For the rest of the day, the house was quiet—as it had been the first time Catherine had arrived there. Her heart twinged when she trailed through the house, only to find Edward’s study closed and locked—though she could hear his movements inside.
To her surprise, Mr. Harper was also visibly absent—though Catherine knew he was somewhere in the house. Mr. Harper kept a strict schedule, and she knew he would only go to the market in the morning.
The rest of the day dragged by so slowly that it was almost painful. Though she slowly trailed to the dining room when dinner time came round, it too was abandoned. Emily’s bedchamber door was closed too and eventually, Catherine went to her own bedchamber—laying down on the bed despite the sun barely starting to set.
She could not help but feel as though Isabella’s sudden visit had thrown the entire manor into disarray.
The morning after this unexpected visit, Catherine found herself struggling to concentrate during Emily's lesson. Her mind kept drifting to the heated exchange with Edward in thelibrary, followed by the jarring interruption of Isabella's arrival. Emily’s voice broke through her reverie.
“Miss Winslow? Are you quite alright?”
Catherine blinked, focusing on the young girl in front of her. Emily's brow was furrowed with concern.
“Of course, Lady Emily. I apologize for my distraction. Where were we?”
Emily bit her lip, hesitating. “We were talking about Sir Shakespeare, and you drifted off. But I must admit… I too have something on my mind. It’s… Lady Isabella.”
Catherine's heart skipped a beat. “What about her?”
“Well, it is just… I saw her yesterday. She visited Edward.” Emily's eyes were wistful. “Do you think she'll be coming around more now?”
Catherine forced a smile, though her stomach churned. “I am not sure, Emily. That would be up to your brother, I expect.”
Emily nodded, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “I think Edward was mad about her back before… everything. It was... like a story. Do you think perhaps they might...?”
“That's quite enough, Lady Emily,” Catherine interrupted, more sharply than she intended, the pain of the implication gnawing at her heart. Emily’s eyes flashed with hurt, and she softened her tone. “I am sorry, Lady Emily,” she said kindly, “but it is not proper for us to speculate about your brother’s personal affairs.”
Emily sighed. “I suppose you are right. It is just... I worry about him, Miss Winslow. He has been alone for so long.”
Catherine’s heart ached at the genuine concern in Emily’s voice. “I have to believe that your brother is a strong man, my lady. And he has you. Now, shall we return to our lesson?”
The rest of the morning passed in a haze of French verbs and algebra, but Catherine’s mind kept drifting to Mr. Harper and Lady Isabella. How did the two know each other? What were they arguing about?
The lesson ended abruptly when Catherine faked a yawn. “Perhaps we should have a spot of tea,” she suggested casually. “Why don’t you practice your piano for a bit, my lady? I shall search for Mr. Harper and ask him to make us some.”
Emily frowned. “Miss Winslow,” she said softly, “I believe Mr. Harper is at the market right now…”
“Oh! In that case… I will make us the tea,” Catherine said quickly, her heart racing as a plan formed in the back of her mind.
Emily merely nodded and Catherine raced to the kitchens. She was quite certain that Mr. Harper was at the market—though she glanced outside for the wagon first. When she saw that it too was gone, she snuck around the kitchen to the room where she knew the man stayed. It was now or never—she knew he’d be back from the market within an hour.
Her heart pounded as she slipped into his sparse room. She felt a twinge of guilt as she began to rifle through his belongings, but she pushed it aside. This was for Edward and Emily’s safety, she told herself firmly.
At first, she found nothing of interest. Just as she was about to give up, her fingers brushed against something tucked beneath the mattress. She pulled out a letter, the paper soft and worn from repeated handling.
Catherine’s brow furrowed as she scanned the delicate, feminine handwriting.
“My dearest darling. I know you grow impatient, but we must bide our time. Everything will be alright once they are taken care of. Trust in me, as I trust in you. Soon, we shall have all that we desire. Yours always—I.”
Catherine’s hands trembled as she read the words again and again. Who couldIbe? Was it an initial or did it merely refer to the mystery writer? And who did ‘they’ refer to? A chill ran down her spine.
Could it be Edward and Emily?
The moment she had witnessed between Samuel Harper and Isabella suddenly appeared in her mind’s eye vividly.
This could be proof. This could be everything Edward had been looking for.
She quickly tucked the letter into her bodice, her entire body trembling as she hurried from the room. She had to show this to Edward—and she had to do so immediately.
