She hadread 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’sgone.”
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. Iread itjust 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’sI’m-not-pryingvoice. “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 lastpin 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.”
