Kitty nodded and walked in alone.
The room was full. Full of chattering voices, chairs scraping across the floor, clinking china, and forks tapping against porcelain. Everyone looked flushed and happy, already buzzing with anticipation.
Kitty’s eyes scanned the faces. Her stomach dropped.
He’s not here.
Maybe he was running late. Maybe he was upstairs or?—
She pulled the chair out and sat quickly, as if the movement might sever the thread of thought before it could tighten around her throat.
The memory of his breath on her neck came back in a flash. The way his voice had dipped.
The way she had leaned in, every sense heightened and reckless.
It had meant something. Surely.
Unless it hadn’t.
She blinked. A woman she barely knew was looking at her with polite curiosity. “Did you sleep well?”
“Oh.” Kitty blinked again, forcing her lips into a smile. “Well enough.”
The woman nodded and turned back to her conversation. Kitty resumed toying with her food, pushing marmalade across her plate with the edge of her knife.
The laughter around her had become dull.
She didn’t feel much of anything but a slow-burning tightness behind her ribs.
Why wasn’t he here? It washisengagement.
No. She wasn’t going to ask herself that again. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t some wide-eyed fool hanging on his every appearance.
Still, the knot in her chest wouldn’t budge.
Breakfast blurred past in slow motion. She made no effort to speak, and no one pressed her to. Eventually Jane returned, her eyes darting toward Kitty, assessing her in a single glance.
“All right?” she murmured, reaching for her glove.
“Of course.” Kitty rose from her chair stiffly, smoothing the folds of her skirt.
Jane caught her arm in a gentle hold. “Will you head on and wait with the others? I won’t be long.”
Kitty nodded absently as she moved toward the front door, lingering a few paces behind the rest of the group.
The morning air was bright, the sun already high and insistent, pressing down with a damp, clinging heat that promised to thicken as the day wore on. A sheen of moisture gathered at thenape of her neck, and the fabric of her dress seemed to weigh upon her, as though the very air resisted her movements.
She trailed at the back of the party, her parasol tucked uselessly beneath her arm, its purpose forgotten in the tumult of her thoughts. The hem of her skirt whispered through the long grass, catching occasionally on stray brambles.
Ahead, the others moved with effortless ease, their voices rising in bright, careless laughter—so far removed from the restless ache coiled beneath her ribs.
The group had already gathered in the foyer by the time she reached them, a flurry of last-minute preparations. Someone called out for the driver, their voice sharp with impatience, and the sound sent a ripple of movement through the party.
The fair awaited, a spectacle of music and merriment, yet all she could think of was the weight in her chest. All she could think of was a missing letter and a missing man.
And how easily things slipped away when you weren’t looking.
She should have stayed closer. Jane had told her to go on, that she would catch up soon. But now, Kitty felt the press of solitude even amidst the company.
