Today, we rise at a reasonable hour—not too late to miss the sunrise, nor too early to be bothered by it—around half past nine.

As soon as I open my eyes, I hear the gentle patter of rain against the roof. I turn to glance at the window, where I see tiny droplets clinging to the glass, the dull gray light filtering through the thin curtains, casting a dreary glow in the room. Yet, despite the gloom, I find it soothing. There is something inherently comforting about a rainy day. It’s the perfect time to settle in with a good book, try my hand at some baking, or simply relax.

Stretching my arms overhead, I crack my knuckles. I tilt my neck left and right, releasing a satisfying pop. Edward groans from beside me, his voice muffled by his pillow.

"Florence, please, must you do that? It's quite unnerving." He rubs his eyes with one hand, his voice heavy with annoyance.

“Do what?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“That infernal cracking of your joints. It makes me shudder just thinking about it.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on. It’s harmless. No need to get worked up over it.”

Edward sighs, but doesn’t press the matter. I throw off the covers, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and make my way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. I decide on something simple: oatmeal, topped with cinnamon and fresh fruit.

By the time I finish making the oatmeal and am topping it with strawberries, blueberries, and sliced banana, Edward enters the kitchen. He is dressed more formally than I expect for the morning—beige peg trousers, a white collared shirt, a brown checkered waistcoat, and polished loafers, an outfit that looks more suited for an afternoon out than for lounging at home.

“Dressed a bit fancy for breakfast, aren't you?” I remark, setting the bowl down on the table.

He shrugs, “One must always maintain some semblance of propriety, even at home.”

I return to the kitchen to fetch the coffee, setting the two floral mugs on the table—one a cream-colored cup adorned with vines and roses, the other a sunny yellow with delicate daisies. I place everything on the table, pull out his chair, and wait for him to sit before settling into my own seat. After taking a sip of my coffee, I glance over at Edward, who is scanning the morning newspaper.

“Not hungry yet, dear?” I ask, spooning a bite of oatmeal into my mouth.

“I shall wait for it to cool,” he replies absently, absorbed in the headlines.

I continue eating while Edward reads in silence, only breaking his concentration to finally take his first spoonful of oatmeal once it has reached an acceptable temperature.

“Delicious,” he remarks, “And the timing is just perfect. Thank you, Florence.”

“You're welcome,” I reply with a smile, standing to clear the table.

I wash the dishes quickly and then head back to the bedroom to prepare for the day. I plan to make the most of this rainy day, reading and relaxing as the sound of the rain outside works its calming magic. I pull on a pine-green house dress and slippers, eager to spend the day on the porch, soaking in the fresh, earthy scent that fills the air after the rain.

When I return to the dining room, I find Edward, still absorbed in his paper, his bowl now empty. I quickly tidy the dishes and grab my book before announcing, “I think I shall sit outside to read.”

Edward barely looks up, nodding absently as I leave the house, inhaling deeply as I step onto the porch. The rain has lightened to a fine mist, its scent mingling with the fresh earth and wet stone. The birds chirp from the trees, and I settle into one of the white wicker chairs, draping my legs over the armrest.

I open Little Women—again, for perhaps the sixth time—and start reading Chapter 22. No matter how often I read it, the death of Beth still brings tears to my eyes. It is a heartbreak that never fails to move me, no matter how much I try to steel myself against it. Though the characters are not real, Louisa May Alcott has imbued every page with such emotion that I can’t help but feel it deeply, too.

The rest of the morning passes quickly as I devour the second half of the book in under two hours. By the time I reach Beth’s death, my eyes fill with tears, and I can’t stop myself from crying.

Why does she have to die? She is too good, too pure to leave the world so soon. The thought of her never living out her potential, of the future she will never have, is unbearable.

I wipe my tears away and close the book with a soft sigh. I have grown used to her death, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I sit for a while, staring at the rain-soaked surroundings, letting the stillness of the moment calm me before I go back inside.

Inside the house, there is no sign of Edward. Perhaps he is on the patio, lost in thought, or perhaps he has gone out for a walk. Either way, I know I have an itch to write. Though I have promised Margaret that I’ll wait until we are settled in Dawsbury to send another letter, I can’t resist. The day seems perfect for it—quiet, contemplative, and full of emotion.

I sit at the writing desk, paper and pen in hand, and begin to write:

Dearest Margaret,

Yes, I’m writing to you again. It’s one of those days when I simply cannot resist. Today marks our final full day here at Eastbourne, and I’m so grateful for the respite. The past few months have been filled with so much commotion—wedding plans, the ceremony itself, and all the exhaustion that came with it. This time away has been exactly what I needed.

Tomorrow, we head to Dawsbury, and I am eager to see the farm and the animals again. I wish you could be here with us, as I know how much you love the animals—especially the ducks and cows. I’ll bring you something special, I promise. Perhaps a drawing of a cow or duck, though I must warn you, I am hardly skilled in that area.

Thursday is a beautiful morning. Edward and I rise early to catch the sunrise. He draws a picture of me while I sit, eyes closed, the light of the dawn casting a soft glow. As I sit there, thinking back to the day we spent together last year at the beach, I can’t help but smile. Do you remember when you said Edward and I seemed distant? Looking back now, it all feels much easier. While I may not love him as I once thought I should, he has become a close companion, and I can say, with certainty, that I am no longer quite as uncomfortable around him as I once was.

Perhaps I am doing better with him, Margaret, but do tell me your thoughts on this. I need to know if you think I’ve made progress. I do not want to remain as I was, but if you feel I have, well, then I will know what must be done.

As for Edward’s drawing, he captures me in a moment of peace. The light is perfect—dusky blue skies, shades of orange and pink mixing with the clouds. My hair is swept into French braids, a lock draping over my shoulder. I will show it to you when I return, for words will hardly do it justice.

