Charles then saw him off to his room. I wonder if he drinks to forget?
Felicity, of course, fawns over him like a pet. It’s disgusting to watch. She fetches him brandy and walks around the gardens with him as if he is the most interesting man alive. Little does she pay me, her husband, such attention! (Still, my dear, I have you. That means more to me than you could possibly imagine. I do not want or need her attention any longer.)
Sir Charles says that Sir Maurice is in need of a rest, that he has imposed his friend upon me in an effort to get him away from the city for a few days. Clearly there is more to the matter than that, but it remains unspoken. Of course, I have smiled graciously and welcomed them both with open arms, as any worthy gentleman should. In truth, however, I cannot wait for them to leave so that I may pay you a visit. I live in torment, awaiting the time when I can see you next.
Now I must away to dinner.
Be patient, my love,
Isambard
Dear Alice
Questions, questions! Incessant questions! Newbury knows nothing but questions.
Today, my dear, I took the men shooting on the grounds. The pickings were lean, and we returned with only a handful of mangy rabbits. Needless to say, Newbury was near useless. It was all I could do to still my hand from aiming my shotgun at the odious academic. He proved relentless with his conversation, worming his way into our lives, probing for clues; digging, digging, digging. A constant torrent of questions, right up until we broke to change for dinner.
I think he may suspect something. Does he know of our secret? Does he imagine our trysts? I tried to test him with clever questions—eking out a little information and gauging his response—but he is clever, that one, and did not give himself away. I thought I saw a little smile on his lips, however—a secret, knowing smile—and I’ll be watching him. Watching his every movement, listening to his every word. I have a measure of the man, dear Alice, and he shall not be allowed to discover our secret. I promise you. He will die before he knows the truth.
I shall leave this note for you tonight, my love, but shall not risk discovery by lingering for too long in the hope of seeing you. Surely they must leave soon! I need so much to hold you in my arms.
Isambard
Dear Alice
Today I almost let it slip! Tonight at dinner, Sir Charles and I we were talking of his late wife, and I said your name when I meant to speak of Felicity. Thankfully no one appeared to notice, save for a sly look from Newbury. More and more I wonder if he has somehow discovered the truth about us, and worse, that he secretly wants you for himself. You would never leave me, would you, my dearest Alice? Not for him. Not for that secretive, conniving academic. No, I know you too well for that. Of course you would not. You made me a promise, and you are mine forever more. Such is my promise to you.
Nevertheless, it gave me something of a thrill to speak of you in public, to let your sweet name form on my lips. I wish I could talk of you to Sir Charles. We were at school together, the two of us, and I long to confide in him. I am sure he would understand. But I dare not. I cannot risk it. What if he brought it up with Newbury? What if he were unable to keep it to himself, to share in the secret, just as you and I do? Then they would be free to spirit you away from me, and I would lose you forever. I could not bear that.
I must get rid of them, and soon. Sir Charles seems insistent on overstaying his welcome. Two days already! The longer they remain, the longer it will be before we can be together.
Your love,
Isambard
Dear Alice
Newbury is incorrigible! Today I found him skulking around the entrance hall, examining things, looking for answers, for hidden clues. He’ll never work it out, the damn fool. He claimed to be simply admiring the portraits, but I know his words for the lies they are. He is looking for evidence. He plans to expose us.
If
Felicity, of course, fawns over him like a pet. It’s disgusting to watch. She fetches him brandy and walks around the gardens with him as if he is the most interesting man alive. Little does she pay me, her husband, such attention! (Still, my dear, I have you. That means more to me than you could possibly imagine. I do not want or need her attention any longer.)
Sir Charles says that Sir Maurice is in need of a rest, that he has imposed his friend upon me in an effort to get him away from the city for a few days. Clearly there is more to the matter than that, but it remains unspoken. Of course, I have smiled graciously and welcomed them both with open arms, as any worthy gentleman should. In truth, however, I cannot wait for them to leave so that I may pay you a visit. I live in torment, awaiting the time when I can see you next.
Now I must away to dinner.
Be patient, my love,
Isambard
Dear Alice
Questions, questions! Incessant questions! Newbury knows nothing but questions.
Today, my dear, I took the men shooting on the grounds. The pickings were lean, and we returned with only a handful of mangy rabbits. Needless to say, Newbury was near useless. It was all I could do to still my hand from aiming my shotgun at the odious academic. He proved relentless with his conversation, worming his way into our lives, probing for clues; digging, digging, digging. A constant torrent of questions, right up until we broke to change for dinner.
I think he may suspect something. Does he know of our secret? Does he imagine our trysts? I tried to test him with clever questions—eking out a little information and gauging his response—but he is clever, that one, and did not give himself away. I thought I saw a little smile on his lips, however—a secret, knowing smile—and I’ll be watching him. Watching his every movement, listening to his every word. I have a measure of the man, dear Alice, and he shall not be allowed to discover our secret. I promise you. He will die before he knows the truth.
I shall leave this note for you tonight, my love, but shall not risk discovery by lingering for too long in the hope of seeing you. Surely they must leave soon! I need so much to hold you in my arms.
Isambard
Dear Alice
Today I almost let it slip! Tonight at dinner, Sir Charles and I we were talking of his late wife, and I said your name when I meant to speak of Felicity. Thankfully no one appeared to notice, save for a sly look from Newbury. More and more I wonder if he has somehow discovered the truth about us, and worse, that he secretly wants you for himself. You would never leave me, would you, my dearest Alice? Not for him. Not for that secretive, conniving academic. No, I know you too well for that. Of course you would not. You made me a promise, and you are mine forever more. Such is my promise to you.
Nevertheless, it gave me something of a thrill to speak of you in public, to let your sweet name form on my lips. I wish I could talk of you to Sir Charles. We were at school together, the two of us, and I long to confide in him. I am sure he would understand. But I dare not. I cannot risk it. What if he brought it up with Newbury? What if he were unable to keep it to himself, to share in the secret, just as you and I do? Then they would be free to spirit you away from me, and I would lose you forever. I could not bear that.
I must get rid of them, and soon. Sir Charles seems insistent on overstaying his welcome. Two days already! The longer they remain, the longer it will be before we can be together.
Your love,
Isambard
Dear Alice
Newbury is incorrigible! Today I found him skulking around the entrance hall, examining things, looking for answers, for hidden clues. He’ll never work it out, the damn fool. He claimed to be simply admiring the portraits, but I know his words for the lies they are. He is looking for evidence. He plans to expose us.
If
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