Chapter 14 #2
Oh God, what if she had? What if he’d been laughing at her this whole time? What if he’d already told the others, and they were all just waiting to see how long it took her to realize she’d been made a fool of?
The laughter around her, once bright and cheerful, now felt like a taunt. The heat of the morning pressed in, suffocating. She should never have trusted him. Should never have let herself believe—
The soft crunch of footsteps on gravel approached from behind. Kitty’s spine prickled before she turned, and she didn’t need to see the face to know who it was.
“Oh, Kitty!” Cynthia’s voice rang out, all honeyed sweetness, all artifice. “You’re ever so quick for someone who seemed quite unwell at breakfast. Feeling better now?”
Kitty forced a smile, too tired to polish it. “Much better, thank you.”
She kept walking, not adjusting her pace. Cynthia matched it. Of course she did.
“What a fine day for the fair,” Cynthia went on, the picture of genteel amusement. “Almost like a scene out of a novel. Don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Kitty murmured. “Quite.”
Cynthia glanced sideways, her eyes too alert. “How long has it been since you’ve been to something like this? A village fair?”
Kitty made a vague sound of agreement, hoping disinterest would make her less appealing. It didn’t.
“You know,” Cynthia said, tone light as feathers, “I’ve always found it so curious… your return to England.”
Kitty blinked. It took her a second to realize what Cynthia wanted to ask her.
Not today.
Her eyes flicked toward Cynthia, then forward again. “Curious?”
“Yes,” Cynthia replied, tilting her head, her curls bouncing in a way that made the motion seem rehearsed. “You spent all that time abroad, didn’t you? And yet you came back at—what was it—five-and-twenty? To find a husband?”
Kitty didn’t answer. Her mouth was dry. Her feet kept moving.
Cynthia tittered, pretending the silence was humorous. “So many ladies your age are already mothers. Entire households. Children running about. But you… well, you waited. Why is that?”
The question was sugar-dipped, but it cut through her skin like paper.
Kitty gave a practiced shrug. “Life doesn’t move the same for everyone.”
“Of course,” Cynthia agreed quickly. “But don’t you ever feel a little behind?”
Kitty stopped. Just briefly. Just long enough to look Cynthia in the eye.
Cynthia smiled sweetly. “I only ask because… well, you don’t speak of your time abroad much. And everyone was quite surprised when you arrived.”
Kitty forced her voice calm. “Do you mean surprised I returned at all, or surprised I returned unmarried?”
“Oh, both, certainly,” Cynthia said breezily.
Then her tone dropped, quiet, careful. “But mostly… I suppose it’s because you returned at all.
When I imagine living somewhere warm and free, I can’t fathom coming back to this damp little island.
Unless, of course, there was something—someone—you wanted. ”
Kitty’s pulse thudded behind her ears. “And what is it you’re implying?”
Cynthia laughed, a soft flutter. “No implications, Kitty. Simply curiosity.”
A pause. Then Cynthia continued, “You know… I was supposed to be in your place.”
Kitty stared. “What?”
“Norman,” Cynthia said, and there was a twist of something bitter behind the name, like old wine gone sour. “Our fathers—both dukes, both old friends. It was spoken of for years. We were to marry, unite our legacies. Everything made sense.”
Kitty’s lips parted, but no sound came.
Cynthia’s eyes sparkled, but there was venom beneath the glitter. “And then you appeared. And suddenly it was all… different.”
“I didn’t know,” Kitty said softly. She meant it.
“No,” Cynthia said with a smile too wide. “I don’t suppose you did.”
The silence between them throbbed like a bruise.
Cynthia looked ahead again. “Of course, he would never have proposed to you under normal circumstances. We both know that.”
Kitty’s breath caught. The words shouldn’t have stung. Norman had said as much himself. But hearing it aloud—from Cynthia’s mouth, with that tone—it was like something cracked inside.
She clenched her jaw. Her feet moved faster.
“Oh—Kitty,” Cynthia said, laughter returning to her voice. “I hope you don’t think I’m trying to offend. I only thought we should be… honest. Women are always pitted against one another, aren’t we? Might as well be clear-eyed about it.”
Kitty didn’t answer. Her hands curled in fists within her gloves.
Then, like an answer to silent prayer, she saw it. A little church tucked off the path—weathered, charming in its age, its stained-glass windows glowing faintly even in the morning light. The stone path was half-overgrown, moss clinging to the base of the bell tower. It looked untouched. Sacred.
And—blessedly—empty.
“I think,” Kitty said suddenly, “I’ll stop in there. For a moment.”
Cynthia blinked. “In the church?”
“Yes.”
“Whatever for?”
Kitty gave her a brittle smile. “Some solitude. Some holy spirit. Whichever comes first.”
Cynthia laughed, but it rang false. “Funny. You’ve never struck me as the devout sort.”
“Perhaps I’ve had a revelation.” Kitty’s voice was smooth, but her fingers tightened around her parasol. “Stranger things have happened.”
“Kitty,” Cynthia said, voice sharp now. “We’re meant to walk together with the rest.”
Kitty stepped off the path. “You’ll forgive me.”
Cynthia’s expression flickered—confusion, irritation, something darker. But she didn’t follow.
Kitty’s boots clicked against the worn stones as she ascended the steps and pulled open the old wooden door. It groaned slightly, but the space inside swallowed the sound whole.
Cool shadows embraced her. The scent of dust and candle wax filled her lungs like balm. She stood for a moment, eyes adjusting, heart pounding.
A shadowed figure stood motionless in the gloom, barely more than a silhouette against the dim light. She blinked, her eyes struggling to adjust—until, slowly, the darkness peeled back to reveal him.
Her breath caught.
“You.” The word slipped out before she could stop it, sharp with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”