Again the Magic by Lisa Kleypas Page A

packed into crates — paneling, painting, ceiling, and floor — and completely reconstructed at Stony Cross Park. Such rooms were rare in England but common in France, where the upper class used such places daydreaming, studying and writing, and conversing intimately with a friend.
    Aline huddled in the corner of a chaise that had been lodged against the age-rippled glass window, staring at nothing. The narrow sill beneath the windowpanes was lined with small objects… a tiny painted-metal horse… a pair of tin soldiers, one of them missing an arm… a cheap wooden button from a man’s shirt… a small folding knife with a handle carved from a stag’s horn. All the items were bits and pieces of McKenna’s past that Aline had collected. Her fingers were curled around the spine of a pocket-sized book of verse, the nonsensical kind used to teach children the rules of grammar and spelling. Mrs. Faircloth remembered more than one occasion on which she had seen Aline and McKenna reading the primer together as children, their heads close together as Aline doggedly tried to teach him his lessons. And McKenna had listened reluctantly, though it had been clear that he would have much preferred to be running through the woods like an uncivilized creature.
    Frowning, Mrs. Faircloth set a tray of soup and toast on Aline’s lap. “It’s time for you to eat something,” she said, masking her concern with a stern voice.
    In the month since McKenna had left, Aline had been unable to eat or sleep. Broken and dispirited, she spent most of her time alone. When she was commanded to join the family for supper, she sat without touching her food and remained unnaturally silent. The earl and countess chose to regard Aline’s decline as childish pouting. However, Mrs. Faircloth did not share their opinion, wondering how they could so easily discount the profound attachment between Aline and McKenna. The housekeeper had tried to reason herself out of her worry, reminding herself that they were mere children, and as such, they were resilient creatures. Still… losing McKenna seemed likely to unhinge Aline.
    “I miss him too,” the housekeeper had said, her throat tight with shared grief. “But you must think of what is best for McKenna, and not for you. You wouldn’t want him to stay here and be tormented by all the things he could never have. And it serves no one to let yourself go to pieces this way. You’re pale and thin, and your hair is as rough as a horse’s tail. What would McKenna think if he saw you right now?”
    Aline lifted a dull gaze to hers. “He would think it was what I deserved, for being so cruel.”
    “He will understand someday. He’ll reflect on it and realize that you could only have done it for his own good.”
    “Do you think so?” Aline asked without apparent interest.
    “Of course,” Mrs. Faircloth asserted stoutly.
    “I don’t.” Aline picked up the metal horse from the window and regarded it without emotion. “I think that McKenna will hate me for the rest of his life.”
    The housekeeper meditated on the words, becoming more and more convinced that if something were not done soon to jolt the girl from her grief, it might cause permanent damage to her health.
    “Perhaps I should tell you… I’ve received a letter from him,” Mrs. Faircloth said, although she had meant to keep the information to herself. There was no predicting how Aline would react to the news. And if the earl learned that Mrs. Faircloth had allowed Aline to see such a letter, there would be yet another position at Stony Cross Park to be filled — her own.
    The girl’s dark eyes were suddenly alive, filled with a frantic blaze. “When?”
    “This very morning.”
    “What did he write? How is he?”
    “I haven’t read the letter yet — you know how my eyes are. I need the proper light… and I’ve misplaced my spectacles…”
    Aline shoved the tray aside and struggled out of the chaise. “Where is it? Let me see it