He found himself oddly reluctant to tread down the snowy path.
Edward gave himself a mental shake. He strode down the path and knocked on the door. It was opened by an elderly lady with round, rosy cheeks. Three fat spaniels tumbled out, yapping.
“Mrs. Starling?”
“Yes.” She blinked when she saw his scarred face, but her smile didn’t falter.
Edward pulled the tattered letter from his pocket and showed it to her, while the spaniels snuffled around his ankles, their tails wagging.
“It’s not mine,” Mrs. Starling said, shaking her head. “Now that my niece lives with me, I’ve no need to send letters.”
“Your niece?” His interest pricked. “Has she been with you long?”
“Six months,” Mrs. Starling said. “Ever since my dear sister died.”
“Er . . . could she perhaps have sent this letter?”
“I
