She took another deep breath. “I am not proud of myself for doing this,” she announced to the dogs. “I assure you, I’m not usually the type of person who sneaks about and pries into other people’s belongings.”

The dogs looked at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“I’m doing this for you too. You don’t want that horrible woman as your stepmother.”

This elicited more wagging of tails.

Jane turned her attention back to the desk. There were three drawers on each side and one in the middle. She’d just take a quick peek inside each. “Please let it be here,” she whispered.

She slowly slid the middle drawer out first. More quills. A tray of sand. A seal and some wax. No letters. No paper at all.

She closed the drawer and pulled open another on the bottom right. A quick perusal of the large stack of important-looking papers inside told Jane it was mostly contracts and estate-related paperwork.

She pulled out the next drawer and the next. They were neatly arranged, but did not contain a letter from Harold Langford.

She chewed on her bottom lip. What if she didn’t find it? But then, what was she planning to do with it if she did find it? She took another deep breath. Be bold.

She pulled open the bottom drawer on the left. A box sat in the center of the drawer, full of what appeared to be … letters. Trembling, she pulled the box from the drawer and placed it on the desktop. The letters stood on their sides, stacked together.

Jane pulled out the first few. Missives from Aunt Mary, one or two from Lucy, one from Lord Berkeley. She slid them back into place and took out the next set. More from Aunt Mary, half a dozen from other friends, none from Harold Langford.

Jane scanned the room. Upton might return at any moment, or a servant might venture in to clean or something. She didn’t have time to rummage through all of the letters.

Something told her the one she was looking for wouldn’t be like the others, wouldn’t be with less important correspondence. Upton would do something special with it, because of what it meant to him. Using both hands, she lifted the entire group of letters, and set them carefully in a large stack on the desktop. Then, she peered into the bottom of the box.

A single letter was there. Underneath them all. Not stacked like the others. Hidden away. With a hand that continued to shake, she pulled out the lone letter. She unfolded it, holding her breath.

Harold Langford’s name was scrolled across the top with a date from nearly ten years ago. She slid it onto the desktop and expelled her pent-up breath.

She’d done it. She’d found it. Now she needed to get out of here.