After a quiet day and a night of crying and soul-searching, Antoinette woke up feeling refreshed, but still emotionally flat. She had not had the heart to confront her mother about the situation, or about anything at all. Not after the conversation about Duke Godwin. It just seemed as though her mother were on edge, which made sense given the circumstances. One of her daughters was wasting her marriage, whereas the other was leaping towards a relationship too quickly. Of course Lady Byrd would be on edge. She was terrified for her daughters' futures.

However one thing was certain. Antoinette no longer intended to contact Duke Godwin and apologize. What for? After all, if her mother was right, then spending too much time with Duke Godwin might give him the wrong impression. And if her mother was wrong, then maybe her mother was wrong about other things, such as Duke Godwin's suitability as a husband in the first place. It was just too much for her to handle.

No, she would wait and see what was to be with her sister first. Not that it was any easier. She sighed as she finished getting dressed and made her way over to her mother's room.

“Antoinette, the post is here,” her mother called as she saw Antoinette in the doorway.

Antoinette nodded. “That's early, is there anything from father?”

Lady Byrd nodded. “Yes, but... it's addressed to you,” she smiled slightly and held the letter out to Antoinette.

Antoinette raised an eyebrow. “Surely to both of us? Or to you? Why would father write to me specifically?”

Lady Byrd shrugged a little. “Well, we'll have to open it and find out.”

Antoinette knew exactly what that meant. She knew that her mother intended on reading the letter also, whoever it was addressed to, and that any semblance of privacy was to be discarded. Antoinette was used to this coming from her mother, though, and was grateful that this may offer her the opportunity to talk to her mother about the situation.

The letter was, indeed, addressed to her. And in her father's handwriting. Tearing it open, she wondered whether their argument had finally ended. It had not.

“My dearest daughter,

I hope that this letter finds you well. Unfortunately it is not well here.

I know we have kept you in the dark on this matter until now, but understand, it was only to protect you. We feared that seeing your sister in this state would break your heart. And at this time of year, with everything on your plate, it would be unfair.

But alas, it has come to this. Please, ask your mother to explain all. And then you must come immediately to your sister's home, where John, Cecilia, and myself shall await you. I hope and pray that you shall make her see the light.

Your loving father.”

Antoinette re-read the letter before passing it to her mother, who read it with a tense expression on her face. Antoinette could tell that she was not happy about her husband's decision. She realized that Lady Byrd's true intention had been to read the letter herself, then to decide whether or not Antoinette could read it. And she was pretty sure, from her mother's expression, that she would not have received this letter.

But it was too late now. “What is father talking about?” Antoinette asked as innocently as she could manage.

Lady Byrd sighed and rubbed her temples. “I suppose you must know now. Your sister is very, very ill. Not physically, or mentally, thank goodness, but... spiritually.”

“Spiritually?” Antoinette asked, sitting down on the edge of her mother's bed.

Lady Byrd nodded. “Indeed. She is questioning some of the most basic tenets of our faith, our culture... indeed, of English civilization. It is understandable, of course. She is going through difficult times financially and in her marriage. It makes sense that at times like these one's faith would be shaken. But she is more than shaken. She is losing her faith, as far as we can tell.”

Antoinette furrowed her brow. “Losing her faith?!” This made no sense to her. She knew that one could stray from the path, or make poor choices. And she knew that converted heathens sometimes would lose their faith – her brother had told her as much. But for a devout, lifelong Christian like her sister to lose her faith? “That makes no sense,” she thought out loud.

“It did not to me either,” Lady Byrd replied. “Alas, by the time I found out I was already quite unwell, and am unable to see her for myself. But from what your brother in law and father are saying, she is losing her faith.”

Antoinette shook her head. She knew that it was her duty to help her sister. “Shall I pack my bags, mother?” she asked.

“Now, let's not be too hasty... I am not sure that your father is making the wise decision here,” Lady Byrd contested. “I cannot go against his wishes, but... it is up to you. Do you feel confident going to see them?”

“Why would I not?” Antoinette asked. “I would gladly help my sister in her time of need.”

Lady Byrd shook her head. “But this situation... it is worse than you could imagine. She is not acting properly. She could even be a bad influence on you. And you would be wasting time in which you could be seeing your suitors.”

Antoinette shook her head. “As you have said, I need to spend some time away from Duke Godwin, and you need to find me new suitors which inspire me as much as he does. This is a perfect opportunity for me to have that break.”

Lady Byrd pursed her lips. Antoinette could tell that her mother wanted to argue, but that the case had been presented too well. And with her father requesting her presence, and Antoinette agreeing, Lady Byrd was powerless to stop this. “I simply fear that... that she might influence you,” Lady Byrd finally expressed.

Antoinette shook her head and held her mother's hand. “She shall not, mother. Nothing shall sway my faith. But perhaps a woman can succeed where the men have not. After all, it is a woman's mind we need to enter.”

Lady Byrd sighed. “Very well. You shall go. But as soon as ever it begins to hurt your heart, or weaken your faith, you must promise me that you will come home.”

“I promise, mother,” Antoinette reassured her.

It was so sudden. But... she knew she had to go. Not just to save her sister and her sister's marriage, but also for herself. Was it true that this was a crisis of faith? Or was it an unhappy marriage? What lay at the root of their problems? She needed these answers to know where her own life was headed, and what choices she needed to make to ensure the best possible future.

