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Dear Molly,

I’ve always tried to impress upon you that your worth is not determined through the worldly goods you possess, nor will it ever decrease because someone refuses to see your value. Here’s what I’ve learned over the years: you can’t make people see what they don’t want to see. And the most precious treasures are often overlooked.

Once I was engaged to Algernon, I became privy to the many behind-the-scenes negotiations that had led to my betrothal. Mama and Papa eagerly shared the details, so proud were they of the outcome. Instead of swallowing Papa’s company whole, Magnus merged his firm with Papa’s to create Braun-Gray Investments. The new business married contemporary and traditional investment philosophies under a singular banner. My father was now in charge of regular investments, whereas Magnus handled a new arm dedicated to the purchase and sale of high-end artifacts.

It was my father who insisted that as part of the deal I be offered an engagement ring of immense value. “It must be worthy of my daughter’s hand,” he’d said during negotiations.

But when neither side could agree upon the value of the ring, Priscilla had proposed an alternative—“a modern trousseau” is what she called it, one that would appreciate in the years to come “much like the marriage between our children.”

“Your father is a brilliant negotiator, Flora,” Mama revealed at dinner one night a week after the engagement as she recounted the details. “We’ve lost nothing, only gained in this arrangement.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You have the Fabergé,” said Papa as he cracked his lobster tail.

“But what did the Brauns get in exchange?”

“You,” said Mama as though I were a fool.

Papa was so bullish about the merger that he hired more staff at the manor to show off his rising fortunes. Shy Penelope became a full-time maid-in-training, a helper for Mrs.Mead. She now served our meals and waited on us hand and foot while Mrs.Mead cooked and did everything else my parents demanded of her.

“Penelope,” said Mama at dinner, “take this butter dish back to Mrs.Mead. It’s not warm enough.” The girl grabbed the dish and rushed off.

“Flora, in case you’re wondering,” said Papa, “if for any reason Algernon gets cold feet, you still get to keep the egg.”

“It’s an insurance policy for the rest of your life,” said Mama. “Its value is truly significant.”

“Is it?” I asked. “Do we have proof?”

“Proof?” said Mama as she laughed out loud.

“Proof is in possession,” said Papa, “and possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“What about the other tenth?” I asked.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over such things,” Papa advised. Any misgivings I had about being itemized on a balance sheet were quelled as I basked in the warmth of his gaze.

“Here you are,” said Mrs.Mead as she emerged from the kitchen and plunked my mother’s steaming butter dish in front of her. “Is it to your liking now, madam?”

“It will do,” Mama replied.

“Does anyone else wish to lodge a complaint about their dinner?” Mrs.Mead asked.

“That’ll be all, Mrs.Mead,” said Papa.

She disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Now that the merger’s complete, it’s time to celebrate,” said Mama. “Both families will host private festivities in honor of the impending marriage. The Brauns invited us to their yacht in Saint-Tropez in a couple months’ time.”

“And I’m taking Magnus and Algernon deer hunting on our grounds. We’re set for this weekend. Remember how I bagged a twelve-pointer after winning your hand, Audrey?”

“That stag’s head is in the basement somewhere—macabre thing,” remarked Mama, and Papa chuckled.

“I don’t want a deer to die just because I got engaged,” I said.

“Darling, it’s not about what you want. Let the men wear camouflage and shoot at things if it makes them feel virile.”

“We’ll need assistants,” Papa said. “William and his son will have to do.”

“Why them?” I asked. “I doubt they’ve shot guns in their lives.”

“Good,” said Papa. “They won’t show up Magnus and Algie.”

And so it was that the next Saturday, the Brauns showed up at the manor and Uncle Willy let them in.

“There’s my girl,” Magnus said as he kissed both my cheeks. “Pretty as a picture, isn’t she, Algie?”

“Sure,” he replied, looking at me briefly before turning his attention to the two rifle cases slung over his shoulder.

“It’s torrential out there,” said Priscilla as she wordlessly passed her umbrella and overcoat to Uncle Willy. “I can’t believe you silly boys want to hunt in this atrocious weather.”

“The call of the wild, Prissy,” said Algernon. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I suggested swapping the hunt for a gentlemanly poker game in the drawing room, but Reginald’s having none of it,” said Mama. “Oh, here he is now.”

Papa strode into the foyer dressed in a tweed plaid jacket and matching hat, waterproof breeches, and tall black boots.

Magnus and Algernon suppressed a laugh, though Papa failed to notice.

“There’s tea and delectables,” said Mama, “to warm you before you set out.”

We made our way to the banquet room, where the table was laid with fine white linen. Silver serving trays were filled with dainty sandwiches, macarons, and scones, all of which Mrs.Mead and Penelope had been preparing for days.

“Take a seat,” said Papa. The Brauns drew up chairs, and Algernon reached for a scone, heaping it with jam and devouring it in two quick bites.

“A healthy appetite, I see,” Mrs.Mead said, bringing the scones closer to him.

