Eloise stared at the letter, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.
*"Addressee not found? Ryan isn't in the 57th Infantry Battalion?"*
*"This can't be."*
This wasn't the first time she'd written to him. The day after his departure, Eloise had immediately sent a letter.
A week later, she received his reply—bearing the clear stamp of army headquarters.
Since then, Eloise and Ryan had been writing to each other constantly.
Then, a few weeks ago, his letters—which had been arriving at regular intervals—suddenly stopped.
At first, she waited. But still no letters came. Unable to bear it any longer, she sent another.
It was this second letter that now sat in her hands, returned.
"My lady. Th-this is..."
Emily, frozen in place, stuttered as she called out. Hearing her voice, Eloise startled and forced herself to speak.
"There must have been a troop movement. In such cases, they say letters are returned."
She had read in the newspaper that to avoid confusion with soldiers sharing surnames in different units, letters were now returned if the addressee couldn't be located at the specified battalion.
But she had never imagined she would see such a stamp with her own eyes.
"That's probably why the letters haven't been delivered," Eloise said in a deliberately cheerful tone, as though she understood everything. Emily's face brightened slightly.
"William, you should go. You probably have much more mail to deliver. Besides, the days are growing shorter—you'll need to hurry, won't you?"
"Yes, winter's nearly here. If I don't hurry, I'll be traveling in the dark, and I'd rather avoid that. Well then, I'll be off." He tipped his hat, bowed, and quickly began pedaling away.
Eloise stood as well.
"We should go inside too."
"Yes!"
Emily turned around happily. She'd brought a shawl for Eloise but had forgotten her own, and she was already feeling the chill.
When they entered the house, Rosie—who had been waiting—immediately rushed over.
"You must be cold! Would you like some tea?"
Emily's expression brightened at the offer, and Rosie relaxed.
The most terrifying person in the world was her sister.
*"I must teach you everything perfectly before I leave for Blissbury, so prepare yourself."*
Emily had warned that under no circumstances should Rosie, having learned poorly, disgrace the Severton family. Every time Rosie worked, her sister stood behind her, eyes sharp as daggers.
Besides, Emily had just gotten angry with her at the well and left abruptly, leaving Rosie anxious. So, wondering what to do, she'd set the kettle on early—and it seemed to have been the right decision.
"Thank you, Rosie. Please bring it up."
"Yes, but the tea you've been drinking is finished, so I'll bring different leaves instead... my lady?"
Rosie looked at Eloise in confusion.
She had only mentioned that the tea was finished and she would bring more—so why did her ladyship's face look so frozen?
"Uh, something's wrong..."
Rosie glanced at her sister for help. Emily suppressed a groan. She remembered exactly who had given them the tea that was running out.
At that moment, Eloise smoothed her expression as though nothing had happened, smiled, and said to Rosie:
"Yes, any tea will do. Please bring it to my room."
"Yes? Yes!"
When Rosie nodded quickly, Eloise climbed the stairs to her room, still smiling.
Emily and Rosie sighed in relief behind her.
---
Returning to her room, Eloise closed the door.
Then, as though her strength had given out, she sank into a chair.
*"Ha..."*
A long sigh escaped her lips. The smile vanished instantly, leaving only sorrow behind.
Eloise covered her face with her hands. Though she sat like that for a long while, instead of calming, the trembling in her fingers only intensified.
Suppressed anxiety burst forth.
She remained that way for some time. Then, slowly, she lowered her hands and looked at the letter she still held.
*"Where did they transfer Ryan?"*
Until now, the letters had arrived without issue. And then, suddenly, this return.
Eloise stood, placed the rejected letter on the table, and opened the drawer.
Inside were Ryan's letters to her, neatly folded.
She withdrew the very last one she had received from him.
The content was simple. He told her how he was faring and asked after her well-being. In restrained yet sincere words, he wrote of how much he missed her.
When she had first received it, she had felt only happiness. But now, rereading it...
*"There's nothing about what's happening around him..."*
Though soldiers could receive movement orders at any moment, they couldn't transfer him without reason.
Yet rereading the letter now, she realized it mentioned nothing about his unit or his assignments. As though he had never intended to tell her anything.
Eloise pulled out the older letters.
She read them all carefully, from the very first to the last.
After finishing, she understood even more clearly.
The man who claimed he'd been called away on an urgent mission had written not a single word about what that mission entailed—nor about the atmosphere in the army, to which he had not returned for so long.
The few descriptions he *had* included were exceedingly vague. That upon returning to headquarters, he felt out of place. That being surrounded by buildings made him miss Blissbury, full of sky and trees.
Nothing was written about what he did or whom he spent time with.
As though he were deliberately concealing it.
*"If it's a classified assignment, then it's natural."*
He seemed to be a trusted soldier—which explained why Baron Stanford cared so much about him.
*"You can't write about secret missions, after all."*
So it was understandable that he hadn't written details in his letters. But Eloise couldn't shake the unpleasant feeling settling in her chest.
*"Still... he could have written at least something about what was happening around him."*
Resentment flared in her heart. At the same time, other suppressed thoughts surfaced.
She had tried not to think about it, but she had often heard of similar situations.
Retired soldiers toying with village girls' affections—then disappearing.
The newspapers reported such cases were becoming more frequent, creating serious problems in peaceful rural towns.
Sometimes it was truly a soldier. Other times, men with no military connection at all pretended to be decorated heroes and deceived women.
Reading such articles, she had considered all sorts of possibilities—but never imagined she herself might find herself in such a situation...
Eloise immediately caught herself and shook her head.
*"The letters are simply delayed. Doesn't it happen that letters get lost along the way or end up in the wrong place?"*
*"That's why I haven't received anything. And as luck would have it, he was transferred at that very moment."*
If she waited, he—surprised by her silence—would write again. Then she would know exactly where he was.
Eloise looked at the closing lines of the letters spread across the table.
There were all kinds of Ryans there.
*"Ryan, who already misses you."*
*"Ryan, who is more dedicated than ever to his task and therefore determined to finish it quickly."*
*"Ryan, who doesn't like the thought of you hanging his portrait over your bed."*
Eloise's gaze fell on the final line of the most recent letter.
It read: **"Ryan, trying to be your Ryan."**
Eloise's fingers brushed over the words several times. As though Ryan were there beneath them.
"Everything is fine."
She said it aloud to herself.
What he had told her couldn't be a lie. He was the soldier recommended by Baron Stanford. Other military men—Richard and Philip—had accompanied him.
The officer in charge of the engineering corps had treated him with respect.
Moreover, unlike the men written about in the newspapers, he had taken nothing from her. He hadn't encroached on the Severton family fortune. On the contrary, he had worked tirelessly to help rebuild the ruined village—and then left.
So Ryan wasn't one of those frauds described in the papers.
*Philip will arrive soon.*
She had heard he would return shortly to prepare for his wedding with Abigail. And then there would be the wedding itself.
*"He'll come with him."*
They seemed such close friends. How could he not attend such a friend's wedding—especially when Eloise was here?
He couldn't *not* come.
Eloise placed the letters back in the drawer.
Having sorted through her thoughts, her doubts seemed so insignificant now.
*"To become so confused over one returned letter."*
*"I need to wait a little longer."*
*"Then good news will surely come. Or perhaps he himself will return."*
Thinking this, Eloise closed the drawer.
---
And after a few days...
**"The wedding is postponed? What does that mean?"**
Eloise heard the unthinkable news.