LONDON, APRIL 28th, 1872
I can feel the paper slipping through my fingers, but I manage to catch it in time. I swallow the lump inside my throat, staring at my aunt’s letter with a mixture of fear and disdain. Who is this woman? What made her so heartless? Or was she always like this and I was simply too blind to see it?
I sense curious gazes of the Northcotts on me, but I don’t tear my gaze away from the paper. I scan the words through, over and over again, until they are spinning in front of my eyes. I am trying to determine how to get myself out of this mess, but nothing useful comes to my mind.
“Is everything alright, Sophie?” Lady Northcott suddenly asks, making me flinch in surprise. I force myself to look at her, trying to find a way to lie to her without her realizin
