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Olivia felt a chill crawl down her spine. "Is she going on holiday?" she asked quickly, searching for some explanation that did not involve separation. "Or perhaps visiting friends? Or…" She paused. "You are not sending her somewhere dreadful, are you?"

Lady Shirley laughed, and there was something about the sound that made Olivia's heart sink.

"Surely Northumberland, under the care of my own sister, will make for a wonderful holiday."

Olivia's mouth fell open.

Her mother continued, perfectly composed. "The Dowager Countess of Charnley will be her guardian. She will see that Louiza is properly introduced to society there and, more importantly, find her a suitable husband."

Louiza had gone completely pale.

Olivia stared at her mother in disbelief.

Northumberland. Aunt Jane. A husband.

Her thoughts raced so quickly that she could scarcely catch them. Aunt Jane was not merely strict, she was legendary. Even Lady Shirley occasionally spoke of her sister with the wary respect one might reserve for a military commander.

"You are sending Louiza to Aunt Jane?" Olivia asked, her voice rising in disbelief.

Lady Shirley lifted her chin. "Yes."

Olivia looked at her sister. Louiza looked back. And in that single glance, Olivia knew they were both thinking precisely the same thing.

This was not a holiday. This was war.

Olivia stared at her mother, unable to make sense of what she had heard, though she suspected that if she waited long enough, the entire conversation might somehow become less dreadful. It did not.

"Mama, you cannot do this," Olivia said, turning sharply toward her father. "Papa, surely you cannot mean to allow it."

Lord Shirley's gaze remained fixed upon the carpet. He looked deeply interested in a pattern woven into it, which Olivia thought was remarkably convenient considering that his daughters were presently having their lives rearranged.

"Do as your mother says, child," he murmured. "Your sisters have already found matches and are living their lives while you two waste away here. Something must be done about it."

Olivia stared at him in disbelief. She had spent years hoping that one day her father might find enough courage to oppose Lady Shirley, particularly when it concerned his daughters. That day, apparently, had decided to take a holiday of its own.

"That is all you have to say?" Olivia demanded, her voice trembling with frustration. "Louiza is being sent away with such little notice, and you are studying the carpet?"

Lord Shirley shifted uncomfortably. "Your mother has made the decision."

"Precisely," Lady Shirley said, drawing herself up with satisfaction. "And I can make it because I am her mother, and because something must be done. You and Louiza spend far too much time together. You encourage one another in foolishness, and neither of you appears capable of taking marriage seriously."

Olivia folded her arms. "Perhaps because it is not easy to choose the right man to father one's children."

Her mother's expression hardened. "You are hardly in a position to speak of children. You are not mother material."

The words struck Olivia with such force that she forgot, for a moment, to breathe. She had expected criticism. She had expected to be called stubborn, troublesome, or even hopelessly romantic. But that was different.

Being told I am not mother material touches the one part of me I rarely allow anyone to see.

She had always dreamed of children, of a noisy nursery and little hands reaching for her, of being the sort of mother who would never make a child feel frightened or unwanted. She wanted to love her children fiercely, the way she loved Louiza, and secretly …

I want someone to love and care for me with that same certainty.

Olivia looked toward her father, hoping against reason that he might finally lift his head and defend her. His eyes remained glued to the floor. She felt the disappointment settle somewhere deep inside her, colder than anger.

"Papa," she whispered, but he said nothing.

For once, Olivia wished he would stop being agreeable and simply be brave.