“Always,” Algie replied.

“Speaking of appetites,” said Mrs.Mead. “Do you know the Farquars?”

The Brauns stiffened at the mention of the name. It was so unthinkable for Mrs.Mead, a maid, to initiate conversation with guests that Mama and Papa swiveled to face her.

“We don’t know them,” said Algernon in a monotone drawl.

“Well, we do,” his mother corrected. “But we’re not close.”

“Oh? You must have run into them at the ball,” Mrs.Mead said. “I understand their daughter went to college with your son, until—”

Magnus now turned to Mrs.Mead. “How do you know that?” he demanded.

“Oh, you know how maids talk,” said Mrs.Mead. “People think we’re invisible, but we do have eyes and ears.” She managed to say all of this in that same singsong voice, a tone that made the words sound almost benign.

“Mrs.Mead,” said Mama, “shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?”

She curtsied and left the room without another word.

“Penelope, tea,” Mama ordered, pointing to the empty cups on the table.

“I apologize,” said Mama once Mrs.Mead was gone. “Honestly, I’d wash her mouth out with soap if I wouldn’t get arrested.”

“Is this one as fresh as the other?” said Algernon, pointing to Penelope as she filled his teacup. But as he watched her, his face changed. “Do I know you?” he asked.

Penelope turned and began to fill Magnus’s cup. “No, sir,” she said, but as she pulled the spout away, it caught on the fine porcelain rim, sending the cup crashing loudly against the hard herringbone floor.

“Penelope!” my mother screeched.

“I’m sorry!” said Penelope as she retreated to the sideboard.

Mrs.Mead appeared at the entrance. “What’s all the ruckus?”

“That fool of a girl just poured tea all over me,” said Magnus as he dabbed at his trousers.

“It was an accident. I’m sorry,” said Penelope.

“Not to worry,” said Mrs.Mead. “I’ll clean this up. Penelope, make a start on the laundry downstairs.”

Penelope rushed out of the room as Mrs.Mead got on all fours and began retrieving the shards on the floor.

“Well, that was more commotion than necessary,” said Papa.

“Please, everyone. Help yourselves to the spread. I think you’ll find the food better than the service,” said Mama.

“I’ve had my fill,” Algernon announced as he stood and threw his napkin on the table. “Plus, I’ve never actually seen the whole manor. Flora, why not give me a tour?”

“Certainly,” I replied, grateful to leave the tension-filled room and pleased that I might have a moment alone with him. He’d been avoiding me since the engagement, and I thought I knew why.

“No closed doors until after the wedding,” said Mama.

“My son knows the rules, Audrey,” Magnus replied with a chuckle.

My cheeks now fully crimson, I led Algernon out of the room and through the first floor, then up the main staircase to my wing of the manor.

“Where’s your father’s office?” he asked as we reached the second floor.

I led him to Papa’s office, and when I opened the door, he waltzed right in and sat in Papa’s chair, leaning back as if he owned the place.

“My mother calls that the Capital Throne,” I said.

He began rifling through the papers on my father’s desk.

“I wouldn’t do that. Papa likes his things just so.”

“Does he?” Algernon said as he got to his feet and came my way. He rested his arms on my shoulders, and his cold blue eyes met mine.

I was grateful to have his attention. Now was my chance to make things right.

“I want to apologize for not saying yes to you right away when you proposed,” I said. “In the absence of an engagement ring, I didn’t fully understand what was happening. I’m an utter fool.”

“Do you like the Fabergé?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good, because it’s worth more than any ring. Mags and I went to great lengths to acquire it,” he said.

“How so?” I asked.

“It belonged to a baron with deep connections in the art world.”

“I met a baron at the Workers’ Ball. Was he the former owner?”

“Maybe. My father had plans to go into business with that man, but he backed out at the last minute, claimed he didn’t like my father’s business style. Can you believe it? That’s why Mags got into bed with your father. Your family’s our fallback plan.”

Fallback plan? The words hit hard, but I tried not to show it. “If the baron and your father had a falling-out, why did he sell your father the egg?” I asked.

“He didn’t,” Algernon replied.

“I’m sorry?”

“Look, Flora. My father and I have one thing in common—what we want, we take.”

He let go of me then and paced the room, stopping by my father’s filing cabinet to open one of the drawers.

“Are you suggesting the Fabergé is stolen?” I asked.

“What I’m saying,” he said as he slammed the filing cabinet shut, “is that to be my wife, you can’t ask so many questions. Your job is to keep your mouth shut and look pretty on my arm. Can you manage that?”

I felt as though I’d been slapped. His words were so shocking I lost the ability to produce my own.

“Good,” he said. “We have an agreement. Let sleeping dogs lie, Flora.” He opened another drawer. “You can go now,” he said as he rifled through it. “I’ll be down when I’m good and ready.”

I backed out of Papa’s office and hurried down the stairs to my parents.

“Ah, there she is,” said Papa as I entered the banquet room.

