at Miss Melby, who held such hope in her eyes that Reanna didn’t think she could crush her hopes.
Slowly, stifling a sigh, she rose from the soft bed and crossed the room.
With one look back at Miss Melby for support, Reanna sat down at the desk, and picked up the top sheet from the stack of stationary. The Southfork seal was emblazoned at the top of the crisp cream vellum. Evidently, Killian’s mother’s, or even grandmother’s personal stationary, waiting for the day when there would be a marchioness in residence again. The exquisite paper was almost translucent in her fingers, so delicate was the vellum. She searched the desk and quickly found ink and a quill.
Reanna sat for a long time, staring at the blank piece of paper in front of her.
After a half hour, she swept her fingers across her face in effort to wipe the wetness away, in effort to see clearly, and picked up the quill. Slowly, meticulously, she put ink to paper.
Miss Melby scurried to and fro, and hours passed before she finished setting up the suite of rooms with all of Reanna’s belongings. She slipped out of the room, leaving Reanna still sitting at the desk, occasionally writing, but predominantly allowing silent sobs to rack her body.
~~~
Reanna looked at the final sheet of paper sitting before her. Six months ago, that stack of stationary had seemed bottomless. And she had requested it be replenished several times before she was ever near the bottom.
Now, one thin sheet sat squarely in front of her.
The quill in her hand was motionless, and she ignored the black splotch of ink that had stained her finger over the many months and hundreds of letters. Unseemly, but a small price to pay, she kept telling herself.
Minutes clicked by on the longcase clock that she had requested to be moved into her room months ago. Having never given time much thought, over the past six months she had become obsessed with the way time moved. Obsessed with seconds as she watched the clock steal away moment after moment.
It was hours before she had the words set, just so in her mind, to put pen to paper.
My husband,
I have begun to think that maybe your hatred of me is not my fault. Is not something that I did. But I will never know.
Maybe someday you will find it in your heart to forgive whatever my transgression was. But until then, I can no longer afford the tears that come daily, nor the way my heart aches every morning and every evening.
This is the last letter I will write. Please forgive me for not having more faith in what I thought was our love.
Yours forever,
Reanna
For six months she had tried to convince him. Convince him to forgive her. Forgive her of what, she was never sure. She had examined every moment of their time together. But she never found answers.
She had stared at that stack of paper six months ago, certain that within a few sheets, Killian would come for her. Halfway through the stack, she told herself that soon, soon he would at least send for her. But when she finally let the stack dwindle to a thin pile, Reanna forced herself to acknowledge the reality she had been trying desperately for six months to ignore.
Killian was not coming, and he was not going to send for her.
She caught Ruperton in the hallway and gave him the letter.
Within a half hour, Miss Melby bustled into her room without the pretense of knocking or privacy. “I heard Joe took a letter to be posted. That’s it then? That be the last one?”
Turning on her seat by the desk, words lodged into Reanna’s throat. She managed a nod.
“Well good. I’m sorry I ever encouraged you to start writing to his lordship in the first place. He done you a terrible wrong and the man will pay for it—if not here on earth, then may the devil take him.”
“No, Miss Melby, no. You will not say such things. He is still my husband.” Reanna turned to the desk and began neatly setting the ink and quill into the slim desk drawer.
“Forgive me for saying so, my
Slowly, stifling a sigh, she rose from the soft bed and crossed the room.
With one look back at Miss Melby for support, Reanna sat down at the desk, and picked up the top sheet from the stack of stationary. The Southfork seal was emblazoned at the top of the crisp cream vellum. Evidently, Killian’s mother’s, or even grandmother’s personal stationary, waiting for the day when there would be a marchioness in residence again. The exquisite paper was almost translucent in her fingers, so delicate was the vellum. She searched the desk and quickly found ink and a quill.
Reanna sat for a long time, staring at the blank piece of paper in front of her.
After a half hour, she swept her fingers across her face in effort to wipe the wetness away, in effort to see clearly, and picked up the quill. Slowly, meticulously, she put ink to paper.
Miss Melby scurried to and fro, and hours passed before she finished setting up the suite of rooms with all of Reanna’s belongings. She slipped out of the room, leaving Reanna still sitting at the desk, occasionally writing, but predominantly allowing silent sobs to rack her body.
~~~
Reanna looked at the final sheet of paper sitting before her. Six months ago, that stack of stationary had seemed bottomless. And she had requested it be replenished several times before she was ever near the bottom.
Now, one thin sheet sat squarely in front of her.
The quill in her hand was motionless, and she ignored the black splotch of ink that had stained her finger over the many months and hundreds of letters. Unseemly, but a small price to pay, she kept telling herself.
Minutes clicked by on the longcase clock that she had requested to be moved into her room months ago. Having never given time much thought, over the past six months she had become obsessed with the way time moved. Obsessed with seconds as she watched the clock steal away moment after moment.
It was hours before she had the words set, just so in her mind, to put pen to paper.
My husband,
I have begun to think that maybe your hatred of me is not my fault. Is not something that I did. But I will never know.
Maybe someday you will find it in your heart to forgive whatever my transgression was. But until then, I can no longer afford the tears that come daily, nor the way my heart aches every morning and every evening.
This is the last letter I will write. Please forgive me for not having more faith in what I thought was our love.
Yours forever,
Reanna
For six months she had tried to convince him. Convince him to forgive her. Forgive her of what, she was never sure. She had examined every moment of their time together. But she never found answers.
She had stared at that stack of paper six months ago, certain that within a few sheets, Killian would come for her. Halfway through the stack, she told herself that soon, soon he would at least send for her. But when she finally let the stack dwindle to a thin pile, Reanna forced herself to acknowledge the reality she had been trying desperately for six months to ignore.
Killian was not coming, and he was not going to send for her.
She caught Ruperton in the hallway and gave him the letter.
Within a half hour, Miss Melby bustled into her room without the pretense of knocking or privacy. “I heard Joe took a letter to be posted. That’s it then? That be the last one?”
Turning on her seat by the desk, words lodged into Reanna’s throat. She managed a nod.
“Well good. I’m sorry I ever encouraged you to start writing to his lordship in the first place. He done you a terrible wrong and the man will pay for it—if not here on earth, then may the devil take him.”
“No, Miss Melby, no. You will not say such things. He is still my husband.” Reanna turned to the desk and began neatly setting the ink and quill into the slim desk drawer.
“Forgive me for saying so, my
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