Margaret approached Wren three days before the wedding with a request that surprised her considerably more than anything else the preceding weeks had produced, arriving at the townhouse's morning room with the particular careful formality Wren remembered from their very first difficult conversations, though the warmth underneath it now bore no resemblance to those earlier exchanges.
"I have something to ask you," Margaret said, settling into the chair across from Wren with visible nervousness, an emotion so unfamiliar on her that Wren set aside the seating arrangements she'd been reviewing to give the moment her full attention. "I want to be clear that you're entirely free to decline, and that I won't take any offense whatsoever if declining is what feels right to you."
"What is it?"
"I