“Where’s Algie?” Priscilla asked.

“In the powder room,” I replied. “I expect he’ll be down shortly.” Why I lied for him, I can’t quite say, but somehow I knew that was my duty as his wife-to-be. I took my seat at the table.

As Algernon’s parents and mine chatted, I pretended to eat a scone, but my stomach had curdled.

Mrs.Mead appeared at my side. “Are you all right, dear?” she whispered as she filled my teacup.

“I…don’t know,” I replied.

After what felt like an eternity, Algernon strode into the room, flopping down in a dining chair. “Now I’m hungry,” he announced as he filled his plate with sandwiches.

“What on earth were you up to?” Priscilla asked.

“I was admiring the manor,” he replied as he waved for Mrs.Mead to fill his cup. “I hope you don’t mind, but I had a look around your office,” he told Papa.

“Mind? Of course I don’t mind,” my father replied. “One day that desk will be yours, son. But not yet. I’ve still got some juice in me.”

Just then Uncle Willy and John appeared at the threshold looking somber and uncomfortable, dressed head to toe in camouflage.

“We should leave soon,” Uncle Willy urged. “The weather’s only going to get worse.”

“Well, look who it is. I remember you,” said Algernon as he rose from his seat and sidled over to John. “What do you have there?” he asked, pointing to the well-worn rifle in his hand.

“A .22,” John answered.

“I didn’t know you hunted,” I said, confused by the incongruous sight of John with a weapon.

“Only when necessary,” Uncle Willy replied. “We’ve both had occasion over the years to rid Mrs.Mead’s gardens of groundhogs.”

“That rifle’s far too weak for what we’re bagging today,” Algernon said. “I brought two rifles. You can use one of mine—silver-tipped bullets for a cleaner kill.”

“Big game hunting isn’t my thing,” John said.

“You haven’t lived until you’ve watched a stag die,” said Magnus. “It’s invigorating.”

“We’d better go,” Uncle Willy urged.

The men stood and made their way out of the banquet room. “John, Willy, keep your wits about you,” said Mrs.Mead from the doorway.

The men gathered their gear and were soon heading out of the conservatory, marching past the manicured lawn toward the garden gate. My mother, Priscilla, and I watched until they disappeared into the dark, dank forest.

“Let’s hope the deer gets lucky,” said Mama as she turned from the windows.

“My thought exactly,” said Priscilla.

“Shall we retire to the parlor for a ladies’ chat?” Mama proposed.

In the parlor my mother and Priscilla gossiped and name-dropped while I feigned interest and occasionally forced a laugh. The talk turned to the wedding, which was nearly a year off, but to hear them discuss it, you’d have thought it was a week away.

Papa’s antique grandfather clock ticked in the corner, time crawling at a snail’s pace. And then, in the doorway, pale as a bedsheet, Penelope appeared.

Mama ignored her until she could no longer. “What is it you want, Penelope?” she snapped.

“Mrs.Mead,” the girl answered, her voice tremulous and weak.

“She’s in the kitchen,” said Mama.

The girl floated away as if in a trance.

Once she was gone, my mother whispered to Priscilla, “She’s not working out.”

“Good help is so hard to find,” Priscilla replied.

A few minutes later, Mrs.Mead ran past the parlor, moving so quickly she was barely recognizable. As Mama and Priscilla ignored her in favor of a discussion on the importance of wedding favors, I poked my head into the corridor. Mrs.Mead was heading toward the conservatory. I heard the glass door slam as she exited the manor.

I returned to my spot on the settee.

“What do you think, Flora?” Mama asked.

I was so tuned out I had no idea what they were discussing. “I leave that to you. Mothers know best,” I said.

“You see? She’s become much more pliant since meeting your son.”

“I’m glad he could be of service,” said Priscilla.

It wasn’t long after, maybe thirty minutes, that a great crashing sound was heard down the hall.

“My goodness, what’s the commotion?” said Mama.

She headed to the conservatory, and Priscilla and I followed, halting in the doorway of the glass room because what we saw before us was a vision from a nightmare.

All five men had returned from the hunt, their faces muddy, their bodies drenched. Papa’s tweed cap had vanished; his hand was trembling. Both he and Magnus held their rifles stiffly. Algernon stood beside them, rifle gone, eyes wide with shock. Uncle Willy was moaning something about a deer in the forest. In front of them all stood John, his face streaked not only with mud and tears but with fresh blood. In his arms he held Mrs.Mead, her head lolling, blood spreading across her chest like a rose blooming in fast motion. It was a portrait of terror, Molly, as fresh in my mind today as the day I witnessed it.

“Don’t just stand there!” my mother screamed. “Do something!”

But only Uncle Willy and John moved. They gently lowered Mrs.Mead to the floor, where they held her blue hands and wept overher.

Despite my mother’s protest, there was nothing to do, for the truth was clear to everyone. Mrs.Mead was dead, and no power on earth could bring her back to life.