In the drawing-room, a fire crackled despite the warm evening. Tea had been laid out, delicate china and silver spoons. The invitation had arrived that morning, crisp parchment with a seal she hadn't seen in years.

She watched the rigid line of his shoulders. He’d been tense for weeks now, ever since the letters began arriving. Letters she wasn't meant to see, but had caught glimpses of—dark ink, sharp handwriting, a name she'd trained herself not to think about.