What did you do…or what has been done to you?
For his father’s sake…he must deny her. A fierce swell of an intangible feeling swept through Hugh. Everything inside rebelled at the notion, yet he could not dishonour or bring pain to his father in his last days. He dipped the quill once more in the inkwell and set the point onto the paper.
I am truly sorry circumstances have forced you to ask me this question. I must regrettably—
A sharp rap on the door had him pausing. He rang the bell on his desk once, and the sharp tinkling sound pealed through the room. Their butler, a man as old as his father, shuffled inside.
“There is a carriage coming up the driveway, master Hugh.”
He lowered the quill. “At this hour?”
No one called at the castle this late, unless they had been invited to stay overnight. “Is it William?” His brother had been away for almost three years and should return home at any moment to see the old earl.
“I do not recognize the crest. I believe it was deliberately covered.”
Considerably curious, Hugh pushed back his chair and made his way from the study down the prodigious hallway to the front door. He was not surprised to see his father there, leaning on his cane, a scowl on his face.
“If it is that Lady widow, you will turn her away. I’ll not tolerate her antics,” the old earl muttered crossly.
To the old earl’s frustration, the widowed viscountess, a most recent neighbour, seemed to have taken a liking to him. She had paid calls upon them at odd hours and had sent several invitations for them to dine at her manor despite all of them being refused. She had caused his father to mutter most aggrievedly at her lack of propriety and disregard for the rules of etiquette and basic manners. She had been firmly categorized as one of those improper sorts who should be avoided. At all cost.
Allowing his father to precede him, they went outside as the carriage drew up in the forecourt. Loaded to the carriage was several valises, hat boxes, and portmanteaus.
The single coachman hopped from his high seat and knocked the carriage steps down. A plump girl in a dark blue serviceable dress came out, turned around, and lifted her hand to assist someone else.
Another young lady stepped from the carriage to the first rung of the knocked-down steps. She wore red. A vibrant coat with the hood pulled over her head cast her face in shadows. He could not discern her shape through the bulk of the coat, nor could he see her features. She glanced around the forecourt, the rolling lawns, and then to one of the most modern castles in this area. Then she glanced at where he stood with his father. She took a few steps to him and then faltered into remarkable stillness. The manner in which she held herself marked her as a lady of refinement and quality. Yet he saw no husband with her or chaperone. The lady beside her was evidently a maidservant, and the carriage only had the one coachman and a tiger.
“I do not believe this to be the widow. She is without her damned cats,” the old earl groused. “Who is that young lady?”
Her. Something indefinable darted through Hugh’s heart. Somehow, he knew it without ever having seen his Curious Lady. The very idea seemed improbable, yet he took a step forward before ruthlessly willing himself to stop.
His father shot him an alarmed glance then back at the lady in red. She lifted her hand to the coat and removed the hood. A flash of heat seared through Hugh’s entire body, and it took immense will to master his reaction. His visceral response was a warning shot across the bow, one that he would heed. Never in all his twenty-five years had his heart jerked at the pretty sight of a lady’s face.
He shook his head, yet his heart pounded an alarming beat.
“You do know,” the earl said accusingly.
Hugh lifted a hand. “Father—”
“No! No! You must send her back, my boy. She will not do!”
His father turned away and used his cane to hobble down the path leading him back to the side garden he had faithfully tended over the years.
The young lady who had taken a few more steps halted, staring at his father’s retreating figure. Her gaze swung back to his, and Hugh felt a rush of confusion at the rapid warmth spreading through his entire body. Her expression held a fierce mix of vulnerability, hope, and pride. And her eyes were the largest and prettiest he’d ever seen. “Brown,” such a bland and uninspiring word did not give her fine eyes the grace they deserved.
Her lovely golden-brown eyes were set under delicately arched brows, and her generous mouth seemed to be made for smiling and perhaps kissing. The set of her chin hinted at her stubborn streak and unique strength. Her hair, a light brown with beautiful golden streaks, was piled atop her head. She took a couple more halting steps, and the quill unfurled in his mind and scrawled across the paper as he composed the reply everything in him had wanted to say.
Dear My Curious Lady,
I cannot explain my reasoning or feelings, for I do not understand them. In truth they flow through my fingers with the intangibility of grasping water or forcing it to flow upstream. Yes…I will marry you. Please, come to me.
By the by, I, too, have the most alarming secret. In truth…we shall make that three little secrets.
Sincerely, Hugh Winthrop.
Chapter Three
Dearest Richard,
By the time you’ve received this letter, I will be long gone. I’ve entrusted my maid Sarah to see it reaches you only after I’ve safely crossed the border into the Highlands. I cannot tell you to where I’ve traveled, only know I did it to spare you and Mother my shame and to spare myself Father’s disappointment and wrath. I fear I am with child, and the scandal of it is too much for me to remain in London. I know Mama would insist I flee to the country and give birth to my child in secret, only to give her up, and I could not bear the thought of that. There is a man…an earl, who is in need of a wife, who has gone about it in the most unorthodox fashion of advertising for her. It seems his reputation may even be more disreputable than yours, but I’ve informed him of my sorry plight, and he is willing to take me as his wife. I find such an action to be honorable. Perhaps two wounded souls may find succor together, so I’ve taken steps to decide my own future. When I’ve settled, I will write to you with news.
Faithfully,
Phoebe.
Phoebe had run away from England, her parents, and everything that should have been safe, familiar, and comforting as if the devil had chased her with a pitchfork. Worse, she had rushed headlong into a situation hoping to marry a man with whom she’d only exchanged a few letters and who had lingered in the shadows as her deepest secret.
The gravel below her boots crunched, the sound alarming in the stillness of the forecourt. The man she’d initially assumed to be the butler or a footman did not speak or appear as if he would invite her inside the manor. The overly bold and piercing way in which he assessed her shouted that this man was not a servant of the mansion. Phoebe’s stomach knotted in horrid anxiety.