THE MOTHER'S WARNING
The tea set had belonged to Catherine's grandmother, shipped from a country that no longer existed, delicate enough to shatter if you thought too hard about its value. Eleanor had hated it as a child, the way she had to hold her pinky out, the way the cups burned her fingers, the way her mother watched every sip for signs of clumsiness. Now she owned it, and she served from it with the precision of someone who had finally become the thing she feared.
Sophia sat across from her in the conservatory, the glass walls letting in October light that made everything look golden and temporary. The estate sprawled beyond—formal gardens, a maze, a lake that Eleanor's husband had stocked with fish he never caught. Sophia wore a dress she had bought herself, navy and simple, and
