Anger surges past the constraints of shame. “My reputation,” I say coolly. “Is that all I am?”
“A woman’s reputation is her worth, Gemma.”
I flip a page hard and it tears slightly. “It’s wrong.”
Tom lifts the stopper from a crystal decanter and pours a splash into a tumbler. “It is the way it is. You may hate me for saying so, but there is the truth. Do you not remember that this is how our mother died? She would still be here and Father would be well and none of this would ever have happened if she had simply lived according to the time-trusted codes of society.”
“Perhaps it proved impossible. Perhaps she could not fit within so tight a corset.”
Perhaps I am the same.
“One does not have to like the rules, Gemma. But one does need to adhere to them. That is what makes civilization. Do you think that I agree with every rule at Bethlem Hospital or with every decision made by my superiors? Do you think I would not rather do as I please?” He takes a sip of the spirits, making a grimace as he swallows. “I had no control over Mother, but I do over you. I won’t allow you to follow the same path.”
“You won’t allow it?” I scoff. “I don’t see that you’ve a say in my life.”
“You’re wrong on that score. With Father ill, it falls to me to be your guardian, and I intend to take my position very seriously indeed.”
A new fear takes root in me. All this time, I’ve been worried about what the Order, the Rakshana, and the creatures of the Winterlands could do to me. I’d forgotten the very real dangers I face here, in my own world.
“You will not be returning to Spence. The Spence Academy for Young Ladies has obviously been a grave mistake. You’ll stay here until your debut.”
“But I’ve friends there….”
Tom turns on me. “Miss Bradshaw, the penniless liar, and Miss Worthington, who is of questionable virtue. A fine lot of friends. You shall meet the right sort of girls here.”
I’m on my feet. “The right sort? I’ve met plenty of them, and I can tell you they are as shallow as your teacup. And as for my friends, you don’t know them, and I’ll thank you not to speak about them.”
“I’ll thank you to lower your voice,” Tom hisses, glancing toward the door.
Yes, wouldn’t want the servants knowing our business. Wouldn’t want them to know I’ve a mind and a mouth to voice it.