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I will have to ask Mouse to stop kindling the fire in the morning.Since Stephen will not be here, it’s a waste to heat an empty room.

His desk was clean and tidy, so the envelope caught her attention at once. Beatrice picked it up, reading her name on the front.

It could be a letter of explanation.He might love me after all, and this letter might well explain it.

The fresh surge of hope was almost painful, but Beatrice could not suppress it. She tore open the letter, frantically scanning the page.

It was not a letter.

It was the rules. Their agreement.

Her vision blurred for a moment. When she could see clearly, she saw that some changes had been made to the agreement. No, onlyonechange had been made.

“Rule number four,” she read aloud. “You may make yourself at home here and change whatever you like, including the observatory. This is your domain as well as mine. Changes in the conservatory can be made at Mouse’s discretion if you are feeling courageous enough to ask.”

And that was it. That was the only change.

Beatrice stared at the list, written in Stephen’s now-familiar handwriting, until the words blurred.

She crumpled the letter in her hands, almost without thinking. She crumpled it tighter and tighter in her palm. Then, in one smooth movement, she tossed it into the fire. The flames ate it up at once until there were no ashes left.

“You could have stayed,” she whispered aloud. “Why didn’t you stay? Why didn’t you fight? Or was this simply not worth fighting for?”

There was no answer, of course.

The theater was full, as usual. Beatrice wound her arm tightly through Theodosia’s as they made their way through the crowdsto their seats. A few people glanced their way thoughtfully, and Beatrice just knew that Stephen’s absence was noticed.

She kept her head up high and tried not to notice. The writing desk in her favorite parlor was littered with crumpled pieces of paper, abandoned notes, and letters, all addressed to Stephen’s townhouse. She had given up in the end. There was no point, was there?

“We don’t have to stay, Beatrice,” Theodosia said, her voice low. They had just passed a gaggle of men and women—Miss Boules among them—who were whispering and giggling behind their hands, their eyes glued to Beatrice. “We can just go home.”

“And have it reported in the scandal sheets that the Duchess of Blackwood turned tail and fled after being abandoned by her husbandagain? No, I don’t think so.”

“It might not happen,” Theodosia pressed. “The Marquess left town this morning, by all accounts. With him gone, maybe?—”

“Nothing will change,” Beatrice said, more bluntly than she had intended. She shot Theodosia an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I’m a little tired.”

Theodosia gave her arm a squeeze. “Once we get to our box, I’ll go and find you some refreshments. It’ll make you feel better.”

Beatrice smiled tiredly at her mother-in-law. “Thank you. You are very kind to me, Theodosia.”

Theodosia smiled. “I always wanted a daughter, you know. I always imagined myself with two children—a boy and a girl. In a way, I think I have finally gotten what I wanted.”

They made their way to their box, and Beatrice sat down with a thump. Perhaps shewasmore tired than she had expected.

I really do not want to be at the theater today.

“I won’t be a moment,” Theodosia promised and scuttled out of the box and into the crowds again, leaving Beatrice alone.

She leaned back, closing her eyes.

Beatrice could not have said when she realized that she was not alone in the box. The feeling crept up on her, growing in intensity, and her eyes abruptly flew open.

It was Cornelia.

“What are you doing here?” Beatrice gasped, bouncing to her feet. “I shall scream for help.”

Cornelia rolled her eyes. “Do you think you’d be heard in this chaos? Besides, you are too dramatic. I am not here to murder you. I simply want to talk.”