Isadora went through her room and realized that she had not noticed, until this moment, how thoroughly she had stopped being a guest. She went to the dressing table and began collecting her things with brisk movements.
“Your Grace?” Mrs. Holt appeared in the doorway. “The green trunk will be brought shortly. Will you be wanting?—”
“I’ll need the carriage brought around,” Isadora cut in. “As soon as possible.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Holt paused briefly. “Shall I send word to Blackmoor?”
“Please.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” she said, before leaving.
Isadora stood in the middle of her room, with a folded dress in her hands and the sound of the maids moving quietly around her. She was perfectly calm.
The tears that arrived were, therefore, unexpected. She pressed the back of her wrist against her face and looked at the ceiling.
She was not going to cry. She was simply making a sensible decision based on available information. She was going to Blackmoor, and she was going to be perfectly fine, and none of this would?—
“Your Grace,” Mary called from the doorway, her voice gentle. “The first trunk is ready. Shall we?—”
“Yes,” Isadora said evenly. “Yes, go ahead.”
She put the folded dress in the second trunk.
Mrs. Plum appeared in the nursery doorway when Isadora came to collect the few things she had brought from Blackmoor and left there in the early weeks.
“Your Grace?” she asked, her tone hesitant.
“Everything is fine,” Isadora assured her. “I am going to Blackmoor for a short while. You have everything you need?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Shall I—Will you say goodbye to her before you go?”
Isadora stopped and turned.
Violet was in the cradle, awake, looking at the ceiling.
Isadora crossed to the cradle and picked her up. Violet immediately found her face and smiled.
Something in her chest did something complicated and unwelcome.
“Hello,” she said quietly.
Violet grabbed her collar. “Mama.”
Isadora froze, for one suspended heartbeat; she could only stare. Her eyes softened, the tears falling afresh.
“Oh my darling,” Isadora whispered. “I’m coming back. I am—I will be back.”
Violet looked at her with large, trusting eyes.
Isadora held her for a moment, pressing a kiss to her curls and then placed her back in the cradle.
“I’ll be back,” she said again. To the baby, or to herself. Possibly both.
Then she went downstairs.
She was directing the arrangement of the second trunk when she heard the carriage. Not hers. Hers was being brought from the stable and had not yet appeared on the drive. This sound was coming from outside, from the direction of the gate.
She went still. Beside her, Briggs looked at the door.
