But then I reflect that those with familial connections who should have loved and protected my heart did not, so why should I ever expect it of another? I confess to you, and it is frightfully easy to do so because I do not know you, there is a heaviness in my heart, and despite my numerous reflections, I cannot understand my discomfort or what to do about it.
By the by, have you found your wife?
A Curious Lady.
…
Dear Curious Lady,
I confess I am not certain if that kind of love is real, having never experienced it myself. I’ve heard many poets, giggling young ladies, and blushing gentlemen describe it as something akin to heart palpitations, sweaty palms, restless nights, and nameless hunger. I have no desire to endure such unpleasantness, symptomatic of a wasting sickness and a collective delusion.
That being said, I love my family. But when I think of them, my father, brother, and sister, my heart does not race, nor do my palms sweat. I simply know they are of important and I will sacrifice much to make them happy. And perhaps that is the way to measure if love is real.
I hope my reply will bring some measure of relief to the heaviness in your heart.
By the by, I’ve not selected a wife as yet.
Sincerely, A Gentleman of Distinction and Wealth.
“She did not write to me because she is interested in being my wife, Father,” Hugh signed.
The old earl huffed. “I read her audacious letters to you. This is not a young woman who observes the proprieties…or would be faithful to them.”
Ah…faith. Loyalty. Characteristics very important to his father after the storm that had presented in his life in the form of his young countess. After she had wrecked them, she had departed their life without any hesitation. Though he had been ten when she left, he still recalled the tears that had coursed down his father’s cheeks as he had sat on Hugh’s bed to tell him she was truly never coming back.
Of course, he should never marry a woman like his mother…not one who was bright, vivacious, beautiful, nor one who would thumb her nose at society…nor one who was a nonconformist.
At his lack of reply, his father frowned and gripped his cane. “She is a blithe spirit, and that will never do in any lady who is to be your wife.”
Hugh moved his fingers. “I can admire her without being covetous.”
His father scoffed. “You think her improper spirit admirable?”
Hugh hadn’t thought of her as a candidate despite the way she had arrested his attention. He was fully aware the woman who was to be his future countess was simply the embodiment of a wish from someone who commanded his filial love and respect. The expectations and heartfelt hopes from the old earl were that Hugh would marry a genteel, privileged lady without a hint of scandal to her name—a proper lady who would be the very opposite of his fickle and flamboyant mother.
“Let us return to the main house. It grows cold.”
His father knew he avoided speaking of his mysterious lady writer. With an irritable grunt, his father walked ahead to the waiting carriage, every step communicating his anger and perhaps anxiety.
He picked up a stone and tossed it so it landed a few feet in front of his father.
The old earl stopped and slowly turned around.
“I assure you there is nothing to worry about.”
His father nodded then plodded on with more vigor, as if a burden had been lifted from his bony shoulders. It pained Hugh to see him like that, a shadow of his former self, who valiantly clung to life with the ferocity of a lion.
It took several minutes before he reached the main house. His father went to his favorite gardens while Hugh made his way down the long hallway to the library.
“Milord,” Mrs. Bateman, his housekeeper said, hurrying toward him, a large set of keys jangling in her hands. “This letter arrived for you earlier.”
Hugh was unsure why his heart had started pounding. A part of him had still expected to receive a letter from her, though she had promised the last one to be her final correspondence. He took the letter and went to the library, where he lowered himself into the sofa closest to the fire.
Dear A Gentleman of Distinction and Wealth,
Will you marry me?
Hugh’s breath wheezed from his body as if he had been drowning and had just been let up for air. It shocked him to see the paper shaking in his grip. You made me tremble…with four little words. Good God, what was this?
Taking a deep, steadying breath, he read the rest of her letter.
I must have shocked you with those words, and I know, because I have alarmed even myself. Upon my honor, I must tell you I have been compromised, and I am considered irrevocably ruined, and only a marriage will render me respectable.
In my darkest moments of despair, my thoughts turned to you, and I’ve been re-reading the letters we exchanged. You are in need of a wife, and I am in need of a husband. This to me now seems like a most suitable match.
I dare to hope that since you’ve not taken a wife as yet, those who have responded to your advert have not appealed to your plans. I dare to hope this because I would like to offer my hand to you in marriage.
I have the distinction of being a lady who has been well schooled in the etiquettes of society. I am nineteen years of age and the daughter of a duke with a dowry of fifty thousand pounds. I cannot own to my complete identity or the full of my situation until a bargain has been struck. If you are amiable to our union, please respond immediately.
A Curious Lady.
Hugh read her letter three times before he made his way over to his desk and withdrew a sheaf of paper. He lowered himself into the wingback chair, picked up the quill, and dipped into the ink.
Dear A Curious Lady,
Hugh glanced through the windows to the garden where his father sat, his face tilted to the skyline as he watched the receding sun. His father suddenly appeared alerted, and he surged to his feet, staring toward the wide gravel line driveway leading to their stately home.
His father would hate for him to take a wife such as A Curious Lady. The very fact she was compromised spoke to the wild, passionate nature his father feared. Was it that she had been caught kissing another? Or had she driven out with a gentleman alone? Was she caught up in gossip not of her own choosing?
A hint of desperation, of sorrow perhaps, had resounded in her words, and instinct warned him it could be more serious. However, given the capricious and fickle nature of the ton, the chit could be ruined for something as simple as a rake asking her to dance.
But you are brave, aren’t you? Instead of caving to their demands, here you are being wilful and intrepid, taking your future into your own keeping. Reckless. Yet powerful. A thing denied to young ladies who were nineteen.
A never-felt hunger crawled through his heart.