“What is that?”

Posy gave a smile. “I like myself.”

“Well, of course you do,” Sophie said, blinking with confusion.

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Posy said. It was strange, because Sophie ought to have understood perfectly. She was the only person in the world who knew what it meant to live as Araminta’s unfavored child. But there was something so sunny about Sophie. There always had been. Even when Araminta treated her as a virtual slave, Sophie had never seemed beaten. There had always been a singular spirit to her, a sparkle. It wasn’t defiance; Sophie was the least defiant person Posy knew, except perhaps for herself.

Not defiance…resilience. Yes, that was it exactly.

At any rate, Sophie ought to have understood what Posy had meant, but she didn’t, so Posy said, “I didn’t always like myself. And why should I have done? My own mother didn’t like me.”

“Oh, Posy,” Sophie said, her eyes brimming with tears, “you mustn’t-”

“No, no,” Posy said good-naturedly. “Don’t think anything of it. It doesn’t bother me.”

Sophie just looked at her.

“Well, not anymore,” Posy amended. She eyed the plate of biscuits sitting on the table between them. She really oughtn’t to eat one. She’d had three, and she wanted three more, so maybe that meant that if she had one, she was really abstaining from two…

She twiddled her fingers against her leg. Probably she shouldn’t have one. Probably she should leave them for Sophie, who had just had a baby and needed to regain her strength. Although Sophie did look perfectly recovered, and little Alexander was already four months old…

“Posy?”

She looked up.

“Is something amiss?”

Posy gave a little shrug. “I can’t decide whether I wish to eat a biscuit.”

Sophie blinked. “A biscuit? Really?”

“There are at least two reasons why I should not, and probably more than that.” She paused, frowning.