"I'm leaving. Listen to your mother."
Mr. Severton was already seated in the carriage. Eloise smiled thinly.
"Father, I am twenty-six."
Surely that was too old to be spoken to like a small child? Mr. Severton clicked his tongue and shook his head.
"Last year, when I left for New York, you said exactly the same thing. And what happened when I returned?"
"The stable almost collapsed because I pulled out one of the supports — but that was because—"
Just as Eloise drew breath to protest, Mrs. Severton caught her firmly by the hand.
"Enough. I have heard the excuse about the horse getting frightened a hundred times already. Go, dear — your godmother must be waiting."
"Yes. It's time."
At the mention of his godmother, the lightness left Mr. Severton's face. He gave a short nod. The coachman, hired from Cambon, eased the reins, and the horses moved off at once. The carriage disappeared down the road.
"She was so healthy last year. And now suddenly this."
Eloise put her arm around her mother's shoulders and said nothing, quietly wishing the old woman a long and peaceful end to whatever came next.
---
A few hours after Mr. Severton's departure, the village errand boy appeared at the door with a letter.
"A letter from Blissbury!"
"Thank you — here, take this."
Eloise lifted one of Emily's cookies from the cooling rack and pressed it into his hand. She watched him run off happily, then turned her attention to the envelope.
*To the most esteemed Mr. Severton... from your friend, Sergeant Thornton.*
*This man really is unlucky,* she thought. The very father he had written to had left hours ago.
Under ordinary circumstances she would have placed the letter on her father's desk without a second thought. He would be puzzled by the silence, certainly, but she was under no obligation to explain herself — and if she opened someone else's correspondence without permission, she would never hear the end of it from her mother. Or from her father when he returned.
But there, at the bottom of the envelope, were the words: *Response required.*
Eloise sighed.
*Is it something urgent?*
She thought of the books she had returned on her last visit to Blissbury. She had checked the home library again afterwards — nothing else from the estate remained. Perhaps it was something else entirely. But surely anything important would already have been settled between Sergeant Thornton and her father directly.
After a moment, she crossed to the desk and picked up the letter opener.
---
*Dear Mr. Severton,*
*I recently heard of a summer ball held annually at Blissbury. As you made no mention of it during our last meeting, I was unable to inform the residents who are expecting it. Could you please stop by Blissbury at your earliest convenience?*
*Always ready to welcome a friend,*
*Ryan Thornton.*
Written like a military dispatch — nothing but the necessary information, delivered with frightening precision.
This was not a love letter, of course, and no one expected flowery language. But even between friends it was customary to open with some small remark about the weather, or a word about the season. Sergeant Thornton's letter was so stripped of everything warm that it read as though pleasantries caused him actual physical suffering.
*So what is to be done now?*
Her father had clearly forgotten to mention the ball. She had noticed lately that his memory had been slipping — he repeated himself more, forgot things he had never forgotten before. And he would not be back soon. The journey alone was a week by carriage, and there was no telling how long he would stay.
Eloise went upstairs, sat at her writing table, and drew out a sheet of paper.
She considered for a moment how to begin.
Then she decided: the same way he had. No ornament, no pretense of closeness. Only what was needed.
---
*My father has been called away on urgent business and was not here to receive your letter. I read it in his absence and hope you will forgive the intrusion.*
*It appears he forgot to mention the matter. As you have heard, the ball is held each year at Blissbury by the will of its owner, Baron Stanford.*
*Enclosed please find the relevant documents. The originals were damaged by rain some time ago and rendered unusable; what I send are the exact copies rewritten from them, which are kept here. The originals remain at Blissbury for comparison should you need them.*
*I wish you a successful ball.*
She set the pen down, stood, and went to the library.
---
The wooden document box was exactly where she remembered it.
*Cough!* Dust rose in a cloud as she lifted the lid. *There was certainly a note somewhere about last year's arrangements...*
These papers should have been at Blissbury, strictly speaking. But last year a section of the roof had leaked, and several documents had been soaked through. Everything damaged had been brought here, carefully copied onto fresh sheets, and sent back to the estate. The ruined originals had been kept to use the blank backs for writing practice.
No one had imagined they would ever be needed again.
Eloise gathered everything connected to the ball and carried the pile back to her room. She spread it across the table and began adding notes directly onto the pages — which grocer in Cambon supplied the provisions, which drawer in the warehouse held the ball's tableware, how the guest rooms were arranged for the longer celebrations, and so on. Where the original notes had become illegible she reconstructed them from memory. Where they were clear she added explanations.
She worked until the candle had burned low and her eyes refused to stay open, and fell asleep at the table without noticing.
---
*Ha-am...*
The next morning, Eloise woke with swollen eyes and a stiff neck.
She sometimes read late into the night, but to work until nearly dawn and then simply collapse — that had not happened in a very long time. She could barely gather herself.
"Eloise! Are you awake?"
She managed to wash her face and change her clothes, fixed her hair in something like order, and went downstairs. Mrs. Severton looked up from the hallway and sighed.
"Your father is barely gone and already you've overslept. Shame on you."
"I had things to do."
"Things to do?" Mrs. Severton turned and pointed. "Because of *that* boy, I suppose?"
The same errand boy from yesterday was standing by the door.
"I'm from Blissbury! I was sent to collect the reply!"
The *response required* had clearly been meant seriously.
"One moment."
Eloise took a cookie from the glass jar and put it in his hand. He beamed just as broadly as he had the day before.
She hurried back upstairs. The documents were almost entirely ready — she had only been too exhausted last night to stack them properly. She gathered them into a neat pile, slipped in her letter, tied everything with string, and went back down.
The boy had already finished the cookie and was licking the crumbs from his fingers.
Eloise handed him another one and passed over the document bag.
"They'll be waiting eagerly at Blissbury, so don't dawdle."
"Yes! You can count on me! Thank you for the cookies, my lady!"
He swept his hat off in an attempt at a noble bow, then turned and ran. From the yard, Goose Lancelot watched his departure with loud and evident disapproval.
"My lady! I have been wondering for some time where all the cookies keep disappearing to!"
Emily had emerged from the kitchen and was staring at the glass jar with both hands raised.
"You gave them to the delivery boy again? They know perfectly well what they're doing — they take advantage of your kindness! I can just imagine the pitiful look he gave that jar!"
"I baked plenty. It's no hardship to share."
"I put the Cambon walnuts in that batch!"
Sensing that Emily's feelings on the matter were only warming up, Eloise announced that she needed to tidy her room and retreated upstairs.
It was not an excuse. The table she had raked clean in her haste that morning looked as though a small disaster had occurred on its surface.
She began sorting through what remained, stacking the papers back into order. When the last of the Blissbury documents had been returned to their box and she finally looked at her clear desk—
Eloise went still.
Something was missing.
"Where is my letter?"