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It was a warm spring afternoon, the sky dotted with cotton fluff when Thea’s sisters arrived. First came Verity with her husband, Magnus, and their rambunctious two-year-old son, Alexander, in tow. Followed shortly by Honoria with her husband, Oscar, and her hugely swollen belly.

The following day, as was the habit when they’d all lived beneath the same roof, they gathered in the morning room for tea.

“I’m positively enormous, not to mention hot all of the time,” Honoria said, wisps of pale blond hair clinging to her cheeks

as she lowered herself down onto the cream-colored settee. “Oscar says I’m glowing, but I’m sure he actually means that I’m

the size of the sun. Soon, planets will begin to orbit me.”

“I remember comparing myself to an elephant when I was carrying you and”—Mother paused, a wan smile on her lips—“your brother.”

Honoria reached out and clasped her hand. “If it’s a boy, we’d like to name him after Ernest... unless that would be too

painful.”

“No. I think that is a wonderful way to remember him,” Mother said with tears shimmering in her eyes. “I’d like that.”

Verity smiled softly as she poured the tea. Her dark blond hair was in a haphazard twist at the nape of her neck ever since

she and Magnus had returned from their walk by the river. “I remember when Ernest used to smuggle toads into the nursery.”

“And Grandmother pinching one by the foot as she carried it down the stairs, regal as a queen,” Honoria added with a laugh,

absently rubbing a hand over her midriff.

As they continued to speak of their memories of the brother and grandparents that Thea had never known, her thoughts drifted

to the play she’d tried to write last year, when no words would come.

It was to have been about a ghost of a girl who had never been born because of the brother who had lived. Unwanted, her spirit had been cursed to wander in the ether surrounding the family, existing as a shadow that watched the parents live happily with the four children that they’d always wanted.

Your doldrums are showing , her chorus chided.

Thea took a sip of tepid tea, hoping it would numb everything inside her.

She loved her parents and siblings dearly, and would always cherish the memories she had of growing up in this house. But

this house wasn’t the same.

The feeling inside her was like a wound scabbing over, not yet a scar. It pulled at the skin around the edges. Not unbearable,

just tight and itchy with a sense that, underneath, a different skin would emerge.

She wondered how long it would take to finally heal. Wondered when the wound would no longer be red and sore to the touch,

the ache underneath too raw and tender to be exposed.

The only thing she knew for certain was that she couldn’t heal at Hartley Hall when her thoughts were still tethered to a

dream of a cottage with the man she loved.

But that life she’d imagined was a fool’s fancy.

Regardless, she would have to find somewhere to belong, and the sooner the better. Because her courses were late. A fortnight

late, in fact. And because it had been a month to the day since she’d last been with Jasper, she was fairly certain that she

was with child.

Thankfully, no one knew. Yet.

Tally hadn’t even noticed. She’d had her head in the clouds from the first moment that she saw Mr. Lawson wave at her from

down the hill at the stables upon her return. Thea even saw them walking together after church, Mr. Lawson bending to adjust

her shawl when it slipped from her shoulder.

She hoped it would end well for them. Someone deserved a happy ending.

“Thea, I’m surprised you aren’t writing all this down,” Verity said, her violet eyes bright with amusement. “Having all these embarrassing details from our childhood written in a play would make for excellent blackmail one day.”

Apparently, it escaped their notice that none of the stories were from her childhood.

“I regret to say that I cannot blackmail you. It seems I left my ledgers in London,” she lied but with a careless shrug in

the tried-and-true Hartley fashion.

She’d told a similar lie yesterday in the foyer, just after Magnus had caught Alexander sliding down the banister. When Thea

picked up and returned the wooden sword that her nephew had dropped through the gallery railing, he held it up and shouted,

“Pie! Pie!” then growled, “Arrgh!”

“Ah. So you’re a pirate, hmm?” she’d said with quick understanding and ruffled his dark head.

Magnus arched one disapproving brow at the boy on his hip. “Perhaps Auntie Thea could write a play about a naughty little

pirate who was sent to the nursery without any biscuits because he slid down the banister, which is very dangerous.”

“Pie! Pie!” Alexander cheered, unmoved by his father’s plight, and summarily wiggled down to the floor in search of new adventures.

Then she’d told her lie about the ledgers to her brother-in-law before he went off in pursuit of the little brigand. Though,

not for the first time, she wondered if being a playwright was the only way she’d ever fit in with her family. The only way

she’d found acceptance.

But if she never wrote again, then where would that leave her?

“Dearest,” Honoria began, pulling her back into the morning room.

Seeing her sister’s all-too-perceptive gaze studying her from across the low table, Thea went still, sure that every emotion she’d been trying to subdue was on display.

“If you’re not going to eat that cake, I’ll take it off your hands. ”

A breath of relief left her.

“Of course. I’m not even hungry.” Standing, she passed the plate to her sister. “And I promised to visit Tempest, so I’ll

just walk to the dower house.”

She left without another word, knowing that they didn’t need her to continue on with their reminiscences.

As she stepped out onto the back terrace, her gaze settled on the family stage.

The Pit, as they called it, was an amphitheater that Truman had designed to blend perfectly with the natural landscape of

rock and hill. It had demilune tiers carved into the escarpment for seating across from a stage, which was inlaid with stone

in a pattern that resembled a great eye.

For most of her life, it had been a place of plays and family laughter. But now it seemed nothing more than a painful reminder

of her failings.

Her father was currently holding a rehearsal for Twelfth Night , the villagers garbed in various gowns and pantaloons. Upon seeing her, he raised his hand and waved. “Care to join in, poppet?”

Thea shook her head and pointed toward the dower house.

After passing through the budding rose garden, she climbed the hill, walking beneath the canopy of a shade tree, the leaves

rustling in a warm breeze that promised summer. As the path took her down beyond the stables, her thoughts drifted to Jasper.

She knew the post had come today, just as she knew that there’d been nothing for her. He never responded to the letters she

sent.

Perhaps one of the reasons she visited the Truebloods so often was a way to cling to the last threads of what she’d had with Jasper. But she needed something to hold on to, just one little thing.

The white glazed door of the dower house stood ajar as the servants carried out the rugs for beating, so Thea let herself

in.

Knowing that Clara favored the west parlor so that she could watch Iris’s riding lessons, Thea moved down the hall in that

direction. As she neared, she overheard the murmurings of a conversation.

“According to Jasper, the date of the trial has not been set,” Clara said with the same hope that Thea clung to threaded through

her voice. “I have a good feeling about this barrister of his.”

A frustrated feminine growl answered. “The only reason he hasn’t stood trial is likely because that bastard earl is compiling

evidence against him!”

“Tempest!”

Her hollow laugh echoed out of the room. “You’re reprimanding me for my language? I’ve a mind to call him far worse.”

“Just put him out of your mind.”

“How can I when it’s my fault that Jasper is facing transportation... or worse?”

Thea’s step faltered, her lungs constricting as her hand flew to her throat. She didn’t want to think about the or worse . She’d spent weeks swallowing down the fear of or worse .

“But it isn’t your fault, my dear. Jasper made a choice. He only wanted to protect you. To protect us all. That’s what he

does for those he loves.”

“I know that,” Tempest said, her voice rising.

“But I thought Thea would have talked sense into him. I thought he would have stayed for her sake. I thought that he loved her enough to—” She broke off at the creak of the floor board and turned to the doorway.

Then her face lost all color. “Thea, I didn’t know you were there. ”

Wanting to be anywhere else, Thea shook her head and backed away, her vision blurring around the edges.

As she ran out of the dower house, choking on devastation, the final but most fragile thing she’d been holding on to fractured.