Chapter 14
Fourteen
“Where is it?”
Kitty tore open another drawer, the brass handle clanging against the wood, sending a tremor up her wrist. Stockings, ribbons, a discarded sachet of lavender—none of it what she needed.
Kitty exhaled sharply through her nose and shoved it shut, the drawer slamming so hard the whole dressing table shuddered.
It had to be here.
She had read it here.
She remembered the curl of Marina’s handwriting, the little inkblot at the corner, the phrase “Do write back quickly, won’t you?” looped in that exact way Marina always did when she was anxious.
But now the letter was gone. Vanished.
Her fingers were trembling as she pulled at the hem of her mattress, peering beneath it, half-ready to upend the entire bed if it came to that.
“Kitty?”
She jerked upright. Jane stood in the doorway, one hand still resting on the knob, watching her with brows drawn low. “What on earth—are you looking for something?”
Kitty turned away quickly, brushing at the flyaway curls that clung to her temples. Her voice came out thin and sharp. “I can’t find the letter. Marina’s last one. I was sure I left it right here—on the desk, or—or maybe on the windowsill, but it’s gone.”
Jane entered without hesitation and shut the door behind her. “You’ll find it. It’s likely slipped behind a drawer or gotten tucked in with something else.”
“No,” Kitty snapped. “I would’ve seen it.
I read it just two days ago—” Her voice broke, and she knelt down to rummage through the pile beside her dressing table again, yanking open a velvet reticule and shaking it upside down.
A single earring clinked onto the carpet.
No letter. No familiar paper. No ink-stained comfort.
Jane’s hand landed gently on her shoulder. “Kitty. Breathe.”
Kitty stilled for only a moment. Her chest rose and fell in jagged bursts, and her palms were damp. Her thoughts swirled in her mind, trying to remember where she had placed it.
“It’s fine,” Jane murmured. “It’s only a letter. You’ve probably left it between the pages of a book again, like last time. Come on. We need to get dressed or we’ll miss breakfast—and then the whole party will leave without us.”
Kitty didn’t move. Her gaze fixed on an earring on the floor. The silence between them stretched.
“I just—” she whispered, eyes trained on the carpet—a fickle attempt to steady her heartbeat. “I don’t like not knowing where it is. It’s not like me to forget something like that.”
Jane crouched down beside her, warm and steady. “It’s been a lot lately. You’ve had plenty on your mind.”
That was one way to put it.
Kitty finally stood, letting Jane guide her toward the wardrobe.
Her limbs felt leaden. She could still feel the echo of Marina’s letter—its lightness, the delicate ink, the tiny pressed flower that had fallen out when she opened it.
It had made her smile for the first time in days. And now she couldn’t find it.
Jane helped her step into her day dress, her hands brisk but gentle. “Was it something at the picnic?” she asked casually, though Kitty knew that tone—Jane’s I’m-not-prying voice. “You’ve been out of sorts since you spoke with Eleanor.”
Kitty stiffened as Jane began brushing her hair. “It’s nothing. Only His Grace being his usual impossible self.” The lie tasted bitter. Norman hadn’t been impossible at all lately—infuriatingly perceptive, perhaps, but not impossible.
Jane’s hands stilled for a heartbeat. “Ah.” A pause. “You know, sometimes what we call impossible is merely... unfamiliar.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Jane said, pinning a curl with deliberate care, “love has a habit of appearing where we least expect it.” Her reflection in the mirror held a knowing softness. “Even in arranged marriages. Even with men who seem too stubborn for their own good.”
Kitty’s breath caught. Was she that transparent? “This isn’t—”
“—about His Grace? Of course not.” Jane’s lips twitched. “Just a general observation. Why, look at your father—” She snapped her mouth shut, busying herself with a hairpin.
Kitty turned sharply. “My father and who?”
Jane shook her head, cheeks pink. “No one. Just your father in general. Now stand still, or we’ll be late.” She fastened the last pin with a decisive click. “The fair waits for no one, least of all a lady avoiding her feelings.”
. “We don’t have time for lace gloves or curling irons,” she said with a smile. “The fair waits for no one.”
Kitty barely heard her. She nodded, hollowly, and allowed herself to be nudged toward the mirror. Her own reflection startled her—too pale, eyes a bit too wide. She hadn’t even slept badly. It wasn’t that.
It was just that something felt slightly odd.
The scent of tea, toast, and lemon marmalade drifted up the corridor as they descended. Kitty kept close to Jane until they reached the doorway. Then Jane gave her arm a light squeeze and said, “I’ll catch up—I need to speak with Mrs. Little about something.”
