“When it comes to Althea, you are not the one to decide what her duties are. I am.” The iron resolve that had so often served her well at a bargaining table came to Ronica Vestrit's aid now.

“Perhaps you see it so. I do not. You have given control of her maintenance to me. In judging what maintenance she actually needs, I may be able to persuade her to curb her behavior to decent standards.”

His voice was so calm and rational, but the sense of his words still stung Ronica.

“When you criticize my daughter's behavior, you criticize the training she received from her parents. While you may not agree with how Ephron and I raised Althea, it is not your place to voice it. Nor did I give Keffria management over Althea's finances as a method to govern her, but solely as a way to determine what the budget could afford to allow her. It is not fitting that sister should govern sister. It is even less fitting that her sister's husband do so. And it was never my intent to force Althea from the Vivacia but only to encourage her to discover another life for herself, after she had seen the ship was in good hands.”

Ronica sank down on a bench beside the table, shaking her head at how her plans had been twisted awry. “Ephron was right about her. She needs a light hand. She will not be dragged or driven to do what is best for her. Last night, well, she was grieving. And whatever you may think of Brashen, I know Ephron thought highly of him. Perhaps he did no more than see her safely home, a fitting thing for a gentleman to do when confronted with a distressed lady.”

“And perhaps they had been drinking tea together all day as well,” Kyle noted with heavy sarcasm.

A mistake. A grievous mistake. Ronica looked past Kyle, stared at Keffria until her daughter became aware of her gaze and briefly met it.

“Keffria,” her mother said quietly. “You knew my intent with those documents. It would be dishonest of you to take advantage of your sister, to use your inheritance to coerce her to your will. Tell me you will not allow that to happen.”

“She has children to think of,” Kyle interjected.

“Keffria,” her mother repeated, and she could not quite keep a plea out of her voice.

“I-” Keffria's eyes darted from her mother's face to her husband's granite stare. Her breath came fast as a cornered mouse's. “I can't be in the middle like this. I can't!” she cried out in dismay. Her hands rose to tangle desperately over her breast.

“You needn't be,” Kyle assured her. “The papers are signed and witnessed. You know what is right is what is best for Althea. You know that neither of us have anything but her own good at heart. Believe in yourself, Keffria. Believe in me, your husband.”

Keffria met her mother's disbelieving stare one last time before she looked down at the table's polished surface. Her hands edged along it, smoothed the wood nervously. “I believe in you, Kyle,” she whispered. “I do. But I don't want to hurt Althea. I don't want to be cruel to her.”

“We won't be,” he assured her promptly. “As long as she is not cruel to us. That is fair.”

“That . . . seems fair,” she said hesitantly. She glanced at her mother seeking assurance, but Ronica's face was set. She had always thought of her elder daughter as the stronger of the two. After all, had not Keffria chosen a life that demanded strength, while Althea had gone off to dangle after her father and play? Keffria had taken a husband, had children, managed her own household and assisted in the running of the larger holdings. Or so it had seemed to Ronica when she had been making out the documents that determined inheritance. Now it seemed to her that Keffria had mostly managed the internal workings of the house, determining menus and shopping lists and managing social occasions. It had left Ronica free to do all the real tasks of running the holdings. Why had she not seen that Keffria was becoming little more than a place-holder, following her mother's directions, obeying her husband, but seldom standing up for herself? Ronica tried to recall the last time that Keffria had suggested a change or initiated an action. She could not think of one.

Why, oh why, did these insights have to come to her now? Sa help her, she had just put all the reins of their lives into Keffria's hands. By Bingtown customs and traditions, when a man died, his property passed to his offspring. Not his wife, his offspring. Oh, Ronica had the right to retain control of the properties she had brought to her marriage to Ephron, but precious little was left of them. With a lurch of her heart, she abruptly realized it was not just her younger daughter who was now at the mercy of what Kyle considered fitting for a woman. It was herself as well.