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falling into the shadows haunting her eyes. No matter which way she turned, things would always turn out the same.
    No. She smoothed her bodice over her corset and pinched her cheeks, forcing cheer into them. She’d never entirely be alone. God had been kind enough to send her Aggie and Felicity, the dearest friends for whom one could ever wish. They would stave off any fear of dying alone. It was the only comfort Senza had.
    But even that would not last.

 
    By the last week of May, a routine had emerged, a pattern of dances and dinners meticulously planned by Mrs. Fyne. She oversaw the calendar and schemed over guest lists like a general standing over his maps, pushing his tokens into place across the battlefields, planning victories and relishing future conquests.
    To her great consolation, Mr. No One re-manifested. At every party, every dance, every ball, the stranger would make his appearance, stealing Senza’s attention for a handful of moments, bending near her ear for a whispered greeting, a heady compliment, a murmured joke. They never touched, never danced, never spoke for very long, but those moments were enough to fuel her and keep her spirits buoyant.
    In between the public events, Mrs. Fyne had gatherings of her own at the manor, furthering her maneuvers among the mothers, feeling out the competition. Senza could only endure these teas for so long before she’d find her smile slipping. This business of getting a husband, especially one she did not want, was utterly dehumanizing.
    Sounds in the cook’s garden woke her especially early one morning. A good day to read on the stool next to the hearth, surrounded by warmth and the bustle of a busy staff. She stowed a book in the pocket of her skirt and crept down the servants’ staircase to the kitchen. Fresh pasties and fruit jams led her by the nose enticing her with fragrant promises.
    Cook and her helpers were already in top form, kneading bread and checking ovens.
    “There she is, the girl of the day,” Cook called. Flour sprinkled her broad forehead and she brushed it away with the back of one hand. “Lord Carter himself must be coming today, from the looks of it. Your good mother really had her specifications planned out for today’s luncheon.”
    The younger girls smiled at Senza, chattering their speculations and well-wishes. Their excitement, however, was not contagious. So, another round of teacake-disguised negotiations. Appetite squelched by the heavy lump that had fallen to the pit of her stomach, Senza nodded half-heartedly and slipped to the open door. Not even a glance at the strawberry tarts that cooled on the tabletop as she passed.
    Outside, she broke into a dead run, worried mother might see her from a window and call her back. She didn’t slow down until she had put the stables between her and the house. Once safe from view, she picked her way along a narrow but well-trod path along the meadow, through to the other side of the wood.
    There, the oaks and laurels broke ranks at the edge of a great and steep slope, affording a view of the town below. Over the years, she’d worn a comfortable spot amongst the wildflowers and had often come here to enjoy the splendid view in solitude.
    As of late, she came here to disappear, even if only for an hour, to escape the oppressiveness of her destiny weighing so heavily before her.
    Here in this tiny haven nestled against the wood, she could breathe, and simply be. The trees sheltered her from the stiffest wind and the harshest sun, creating a comfortable sanctuary where she could read her favorite books without interruption.
    Today, however, her mind was not content to muse upon the memorized lines of Hamlet . The worn tome lay forgotten upon her lap while she stared out at the horizon, unfocused, letting her mind wander.
    Where her mind wandered, so did her darkling stranger. Misty daydreams of dances and darting smiles and secretive whispers surrounded her heart like a bouquet of fresh-picked