Chapter 22 #2
She lingered near the threshold, as if unsure whether to speak or simply dissolve into the shadows.
Her presence unsettled him—not because he didn’t long for it, but because he did. He had longed for her in so many ways, for so long, and yet now he could not find the language to bridge the chasm between them.
He turned to face her, slow and deliberate. “Is there any truth to it?” he asked. His voice did not waver. It was calm. Too calm—barely veiling the storm within him.
Kitty’s face paled, not with guilt, but with disbelief. “What?”
“The letter,” he said. “That thing Cynthia read aloud like some twisted actress upon a stage. Did you—did you have a lover in Venice? Is that the reason you wanted to sabotage this marriage? All that talk about marrying for love…did you have someone you loved in Venice? Is that it?”
Her mouth opened, closed again. Her eyes searched his face, her breath shallow in her chest. “No,” she whispered.
“I—I don’t know how she could’ve gotten that letter.
I wrote a letter to Marina—yes—but it wasn’t of this sort.
I lost her reply last week, I thought I had simply misplaced it.
I didn’t even think…” Her words trailed off, lips trembling.
“She stole it,” she said, as if the thought had only now coalesced.
“She must have stolen the letter I received from Marina. And she must have written to her. Why else would Marina write to Cynthia?” Her voice rose slightly, strained with confusion.
“But why would Marina lie? Why would she twist it into—into whatever that was?”
Norman drew in a long, slow breath, exhaling through his nose.
His jaw ached from the pressure of his teeth clenching behind the stillness of his expression.
He wanted to believe her—of course he did.
Kitty was not a liar. She was impulsive, reckless at times, too open with her heart—but not a liar.
And yet the image of Cynthia, triumphant and smug, lingered in his mind like poison on the tongue.
He turned away from Kitty, striding toward the far end of the studio. “Lie or not,” he said, his back to her, “this will haunt us for the rest of our lives. You understand that, don’t you? We’ve become a spectacle. A joke.”
The word made him sick to say. A joke. And he could already hear the echoes in gentlemen’s clubs and at supper tables, the snickers beneath breath, the raised brows, the snide asides.
Had she already given her heart to another, long before he ever had the chance to offer his own? Was this why Kitty had seemed hesitant? Why she had clung to her independence so fiercely? The idea carved a hollow straight through him.
All the trust he had begun, so carefully, so painfully, to build—shattered in an instant.
He had dared to believe he could be the man she deserved, to lay aside his pride, his polished armor, to love her openly.
And yet here he stood, a fool once more, handing his heart to a woman who, perhaps, had never wanted it.
Kitty didn’t respond at once. He could feel her eyes on him, burning like coals between his shoulder blades. When she spoke, her voice was small, but pointed.
“Are we still to be married?”
He turned to face her again, and the question hung in the air between them like a blade suspended by a thread.
“I don’t know,” he said. “We have time to think on it.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Her face crumpled—not with tears, not with sorrow, but with fury.
“You don’t know,” she repeated. “You don’t know.
” She took a step toward him, her whole frame quivering.
“How convenient for you, Norman.” A tear slid down her cheek, but she continued, her voice unwavering.
“How very dignified. You sit here, above it all, pretending to be wounded, pretending to be careful. But I see you now.”
“Kitty—”
“No.” She shook her head sharply. “No, I’ve been quiet long enough. You call me reckless? You say this letter, this nonsense, is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?” She laughed, but the sound was raw, scraped from her chest. “I know about the debts.”
He stared at her, stunned, lips parted in disbelief.
“Don’t look so shocked,” she spat. “You thought I wouldn’t find out, didn’t you? That I would never see the other scandals circling your name?”
He tried to speak, but the words faltered.
“Yes, it’s true,” she continued, her voice rising. “You have a very real scandal hanging over your head, Your Grace. You, who is always so concerned with your name, your image, your honor. And yet you’re ready to cast me aside over something I didn’t even do. Over a lie.”
“That is not fair,” he said sharply, stepping forward. “That’s not what this is about.”
“Isn’t it?” she challenged. “You say we’ve become a joke—because of me. Because of something you cannot even prove is real. And yet you’re willing to pretend your own misdeeds are simply… brushed away? Dismissed?”
He stared at her, breathing hard.
“I thought,” she went on, quieter now, but with no less ferocity, “you had softened. That you’d become more thoughtful. More kind. But it was always about appearances with you. It was always about control. Propriety. Respectability. That’s all you ever wanted from me.”
“That’s not true. I have been trying to protect you since the night we met, up until today.”
“It is,” she said, and this time her voice broke, just a little. “And I was right to want to break off the engagement in the beginning.”
The words struck him like a blow. He physically recoiled, his shoulders curving inward.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Only the ticking of the old clock in the corner dared make a sound.
Norman’s thoughts churned like a storm-tossed sea. He had spent so much of his life trying to remain above the mess. But standing here now, with Kitty’s eyes full of hurt and her voice thick with betrayal, he understood something he had long resisted.
He was in the mess now. Drowning in it.
And worse—he’d dragged her into it, too.
He crossed the room slowly, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, her shoulders stiff, her chin lifted in defiance.
“You think I don’t care,” he said, in a low voice. “You think I value the opinion of strangers over you.”
“I don’t think,” she said. “I see.”
“No, you see what you want to see. You see a man afraid of scandal, and you think that makes him cold. But Kitty—” His voice cracked, and he didn’t try to hide it.
“I have spent every day of my life trying to keep everything upright, respectable, safe. I didn’t grow up with your kind of freedom.
I didn’t have the luxury of not caring. It was the only way I could protect my heart. ”
Her eyes darted away, but not before he saw the flicker of something—understanding, perhaps. Or at least, recognition.
“I wanted this life to be different,” he said. “I wanted us to be different. I loved the part of you that laughed at propriety, that defied expectations. But I didn’t know how to follow you there. I still don’t.”
Kitty blinked, and the first tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away angrily.
“You didn’t have to follow me,” she said. “You only had to trust me.”
And that—he knew—was the crux of it all. Trust.
He had faltered.
Kitty turned away, arms still hugging her own torso, and stared at the window, at the sliver of sky beyond it.
Without waiting for a response, she turned—slowly, as if weighted by the gravity of her own words—opened the door, and disappeared into the shadows beyond.