Only nothing does.
I flip through the well-loved edition in case the letter is stuck between the pages. But there’s no paper. No note. Not even a penciled jot in the margins.
My heart sinks.
All my anticipation drains away, leaving a hollow ache where hope had once been.
43
ASSIGNED SEATING
On a normal day, the dining hall feels like hallowed ground—hushed, haunted, trapped in time, like it’s been holding its breath for the last thirty years. Tonight, it’s as imposing as ever, with its arched windows and stone fireplace. But something feels different.
Maybe it’s all the people inside the room.
Or maybe it’s the disappointment inside of me.
I try to shake it off, but it clings like a dryer sheet.
There’s a flurry of movement as guests find their seats around the palatial table, which has been polished to a sheen and immaculately set. Red linen napkins, gold-trimmed china with matching goblets, small embossed menus, andplace cards have been perfectly arranged in front of each chair. Seats have been assigned—Isabel’s undoubted attempt to avoid something so scandalous as the estate’s groundskeeper rubbing elbows with Ignatius Bogaard.
“I hired Theo Ashcroft,” Isabel says while Everett pulls out her chair.
“Theo Ashcroft?” Camilla lifts her thin eyebrows a fraction, as though reluctantly impressed. “I heard his wait list for private parties was quite long.”
Isabel smiles smugly and sits at the head of the table. I can’t imagine it’s her first name-drop of the night, nor will it be her last. She seems to understand that the Bogaards are using the evening to silently assess her, and she’s determined to give them very little to criticize.
Everett sits to her right, picking up a silver spoon as though appraising its value.
Cosette sits to her left.
Behind me, Sterling escorts his great grandmother, Opal—a relic of a woman dressed like a widow in mourning—to her place beside Ignatius.
It’s almost laughable, the way Isabel has arranged everything. A sliding scale of wealth and influence with the Bogaards and Everlys closest to her, my dad and the Calloways farthest away, and the Kapoors and the Ridleys in the middle. Iexpect to find my place card next to my father’s at the very end of the table. But the calligraphic name on the card isn’t mine.
It’s Jude’s.
Rafe catches my eye and motions to the chair next to his on the elite end, a placement that makes zero sense. Negative, in fact. Until I notice Isabel’s furrowed brow and realize Rafe has done some last-minute maneuvering.
Heat tangles in my chest.
Judging by the flush in Isabel’s cheeks, she isn’t too pleased either. Especially when she spots Jude sitting with the peasants. I can almost see her panic, the cogs in her brain turning as she scrambles to cover up the horrifying faux pas.
“Denis,” she says with an airy laugh. “It seems you forgot to move my son’s chair to the foot of the table. I understand he’d like to sit with his guests, but I would appreciate if he sat opposite me.”
My attention zips to Jude.
Isabel’s use of the wordsonhas his golden brown eyes flashing.
“My apologies, madam,” Tulane replies with a bow, moving Jude’s chair so it mirrors his stepmother’s—prominent bookends at opposite sides of an impressive table. “I must have misunderstood the placement.”
He didn’t misunderstand anything, but Tulaneplays along like it’s his sacred duty to shield the mistress of the manor from any breach in decorum. And maybe he has, but it doesn’t change where I’m sitting—amongst the town’s nobility, separated from my dad and Twig and the rest of the Calloways with Jude in full view while Rafe pulls out my chair.
Once everyone is settled, Isabel gives a toast.
“Tonight, we honor the restoration of a cherished tradition that once gathered our town’s founding families in fellowship and goodwill. Time changes a town, however, and traditions must sometimes widen to reflect the community it has become, honoring those who laid the foundation…” She nods at the Bogaards. “And those who now help shape its future.” She inclines her head toward the Everlys.
“We are also reminded, in trying times like these, to not only uphold tradition, but to extend hospitality.” Her smile turns glacial as she looks toward the far end of the table. I had no idea the wordhospitalitycould sound so pejorative. “I’m thankful to Jude for opening our home to those he holds dear.”