And now, my dearest, how are you? I miss you more than words can say, though we’ve been apart less than a week. Every moment away from you feels like an eternity.

I can’t wait to see you again. I promise I’ll bring you gifts from our time here.

Until then, with all my love,

Florence, XOXO

I seal the letter and consider the idea of adding a kiss to the signature. Surely it will make it all the more personal, won't it? Grabbing my rose-colored lipstick from the vanity, I gently press my lips to the paper, leaving a soft imprint next to my name.

Smiling to myself, I carefully fold the letter and slip it into an envelope, addressing it to Margaret. Then, after retrieving an umbrella from the hall stand, I venture out to the post office to send my letter.

Though the rain has lightened to a mist, I still feel the dampness on my skin as I make my way down Dogwood Street. The trees, heavy with blooms, tower over me, their white and pink flowers glowing softly in the gray light. Passing a derelict house, I shiver at the sight of it, overgrown with ivy and moss. It looks abandoned, forgotten—haunted, even.

Just as I quicken my pace, an unfamiliar voice calls from behind me. “Hey! What’s a young lady like you doing walking alone in the rain? Need some help?”

I turn, startled, and glimpse a tall man approaching. He has auburn hair streaked with gray at the temples, a thick beard peppered with silver. His eyes, pale and cold, watch me intently. There is something unsettling about him, and I know at once that I need to move quickly.

I glance over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of the person the voice comes from. He’s a middle-aged, tall man, with auburn hair graying at the sideburns. His bushy beard has streaks of gray in it as well. His eyes are a deep grayish-blue, and I see a flash of something unsettling in his gaze.

“Um, I—no thank you, sir. I can manage on my own. Goodbye now.”

“Now wait a minute, young lady! I can help you! Come here, now.”

He begins to speed walk in my direction, and I break into a run, only to trip and fall onto the cobbled pavement, scraping my knees. I manage to keep the letter in my hands to prevent it from getting wet, but I land on my umbrella, and there's a dreadful cracking sound. I’ve broken it.

As I start to rise, the man grabs me under the arms, hoisting me up. But he doesn’t do this to help me—he does it with the intent of kidnapping me. His hands slide down my arms, gripping my wrists tightly.

“Let me go!” I cry out, trying to kick him, but he dodges my attempt, and his grip tightens. “Ow! You’re hurting me!”

“Oh really? Well, that’s just too bad, sweetheart. You’re coming with me now.”

Just as he begins to drag me toward his house, I spot a man approaching quickly.

“Florence!”

It’s Edward. On any other day, I would have been infuriated that he followed me, but right now, I am grateful. Who knows what he’s saved me from? Rape, attempted murder, abuse... I shudder at the thought. I don’t want to know.

The man looks from me to Edward, then suddenly picks me up and slings me over his shoulder, charging toward his house.

“Stop!” I squeal, my legs flailing, trying to kick the man.

“LET HER GO!” Edward’s voice booms. He’s much closer now. I’ve never heard him speak so forcefully in my life; no matter his emotion, Edward is usually quiet and soft-spoken. But not now.

The man and I are almost at the front door when Edward tackles him, sending me flying into the grass. My dress, now muddied, doesn’t matter anymore—I am just glad I’m being saved.

Edward punches the man square in the nose, who falls to the ground, stunned. Soon enough, the man is knocked unconscious, and Edward stands up, fists clenched, chest heaving. His face is bright red. I’ve never seen him so angry.

“Love, are you alright? Are you hurt? What were you thinking, walking alone?”

“Okay, okay, one question at a time. I’m just shaken up, and my knees are scraped from tripping while trying to escape this creep.”

I pull up the skirt of my dress and examine my knees. They aren’t too bad, just a little banged up. They sting, but the pain is bearable.

“But why were you alone? You should have had me with you. Where were you—” Edward doesn’t finish his sentence when he notices the envelope in my hand.

“Oh,” he says softly, then walks over and helps me to my feet, wiping off my dress as best as he can. He gently takes the envelope from my hand. “Who’s this for?”

“Margaret.”

“Hm,” he replies, examining the envelope. “Well, it’s still intact. How about this: I’ll walk you home, and you stay there,” he proposes firmly, “while I go to the constable to report this man. Then I’ll drop the letter off for you. Sounds good?”

“Yes. Thank you,” I reply, wrapping my arms around him. He pulls me into a tight embrace, burying his face in my hair, sighing deeply.

“How did you know where I was?”

“I came through the patio and heard the front door open and close. I went to the window and saw you walking down the street. I grabbed my coat from the hall and followed, but you walk fast. Then I saw the man with you, and I know how uncomfortable you get around strangers, especially men. I picked up my pace, and when you ran and fell, I knew something was terribly wrong. Please, love, don’t scare me like that again. I was so afraid I wouldn’t make it in time to save you.”

His grip tightens around me, as though he’s trying to shield me from any lingering danger.

“I’m sorry. I thought this was a safe place. Otherwise, I would’ve asked you to come along.”

“It’s alright,” he says softly. “I thought it was safe, too. It usually is, but remember, the houses are far apart here—there’s a lot of space. Anything could happen. If this were a proper neighbourhood, things would be different. There’d be people around, making it safer for a young woman like you to walk alone. Just think more carefully next time, love.”

He plants a gentle kiss on my forehead, and I squeeze him tighter, truly grateful that he saved me. I rest my head on his chest, feeling the rapid thumping of his heart. Though we’ve been safe for the past few minutes, I can feel that he’s still shaken.

“Maybe we should head back now. Who knows when he’ll regain consciousness?”

“Good idea,” Edward replies, tucking the letter into his coat pocket. He takes my hand, steering me away from the unconscious man, and we head back to the house.