described the act to her, but Elizabeth could not imagine that the kisses she and Alex had shared could lead to the painful, impersonal process her friend had endured. Now, she might never know.
But it was more than that. His touch, his kiss, made her forget everything else. Made her forget how she’d spent her life being a disappointment to her mother, how her father had deceived her, how her whole life had shattered after his death. How the men who’d once courted her suddenly turned away when she came near. With Alex, she felt desirable, worthy.
He’d left without so much as a farewell. Had she meant so little to him? Was he truly as the rumors painted—a shameless seducer of women? It pained her to believe it.
Perhaps something had come up. A matter of business, or politics, that required his immediate presence in London. And if that was true, she reasoned, it would only arouse suspicions for him to linger, then seek out the governess for a particular good-bye. Still, with Alex gone, the days stretched emptily before her.
Luckily, Elizabeth received a letter in the post on Tuesday that turned her mind from the sensuous but unpredictable duke.
The familiar loopy writing on the envelope brought a smile to her face, but it faded as she read the contents of Charity’s missive.
Dearest E.,
It’s simply not the same without you home. Mother isn’t speaking to anyone, except perhaps Uncle, and only then when Uncle ceases his interminable lectures on “proper” behavior. They suspect I know where you are, but I haven’t said a word, which only increases their wrath. Not that I blame you for leaving. Lady Pullington told me where to write, and I’m so happy you’ve found a position.
And in spite of it all, I’m doing well. Except for the most embarrassing thing. I was returning from the park with Mary Sutherby and her mother this morning, and we were coming up the steps just as a messenger stopped at our house. Well, I told him I’d take the message, saving him the trouble of delivering it formally. Of course, you know how curious I am. I couldn’t just give it to Mother, though it was addressed to Lady Medford. So after Mary was gone, I used that trick you taught me—using steam to soften the seal. Anyhow, it was from another of father’s debtors. They aren’t very happy.
Elizabeth, do you remember the brooch father gave you the year you made your bow? I feel terrible telling you this, but the shop he purchased it from sold it to him on credit. He never paid. The letter said they’d respectfully waited until the family had time to settle the estate, but now they must request payment. What am I to do? Of course I know there isn’t any money to cover it. I hate to tell Mother and Uncle, for it will only anger them further. Do you still have the brooch? Do you think the store would accept its return? I’m so very sorry to ask it of you, E., but I haven’t any jewelry of my own, or anything I can think to sell that would fetch a price. Please advise.
Oh, and do be well, Elizabeth. I’ll conspire with Lady Pullington to visit if I can.
Your loving sister,
Charity
Elizabeth read the letter twice, folded it carefully, and tucked it into the small trunk in her room next to the nursery. She rummaged at the bottom of the trunk, finally extracting a small velvet pouch. She sat back and poured the contents into her hands.
The brooch winked up at her, a cluster of small, delicately set emeralds. “To match your eyes,” Papa had told her. She’d been so proud when he’d presented it to her. “My little girl, all grown up,” he’d said.
Elizabeth’s throat grew tight. Whatever else he’d been, her papa had cared about her. She refused to believe otherwise. Of course, she now knew he shouldn’t have been presenting her with such trinkets. The brooch resting in her hand had never even been paid for. Perhaps he’d intended to pay for it eventually. She wanted to believe that.
But more than a year had
But it was more than that. His touch, his kiss, made her forget everything else. Made her forget how she’d spent her life being a disappointment to her mother, how her father had deceived her, how her whole life had shattered after his death. How the men who’d once courted her suddenly turned away when she came near. With Alex, she felt desirable, worthy.
He’d left without so much as a farewell. Had she meant so little to him? Was he truly as the rumors painted—a shameless seducer of women? It pained her to believe it.
Perhaps something had come up. A matter of business, or politics, that required his immediate presence in London. And if that was true, she reasoned, it would only arouse suspicions for him to linger, then seek out the governess for a particular good-bye. Still, with Alex gone, the days stretched emptily before her.
Luckily, Elizabeth received a letter in the post on Tuesday that turned her mind from the sensuous but unpredictable duke.
The familiar loopy writing on the envelope brought a smile to her face, but it faded as she read the contents of Charity’s missive.
Dearest E.,
It’s simply not the same without you home. Mother isn’t speaking to anyone, except perhaps Uncle, and only then when Uncle ceases his interminable lectures on “proper” behavior. They suspect I know where you are, but I haven’t said a word, which only increases their wrath. Not that I blame you for leaving. Lady Pullington told me where to write, and I’m so happy you’ve found a position.
And in spite of it all, I’m doing well. Except for the most embarrassing thing. I was returning from the park with Mary Sutherby and her mother this morning, and we were coming up the steps just as a messenger stopped at our house. Well, I told him I’d take the message, saving him the trouble of delivering it formally. Of course, you know how curious I am. I couldn’t just give it to Mother, though it was addressed to Lady Medford. So after Mary was gone, I used that trick you taught me—using steam to soften the seal. Anyhow, it was from another of father’s debtors. They aren’t very happy.
Elizabeth, do you remember the brooch father gave you the year you made your bow? I feel terrible telling you this, but the shop he purchased it from sold it to him on credit. He never paid. The letter said they’d respectfully waited until the family had time to settle the estate, but now they must request payment. What am I to do? Of course I know there isn’t any money to cover it. I hate to tell Mother and Uncle, for it will only anger them further. Do you still have the brooch? Do you think the store would accept its return? I’m so very sorry to ask it of you, E., but I haven’t any jewelry of my own, or anything I can think to sell that would fetch a price. Please advise.
Oh, and do be well, Elizabeth. I’ll conspire with Lady Pullington to visit if I can.
Your loving sister,
Charity
Elizabeth read the letter twice, folded it carefully, and tucked it into the small trunk in her room next to the nursery. She rummaged at the bottom of the trunk, finally extracting a small velvet pouch. She sat back and poured the contents into her hands.
The brooch winked up at her, a cluster of small, delicately set emeralds. “To match your eyes,” Papa had told her. She’d been so proud when he’d presented it to her. “My little girl, all grown up,” he’d said.
Elizabeth’s throat grew tight. Whatever else he’d been, her papa had cared about her. She refused to believe otherwise. Of course, she now knew he shouldn’t have been presenting her with such trinkets. The brooch resting in her hand had never even been paid for. Perhaps he’d intended to pay for it eventually. She wanted to believe that.
But more than a year had
Similar Books
