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Dear Molly,

Faith is a wonderful thing. And being a believer is a virtue, provided what you believe in is the truth rather than lies. When faith is used for good, it can move mountains, but when it fuels injustice, it’s a terrorizing force. Be careful what you believe in, Molly. And listen when your instincts speak.

When Penelope told me what Algernon had done to her, there was no question in my mind—I believed her. In my heart of hearts, I knew that man was capable of terrible things, and yet I’d ignored everything and everyone who’d tried to warn me. How I managed to deceive myself for as long as I did, I do not know, but when I heard Penelope, my foolish delusions evaporated along with any girlish dreams I’d had about marrying a prince of a man.

The second the Brauns left our house the day of Mrs.Mead’s funeral, I petitioned my parents for a moment of their time. “It’s urgent,” I said. “You need to hear this.”

We retired to Papa’s office, where he sat in his Capital Throne and Mama perched on his desk beside him.

I launched into my story, reminding them of how on the day of the hunt, Algernon had requested that I take him on a tour of the manor.

“I recall,” said Papa. “He complimented my office.”

“At some point, I left him to explore on his own,” I said. “He all but ordered me away.”

“Neither your father nor I am inclined to stop a man’s explorations, am I right, Reginald?” Mama prompted.

“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Papa replied.

“You don’t understand. He went downstairs to the laundry room. He searched out Penelope. He…he—”

“Penelope? The maid-in-training?” my mother said.

“She must have called Algernon downstairs,” Papa surmised as he leaned back in his chair.

“Why would she do such a thing?” I asked. “What had she to gain from that?”

My mother laughed out loud. “What had she to gain from an illicit dalliance with one of the richest heir incumbents in the land? Reginald, why is our daughter as green as a bean?”

I hadn’t even told them what happened, but they were acting like they already knew, as if they’d seen this play out so many times they didn’t require the actual details. I told them how Penelope had once worked for the baron and baroness, how she’d seen Algernon there and how shortly thereafter, the entire staff was dismissed because some art disappeared.

“Oh, Flora. She’s protecting herself,” said Papa. “If I’ve learned anything in my years as an estate owner, it’s that the help is often to blame.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Nothing I said seemed to matter. Next, I told them that Algernon had very likely stolen the egg and that he’d assaulted Penelope, then threatened her at Mrs.Mead’s funeral.

“That hardly sounds like a threat,” said Papa. “He was merely warning the new maid of the dangers of wandering in the woods on her own. If Mrs.Mead had heeded such a warning, maybe she’d still be alive today.”

“Mrs.Mead was running to warn all of us about the Brauns,” I said, my voice cracking. “She was trying to save me and she was trying to get justice for Penelope. None of us have been listening. We didn’t want to accept the truth.”

My father stood then, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “What that young maid said proves nothing,” he pronounced. “And instead of casting aspersions on Algernon, you should look closer to home. It’s clear the police suspect John shot his own aunt. Maybe it was an accident, but what if it wasn’t? Or what if his father is covering it up?”

“Uncle Willy?” I said in utter disbelief. “He has been nothing but loyal to his sister and to this family. He’s devoted his entire life to us. And that’s how you treat him?”

“I told you before, Flora. You will call the butler ‘sir’ or you will call him nothing at all. Do you understand?” My father said it quietly, but through the guise of tranquility, a storm was brewing.

“You’re such a foolish girl,” said Mama, with a woeful shake of her head. “You’re not seeing straight.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “I’m seeing for the first time. And if you don’t want to acknowledge the truth about Algernon—and his parents, who’ll defend him no matter what he does—there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“This case is closed,” said Papa.

“You’re not a judge,” I shot back.

“Maybe not, but I am your—”

“I’m not marrying him,” I said, cutting him off. “I won’t do it. I’ve made a terrible mistake. I won’t marry Algernon.”

“Take it back,” said Mama, “quickly.” Her voice was pinched, her hands worrying the pearls at her neck. She stood, bracing herself against the back wall of Papa’s office.

Papa lunged at me, grabbing my wrist with one hand and shaking his closed fist in my face.

“I am your father,” he spat at me, his eyes like those of an angry god. “You will do as I say. And mark my words, you will wed Algernon Braun.”

—

I don’t know how I did it, but I escaped my father’s grasp. I wriggled free and I ran from his office. I hurried down the grand staircase and out the glass doors of the conservatory. I ran without thinking, over the lawns, through the garden gate, down the pathway, past Mrs.Mead’s cottage to the knotty oak tree that bordered the property next to Papa’s.

When I arrived, I wasn’t alone. John was sitting under the tree. He’d changed out of his funeral clothes and was wearing a work shirt and overalls. He was holding something in his hands. It glinted in the fading light.

“Flora?” he said, surprised to see me.

I was bent over, catching my breath.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “No,” I said, changing my mind. “I have no idea.”

He patted the long grass beside him. I sat down, leaning against the massive trunk, my shoulder touching his.

“Where’s your father?” I asked.

“In town,” he replied. “He’s staying there tonight. He couldn’t take it—the cottage. Too many memories.” As he said this, he turned over the shiny object in his hands. It was a gold Claddagh ring, with a heart in the middle held by two tiny hands.

“Your aunt’s?” I asked.

“Her wedding ring,” he replied. “When her husband died, she took it off and never wore it again. But I know she cherished it. It reminds me of her.”

I took John’s hand and slipped the ring on his pinkie finger. “There,” I said. “A perfect fit. You should wear it for her.”

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to keep the emotion down. “Where were you running off to?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “All I know is what I’m running from.”

I told him then—about Penelope’s assault in the laundry room, about how she suspected Algernon had stolen art from the baron, and about Algernon threatening her at the funeral. I watched as his jaw clenched.

