"Where is he?" Anne murmured to herself trying to hide the annoyance in her voice. She looked around and was grateful that no one is staring at her or whispering in each other's ears. Seems the news of her mother's arrest and escape hasn't gotten to the ears of pamphleteers. She let out a small sigh of relief as she turned to face the empty seat across her, her nerves frayed.
A crisp, white tablecloth, heavy silver cutlery, and a single, perfect rose in a crystal vase sat on the table. But even the elegance of the room did nothing to soothe her frayed nerves. A serve poured her a glass of chilled water. She didn't even notice.
Philip had finally sent her a letter, a brief, formal note accepting her desperate request to meet. He had set the place and the time. And now, he was late.
