Daphne's POV
At my dressing table, I wrestled with stubborn strands of hair that refused to cooperate. The soft cotton of my sleep clothes slipped down one shoulder as I reached for sections that kept escaping my grasp. I let out an irritated breath and gathered the pieces again.
Mother appeared in my doorway without announcement, moving with that elegant fluidity that made her seem to glide across surfaces rather than walk on them. She approached from behind and gently removed the brush from my grip.
"Allow me to assist you."
Her experienced hands moved through my hair effortlessly. Through the mirror's reflection, I studied her expression. That particular look crossed her features. The one that always preceded disappointment.
"I must apologize," she began, her tone measured. "Tomorrow's shopping excursion will have to proceed without me."
I remained silent. Experience had taught me there was always additional information coming.
