We sat there, sizing each other up in silence as we moved down the cobblestone streets. Light from outside lamps came and went, creating a flickering show of shadows inside. When that intermittent illumination came, I could see that her dress was even plainer than mine, threadbare in some places. At last, she spoke, her voice tinged slightly with a working-class accent: “How’d you get your hair like that? All those curls lying just so?”

It wasn’t a question I’d expected. It also seemed blunt until I realized she thought we were of equal social rank. “It’s naturally wavy,” I said.

She nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes. I can tell, but the way those curls are all arranged so perfectly . . . I’ve tried that myself, like the highborn ladies do? I think I’d need half a dozen hands to do it.”

I nearly said I had had half a dozen hands helping me and then bit off the words. I’d thought I was so clever changing into Ada’s dress, but had gone off on this adventure with the same elaborately styled hair I’d had from this morning—which my maids had helped curl and pin in the latest fashion, cascading all around my shoulders. I gave my companion a tight smile back.

“Someone helped me,” I said. I thought about Ada’s backstory and tried to make it my own. “Since it’s a, uh, special occasion. I worked as a lady’s maid, you see, so I have friends who are really good at this kind of thing.”

“A lady’s maid? Well, that’s bloody lucky. I wouldn’t want to leave that post. Explains why you talk so well—you’ll have a leg up on the rest of us.” She sounded impressed . . . and also a little envious.

“It’s not a competition,” I said quickly.

There was another fleeting flash of light from outside, showing me a wry expression on her face. “The hell it isn’t. How we do and how well we learn affects who they offer us to as wives. I’m going to be a banker’s wife. Or a statesman’s. Not some farmer’s.” She paused to reconsider. “Unless he’s some dirty rich plantation owner, where I can order around the servants and the household. But an ordinary farmwife? Sweeping floors and making cheese? No, thanks. Not that any old farmer could afford one of us. My mother heard from one of her friends that the Glittering Court got a marriage price of four hundred gold dollars for one of their girls. Can you even imagine that sort of money?”

Vaguely, I recalled Cedric talking about suitors making “offers.” The contract had further elaborated how the Glittering Court’s agents made a commission off each girl’s marriage price. Cedric might have spoken in lofty tones about his new nobility providing a service to the New World, but it was obvious this was a huge money-making venture for the Thorn family.

The other girl was regarding me strangely, waiting for a response.

“I’m sorry—you’ll have to forgive me if I sound scattered. This was all kind of last-minute,” I explained. “The family I worked for was dismissing most of their staff, and so when Ced—Master Cedric was looking for girls, someone referred me to him.”

“Oh, you’re one of his, huh? I heard about that too,” my companion said. “He hasn’t ever recruited before, you see. His father’s one of the best procurers, and Master Cedric made a big deal about how he could be just as good, so his father let him pick a couple of girls. Caused a big family stir.”

“You sure do know a lot,” I said. She’d apparently received a more extensive pitch than Ada and me.

“I was delivering laundry to their house,” she explained. “My mother washes clothes, and I helped her. But no more.” She held up her hands and studied them, but I couldn’t get a good look. “I’m not meant to be a laundress. I’m never washing anyone’s damned clothes again.”

Her ambition radiated off her. I wasn’t sure if that sort of initiative would be useful to me or not, but when in doubt, I’d found friendliness was usually the best course of action.

“I’m Adelaide,” I told her warmly. “It’s so nice to meet you, Miss . . . ?”

She hesitated, as though deciding if I was worth the next piece of information. “Wright. Tamsin Wright.”

The carriage began to slow, bringing us to our next stop. Both of us dropped the thread of our conversation as we waited to see who would enter next. When the door opened and revealed a girl standing outside, Tamsin’s breath caught. At first, I thought the poor lighting was distorting the newcomer’s appearance. Then, I realized the tawny hue of her skin was natural. It was almost like caramel. I recalled the driver saying we were going near the Sirminican quarter. It was one of the poorest districts in the capital, and I could just make out a few dirty, run-down buildings in the distance. I knew by reputation that it was overcrowded with refugees from Sirminica, which had been locked in civil war for the last few years. Once, it had been a great nation, and its monarchy had even intermarried with ours. Rebels had recently overthrown the royal family, and now the country was generally avoided as a chaotic war zone. This girl waiting by the coach’s door, with her lovely skin and luxurious black hair, bore all the signs of being one of those refugees.

She was also stunningly, breathtakingly beautiful.

The driver had hopped down to admit her, giving her a wary look as she stepped forward. She carried herself with dignity and, after glancing between Tamsin and me, settled in on my side of the carriage. Her dress was even more worn than Tamsin’s, but a shawl around her shoulders, stitched with intricate embroidery, was exceptional.

Recalling his slurs, I wondered if the driver had come down to ensure she didn’t rob us blind. When he continued waiting by the open door, I realized more was happening. Soon, two male voices carried to my ears—one of which I recognized.

“—pretty enough, I suppose, but you have no idea how hard it’s going to be to sell a Sirminican.”

“That’s not going to matter—not over there.”

“You don’t know ‘over there’ like I do,” came the biting reply. “You just threw away your commission.”

“That’s not—”

The words were abruptly cut off when the two speakers reached the carriage’s doorway. One of them, an older man in his forties, had only the faintest touch of silver in his brown hair. There was a dashing look about him, and he bore enough resemblance to Cedric Thorn to make me realize this must be his father, Jasper.

The other man joining us was, of course, Cedric Thorn himself.

My mouth went dry as our gazes locked. Even while being chastised by his father, Cedric had swaggered up to the carriage with that same self-assured ease I’d seen previously. Now, he came to an abrupt halt, so suddenly that he nearly tripped over his own feet. He stared at me like I was an apparition. His mouth opened to speak and then shut abruptly as though, perhaps, he didn’t trust himself.

Jasper beamed when he saw Tamsin, oblivious to the silent drama occurring between Cedric and me. “So lovely to see you again, my dear. I trust your pickup was fine?”

Tamsin’s earlier calculation and wariness vanished as she returned his smile. “Oh, everything’s been lovely, Mister Thorn. The carriage is beautiful, and I’ve already made a new friend.”

His eyes fell on me, and I had to drag myself away from Cedric’s pinning gaze. I noticed that Jasper, at least, regarded me with approval. “And you must be our other lovely companion. Ada, right?” Jasper extended his hand to me, and after several awkward moments, I realized he expected to me to shake it. I did, hoping my unfamiliarity with the gesture didn’t show. “You, I have no doubt, will have men beating down our door in Adoria.”