The morning sun glinted softly off the high windows as Kitty walked beside Norman through the side gardens, their boots crunching faintly against gravel. There was a bite in the wind, the kind that came only with the shift of seasons, yet it did little to quell the heat blooming nervously in her chest.
“Norman,” she began, voice low, her hands folded before her. “You must know that I—I trust you completely. And I don’t know if you do too, but I really hope you do. And I just want you to know that if something is troubling you I could—I could help you. You only need to trust me.”
He glanced down at her, ever the gentleman. That familiar, faint curve of a smile tugged at his mouth, but it was tight today. Distant.
“Kitty,” he said gently, “I appreciate your concern. But I don’t see how I could need your help.”
Her spine straightened at his casual dismissal, frustration coiling tight around her ribs. “With…well with…anything. I want you to feel safe trusting me. We are going to be husband and wife soon. That means you won’t have to go through things alone anymore.”
He did not answer. Instead, he offered his arm as they reached the edge of the courtyard, where grooms bustled about, preparing horses and saddles. The others were already gathered in pairs and small groups, laughter and banter mingling with the sound of stamping hooves and rustling bridles. It was the third week of their engagement, and their wedding was just one day away.
Kitty should have felt excitement. Anticipation. Instead, she felt like a woman clinging to the edge of something crumbling beyond her reach. She looked up at Norman once more. His profile was perfect, cut from some noble stone, but the warmth she expected to find there was fading—amusement taking its place as he glanced at her.
He would not speak of his debts, of the way he paced some nights when he thought her asleep, of the quiet conversations he held behind the closed doors of his studio. He bore it all with that stoic dignity of his, the one that had first drawn her to him—and now kept him just out of reach.
He will not let me in,she thought, clutching her gloves in her palm so tightly the stitches strained.But if he does not, then what foundation can we possibly have? How can I protect him?
She stepped away, as if seeking breath in the cold air, and tried to shake the ache in her chest. There must be something she could say, some small act that would convince him she was not simply saying he could trust her, but rather she was in this deeper than he thought. That she was his future wife, not a porcelain bride to protect from unpleasant truths.
Her thoughts were broken by a sharp clap.
“May I have everyone’s attention please?” Cynthia’s voice cut through the courtyard, unnaturally bright.
Kitty turned, heart lurching. Cynthia stood at the base of the stone steps, holding a folded paper in her gloved hand. Her expression was all sorrowful sweetness, her eyes wide in a practiced sort of distress.
“I am terribly sorry to interrupt,” she continued, “but I feel I must speak now. For the sake of propriety, and for the poor, and ever so generous duke.”
A hush fell over the courtyard. Jane turned sharply. Richard’s brow furrowed. Even the servants slowed in their tasks.
Kitty felt a strange, creeping cold crawl up her spine.
“Your Grace,” Cynthia politely bowed her head at Norman, as she raised the letter in her hand. “I received word this morning. From a mutual acquaintance of ours—mine and Miss McGowan’s. From Venice.”
Norman’s gaze flicked to Kitty, eyebrows lifting in silent question. A heartbeat passed—just long enough for the unspokenSince when?to hang between them—before his attention snapped back to Cynthia.
Kitty blinked. Her lips parted. “What?”
Since when does Cynthia know anyone from Venice?
Cynthia held the letter up higher. “This is from Signora Marina. A dear friend of mine and, apparently, of Miss McGowan’s. She writes of certain… entanglements Miss McGowan has engaged in while traveling abroad. Namely, with a man of no title, no honor, and no intentions of letting her go.” Cynthia punctuated her words with a performative bite of her lip—the very picture of sorrow. But Kitty caught the betraying twitch at the corners of her mouth, the barely contained delight curling beneath her show of remorse.
A quiet gasp. Then another. Kitty’s blood roared in her ears.
“That’s absurd!” Jane snapped, striding forward. “Kitty would never. I know it. I wasthere.”
“Let me see that letter,” Richard demanded, his hand already extended.
Cynthia recoiled, folding it quickly and slipping it into her bodice with a demure tilt of her chin. “I cannot reveal all, not in mixed company. But I thought it my duty to protect HisGrace from the impending scandal, that your family attempted to involve him in.”
Kitty stood frozen, heart hammering against her ribs. Her mind reeled. Marina? How did Marina and Cynthia know each other? And why was there such a letter? She had been entangled with no man. Therewasno man. Never had been.
The air caught sharply in her throat—one jagged, half-formed breath that refused to move. Her ribs locked tight as if bound by iron bands, each frantic heartbeat only tightening the vise around her lungs. She tried to gasp, to plead, but her body had become a prison of panicked stillness.
She looked to Norman.
He stood completely still.
His hands clenched at his sides, his jaw taut, his expression unreadable. His gaze met hers, but there was no comfort in it. No warmth.