The coach journey to Sheffield was tedious, with high winds and heavy rain ruining what should have been a pleasant view, forcing her to think about where she was headed and why. One person called it a crisis of faith brought on by trouble. Another phrased it as though talking about an illness. And yet another explained it as an unhappy marriage. And all three meant Antoinette would have to face big changes in her life.

As the journey stretched out to nearly four days, with the rain and mud delaying the coach more than once, Antoinette found herself contemplating and daydreaming about different futures. But none of them even remotely resembled the fairytale romance she had always dreamed of. And none of them felt like a future she wanted to live.

* * *

Antoinette felt chills run down her spine as, on the fourth day, she approached the house. She recognized it from last time she had been there, in the summer, but barely. It did not look right. She was not exactly sure why, but there was something visibly wrong, even from outside.

But the rain was still pouring down, and she hurried up the steps towards the front door. Just as she reached to knock, the door swung open, casting the warm light of the fire out over the hearth. A tall figure stood in the doorway, and breathed a sigh of deep relief.

Her father greeted her with a hug, leaned back to kiss her forehead, then hugged her again. “Antoinette thank goodness you are here. You are just the person... just the person... I am sure that you shall be able to make your sister see sense,” he insisted.

His hand in the small of her back, she was ushered in away from the rain and towards the fire, to warm herself. As she took her coat off to be dried, she was struck by how different the place was inside. Outside, shrouded by the dark of the clouds and the curtain of rain, it had not been clear what was wrong. But inside it was plain as day: nobody was tending to the house.

There was not a servant in sight, for starters. But beyond that, the house was thick with dust and cobwebs, there was mud on the floors, all sorts of things were out of place... Antoinette realized that nobody was doing much, if anything about the house. She had assumed, from what she had been told, that her sister's financial situation was less than ideal. But she had not expected this.

As her brother in law brought her a cup of hot tea, her father explained the situation.

“As you already know, your sister has lost her way a little. Your mother and her sister are fond of speculating about this matter, but from being here myself, all I can say for certain is that she no longer wishes to be a wife and mother,” her father began.

Antoinette nodded, then shook her head. “I am not sure I completely understand...”

“Look about you. They can no longer afford servants due to their financial situation. We have been helping but there is only so much we can do. And it was assumed that Cecilia would take on some of the work herself. But she has recently stopped. And nobody can get out of her exactly why,” Lord Byrd continued. “All we know is that nothing we have attempted is working. She has no intention of resuming her duties as a wife and mother, let alone caring for her home, and all is falling into disrepair. We have attempted to help her, the vicar has spoken with her, but nothing anyone says is helping.”

“And you want me to speak to her woman to woman? To find out what the problem is?” Antoinette asked.

“I want you to speak to her sister to sister, to see how we can help,” her father replied.

Antoinette nodded. “I shall see what I can do.”

“It may take some time, we understand that,” John Campbell added. “We know that you may talk with her some hours, and still need to talk again tomorrow, the next day, for a week. There is no pressure on you. This is our last chance to help her, so please, give it your best effort.”

Antoinette nodded again, standing and making her way towards her sister's room. “I shall, for all our sake.”

Entering the room unescorted, Antoinette was once again struck by how barely lived-in the house looked. Cecilia's room was lightly warmed by a coal fire which provided little to no light, yet the candles had not been lit. Her belongings, which had been neatly put away last time Antoinette was there, were now strewn about as though every time one had been moved, it had never been replaced where it ought to go. In the dim light from the window Antoinette could see the faint outlines of dust and cobwebs on everything again. And, sitting on the windowsill, her sister.

Cecilia did not look at all like herself. She had not changed out of her bedclothes. Her feet were bare and her hair was still down and unbrushed. Pale and dishevelled, she was holding a teacup of cold tea and gazing out into the rain.

“Cecilia?” Antoinette asked hesitantly.

Her sister looked up with deep, melancholy eyes. “Antoinette? You needn't have come.” She shook her head slightly.

“No, I did need to. What happened to you?” Antoinette asked.

“Life happened to me,” Cecilia replied. “Life happened to us all, and I saw what a joke it all is.” She sipped her cold tea and continued looking out the window.

“I just... I do not understand,” Antoinette said, shaking her head. “You seemed so happy when we saw you at the wedding.”

“Seemed, yes,” Cecilia replied with a weary sigh.”

Antoinette moved closer and drew up a chair by the windowsill. “Are you... are you well? You seem a little...”

“I am well. Believe me, John, that swine, has tried to have them take me away before. But even in my present state the doctors understand that I am sane,” Cecilia replied.

Antoinette shook her head. “I am sure that John did not mean any harm by what he did. He is only looking out for you.”

“Oh, you will believe that. Until you are married, that is.” Cecilia sighed. “Then you will see how things really are.”

“I know how things really are,” Antoinette replied indignantly. “And how they are right now is you are overlooking your duties as a wife and mother, indulging some petty anger, and making your whole family suffer, for whatever reason.”

Cecilia paused and for a moment Antoinette thought she had got through to her. But then she began to laugh. “Oh, little sister... You are too sweet. But the only thing that is suffering is their pride. Now, please leave me be. And tell them that they shall get nothing from me until I am allowed to be a free woman.”

“A free woman?” Antoinette asked. “What imprisons you?”

“You do. You all do,” Cecilia replied. “Now leave me be.”