Her brow pinched as she studied me.
“It would appear that I am to be married, Freddy. Married! To that horrible Mr. Sebastian Sinclair.”
Her frown deepened, but still she said nothing, as if trying to recall the name.
“The boy whose cheek I slapped when we were children—do you remember him? He turned up his nose at English food, complaining about the lack of spice. He had the audacity to pull my hair!” I added, my voice careening to a hysterical pitch.
Her eyebrows shot upward and her jaw dropped. “ThatMr. Sinclair.”
“Yes,” I growled.
Truthfully, it grated that he spoke as though he knew India better than I ever could.
“Oh, Kitty.” Her compassion warmed me. No one proved a better friend than my Freddy.
The fire crackled loudly as my friend regarded me. “What will you do?”
“I shall make myself as odious as possible. I don’t know what else to do since Grandfather threatens to take away everything I love if I refuse Mr. Sinclair. My astronomy books, my telescope, teaching at Miss Tippens’s school...”
A maid entered the room balancing a tea set. She poured the steaming brew into delicate porcelain cups while Freddy sat on the opposite settee, her frown now fixed. I waited until the maid finished and left the room before continuing.
“Miss Tippens promised I could join her class to show the students how to locate the comet. You should have seen their faces! Their excitement was infectious. I cannot bear to lose what freedom I have!”
My friend leaned over from her spot on the settee and reached for my hand, squeezing it before letting go.
Then I shared about the letter from India, including my mother’s name.
Sympathy warmed her gaze.
“Say something, Freddy. Anything,” I begged, very much on the verge of tears. “It feels as though everything is falling apart. I trace the stars with certainty, knowing where they will go, but my own future feels so dim and directionless. I prayed last night, truly begged God for answers. But He has been terribly quiet.”
Freddy reached out and gently clasped my hand.
Freddy and I had known each other since childhood—her father’s estate lay only a mile east of Seven Oakes, and we had shared countless afternoons roaming between our homes. She had always been the steady one, far more grounded in her faith. Again and again, she had reminded me what she believed, and I found myself clinging to her certainty now more than ever.
She sighed. “If only I had the answers. Sometimes He does not respond right away, but that doesn’t mean He will remain silent or that He isn’t working on your behalf.”
Trust wasn’t a virtue I excelled at. With a silent groan, I stirred the tea while considering the lack of intervention from Providence.
An atheist, Grandfather didn’t believe in any god—preferring to rely on himself. Yet he hadn’t denied Fredericka’s invitation for me to attend church with her. Before long, we had a family pew. For appearances’ sake, Aunt Clarice said. I loved the companionship of attending services and never missed a Sunday of reprieve from the gloomy Seven Oakes.
“Will you send word to your brother regarding this marriage? Can he persuade the colonel otherwise? I’m sure Edward will know what to do with the Hyderabad letter.”
“Grandfather destroyed it. I checked early this morning.”
“Ah,” she said and there was a weight of meaning within that word. “A pity. Edward might have been able to decipher it.”
I stared at the cup in my hand, the porcelain edged with gold and tiny ivy leaves. Safe. Predictable. Not too ostentatious, just like my friend. By all accounts, Fredericka might be considered plain despite her brown curls and sweet, full-lipped smile, but I liked to think her kindness brought a depth of beauty not found in most.
“I suppose I shall write him. As for persuading, Grandfather says Edward isn’t welcome for Christmas if he continues to fail his studies. The last I heard, Edward said ... Well, I shouldn’t repeat it in polite company, but he swears he will never return to Seven Oakes even if hell freezes.”
Freddy paled. “He—he did not wish to come home?”
The three of us had been the closest childhood friends, roaming the hills surrounding Seven Oakes. No doubt Edward’s retreat into himself hurt her as well.
“He isn’t himself these days,” I admitted before placing the cup on the small round table next to the settee. A plate of glazed cinnamon scones tried to tempt me but failed. “I do not think Cambridge suits him.”
“Your brother is a scholar at heart. Surely something else is the matter with him. I’ve always imagined him surrounded by stacks and stacksof books. Do you remember when we hid his favorite volume in your grandfather’s library?”
