New York City, New York

1867

Nora had been sitting at the small writing desk in her room for the past hour or so, trying to pen a response to Felix's unexpected letter. She hadn't gotten more than two words written. They consisted of the following:

Dear Felix

The rest of the words were decidedly not coming to her.

But what was she supposed to say? The one thing that Felix wanted to know was the one thing she could never tell him. Nora knew she had to think of a reason why she had left England early, but everything that came to mind seemed...lacking. Unrealistic.

Nora knew that Felix would see right through it if she didn't say the right thing.

"Ugh!" She slammed her fist down on the rickety desk, causing the contents of it to wobble perilously. Nora's brown and white cocker spaniel jerked his head up to look at her, startled from his slumber. He had been lounging peacefully on the woven rug by the fireplace.

Nora sighed and apologized to her canine companion, but the dog merely continued to stare at her. "Don't look at me like that, Cooper. What am I supposed to do?"

The dog simply tilted his head sideways in response.

"I don't see you coming up with any great ideas, Coop. You know, you might as well start pulling your weight around here," she accused. "I've snuck you biscuits for years, I might remind you."

Cooper took that moment to shake his head as if there was a fly or something buzzing around it, and he was trying to get rid of the pesky thing. That was how Nora felt about this situation with Felix. She wanted it gone.

Throwing her hands into the air, Nora went to sit on the rug next to her dog. "If you must know, Cooper, here is the truth of it. When I went to England this summer to stay with Aunt Lily and Uncle Lewis, something...happened between Felix and me."

Cooper laid his head down on his paws again, his eyelids already drooping in response to her lackluster story-telling. Or maybe it was just because, well, he was a nine-year-old dog.

"Fine, you're right. Nothing really happened."

Nothing had really happened, and yet everything was different.

Nora threw herself down on the rug so that she was staring up at the plain, white ceiling and hoped that her mother didn't enter just now to see her lying about on the floor. The dear woman would likely have a fit. Nora's silk taffeta gown was surely being wrinkled beyond repair.

See, this was precisely the reason that she couldn't tell Felix the truth. Nora was the type of girl that lay about on bedchamber floors and talked to dogs about her problems. She wasn't the type of girl that married handsome aristocrats from England—especially not handsome aristocrats who were related to the Queen.

Not to mention that Felix was a rake. The damn man was a wealthy, attractive, intelligent, well-connected rake. He'd always been that way; Nora heard countless retellings of his debauchery at Eton and Cambridge over the years. It was just that he'd never acted that way toward Nora before.

She'd always likened their relationship to that of a brother and sister. Nora didn't have any siblings, and ever since she was eight-years-old, she had looked forward to going to Hertford in the summer to stay with her aunt and uncle. And to see the boy who lived next door to them.

Nora rolled back over and gathered herself, trying to ignore the way her corset was constricting her ribcage. Her heart was sure to burst from the pressure. Wrestling herself upward, Nora stood and crossed the small room to sit at her writing desk once more. Picking up the letter that Felix had sent, she frowned.

Given Felix's reputation, Nora assumed that his...increased interest in her this summer was likely a passing thing. Perhaps he flirted with her because he had been bored, she reckoned with herself. He couldn't have been actually taken with her. She was just Nora, the impish little girl that spent her childhood following him around his country estate.

But unfortunately because of the seemingly harmless flirtations, Felix was no longer just Felix.

And so Nora had fled before her heart could break. Or perhaps more importantly, before Felix saw right through her to the truth of it.

Nora moved to the window instead, looking out over the bleak city landscape that was New York City in November. Just as in London, the weather was growing bitter, a cold front moving in to mask the summer wind. She glanced at the sky and the gray clouds that threatened to release moisture into the air.

What Felix said in his letter was right; Nora loved this time of year and the first snow. It managed to turn her sprawling middle-class neighborhood into something a bit more...quaint. Charming. She loved the way the dusted rooftops would turn white, and for once, everything would look pristine.

It wasn't often that New York City looked clean, after all. Snow would hide the grime. It would coat the city in magic, if only for one hopeful afternoon.

Nora could really use a little magic right now.

Her bedroom door burst open behind her then, causing her to jump.

"Elinor, darling, I've arrived," a male voice drawled with a pinched British accent.

There was only one person in the world who called her by her full name, and Nora slowly spun to look at him.

