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supposed to do, how I’m supposed to fix the lives I’ve ruined.
    I reach out and tear the paper off. My heart beats louder in my ears. The box is heavy as I rip open the lid and reach in. My fingers find a scrap of paper, and I pull it out, unfolding it as I take in a long breath.
    For my daughter, on her sixteenth birthday.
    My only regret is not being here for you today when you need me. I hope this will help you understand what is to come.
    I don’t realize I’m crying until a dark splotch appears on the paper. It was supposed to be for my sixteenth birthday. The day everything changed. Did my grandmother know that and forget? Or did my mother not make it clear?
    I read the note again.
    My mom knew. She knew she was going to leave me, and she wrote this note, four years before I was supposed to read it.
    Did she write it before or after she killed Greg?
    I reach in and touch something hard and leathery, and as I pull it out, I realize it’s a book. A very old book.
    My fingers trail over the dry, fading surface as I pull it onto my lap, the dust covering my jeans. It must be ancient. As I lift open the cover, the spine cracks.
    The first aged, yellowed page is nearly blank, except for three words written in stark, perfect calligraphy:
    For the cursed.
    I take in a jagged breath of air, then slide my finger over the page and flip it over.
    January 7, 1750
    William doesn’t belong with Julia. Their betrothal is a business arrangement, nothing more. Now that he is in love with me, he wants to marry me, and not her. He has promised me he will end their engagement.
    I suppose she does not care much what he wants, for it is William’s title she is after, and she will fight for that if he tries to jilt her. I hope he remains strong.
    Tonight, when he dared dance with me at the Harksbury ball, I saw it in her eyes. I knew before the song was over that I had committed a sin. Afterward, I stood by, humiliated, as he lied to soothe her. He told her he was only being polite. Told her no one had asked me to dance and so, as a gentleman, he had asked me.
    A pity dance.
    And yet still she seethed, and I knew something had shifted between us.
    She will do anything to have him, anything to become a duchess. That is why we must elope. Will has asked me to wait one month, and then he will be mine, and only mine.
    Charlotte
     
    January 18, 1750
    I am terrified. Julia knows. She knows everything. She found me packing my bags, and she confronted me. She thinks just because I am her paid companion that she can control everything about me, but she cannot decide who I will love.
    She told me I was a fool to believe him. She told me he compromised her and is duty bound to marry her. Her words left a dull ache in my chest. She must be lying. It is I who has been compromised. But I am little more than a servant. He cannot be forced to marry me. For the first time, I am not sure I have done the right thing these last months.
    But I must trust in him. He loves me. He will honor all of his whispered promises. There is nothing I can do but believe in it for it is too late to go back and undo the things I have done.
    Charlotte
     
    February 7, 1750
    Will was supposed to arrive last night to take me away. I sat on an overturned bucket behind the stables for three hours, shivering against the cold, and yet he did not arrive. I had to beg a groom to saddle a horse so that I could go to his estate. And yet it was useless because they said he has gone hunting up north with friends. How could he do such a thing at a time like this?
    I was forced to go back home, but Julia soon discovered where I had gone. She came at me in a rage, and if not for her father’s valet, I might very well have been injured. Her father dismissed me not an hour later without references.
    This afternoon, I stood on the stoop awaiting the carriage that would take me away from the only home I have known these last two years, when Julia positively flew up the drive on horseback,