Paloma could only stay sequestered in the estate for so long.

The Duke and Duchess were willing to give her time and space, but they weren’t the only people in her new world who wanted to see “Irina” from day to day.

Apparently, the true Irina had been outgoing and sociable. Her hordes of friends could only be held off with the excuse of a brief illness for another week, at most, before it would begin to look suspicious. After all, a young noblewoman in her prime, like Irina, would hardly stay sequestered away for no reason.

Paloma knew it didn’t help to wish she’d been reincarnated into someone a bit more… introverted.

She didn’t have a choice, as things were. If Paloma stayed isolated for much longer, the rumors would start to circulate about Irina’s Novak blood and the onset of her “madness.”

In the meantime, she kept her word to Duke Rinne. At her request, Artan began to warn her of Einar’s visits the night before he was due to arrive. On those days, Paloma would stay in her chambers, staring unblinkingly at the driven snow and thinking wistfully of Adora.

The winters here were harsh. It had snowed nearly every day since she arrived, the pathways of the estate kept clean by the diligence of the staff. The servants worked overtime to keep their woodstoves filled to bursting with firewood, stacks tidily placed beside them for easy tending.

Paloma did what she could during those storms. She read, and learned to embroider, and spent her free time practicing archery with a handful of the stable girls. She attended her breakfasts with the Duke and Duchess silently and diligently, and listened to Molly chatter on about the latest society gossip with half of her mind elsewhere.

She was lonely and she was sad, but it was endurable.

But when the time came, and Irina Lis received her first invitation, Paloma finally admitted to herself that hiding was never going to be a permanent solution.

It was a mere five weeks after Paloma stole Irina’s body that she finally acquiesced.

The social scene must have judged her sufficiently healed, because the letters came much more frequently after that. She offered pleasant acceptances at Molly’s direction and the Duchess’ request, eternally thankful that, at the very least, the body she’d taken seemed to intuitively know the language.

“I know it’s a lot, dear,” the Duchess told her, with an understanding smile. “But it will get easier. I will attend with you until you pick up enough to attend on your own.”

The weeks passed quicker with a goal in mind. A tailor helped to prepare dresses appropriate to the various invitations. Irina’s mother stopped to check on Paloma increasingly often, pretending that she couldn’t see the way Paloma would flinch every time she appeared.

Before she knew it, it was time for her first outing.

This one was one of the less intimidating events. A small tea party held by one of Irina’s distant acquaintances — no one who could catch Paloma on the finer details of Irina’s life.

Still, as she climbed into the carriage, struggling with the unfamiliar feeling of her overly full skirts, Paloma couldn’t help but feel an incredible sense of foreboding.

___

When Paloma turned eighteen, her mother dispelled any notion Paloma had that she had ever cared for her daughter.

“You’ll need to find your own apartment, of course,” she’d been told the morning after her graduation, her mother fixing the tacky gloss on her lips in the mirror over the mantle. She wouldn’t even meet Paloma’s eyes. “You can’t stay here while you’re in university.”

Paloma swallowed the lump in her throat, fiddling with the ends of her sleeves. “What about Adora?”

Her mother threw a look over her shoulder. “What about her? She’ll stay here.”

“Who will watch her when you’re away?”

Her mother hummed, like she hadn't quite considered that. “You’re allowed over to watch her. But only then. You’re old enough to deal with your own shit now.”

Paloma had packed her things, small enough to fit in her solid pink-shelled suitcase, and moved in with a friend from school. She went to her first semester with the money her father hid for her before her mother had squandered most of his fortune, and tried not to miss him. She resolutely did not think about the fight for the estate, and the fury of her mother.

She only returned to her childhood home when she made dinner for Dora on those dreary nights after class. She wasn’t even given her own key, and had to secret away Dora’s one afternoon to make a cheap copy.

The white-washed stone of the exterior had grown grimy under years of her mother’s “care.” Their money was nearly gone, and the only caretaker who’d remained was an elderly woman with kind eyes named Mildred, who could only do so much.