“So that’s why my aunt was running—to tell us everything Algernon had done.”

“She didn’t want him to get away with it.”

John was speechless for some time. At last, he said, “He shot her, but we’ll never be able to prove it. He saw her coming, that’s for sure. Maybe she confronted him in the woods. Somehow, he knew she was about to spill all his dirty secrets. My aunt always knew more than she let on, Flora. Maids take care of one another. There’s a whisper network among them. The Farquars’ maid told her Algernon had made unwanted advances on the Farquars’ daughter. He was kicked out of college for that. The girl’s parents went to the police, but the Brauns paid them off to make it all go away. People like the Brauns can weasel out of anything.” John’s shoulders slumped. He picked at blades of grass in the small space between us.

“You tried to warn me, John. So did your aunt. This is all my fault,” I said as I broke down in tears.

He took my hands in his. “No,” he said. “The blame rests on the Brauns, not on you. My aunt loved you like her own daughter. She would have done anything for you, and there’s nothing you could have done to stop her. There was something she wanted to give you, but she didn’t quite know how.”

“What?” I asked.

He stood. “I’ll go get it,” he said.

He walked to the cottage, appearing a minute later with a leather-bound book under his arm. He sat down beside me, his back against the tree, his shoulder touching mine again. “It’s a diary,” he said, “with a lock and key. She wanted to give this to you as a gift for passing your exams, but when you…”

“When I blew my education entirely,” I offered.

John smiled meekly. “She didn’t know what to do with this after. But I know she wanted you to have it. She told me so.”

He passed me the diary. I turned the key in the lock, and the book clicked open, revealing page after enticing blank page. “I will cherish this always,” I said. “Whatever will I write in it?”

“Your life story, maybe?” John suggested.

“As if anyone would be interested in that,” I replied.

“I would be,” he said, turning his beautiful brown eyes to me. “Except I’d rather be in it than read about it.”

I stared at him for a good, long time, drinking in the sight of him. There he was, my beautiful John. How was it I had not seen earlier the vast difference between a frog and a prince? All that glitters isn’t gold, Molly, and I learned that from John. He’d always been there, steadfast and true, not ostentatious or showy like Algernon and his kin. I’d mistaken the replica for the real thing, but in that moment I knew the difference. John was nothing like the Brauns, and he was most certainly nothing like Algernon. The man under that tree, even in mourning, was my heart’s true desire, the love of my life. The light was fading, dusk on the edge of night.

“I have something to tell you,” John said. “I got into university, on full scholarship, too. I leave this fall.”

“She told me, your aunt,” I said. “She was so proud of you. But why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, we weren’t really speaking. And I wasn’t sure you wanted to know. Flora, it should have been you. You should be going away to school.”

“There’s no one more deserving than you. You’re going to be a university scholar,” I said. My joy for him was genuine. “I have something to tell you, too,” I said. “I’m not marrying him. Algernon Braun is a liar and a cheat, and other things so much worse I can’t bear to name them. I just told my parents I’m not going through with it, but they refuse to accept the truth. My guess is that Algernon’s parents paid off the police to stop all the investigations against him. What kind of people would do that?”

It was a question neither of us could answer.

“I’ve been living in a fog,” I said, “bewitched by his family and my own. It took your aunt’s death for me to snap out of it. I’m so ashamed.” I started to cry again.

John wrapped me in his arms, and I fell against his comforting chest. “It’s okay,” he said. “She wouldn’t want you to feel ashamed. She was so proud of you. If she was here, do you know what she’d say?”

“Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end,” I said, quoting one of Mrs.Mead’s favorites.

“Exactly.”

“John,” I said, drawing away to meet his eyes. “There’s another reason I can’t marry Algernon.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“You. You’re the reason. I love you, and I’m a fool for not always realizing.”

His eyes were searching mine, incredulous. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Is what you’re saying really true?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in all my life,” I said.

“I may need you to repeat that. You might need to say it over and over for me to really believe you. Can you do that, Flora?”

“I can,” I said. “And I will. It would be my pleasure.”

“Flora Gray, I love you. I always have.”

John’s lips met mine, and our kiss was blissful. At long last, I had something I’d always wanted but thought I could never have. It felt warm and safe, thrilling and real. I don’t know how long that kiss lasted, but eventually one of us pulled away. I leaned against him, feeling his heart beating, proof that life goes on despite the sorrow and loss.

“Do you remember at school when you asked me if I remembered this tree and the knothole when we were kids?” I asked him.

“You said you didn’t remember.”

“I lied,” I replied. “I do remember—that kind little boy with tousled brown hair and those eyes that belonged to a much older soul. You’ve always been you, John. You’ve always looked out for me. You cleaned up my storybook and you left it in the knothole for me to find,” I said, pointing to the hollow right above our heads.

“Must have been the fairies,” he said with a sly grin.

“No,” I replied. “The only real magic is you.”

I won’t go into details about what happened next, Molly, not because I’m hiding anything from you but because it was a moment so sacred that I struggle to capture it in words. Suffice it to say that what I learned that night as the sun set upon us is that love and loss, life and death exist in such close proximity. Sometimes the biggest losses lead to the greatest gains. Sometimes the darkest days end in the brightest nights.

We lay in each other’s arms all night long, with the moon full overhead and the grass dewy beneath our skin. It was tender and fulfilling; it was familiar yet entirely new. It was everything my heart had ever desired. He was everything my heart desired. It was as if we were picking up where we’d left off on the dance floor—falling into perfect step. We fit each other like lock and key. It had always been that way, and it will always be. I’d found it at last. This, Molly. This was love.