No one noticed she walked alone. No one reached back. She didn’t blame them. She wouldn’t have either.
The knot in her stomach from that morning still pulsed with quiet insistence. The letter was gone. Marina’s handwriting, that last connection—gone. Kitty’s mind ran through every possibility—had she dropped it while carrying books? Had someone seen it? Had someone read it?
And why wasn’t Norman there yet? With her?
The question gnawed at her, as Kitty’s gaze darted across the crowded cobblestone street once more.
He should have been beside her—this whole damn thing had been his idea, after all. The fair, the outing—the way he’d leaned in last night, his voice low and teasing,You want to destroy this marriage now?
And yet now, he was nowhere to be seen.
Maybe she should have destroyed the marriage after all, if he liked to be this whimsical.
A cold knot tightened in her stomach. Had last night displeased him?
The memory rose despite her best judgment—his hands, warm and sure, the way he’d looked at her in the dim candlelight, the breathless, giddy rush of it all. She had been nervous, yes, but she’d thought—she’d hoped—that he’d found her as enthralling as she found him.
But what if he hadn’t?
Was she not… good at it?
The thought sent a flush of humiliation crawling up her neck. Had she been too hesitant? Too eager? Had she said something foolish, done something wrong? She’d never done any of it before, and he—well, he certainly hadn’t seemed inexperienced. What if he’d expected more? What if she’d been a disappointment?
Maybe he didn’t like her after last night.
The possibility was a blade between her ribs.
Had she been just another conquest, easily discarded once the novelty wore off?
Had she embarrassed herself?
Oh God, what if she had? What if he’d been laughing at her this whole time? What if he’d already told the others, and they were all just waiting to see how long it took her to realize she’d been made a fool of?
The laughter around her, once bright and cheerful, now felt like a taunt. The heat of the morning pressed in, suffocating. She should never have trusted him. Should never have let herself believe?—
The soft crunch of footsteps on gravel approached from behind. Kitty’s spine prickled before she turned, and she didn’t need to see the face to know who it was.
“Oh, Kitty!” Cynthia’s voice rang out, all honeyed sweetness, all artifice. “You’re ever so quick for someone who seemed quite unwell at breakfast. Feeling better now?”
Kitty forced a smile, too tired to polish it. “Much better, thank you.”
She kept walking, not adjusting her pace. Cynthia matched it. Of course she did.
“What a fine day for the fair,” Cynthia went on, the picture of genteel amusement. “Almost like a scene out of a novel. Don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Kitty murmured. “Quite.”
Cynthia glanced sideways, her eyes too alert. “How long has it been since you’ve been to something like this? A village fair?”
Kitty made a vague sound of agreement, hoping disinterest would make her less appealing. It didn’t.
“You know,” Cynthia said, tone light as feathers, “I’ve always found it so curious… your return to England.”
Kitty blinked. It took her a second to realize what Cynthia wanted to ask her.
Not today.
Her eyes flicked toward Cynthia, then forward again. “Curious?”