"If you ever go to England, I beg of you not to use that accent. It is horrendous, Oliver."

Nora's friend, Oliver, invited himself into her bedchamber and flopped down on her bed. Cooper instantly hopped up and began to lick his face. Oliver grinned widely as he greeted the enthusiastic dog and then turned back to Nora.

"I'm just trying to impersonate your dear Felix Graham," he said, before pulling an envelope out of the pocket of his tight-fitting coat and waving it in the air while he wiggled his eyebrows mischievously.

Nora froze. "What's that?" She pointed at the envelope with unsteady fingers.

Oliver looked at it and then frowned. "I thought it was rather obvious that it was a letter." When Nora didn't say anything because her mouth was too busy gaping, Oliver added unnecessarily, "From Felix Graham."

"Oh, no. No, no, no," Nora muttered, instantly beginning to pace the length of her bedchamber, passing back and forth in front of the window.

"What's wrong?" Oliver asked, confusion clearly showing in his green eyes. He tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, and his mop of auburn hair fell over one eye. "I thought you'd be happy. I saw it downstairs and thought to bring it to you. Didn't want your mother seeing, of course. Aren't you in love with the man?"

Nora scowled at him, wishing she had never spilled her guts to Oliver the moment she returned to New York. But she'd been dying to tell someone, and Oliver was her closest confidante. Their fathers were business partners in the textile industry, and after endless dinner parties where they'd both been bored out of their minds--cotton is really not an interesting topic of conversation--the two became fast friends.

"Yes," Nora admitted, "but that isn't the point. I haven't even replied to his first letter." She gestured wildly to the blank parchment on her desk that was still awaiting her response.

"You only received it a few days ago, no?" Oliver questioned. "It doesn't seem like he was waiting for a reply before sending this." Oliver walked over to her and forced the envelope into her hand. "No ornament this time, though. Just a letter."

Nora glanced at the hanging glass decoration that was strung in the window. She'd never seen anything like it before. It was a small angelic-like child bundled in winter clothing, from her mittens to her fur hat. For being so small and fragile, it was amazing how detailed it was, how bright the colors were.

Not to mention, it was amazing that it made it to New York in one whole piece with the first letter. Felix wrote that he paid a good sum to have it delivered, and not for the first time did Nora wonder how much that was.

"Oliver, what are you doing up here?" The shrill voice of Nora's mother cut into their conversation. Nora spun around to see the woman fuming in the doorway leading to the hall.

"I don't know how many times I have asked you both not to converse in Nora's bedchamber. We have multiple sitting rooms that are entirely vacant below, and yet here you both are. It is absolutely ridiculous. Incredulous! How is Nora supposed to marry into high society if word gets out that she's entertaining Mr. Oliver Rockwell in her private chambers?"

"Oh, my dear Mrs. Williams," Oliver said, his voice dropping into a soothing tone. "How nice to see you. You needn't worry. I was just leaving." Oliver winked at Nora and then slipped from the room.

Her mother narrowed her eyes at Nora but then spun on her heel to follow Oliver. It was likely to ensure that he was, in fact, leaving.

Nora hadn't told her mother why she returned early from England early. Though the woman kept trying to get it out of her.

But what her mother just said to her and Oliver was precisely the reason that Nora had kept her mouth shut. If Mrs. Williams knew that there was a possibility of a tendre between her and Felix, she'd be sending Nora back to England in a flash. Oh, how her mother would love it if she were to become an English lady.

But that was not going to happen.

Nora sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Cooper into her lap. With fingers that felt eager and hesitant all at once, Nora opened the envelope and unfolded the parchment to read Felix's next letter.

Dear Nora,

I think my first letter was all wrong. I hope you will allow me a do-over.

I asked you if I will ever know why you left England early, without ever saying good-bye. But that isn't good enough for me, Nora, and so I will amend my question to a statement. I need to know. I need you to tell me.

There is another part of my previous letter that I must address as well. If you received it, that is. I had mentioned that things had been different between us. I want you to know what I mean by that, Nora. Specifically, my feelings were different. Are different. I am drowning in this strange ache for you that I have never felt in years past when you've returned to New York. I know we are meant to be friends, but I no longer find that description adequate.

I know that you must not have felt—feel—it too, or else you wouldn't have left. But I hope that by baring my thoughts to you, you might take pity on me and expose a little of yours back. Nora, why did you leave?

Yours,

Felix