Kitty nodded and walked in alone.
The room was full. Full of chattering voices, chairs scraping across the floor, clinking china, and forks tapping against porcelain. Everyone looked flushed and happy, already buzzing with anticipation.
Kitty’s eyes scanned the faces. Her stomach dropped.
He’s not here.
Maybe he was running late. Maybe he was upstairs or—
She pulled the chair out and sat quickly, as if the movement might sever the thread of thought before it could tighten around her throat.
The memory of his breath on her neck came back in a flash. The way his voice had dipped.
The way she had leaned in, every sense heightened and reckless.
It had meant something. Surely.
Unless it hadn’t.
She blinked. A woman she barely knew was looking at her with polite curiosity. “Did you sleep well?”
“Oh.” Kitty blinked again, forcing her lips into a smile. “Well enough.”
The woman nodded and turned back to her conversation. Kitty resumed toying with her food, pushing marmalade across her plate with the edge of her knife.
The laughter around her had become dull.
She didn’t feel much of anything but a slow-burning tightness behind her ribs.
Why wasn’t he here? It was his engagement.
No. She wasn’t going to ask herself that again. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t some wide-eyed fool hanging on his every appearance.
Still, the knot in her chest wouldn’t budge.
Breakfast blurred past in slow motion. She made no effort to speak, and no one pressed her to. Eventually Jane returned, her eyes darting toward Kitty, assessing her in a single glance.
“All right?” she murmured, reaching for her glove.
“Of course.” Kitty rose from her chair stiffly, smoothing the folds of her skirt.
Jane caught her arm in a gentle hold. “Will you head on and wait with the others? I won’t be long.”
Kitty nodded absently as she moved toward the front door, lingering a few paces behind the rest of the group.
The morning air was bright, the sun already high and insistent, pressing down with a damp, clinging heat that promised to thicken as the day wore on.
A sheen of moisture gathered at the nape of her neck, and the fabric of her dress seemed to weigh upon her, as though the very air resisted her movements.
She trailed at the back of the party, her parasol tucked uselessly beneath her arm, its purpose forgotten in the tumult of her thoughts. The hem of her skirt whispered through the long grass, catching occasionally on stray brambles.
Ahead, the others moved with effortless ease, their voices rising in bright, careless laughter—so far removed from the restless ache coiled beneath her ribs.
The group had already gathered in the foyer by the time she reached them, a flurry of last-minute preparations. Someone called out for the driver, their voice sharp with impatience, and the sound sent a ripple of movement through the party.
The fair awaited, a spectacle of music and merriment, yet all she could think of was the weight in her chest. All she could think of was a missing letter and a missing man.
And how easily things slipped away when you weren’t looking.
She should have stayed closer. Jane had told her to go on, that she would catch up soon. But now, Kitty felt the press of solitude even amidst the company.
No one noticed she walked alone. No one reached back. She didn’t blame them. She wouldn’t have either.
The knot in her stomach from that morning still pulsed with quiet insistence. The letter was gone. Marina’s handwriting, that last connection—gone. Kitty’s mind ran through every possibility—had she dropped it while carrying books? Had someone seen it? Had someone read it?
And why wasn’t Norman there yet? With her?
The question gnawed at her, as Kitty’s gaze darted across the crowded cobblestone street once more.
He should have been beside her—this whole damn thing had been his idea, after all. The fair, the outing—the way he’d leaned in last night, his voice low and teasing, You want to destroy this marriage now?
And yet now, he was nowhere to be seen.
Maybe she should have destroyed the marriage after all, if he liked to be this whimsical.
A cold knot tightened in her stomach. Had last night displeased him?
The memory rose despite her best judgment—his hands, warm and sure, the way he’d looked at her in the dim candlelight, the breathless, giddy rush of it all. She had been nervous, yes, but she’d thought—she’d hoped—that he’d found her as enthralling as she found him.
But what if he hadn’t?
Was she not… good at it?
The thought sent a flush of humiliation crawling up her neck.
Had she been too hesitant? Too eager? Had she said something foolish, done something wrong?
She’d never done any of it before, and he—well, he certainly hadn’t seemed inexperienced.
What if he’d expected more? What if she’d been a disappointment?
Maybe he didn’t like her after last night.
The possibility was a blade between her ribs.
Had she been just another conquest, easily discarded once the novelty wore off?
Had she embarrassed herself?