“You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Leticia said, eyes still on the papers. “Do you remember the Morton auctions?”
“A little. They sold the estate in parts, no heirs, no rush.” Her aunt poured herself tea. “Why?”
“I think I’ve seen pieces that came from it. Erica mentioned one. I’m trying to trace the others.”
Her aunt’s expression shifted from mild interest to something sharper. “Lady Vexley would know. She never passes on a pedigree.”
Leticia nodded, though her thoughts were elsewhere.
Six pieces. All gone.
Except hers.
She climbed the stairs and opened the drawer. The air felt heavier there, as if the drawer itself held its breath. She lifted the brooch. It nestled against her palm, the stones catching the gray light like an accusation.
Slowly, she turned it over.
A raven inside a diamond.
Not just a keepsake. A mark. A warning. A signature left to be found.
She pinned it briefly to her morning dress. It caught the light in the mirror, beautiful, cold, and entirely out of place. Her reflection gave nothing back. With deliberate care, she unpinned it again, wrapping it in cloth with deliberate care.
She remembered her mother wearing it to a musicale, her hair swept up, her laughter drawing every eye. Nothing dark, nothing secret. Just grace. That memory made it worse.
Her mind flicked back to the rose intaglio she’d seen at Turnbull & Sons, similar in design, though not in origin. The jeweler had traced its history with ease, Lady Templeton’s estate. Auctioned the same year as her mother’s brooch. A rose. A raven. One bought for beauty. The other, perhaps, for purpose.
She almost wished her mother had chosen the rose.
That afternoon, her aunt arranged a word with Lady Vexley. Leticia found the older woman in the garden, bent over a single bloom that had opened too soon. A sharp breeze stirred the petals. Lady Vexley’s gloved hand steadied the stem.
Her aunt exchanged pleasantries and left with a graceful nod. Leticia didn’t wait.
“Lady Vexley, did you attend the Morton auctions?”
Lady Vexley turned, faint amusement lifting her brow. “Of course. Everyone did.”
“Do you remember any unusual brooches? Ones with engravings?”
“I do. I was outbid on one. Central dark stone. Diamonds around it.” Her smile thinned. “Not to my taste. A piece that wanted to be remembered for the wrong reasons.”
Leticia tilted her head. “The wrong reasons?”
Vexley’s smile returned, brittle as frost. “A reputation for misfortune, my dear. Jewelry that keeps its own account of tragedy.”
“Do you know who purchased it?”
“No. Word was that it was sold privately later on. Off the books.”
Leticia studied her face. “Thank you.”
Lady Vexley smiled, too knowingly. “Collecting stories, my lady?”
Leticia held her gaze. “Only the kind that come with shadows.”
*
