It was the first time in the week Annaleah had been there, that her aunt had broached the subject of her banishment, and although it seemed odd to want to hold such a discussion in the intimacy of a stairwell, Anna found herself answering with a sigh.

“She wants me to marry.”

“All mothers want their daughters to marry. And all daughters usually want to marry.”

“You didn’t.”

The words were blurted out before Anna could stop them, but her aunt only sighed. “No, I did not. A very bold piece of impertinence at the time too, I can assure you, for it was generally presumed that all women were incapable of retaining any thought in their heads more important than which color of thread to apply to their embroidery.”

“Those presumptions have not changed much over the years,” Anna murmured.

“Nor, I suppose, has the maxim that the parents know far better than the child who they should and should not marry?”

“Mother has decided, yes.”

“And you do not agree with her decision? Well, no, of course you must not or you would not be here having to endure my silly questions.”

Her aunt’s wry chuckle echoed slightly as she turned and continued down the stairs. At the bottom, she pushed through the door to the kitchen and announced her arrival with a sharp thwack of the cane.

“Well, where is he? What manner of fish has my niece caught for us? Still alive you say? Good gracious heavens, and still spewing water on my floors? If there is rum in that mix, and I find out he has lost his clothes in a waterfront brothel, why--”