Mary-Ann’s voice was soft, but steady. “Then walk with me again. Not in memory, Quinton. In truth. When it’s time.”
His jaw shifted slightly, as if that one invitation steadied him more than he’d admit.
He nodded once. “I’ll be there.”
*
Later that afternoon,as Mary-Ann gathered her things to leave, a messenger from her father’s office arrived with a letter.
“It was delivered to Seaton Shipping, miss. Mr. Jessop thought it might be important,” he said. “Your butler, Mr. Hollis, said you were expected here.”
She accepted the envelope, her name in a flowing script. “Thank you, Lewis.” Her fingers stilled when she saw the seal, a deep, glossy black, stamped with the faint impression of a raven. No address, no signature.
She hesitated. The seal was too perfect, the color too dark. She’d seen wax like that once before. It was on a ledger she hadn’t been meant to read.
She broke the wax and unfolded the note. It contained only one line:
“Some things wash in with the tide. Others are best left to drift away.”
Her chest tightened.
To anyone else, it might seem like nothing. A scrap of philosophical nonsense. But to her, it was a warning.
She had seen that raven before. In the margins of the cloth-bound booklet, inked beside names and symbols that didn’t belong in any respectable ledger. She felt a flicker of cold recognition, and with it, the slow coil of fear tightening low in her belly.
They know I saw it.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she refolded the message. She couldn’t let anyone see her reaction. Not yet.
She folded the note and slipped it into her reticule. The words lived there now tucked against her side, whispering between each breath.
With practiced calm, she drew out a coin and glanced up at the footman, offering a faint smile. “Thank you.” She handed the coin over without hesitation.
The air outside felt colder as if the message had followed her into the light. She was no longer smiling.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thursday morning, thesun had barely crested the rooftops when Lydia knocked on Mary-Ann’s door with a list in hand and wearing a too-bright smile.
“Good morning, Miss Seaton. Mr. Wilkinson has asked that I accompany you today. He thought a walk through Bond Street might lift your spirits, followed by a visit to Madame Duclaire’s for glove fittings and then tea at Lady Wrexley’s. He’s taken the liberty of arranging the entire afternoon.”
Mary-Ann folded her hands calmly on the vanity table. “Has he?”
“Yes, miss.” Lydia gave a practiced smile. “He was most insistent that today be restful. No appointments at the office.”
A chill ran beneath Mary-Ann’s skin. Her pulse flickered, calm, composed. This was how they meant to manage her, with gloves and teas and careful distractions. She looked at her reflection, at the composed woman she was meant to be. She remembered days when she had walked the docks without permission, tall and certain. Now even her footsteps were charted. “How thoughtful,” she said lightly, rising to retrieve her shawl. “Still, I believe I’ll stop at Seaton Shipping first.”
She remembered Hamish’s steady presence at the docks, and the way he taught her to read the tide as easily as a page. It was Hamish who told her that ink never lied, but the people behind it sometimes did. Those ledgers were her map now. And she would not be turned away from them.
Lydia hesitated. “But—”
“I’m sure Madame Duclaire won’t mind a slight delay.”
As they reached the foot of the stairs, the sharp knock at the front door halted them both. Mr. Hollis appeared from the corridor and opened it. A young runner in Seaton Shipping’s livery stood panting on the step.
“For Miss Seaton,” he said breathlessly, holding out a folded note. “Urgent. From the docks.”
Mary-Ann read the message quickly. Her spine straightened. “I must go to the office. At once.”
