Chapter 2

The next day, heart raw and swollen, I ran away. I wandered until the streets became unfamiliar, until panic rose in my throat. And there, like a knight from a storybook, was young Theodore Crane.

He knelt, wiped my tears with his own handkerchief, listened to my hiccupping tale of injustice, and then, wonder of wonders, bought me not one, but ten hairpins.

From then on, Theodore was my shield. If Eleanor had one pretty trinket, he ensured I had two.

When the family's attention orbited solely around her, his gaze would find me. He stood by my side.

I truly believed he always would.

But somewhere along the years, his eyes changed.

They held the same disappointed look my parents so often wore. He began to say the very words they did, "Blakely, Eleanor is unwell. You must be the understanding one."

He would say, "She is your sister. It is your duty to look after her."

Just before our first planned wedding, Eleanor's physician ordered her to take the restorative waters in Riverside for her constitution. Theodore learned of it and, without a moment's hesitation, postponed our nuptials.

He spoke about attending lectures in Riverside and asked me to wait three years. The world saw a young man ambitiously pursuing his education. Only I knew he was merely pursuing proximity to her.

Eventually, Eleanor accepted an offer of marriage from a respectable Viscount.

The moment she was wed, Theodore revived the subject of our own union. "Blakely," he said, relief plain in his voice, "Now that Eleanor is settled, my mind is at ease. Let us be married at last."

Joy, fierce and bright, bloomed in my chest. I dared to believe he was finally free. I threw myself into preparations, envisioning every detail of becoming Mrs. Theodore Crane.

Then, the Viscount received a royal commission to oversee a troubled colonial outpost. He was to depart with his new wife at once.

The night before their voyage, Theodore kept a solitary vigil on the bench outside my family's townhouse.

At first light, his decision was made. He would join the Viscount's retinue as an advisor, he claimed, and accompany them to the frontier.

Our wedding was postponed a second time. And just like that, he was gone from my life for another three years.

In my foolish, hopeful heart, I truly believed that if I were patient enough, kind enough, and waited long enough, Theodore would one day see only me.

I was wrong. Thankfully, it was not too late to correct my course.

"Blakely, are you certain?" Grandmama's voice was heavy with worry. "The retreat at Serenity Abbey is for three years. Once you take the vows of companionship with Princess Giselle, there is no returning."

"I am certain," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. "I know precisely what I am doing."

Theodore was delaying us again. Who could say for how long? Another three years? A lifetime?

To be set aside by the Crane family for a third time, I did not need to hear the whispers to know I would be the favorite subject of drawing-room ridicule.

Better to remove myself entirely. Better the stark peace of the abbey than the suffocating pity of the ton.

Grandmama sighed, a sound of deep sorrow. "Child, why must you choose the hardest path? I have heard of this latest delay. Let me speak to the Crane family. This disrespect will not stand."

I stayed her hand gently. I knew if she intervened, out of sheer respect for her stature, the Cranes would compel Theodore to the altar immediately.

But a marriage compelled by duty and guilt would breed only resentment. He would blame me for trapping him.

I would rather have the silent stones of the abbey for company than a husband who looked upon me as his jailer.

Life at Serenity Abbey was austere, devoid of society's luxuries, which was why so few noble daughters offered themselves. I was fortunate that my name was accepted.

Once my decision was firm, I retreated. I spent my days in the solitude of the family chapel or in my room with books of devotion. For a full month, I kept my own counsel. I did not seek Theodore out.

Perhaps he had finally comforted Eleanor into a stable mood, for one afternoon, he appeared at my door with a box of sweet marchpane, as if suddenly remembering my existence.

A note of petulant injury colored his tone. "Blakely, you have been a ghost. Why do you hide from me?"

It struck me then that a full month had passed. I, who once thought a day without his company an eternity, had scarcely marked its passage. The realization was a quiet, cold shock.

I met his gaze briefly before looking down at my book. "You told me not to seek you out. Have you forgotten?"

Theodore stiffened. The memory of his own words, spoken in irritation, clearly returned to him.

The resentment from the third postponement had festered. The day after the dreadful garden party, I had gone to Evenstar, the prestigious jeweler on Bond Street, hoping for a word.

I found him there with Eleanor, examining hair combs set with sapphires. His face had clouded with immediate impatience at the sight of me.

"Blakely," he had said, drawing me aside, his voice low and sharp, "unless it is a matter of life and death, you must cease trailing after me. It is becoming tiresome."

Theodore's face darkened as it hit him just how much his words had stung. He understood why I had avoided him these past few days.

He blamed himself for letting his impatience get the best of him that day. Still, he believed I was always a softie. If he were willing to lower his head, I'd always come back to him.

"Blakely," he began, his voice soft. "You know I did not mean it. I was worried about Eleanor. My temper was short. Once her spirits are restored, I promise you the wedding will be everything you've dreamed of."

I kept my eyes on the illuminated page of psalms before me. And if her spirits never lift, Theodore? Would I wait forever?

I merely made a noncommittal sound in my throat, letting the bitter question dissolve unspoken on my tongue.