Malta did not allow the rare compliment to distract her. The simple blue woolen robe her mother was wearing was at least three years old. It had been well cared for and did not look worn: merely sedate and boring. “Will you at least dress your hair and put on your jewelry?” she begged. Almost desperately, she added, “You always ask me to dress well and behave appropriately when I am about Trader business with you. Will not you and Grandmother do the same for me?”

She turned away from the mirror to confront them. They both looked surprised. “Reyn Khuprus may be a younger son, but he is still a member of one of the most wealthy and influential Rain Wild Trader families. You told me that yourself. Should not we dress as if we are receiving an honored guest, even if you are secretly hoping he will find me unappealing and simply go away?” In a lower voice she added, “Surely we owe ourselves at least that much self-respect.”

“Oh, Malta,” her mother sighed.

“I do believe the child is right,” her grandmother said suddenly. The small dark woman, burdened in her widow's robes, suddenly straightened herself. “No. I know she is right. We have both been near-sighted in this. Whether or not we welcome Reyn's courtship of Malta is not the issue here. We have given permission for it. The Khuprus family now holds the note for the Vivacia. Our contract is now with them. Not only should we treat them with the same courtesy we did the Festrews, we should present the same face to them as well.”

Ronica paced a quick turn about the room. She ticked off her concerns on her fingers. “We have prepared a fine table, and the rooms are newly freshened for spring. Rache can wait upon table; she does well at that. I wish Nana was still with us, but it was too good of an opportunity for her to ask her to let it go. Do you think I should send Rache to Davad Restart's, to beg the loan of other serving folk?”

“We could,” Malta's mother began hesitantly.

“Oh, please, no!” Malta interjected. “Davad's servants are horrid, unmannered and impertinent. We are better off without them. I think we should present our household as it truly is, rather than make a false show with ill-trained servants. Which would you find more genteel? A household with limited means who chooses the best their budget allows, or a household that borrows lackadaisical help?”

It pleased Malta to see both her mother and her grandmother surprised. Her mother smiled proudly as she said, “The girl has sense. Malta, I am sure you have seen to the heart of it. It pleases me to hear you speak so.”

Her grandmother's approval was more wary. She pursed her lips at Malta, and gave a brief nod. Malta looked at her mirror, turning her head to see how well her mother had succeeded with her hair. It would do. She glanced once more at her grandmother's reflection. The old woman was still perusing her. Malta decided it was hard for Ronica Vestrit to accept anyone else as clever. That was it. Her grandmother was jealous that Malta could think things through as clearly as she could. More clearly in fact. Her mother, however, had been proud of her. Her mother could be won over with her cleverness. Malta had never considered that before. A sudden inspiration came to her.

“Thank you, Mother. I love what you have done with my hair. Now let me fix yours for you. Come. Sit down.” She rose gracefully and drew her startled mother to her seat before the mirror. She pulled the long pins from her mother's dark hair. It cascaded to her shoulders. “You dress your hair as if you were a dowdy old woman,” she said artlessly. She did not need to point out that her grandmother wore hers in an identical fashion.

She leaned down to put her cheek beside her mother's, and met her eyes in the looking-glass. “Let me arrange it with some flowers, set off with your pearl pins. It is spring, you know, and time to celebrate the blossoming of life.” Malta lifted the silver-handled brush and drew it through her mother's hair. She cocked her head to smile at her mother's reflection in the mirror. “If we cannot afford to buy new robes and gowns before Father returns, perhaps we could brighten some of our older ones with new embroidery. I am sure it would please him. Besides, it is time I learned your rosebud stitch. Perhaps, after Reyn's visit, you could teach me.”

RONICA VESTRIT WAS SKEPTICAL OF HER GRAND DAUGHTER'S SUDDEN SWEETness. She felt diminished by her own pessimism, but dared not set it aside. She cursed the circumstances that had put her family's reputation and finances into the awkward hands of this giddy girl. Even more frightening was that those awkward hands were greedy and grasping, and that Malta's foolishness was fueled by cunning. If the girl had only applied her keen mind to doing what was genuinely best for her family and herself, she would have done the Vestrits proud. As it stood, she was a dangerous liability.