I turn to the letter, which is written in Alben. I sigh, wondering whether Mama speaks it at home without me there anymore. As usual, I supply my own interpretations of what she says.

Dearest Jessamin,

I have not had a letter from you in a month. (You are a terrible daughter.) I blame the slowness of the boats and hate the distance between us. (How could you leave me?)

Your cousin Jacabo responded to my inquiries after your well-being with only the vaguest of terms. (I threatened Jacky Boy if he did not update me on your life.) I take this to mean you have seen him regularly and have also forbidden him from updating me on your life in the big city. (Why are you spending your time with him when he is clearly not running in the right circles?)

How are your studies? Have you met anyone interesting? (Why have you not given me news of your father?)

I suspect you do not write because you have found someone. (Please, please tell me you have found someone.) I know it. (I beg the spirits for it each night.) A mother can feel these things. (I will drag you back to the island and force you into marriage if you do not take care of it yourself.) Please tell me whether he is of a good family and when I can expect happy tidings to share with my friends. (Do not do anything I cannot crow about to the neighbors.) I knew you would not be on your own for long. (Give me grandchildren. Soon.) Dear Henry has asked after you, though, so if you are lonely you know you have many options here. (I pestered Henry until he finally asked after you and took it as a sign he still wishes to marry you.)

Write me soon or I will perish for want of daughterly affection. (You are a terrible daughter.)

All my love, (All my love,)

Mama

I compose in my head:

Dear Mama,

Am being stalked by not one but two men of exceptionally high birth. One is a madman who tortured me and promised to make me love him forever. The other is a madman who gave me his shadow and lives to make my life difficult. No doubt you would be pleased, but I intend to deny you grandchildren for the foreseeable future. Henry is a dear, but I suspect the only reason his parents were willing to consider me for his bride was that he does not, in fact, like women at all. In place of comforting news about my marriageability and future grandchildren, please know I have adopted a bird. You would like him.

Much love,

Hopeless Jessamin

A knock at my door distracts me from fictional letter writing. I open it to find Simon holding a garment bag and a letter. He bows, and I knock his cap off his head. “Don’t start that nonsense with me. Come in and have a biscuit, or I’ll box your ears.”

Grinning, he picks up his cap, bouncing on his toes and nervous to be in the room. I realize I cannot explain why I have a large black bird in my room, but Sir Bird has elected to be a book again. Simon sets the bag on the edge of my bed.

“Is that man around?” I ask. “The one who’s been following me?”

“Lord Ackerly? Yes. He said you’d have a book for me to deliver to him? The letter is from him, too. He tips something handsome, Miss Jessamin. Everyone likes him.”

“Hmm. I’m sure. Did you let him into my room earlier?”

“No, Miss Jessamin. This is the first he’s been here all day.”

I glance at Sir Bird, but as neither book nor bird can he tell me how Finn sneaked into my room. Annoyed, I hand Simon the book and open the letter. It’s an invitation to a symphony to be held tomorrow evening. In the bag, I find a stunning gown of pale gold with a tag attached that reads:

Aren’t my castoffs simply amazing and tailored to your exact frame? See you at the symphony. Love, Eleanor.

Nineteen

“AND YOU ARE CERTAIN IT’S LORD ACKERLY WAITING downstairs for me? No strange birds hopping about?”

Ma’ati sounds confused as she finishes buttoning the back of my dress. “Why should you worry about birds?”

I shake my head, trying to calm myself. I have had three separate written confirmations from Eleanor and Finn that yes, the invitation came from him, and no, there is nothing sinister at play. Aside from false gifts, that is. I run my fingers down the front of the dress. Eleanor’s castoff, indeed.

The dress is silk, pale gold with delicate beadwork on the empire-waist bodice. Sheer sleeves are open at the wrists. Finn—through Eleanor—was kind enough to include a perfectly matched black glove for my uninjured hand. I shake my right hand absentmindedly, trying to work out some of the pins and needles.

I notice it less lately, but the sensation is always there. I cannot imagine what it must be like to feel this way all the time, over your entire body. It makes me a bit more compassionate toward Finn. I would go mad in his place.

Then again, I’m fairly certain he already is.

“I wish we had something sparkly to put on your wrist or around your neck,” Ma’ati says, considering the final product. This time we did not bundle my hair into a bun, but pulled it away from my face and neck with a twist and let it trail down my back.

“Never you mind. Thank you for your help.” I stand and kiss her cheek. “You know, this dress would flatter you even more than me.”

Ma’ati waves her hand. “When would I wear a thing like that?”

“Jacky Boy would like it very much on a certain special occasion. It’ll keep until then.”

Ma’ati’s face blooms into the biggest smile I have ever seen on her. “Well, you know we were waiting to save up enough so we wouldn’t have to live in the hotel. We were a ways off—years off—but then . . . oh, I shouldn’t speak of it until it’s certain.”