Basil’s old letterbox.
Saffron accepted the small box and placed it in her lap. “Where did you find it?”
“I’ve had it all along. Please understand, I only wanted to protect you.”
Saffron tilted open the lid and took out a stack of letters wrapped in a golden ribbon. Swallowing her apprehension, she unwound the ribbon and opened the first of the letters.
Sister,
It is difficult to find the space to write in my small compartment on the train, but I know you would wish to hear from me, so I borrowed a traveling writing desk from a fellow Englishman. My winnings are small, but I hope they are enough to help.
I will be home for Christmas. I cannot wait to see you and Angelica.
Basil
The date was only a few weeks after his departure. She flipped to the last letter in the stack, tearing it open with trembling fingers.
Sister,
I have been a fool.
I should never have left you, even though I feared the responsibilities of my title. I’ve returned to London but cannot bear the shame of facing you all. Please allow me a few days to compose myself, and then I will again take up the mantle of our family title.
There is a small bit of good news. I have met the most amazing woman. She is a painter, and a talented one. When I have summoned my strength, I will bring her to meet you.
Basil
She sobbed, holding the letter to her chest.
“Where is he?” she demanded of her aunt.
“He’s dead,” Rosemary said, dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief. “The letters stopped after his body was found.”
Saffron placed the letters back in the box and replaced the lid. “You lied to me.” She held back the brimming anger that threatened to boil over and consume her.
Rosemary twisted her handkerchief. “Yes.”
“Why would you hide this from us?”
“I am well familiar with the kind of man who cannot keep his promises,” Rosemary said, standing. “Basil would never have returned. If you believe otherwise, you’re still a child.”
“Get out,” Saffron said, dashing her tears away. “Leave me alone.”
She had been betrayed after all, and not only by Basil.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Saffron stood inthe shadows of the ballroom, watching her sister stand stiffly beside the Duke of Canterbury. She had considered and rejected the idea of telling her sister about the letters. It would only hurt her, and she needed all her strength to survive marriage to Canterbury.
Assuming Mr. Mayweather doesn’t call him out.
Simon lurked at the fringe of Angelica’s entourage, casting baleful glances at the duke. He had made several attempts to engage Angelica in conversation, but she expertly deflected him each time.
In a corner, Lady Allen stood with a drink in her hand, surveying the room. Saffron made her careful way toward the woman, sticking close to the walls, nearly bumping a maid carrying empty glasses back to the kitchen.
“Quite the crush,” Lady Allen said. “It’s as if the whole of London descended upon us.” She wore an elegant gown in olive, watered silk. Large emeralds dripped from her ears and her hair was done up with an oil that smelled of violet.
“The estate has been closed off for so long,” Saffron said with a sigh. “We could not turn them away, not when there are no other inns for miles.”
