Chapter 1 The scissors were cold against her palm, and colder still against the nape of her neck. Josephine Foster sat before the mirror in her chamber while the house below her filled with the sound of men sealing her future. She could hear the glasses clink. She could hear her uncle’s laugh, that wet,…
Chapter 1 The water was not the worst of it. The water was only cold — a shock against her skin, a thin river running into her collar and down her spine. No. The worst of it was the silence that followed. Eleven people in that drawing room, and not one of them breathed. Not…
Chapter 1 The rain had been falling since morning, and by four o’clock it had begun to sound like applause. Charlotte Whitmore sat at the edge of the yellow drawing room with a cup of tea going cold between her palms, and counted the ways a room could lie about her. The fire had been…
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