“So much” didn’t include power-washing white brick.

The winter after she graduated, their last remaining caretaker died, and Paloma watched the light in Adora’s eyes dim once and for all.

___

The first thing Paloma noticed when they approached the Albero estate was its impeccable white stone facade.

The spires split the sky into dreary, grey pieces. The sound of horse hooves outside filled her head with the pleasant crunch of gravel and snow, Duchess Lis touching her arm as they approached the great entryway.

“As the highest ranking guests, we will be greeted by the family themselves.” The Duchess’ voice was gentle. “Remember, their daughter’s name is Lady Margaret, and she knew Irina through their shared love of horseback riding.”

Horseback riding. At least Paloma’s vacuous childhood of privilege wouldn’t be entirely useless.

They were escorted from the carriage by the Count and Countess. The Duchess joined the two of them for a conversation in the foyer, whispering reassurances to Paloma as she was led to the party in one of many tea rooms, her gloved hands lingering on Paloma’s slender wrist as she left.

“Lady Irina!”

A dozen cheerful voices erupted in gleeful unison when she approached. She offered them the pleasant smile she had practiced with Molly back at the estate, her cheeks already sore with the effort. “Good afternoon. Lady Margaret, thank you for the invitation. Please accept my sincere apologies for our delay.”

She wasn’t sorry, since it had been entirely purposeful. It was a game the nobility played here. At least, that was what the Duchess had told her. You arrived in rank order. The highest ranking nobles were expected to be fashionably late, to keep the party in suspense.

“My, Lady Irina, you’re so pale!” Lady Margaret greeted her with a hand to her cheek and a concerned expression splashed across her pleasantly round features. It seemed earnest. “I heard you’d been suffering from a long illness, no wonder your manner is so subdued!”

Paloma gently took her hand, pressing it between her own and then dropping it back to Margaret’s side. “Thank you, Lady Margaret. Your concern is appreciated.”

The social games were nearly the same here as they had been in her own childhood.

She could still remember the feeling of those late night parties. The odd mix of pride and jealousy she’d felt seeing Adora thrive where she never could, charming the titled children with preternatural ease while Paloma withered in the shadows.

No one back home had ever meant a word of what they said at those parties.

At least these women seemed to genuinely care for Irina. The same couldn’t be said of the aristocracy she’d known back then. Nouveau-riche was better than nothing, but not enough as far as they were concerned. Perhaps it was the same here, and as the “daughter” of a Duke, she was simply exempt.

Paloma took her seat opposite Lady Margaret, thankful for the tea to keep her occupied.

The real Irina was cheerful. Charming. Upbeat. Those things could not be said of Paloma. She was scarcely sure where to start, but she made an effort. She responded to the things she knew, and nodded meaningfully to the things she didn’t.

It was hard.

Paloma was a wallflower. She didn’t mean it in a self-effacing way, it was just factual. She’d always been reserved, and in the shadow of her gregarious sister, it had become something of an armor.

Still, she tried. She smiled, laughed politely, and sipped the tea she was offered without complaint.

It wasn’t until the party had come to its conclusion that Paloma finally let herself breathe. The other girls were collecting their gloves and fur-lined shawls, their pretty boots re-laced and ready for the whistling wind outside.

Margaret stopped her at the door and placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

“Lady Irina,” she said softly. The worried furrow of her dark brow seemed earnest. “Forgive my impertinence, but…are you quite alright?”

Paloma glanced away. She truly hadn’t wanted to let the Duchess down, but her act hadn't been enough to fool the youngest Albero. It seemed, no matter the world, she was doomed to disappoint mothers. “I’m unsure what you mean. I feel perfectly fine.”

“I know we’re not particularly close, I just…” Margaret bit her lip, then dropped her head. “Excuse my forwardness. I’m sure you’re simply recovering. I appreciate you attending today.”

Paloma placed a hand on Margaret’s shoulder. “I’m quite alright, Lady Margaret. But I appreciate your concern.”

Paloma left Lady Margaret alone at the doorway to stare after her friend with something like regret.