Lady Eastbury looked up. “Barrington’s entire brigade will be present.”
“And the ladies graduates from the Sommer-by-the-Sea Female Seminary,” Mrs. Bainbridge said. “All of them. I’m absurdly proud.”
Leticia managed a faint nod. Each name fell with quiet finality. These were women she had once met in bright rooms scented with ink and tea. The days then had felt hopeful rather than fragile. Now they would be guests at a wedding.
“And the Duchess of Herridge?” Lady Eastbury asked.
“Regrets,” Mrs. Bainbridge said. “Gout.”
Leticia murmured, “She’s consistent.”
Gentle laughter fluttered through the room. Then Mrs. Bainbridge’s tone softened. “And what will you wear to this evening’s soiree, my dear?”
Leticia straightened the ledgers, fingertips resting on the paper’s edge. “I’m not attending.”
Silence fell, not sharp, but heavy.
Lady Eastbury looked up. “No?”
“I’ve made plans to visit friends in Alnwick.”
Mrs. Bainbridge stilled. Not abruptly, but with that careful sort of stillness that comes when hope is put on hold. “I see. I wish you a peaceful visit.”
Leticia nodded, though the motion was brittle. She excused herself with polite phrases and collected the fabric samples from the end of the table, tying them with a loose ribbon. The conversation behind her drifted onto menus, music, and seating arrangements she would no longer be part of.
Among the papers she gathered, one envelope lay apart from the rest. No seal, only her name in Gabriel’s familiar hand. She had broken it quickly. The words had burned into her more sharply than any threat the Order had sent.
“If silence is what you choose, I will match it. But know this…silence does not mean absence. You have my eyes, my thoughts, my loyalty. Whether you claim them or not.”
She folded it once, twice, and tucked it beneath the ribbon with the fabric swatches. And she walked out into the corridor, not so much leaving as slipping away, drawn by the quiet rather than any clear destination.
The corridor beyond was cool and dim, steeped in the scent of old polish and rain. Her shoes echoed lightly on the stone, each step carrying both resolve and regret.
At the far end of the hall, Gabriel stood.
How long had he been there? He didn’t move, only watched her as if he had been watching longer than the moment allowed. Lamplight caught the line of his jaw. He stood in the lamplight, unmistakably real.
Her breath hitched. The bundle in her arms felt suddenly heavy.
He did not step toward her, and she did not speak his name. Her heart beat fast, fast enough she was certain he could hear it. She gave the smallest nod and turned away.
She heard no movement behind her, but shefelthis gaze, the sense of a presence that never reached her.
Her aunt appeared from the adjoining passage and fell into step beside her.
“I must prepare for Alnwick,” Leticia said, her voice even, her hands trembling beneath the folded swatches.
They passed beneath an arched stone lintel. Leticia went on. Her aunt stood watching her as Mrs. Bainbridge came to her side.
“Leticia hasn’t any friends in Alnwick.”
“I know,” Mrs. Bainbridge said.
Chapter Thirty-One
Gabriel stood athis desk at Ashcombe Hall, dressed for the soiree, but unmoving. The polished surface beneath his palms was scattered with records and sketches, his uncle’s notes folded and unfolded so many times the paper had grown soft. A decanter of brandy stood untouched.
The brooch. He could not get it out of his mind since she had walked away. Since she’d chosen not to look back.
