I cannot wait to see you and hold you in my arms.
I’ve yearned for those words all my life. To feel like I belong. To know I’m wanted, needed, and worthy of the family who left me here. To finally have an answer to why I was left in the first place and the reason behind my prolonged stay. For so long I feared I simply didn’t measure up to my mysterious parents’ expectations, that their reasons for abandoning me were like Lina’s parents’. Early on, I strove for excellence in my studies, tried to be obedient, but boredom made me weary. Jaded. Disenchanted.
I often wondered if I failed myself. If my parents would have returned for me long ago if only I’d tried harder. Cared more. Forced myself to be sweet like Dorothy. Feigned obedience like Lina.
Now I know that isn’t true.
You’re already perfect as you are.
I may not know the details behind the danger that prompted my parents into hiding me, but at least I know I was wanted. That they’ve been seeking me out for years. I’ve been worthy of them all this time! Stars, what a relief it is to know that. I feel as if I’ve been missing a piece of my soul, my identity, my truth, and now it slides into place.
You’re the Briar family hero.
I haven’t a clue how my arranged marriage is meant to save my family, and I’m not willing to banish my fury over it. But if my parents love me as much as my mother claims, maybe I can convince them to postpone my engagement. At the very least, I should be allowed to meet the asshole before I decide if I’m willing to enter a betrothal with him. Perhaps my parents have a convincing reason as to why I must make a marital sacrifice to save them. At the very least, I can give them the benefit of the doubt. I can set aside my anger and let it hold hands with my hope.
Because I have a family.
The one thing I’ve wanted more than anything else.
And they’re waiting for me to meet them.
With tender care, I refold the letter and return it to its envelope. I hug it to my chest again, and this time my heart beats not with anxiety but excitement. When the song streaming from the phonograph comes to its natural end, I leave my room and return to the parlor.
The room is exactly as I left it, with my three teachers quietly sipping tea on the couch while Mr. Blackwood does the same from his chair. The only difference being the broadsheets he’s now reading.
I clear my throat and my three teachers leap to their feet. Marsh thins her lips while Spruce and Agatha wear tenuous grins. Turning to Thorne Blackwood, I say, “I’m ready to meet my parents. When do we leave?”
6
I’ve said many goodbyes during my time at the convent, some joyful, some bittersweet. All tinged with the congratulatory essence that comes with sending off a friend to a better life. I’ve sometimes wished to skip the farewells, the constant tug on my heartstrings, and often wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to simply forgo the pomp and ceremony. Skip the cake, the hugs, the tears, and simply…leave. Perhaps that was just a theory I dreamed up to help me rationalize why my parents might have left me without so much as a note.
Now I know that goodbyes hurt whether they’re given or not, and the one that cuts the deepest in this moment is the farewell I didn’t get to say.
The coach rumbles with constant, steady motion, its interior dim, lit only by the sparse light coming in from behind the closed curtains. I cast a condemning glance at my fellow passenger, but Thorne Blackwood pays me no heed. It’s his fault I had to leave the convent in such haste and secrecy, insisting I tell none of the other students what I learned today or even that I’m leaving. My peers have certainly gleaned by now that I was claimed by my parents and will no longer be taking the governess job Agatha had lined up for me, but they haven’t a clue about my true identity or where I’m going.
I deepen my glare at the man, but it’s no use. He’s hidden his face behind the wide spread of his broadsheets, the third set of papers I’ve seen him peruse. Besides, I know my anger is once again misplaced. It isn’t entirely his fault I had to forgo saying goodbye to my friends. According to him, he had to agree to a complex bargain before my parents allowed him to serve as my escort. It seems being a renowned public figure wasn’t enough to earn the full breadth of my parents’ trust. One of the terms he agreed to was keeping my identity and travel itinerary a secret from all outside sources until a predetermined time. He left that last part vague, but considering he’s been tasked with taking me first to my parents, then to my fiancé, I can only assume his terms remain until I’m safely in Monty Phillips’ care.
I suppress a shudder as I’m reminded that I’ve been promised to a stranger. The only thing that keeps a fresh wave of fury at bay is recalling my mother’s letter, now stuffed in my skirt pocket.
You’re the Briar family hero.
For whatever reason, my marriage to Monty Phillips is needed. I’m determined to figure out why and—hopefully—talk my parents out of it, but in the meantime, I remain fixedly not pleased.
I glance at Mr. Blackwood again but can only see the top of his head over his broadsheets. We sit across from one another on opposite sides of the coach, his papers acting as the only barrier between us. I know I should be nervous to be alone with him, but I’m more annoyed by his silence than anything. He hasn’t said a word to me this entire time. I’m sure he’s simply trying to be respectful, for our situation is hardly regular. In society, unmarried women do not travel alone with unmarried men. It’s a known fact. My teachers nearly fainted when he showed them the letter from my parents that explained we’d be doing exactly that.
“I’m bound by a bargain neither to harm her nor touch her more than propriety allows during our travels,” he explained, which only made Sister Marsh blanch to an unsettling sage-gray hue. “The trip from here to Nocturnus Palace is only a seven-hour coach ride. If we leave by early afternoon, we’ll arrive just after nightfall.”
They couldn’t argue, for their own bargains kept them bound to my parents’ wishes. Furthermore, none could confirm if he was telling the truth regarding any of this, for humans can lie. All my teachers had to rely on was the correspondence they received from my parents. Which did, thankfully, align with what Thorne conveyed. Still, if he wasn’t such a well-known figure in society, I’m almost willing to bet my teachers would have refused to go along with such a preposterous plan, bargain or no.
Turns out, they had nothing to worry about, for Thorne might as well be a statue for all the companionship he’s provided. While I appreciate him keeping his distance in such close quarters, he can’t possibly intend to remain silent behind his papers for the entire trip, can he?
I angle my body toward him and sit slightly forward. “Mr. Blackwood.”
He grunts his response from behind his broadsheets.
“What do you know about my fiancé?”
“He’s a friend.”
