The footman appeared with Serafina’s cape. As she swung it round her shoulders and fastened her gloves, something on the floor caught her eye. It whirled like dust in the wind. What was it, a piece of material or her imagination? She bent to examine it—a long silky thread, the color of a ballerina’s gown.
“Yours?” she asked Lucia.
The baroness shook her head. “Pink’s not my color.”
Serafina laid the strand between two pages of her notebook. It curled in on itself, guarding its own secret.