determination. Not one kind word passed her lips for her stepdaughter, scarcely a mention even.