“Yes,” Cynthia replied, tilting her head, her curls bouncing in a way that made the motion seem rehearsed. “You spent all that time abroad, didn’t you? And yet you came back at—what was it—five-and-twenty? To find a husband?”
Kitty didn’t answer. Her mouth was dry. Her feet kept moving.
Cynthia tittered, pretending the silence was humorous. “So many ladies your age are already mothers. Entire households. Children running about. But you… well, you waited. Why is that?”
The question was sugar-dipped, but it cut through her skin like paper.
Kitty gave a practiced shrug. “Life doesn’t move the same for everyone.”
“Of course,” Cynthia agreed quickly. “But don’t you ever feel a little behind?”
Kitty stopped. Just briefly. Just long enough to look Cynthia in the eye.
Cynthia smiled sweetly. “I only ask because… well, you don’t speak of your time abroad much. And everyone was quite surprised when you arrived.”
Kitty forced her voice calm. “Do you mean surprised I returned at all, or surprised I returned unmarried?”
“Oh, both, certainly,” Cynthia said breezily. Then her tone dropped, quiet, careful. “But mostly… I suppose it’s because you returned at all. When I imagine living somewhere warm and free, I can’t fathom coming back to this damp little island. Unless, of course, there was something—someone—you wanted.”
Kitty’s pulse thudded behind her ears. “And what is it you’re implying?”
Cynthia laughed, a soft flutter. “No implications, Kitty. Simply curiosity.”
A pause. Then Cynthia continued, “You know… I was supposed to be in your place.”
Kitty stared. “What?”
“Norman,” Cynthia said, and there was a twist of something bitter behind the name, like old wine gone sour. “Our fathers—both dukes, both old friends. It was spoken of for years. We were to marry, unite our legacies. Everything made sense.”
Kitty’s lips parted, but no sound came.
Cynthia’s eyes sparkled, but there was venom beneath the glitter. “And then you appeared. And suddenly it was all… different.”
“I didn’t know,” Kitty said softly. She meant it.
“No,” Cynthia said with a smile too wide. “I don’t suppose you did.”
The silence between them throbbed like a bruise.
Cynthia looked ahead again. “Of course, he would never have proposed to you under normal circumstances. We both know that.”
Kitty’s breath caught. The words shouldn’t have stung. Norman had said as much himself. But hearing it aloud—from Cynthia’s mouth, with that tone—it was like something cracked inside.
She clenched her jaw. Her feet moved faster.
“Oh—Kitty,” Cynthia said, laughter returning to her voice. “I hope you don’t think I’m trying to offend. I only thoughtwe should be… honest. Women are always pitted against one another, aren’t we? Might as well be clear-eyed about it.”
Kitty didn’t answer. Her hands curled in fists within her gloves.
Then, like an answer to silent prayer, she saw it. A little church tucked off the path—weathered, charming in its age, its stained-glass windows glowing faintly even in the morning light. The stone path was half-overgrown, moss clinging to the base of the bell tower. It looked untouched. Sacred.
And—blessedly—empty.
“I think,” Kitty said suddenly, “I’ll stop in there. For a moment.”
Cynthia blinked. “In the church?”
“Yes.”
