Katherine
The servant's cheeks were flushed, and her hand trembled slightly as she held out the sealed letter.
"My lady," she said breathlessly, dipping a curtsy.
I reached out, but paused mid-air. The seal, red wax, stamped with a sigil I could not make out at once—seemed to taunt me. My heart gave a quiet stutter, a kind of lurch that I felt in my ribs.
Not since his departure had I received so much as a whisper from Everett.
But now…
"Did the messenger give a name?" I asked, fingers just brushing the edge of the parchment.
The maid shook her head. "No, my lady. Only that it was of some urgency."
Urgency.
The room tilted, just a little, and I straightened in my seat to conceal the tremble in my hand. Everett's handwriting, if it was his, was always bold, but elegant. Purposeful. The script on the outside, though, was unfamiliar. I turned the envelope over slowly, unwilling to break the seal too quickly, lest it all vanish in smoke like some conjured illusion.
Was it him? Had he written at last?
I rose to my feet. "You may go," I said to the servant, my voice calm despite the rising thrum in my chest.
Once alone, I cracked the seal and unfolded the missive with deliberate care. The paper was heavy, perfumed faintly with lilac. The handwriting—too precise, too ornate to belong to Everett—confirmed my first suspicion.
Still, I read on, each line another pinprick to the delicate hope that had dared to form.
"The Countess of Densbury cordially invites Lady Katherine Stratford and Lord Stratford to her annual spring ball at Densbury House, to be held the evening of the twelfth. Festivities begin at eight o'clock sharp. Dress is formal. An evening of music, dance, and refined company awaits. A special announcement shall be made at midnight."
I let the parchment drift onto the table.
Not Everett.
Not even close.
A ball.
Of course.
I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes for a brief moment, willing the foolish heat behind them to subside. A ball invitation should not have disappointed me. But I had hoped. And that was the cruelest part how easily hope could make fools of even the cleverest hearts.
When I opened my eyes again, the letter still sat on the table, mocking me with its filigreed flourishes and expensive scent.
A special announcement at midnight.
How splendidly vague.
How entirely irrelevant.
I tucked the letter away, folding it twice and slipping it securely beneath my bodice. A dangerous place, perhaps, but the safest I could think of for something that made my pulse flutter with such ferocity. Straightening my skirts, I exited my chamber with haste and made for the servants' quarters. My husband was expecting a guest, and I meant to ensure we appeared every inch the capable household.
"My lady," one of the housemaids said with a curtsy as I passed the corridor where the female staff were housed.
"Summon the rest of the women, and some of the men too. I have instructions that concern everyone," I said crisply.
She obeyed without question and returned moments later, ushering in more than half the domestic staff.
"The lord of the manor is expecting a guest of no small importance. A room in the west wing must be readied at once."
The servants stood in rapt attention as I spoke.
"The chamber must be prepared to suit a friend of the peerage. Nothing must appear amiss. The men shall assist with heavier tasks; furnishings, linens, trunks, while the women see to the cleaning, laying out of fresh towels, and the arrangement of flowers. Let the room smell of lemon water and polished wood, and not of haste. That will be all."
They dispersed at once, a flurry of purposeful energy, and I stood for a moment watching them go. There was a strange satisfaction in command perhaps one I had inherited from my late father, though heaven forbid I resemble him in more than my manner.
…
Later that day, I arranged a small luncheon with Mother beneath the elms at the edge of the manor grounds. The orchard was quiet, save for the rustling of branches and the distant humming of bees. We had spread a modest linen cloth upon the grass, and Cook had packed a basket full of sweetmeats and pies still warm from the oven.
"I have been meaning to speak with you, Mother," I said as I smoothed my skirts and lowered myself onto the mat beside her.
"Oh? And about what, dearest?" she asked, her tone light as she began to unpack the food with a mother's practiced grace.
"The subject is rather serious," I replied, taking in the filtered sunlight that dappled the grass. "It is about you. And Father."
The warmth in her smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of caution. "What about your father?"
"I've recently had… reason to reexamine my loyalty to him. I overheard you speaking to the doctor. You said he—Father—had forced himself upon you."
Her hands stilled, the pie suspended mid-air as her gaze dropped. She was quiet for a long moment.
"It is all in the past, darling. Let it remain there," she said softly. "Your father should not be permitted to hurt us further, not from his grave."
But her refusal to elaborate only confirmed what I had feared: that my idolization of him had been misplaced. My mother had endured his cruelty in silence, and I, too blinded by filial piety, had never thought to question him.
"And what of his paramours?" I ventured, emboldened. "Have you ever met—"
A sharp inhale cut me off, the kind only a mother can deliver with the force of a slap.
"Focus on your new husband, Kat," she said firmly. "Ensure you know him well enough to notice if he ever takes up a mistress. It is less humiliating to face the matter in private than to be ridiculed in public."
She took a sharp, decisive bite of her pie and moaned with satisfaction as though to draw a line under the topic.
"I should like to take Cook with me when I travel the world," she said with lightness that didn't quite disguise the weight of the moment.
I took the slice she extended and bit into it. It tasted of apples, cinnamon, and indulgence—comfort cloaked in sugar and spice.
"You may not. Cook is part of my inheritance now, for having the good sense to marry the Earl."
She chuckled, then stared into the distance for a long, thoughtful moment.
"I received an invitation today," I said. "A ball."
"Excellent news! An opportunity for you and your husband to be properly introduced to the ton. Have you informed the Earl?"
"I have not. I intend to go alone."
She paused mid-chew. "Alone?"
"Yes. I should like a quiet reintroduction to the ton. Without the baggage of his presence."
"Katherine," she said with a warning glance, "You do realise what sort of talk that might provoke?"
"I do. I shall tell them he is indisposed and bid me attend on his behalf. That should suffice."
Still skeptical, she said nothing more, and we passed the remainder of the afternoon in light-hearted chatter until the shadows lengthened and we returned to the manor just before dusk.
We had just crossed the threshold when a piercing shriek rang through the hall.
Mother.
Startled, I turned sharply, the butler hurrying behind me with an unfinished report about the drawing room.
"Is something amiss, Mother?" I asked, rushing forward.
"Yes, Katherine! There is a strange man in the drawing room!"
At once I felt the hair rise along my arms.