Chapter 19
“I thought perhaps he had misunderstood. So I said it again.”
She gave a small, humorless smile.
“No.”
The cabin seemed very quiet.
“He told his parents I had accepted anyway. His mother began planning. Guests were informed. A seamstress came to measure me.”
My anger rose.
“Why didn’t you leave then?”
“I tried.”
She looked at me.
“The first time Elias found me at the station. He told the ticket clerk I was unwell.”
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
“The clerk believed him.”
“Of course.”
“He brought me home.”
Her face went distant.
“After that, Mrs. Vane took most of my money for safekeeping.”
I nearly crushed the cane beneath my hand.
Cora continued.
“One maid, Anna, began hiding coins for me. Six months later, I had enough.”
“And the gun?”
A different expression entered her eyes.
“Elias taught me to shoot.”
That surprised me.
“He liked the idea of me being skilled as long as the skill belonged to a version of me he had created.”
“And the Winchester?”
“His father collected firearms. Elias liked taking them apart.”
“So you watched.”
“I learned.”
I thought about the loose spring she had repaired.
The knife.
The snares.
A woman trapped in a household had learned everything that might one day open a door.
“What about the snares?”
“The gardener.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“Of course.”
Cora almost smiled too.
Then the expression vanished.
“When I escaped, I knew Elias would search train stations and relatives. I had none worth going to. The matrimonial agency seemed…”
She hesitated.
“What?”
“Permanent.”
I understood.
A new name.
A husband.
A remote home.
A legal bond that Elias could not dismiss as easily as a frightened woman running away.
“So you chose me because I lived far from everything.”
“Yes.”
“Because I was injured.”
She looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
That one hurt.
I let it.
After a moment she said, “Your letter frightened me less than the others.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“There were others?”
“Many.”
“Should I be insulted?”
“One man described his house for two pages and his future wife in one sentence.”
“Bad sign.”
“Another wanted six sons.”
“Ambitious.”
“One wrote that a wife should speak only when spoken to.”
“Dead yet?”
She looked at me.
“Wyatt.”
“Just asking.”
A real laugh escaped her.
Small.
Unexpected.
Beautiful.
It disappeared too quickly.
“Your letter said the truth.”
“What truth?”