He lifted the loose paper and reached for the envelope beneath. His name on the front, written in her curly script, brought his mind immediately back to the first day she had left him a note, when she had unexpectedly departed in the night to visit her aunt. He had never asked for more details of that trip because of his proposal and the happy weeks that followed, but his thoughts returned to her trembling frame in his arms just moments after her arrival.

A feeling of foreboding began to settle in his stomach. His hands tore through the seal and pulled out the paper inside. He scanned the letter. Short, to the point, but signed, Yours. A drop of warmth gave him hope that battled his confusion. She wrote of another trip to see her aunt. She feared that her dear relative did not have much longer to live. Apparently, she had a newly acquired case of lung fever, and the physician predicted her imminent demise.

Skepticism warred with empathy. No matter her reason for leaving then, she had left again now, and he was alone a second time in his marriage, a third time since meeting her. A heavy disappointment fell like lead into his gut, followed by a quiet resignation. He would have much preferred taking this journey to France with the memory of Scarlet in his arms to warm him. He searched the tabletop for a memento, something to carry with him. He pulled out a drawer under her mirror. A ring. He felt somewhat better carrying a part of her with him. He examined it and smiled. Flowers. If he remained safe and returned to this lovely estate, he would fill a room with flowers for her. With that small piece of hope, he returned to his own chambers.

Growing accustomed to the constant weight of unresolved distance in their relationship, he moved forward with his plans, pushing through the heavy unhappiness it created. Ringing for Edwards, he made preparations to leave at first light.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Scarlet’s carriage slowed as they approached Place de Grève. Cheers of the crowds jarred her anew, notwithstanding she had heard them often. She shivered at the sound. They drew closer, as she knew they must before heading down a different street and off to La Conciergerie, where she would pay a visit to her lovely friend, Marie Antoinette.

Imprisoned, separated from her son, Marie had become a political pawn, an attempt by the committee to negotiate peace with her relations, the Austrians. But Scarlet knew negotiations would not bring peace. Marie’s brothers were no longer in power, and the ruling nephew had no care for his aunt at all, saw her as a distant relative and nothing more. The league must make every effort to set the queen and her daughter free, the dauphin soon after.