The pen stalled. She pressed it to the paper, but no answers came — only the blot spreading slowly, darkening the fibers. The questions circled like crows, and she had no answers for any of them.
Christina set down the pen. She pressed her palms flat against the desk, her shoulders rigid, her breathing shallow anddeliberate. For a long moment, she held herself there, as if the solidity of the wood could anchor her against the tide rising in her chest.
It could not.
She dropped her head into her hands and began to weep — not for the loss of him, which she had already mourned, but for the monstrous waste of it. Two years. Two years of believing herself discarded, of performing composure over a wound that had never been permitted to heal, of hating him for a cruelty he had never committed. All of it built on a lie that someone else had written in ink that was not even the right color.
She did not know how long she sat there. When the tears finally subsided, Christina lifted her head and looked at the page before her, at the three facts and the three unanswered questions drying in the candlelight. Her eyes were raw, but something in her chest had shifted — a small, hard knot of determination taking root beneath the grief.
She folded the page, slipped it into the drawer beside the forged letter, and locked it. Then she stood, crossed to the bed, and lay down fully clothed, staring at the ceiling until sleep finally, mercifully, claimed her.
“Christina, you look pale.”
Giving her sister a small, sad smile, Christina tried to keep her tears at bay. “I am sorrowful, Sophie.” The light summer breeze whispered through the carriage window, trying to steal Christina’s tears away as her sister looked at her with concern.
“For what reason?” Sophie asked, leaning forward as Christina pulled out her handkerchief. “Whatever has happened?”
Swallowing the tightness in her throat, Christina took in a deep breath to steady herself. “Lord Coventry danced the waltz with me last evening.”
Sophie’s eyes shot wide. “The waltz?”
“Indeed. I do not know what his intentions were in doing so, I cannot imagine what he wanted from it, but it forced us together and forced us to speak.” Her vision blurred, and she pressed her handkerchief to the corners of her eyes. “There was such anger in him, Sophie.”
Shifting across the carriage entirely, Sophie came to sit directly beside Christina, her hand going to her arm. “I do not understand. Where does such anger come from? He was the one who wrote to you, who ended your engagement, so why should he have any upset towards you?”
Christina closed her eyes. “He said that I was the one who had written to him.”
There was a long, pronounced silence, and when Christina looked back at her sister, she saw nothing but shock written there. Sophie’s eyes were rounded, her mouth a near-perfect circle, and she had drawn back from Christina a little, as if trying to take her in.
“He received a letter from me, and I received a letter from him,” she said, simply. “But neither of us, it appears, sent any letters at all.”
“But… but how could that be?” Sophie’s voice was hoarse with surprise. “You mean to suggest that someone else wrote them, that they tried to set you apart for their own reason?”
Spreading out her hands, her tears abating, Christina nodded. “I cannot see another explanation.”
“Then you believe him.” Sophie’s expression drew into a frown. “He could be misleading you again, Christina. Have you thought of that?”
Christina shook her head. “I saw his anger when we spoke first, and then the shock in his face when he realized the truth. When I spoke of the letter I had received, he appeared utterly overwhelmed. I am sure of it, for it was precisely the same thing as I felt.”
“Goodness.” Sophie put one hand flat to her forehead, giving herself a slight shake. “That is extraordinary.” Her hand fell back to her lap. “But who would do such a thing? And why?”
Spreading out her hands, Christina gave her sister a long look which, in turn, only made Sophie sigh. There was no immediate answer, no name that came to Christina’s mind. “The engagement took place one evening. The following day, late in the afternoon, I received his letter. How could it be that someone else knew of it? I did not share it with anyone.”
“Did he?”
Licking her lips, Christina frowned, hard. She had no knowledge of Lord Coventry’s actions that night, wondering now if he had told someone else and if that someone else had then, for whatever reason of their own, decided to separate them both. “I do not know.”
“You will have to ask him.”
That made Christina’s whole body tremble as she pressed her lips together against the image that rose in her mind. “I cannot imagine what he would say to me.”
“My dear Christina, if he is just as confused as you are, if he is just as conflicted, then you must talk.” Grasping Christina’s hand, Sophie smiled and gestured to the door of the carriage. “Look, now, we are just about to enter Hyde Park for the fashionable hour. I am sure that he will be present, and with the crush of guests, it is an excellent time to search him out for a conversation.” Her fingers pressed Christina’s for the second time. “And I will be with you. You need not face him alone.”
Christina opened her eyes and let out a slow breath, pushing it between her teeth as she tried to gather her courage. It felt as if it were constantly slipping through her fingers, being pulled back down without restraint, and leaving her with nothing but weakness. “I am afraid of what he will say should I attempt to converse with him.”
“Recall his shock,” her sister said, as the carriage came to a stop. “Remember his expression when you told him of the letter you had received, just as you told me. That is the gentleman you are going to speak with, not the angry, distant, cold gentleman you have known before now. Think of it, Christina! This may be the path back towards him.”
“A path he might not wish to walk along,” Christina said, heavily. “I cannot let myself believe that this will return us to the situation as it was nearly two years ago.”
