I wish you nothing but bliss on your wedding day. Were your sister alive, I know that she would wish you the same.
With all my love,
Your father
The letter shook in her hand. A tear dropped onto the page, smearing the ink further. Rage began to build inside her, from what, she didn’t know. She felt as though she’d failed—failed her sister, failed her father, failed herself. And now she would leave the city, to Gall’s estate in Oxfordshire, and leave the search for Persephone behind her. In a way, she’d gotten what she wanted. So why did it all feel so wrong?
She tore the letter. She ripped it in half and then to shreds, letting the pieces fall at her feet. Tears fell, and she wiped at them with the back of her hand.
“Elswyth?” a voice said behind her. She turned to see Mrs. Rose waiting in the doorway. She wore her best pink gown and matching fascinator for Elswyth’s wedding day. A concerned look crossed her face.
“Mrs. Rose,” Elswyth said, wiping away the last of her tears. She smiled, but there was no joy behind it.
“Apologies. I should address you as Lady Gall now, should I not? I would hate to lose my manners.”
“You always said that first names are for friends, are they not? In that case, you must call me Elswyth.”
Mrs. Rose smiled. “And in that case, you may call me Vivian.”
Elswyth curtsied. “Much obliged, Vivian.”
Mrs. Rose bowed deeply. “Pleased to meet you, Lady Gall.”
Elswyth turned back to the letters. “It still doesn’t feel right.Lady.”
“Why should it not? You are a baroness now, after all. With all the lands, titles, and stations that implies.”
Elswyth toyed with the letters again, not looking at Mrs. Rose. “I always thought I’d remain a Miss. Or perhaps, if I was lucky, something more. A professor or doctor.”
Mrs. Rose moved over and took the letters out of Elswyth’s hands. “You still might, with Dr. Gall as your patron. Anything is possible in this day and age.”
“Yes, but I’ll always be a lady first, and a doctor second.”
“And what is wrong with that? Many would kill to have your title.”
“I suppose I always thought that Persephone would be the high lady. Again, I feel that I am taking something from her. All of this,” Elswyth said, gesturing around the room, “all of this is hers.”
Mrs. Rose frowned. “Don’t you think she would want you to have this?”
“Yes, but—”
“Nobuts. You did not take anything from your sister. You fulfilled the dream that she could not. In some ways, the gowns, the dances—you honored her memory, did you not? And the part of her that loved those things—well, now that part lives on in you.”
Elswyth frowned. She wiped away another tear. “Thank you, Mrs. Rose. Vivian. I will miss you.”
Mrs. Rose smiled, but Elswyth could see tears shining in her eyes. “Nonsense. I will see you again. Someday, you’ll return to London with little children of your own. Daughters, perhaps. And you know just where to find me. I know they’re going to need heaps of help.”
Elswyth made a sound between a laugh and a sob. Mrs. Rose tutted. “Oh, come here, darling,” she said. She wrapped Elswyth in a hug.
“Whatever you need, you’ll write me, yes?”
“Of course, Mrs. Rose,” Elswyth said. Mrs. Rose released her and then took her kerchief and dabbed at her own eyes. “I shouldbe going, then. The season may be over, but there’s endless work to do before next year.”
“Of course, of course,” Elswyth said. She sniffled, trying to maintain her composure.
Mrs. Rose bowed again. “Good evening, Lady Gall,” she said. And with that, Madame Vivian Rose turned away, back straight, and strode to the door.
Before she left, she paused by the writing desk. Her hand toyed with the dried bouquet. “Elswyth? I almost forgot to tell you. I found the correct definition for black coriander.”
