Four months.
She had not heard that laugh in four months. She rose quietly so she would not wake Cecily, lighting the smallest lamp she could manage before sitting at the little table with a sheet of paper and the pen she had begun to keep there.
The letter came slowly at first.
Dear Celestine,
I dreamed of you tonight.
She paused. Then she put quill to paper again.
We were in the garden. I could not hear what you were saying, only that you were saying something to me and laughing. I woke before I could hear the rest.
Honora stopped for a moment and looked at the page through a blur she did not bother to wipe away.
Then she continued.
I have not heard you laugh in four months, and I think I forgot how much I miss it until now.
The words sat on the page longer than she wanted. She had been writing to her sister since the day Celestine died. Though no one would ever read them, it helped her work through her feelings and think more clearly. At least, it usually did.
Still, she wrote.
I still have not been able to make myself take Cecily and leave.
There is a woman at Belgrave now who has come to court the duke. Her name is Lady Isolde Carrington. She is very beautiful and very sure of herself. She belongs to the house in a way I do not.
Honora paused and stared at that line for a long time.
I thought I would be relieved when he married.
The pen hovered.
She set it down for a heartbeat, then picked it up again.
I am not.
She folded the letter carefully when it was finished and placed it with the others in the lining of her bag.
Then she sat on the edge of the bed and remained still for a long time, staring into the darkness.
Cecily made a small sound down the corridor.
Honora rose at once.
It was not yet a cry. Only the faint beginning of one.
She crossed to the nursery door and opened it, listening.
The sound came again.
A little louder that time.
Honora stepped in and stopped.
Cecily was stirring in her crib, her face flushed beneath the blanket.
Honora touched her forehead and felt the heat at once.