Seth gestured loosely over to the desk by the far wall, which he had commandeered for his own purposes. “You can search through the top drawer if you like. Her letters might have been mixed up with mine. I rarely read any of it, so I stow it away in there.”
“Why would her letters be put with your correspondence?” Henry was up on his feet, hurrying over to the desk before he had even finished asking the question.
Seth shrugged. “I do not know. If your servants saw “Bowles” on the return address, they might have assumed it was for me.”
Yanking open the top drawer of the desk, letters of all shapes and sizes spilled out onto the varnished floor. There must have been months and months’ worth of correspondence stuffed into the relatively small space. Many were crumpled and crushed, their seals unbroken, never to be read.
Desperately, Henry sifted through the initial layer, ripping through any of the letters that looked like they had been written in a feminine hand. Plenty were from Seth’s horde of admirers, but he could not find any addressed to him. Indeed, he was beginning to feel foolish about his sudden burst of enthusiasm.
That was, until he saw one of the letters that had dropped to the floor. Upon the front, in an elegant, characterful hand, was Henry’s name. He stooped to pick it up, unearthing a second that was half concealed beneath the first.
Slowly, Henry sank down into the high-backed chair by the desk and turned the first letter over, opening it with tentative fingertips.
My Dear Hero of Hyde Park (for you were, in truth),
I hope your return to London was not too exhausting, though I imagine your horse was grateful not to have to bear the weight of the gift you left for me. Truly, I pity the creature, for the literary tastes of my younger self appear to be very heavy indeed.
You cannot know how greatly your gift cheered my spirits. I do not believe I have ever received a more wonderful, thoughtful, generous gift in all my life. You did not have to go to such lengths, though you must know that you are entirely forgiven for your past transgressions against my beloved books. Now, I will get to turn the last page of the stories that I thought would always be unfinished in my mind.
The books in my collection are my escape, Henry. They have always been my escape. With this gift, you have liberated me a little more. That is the finest gift anyone could ever give, and I will cherish those books for the rest of my days. I already intend to spend the evening in front of the fire, hungrily devouring them as I vanish into new worlds and embody old favorites.
Thank you, Henry. A thousand times, thank you. There is not gratitude enough to tell you what this means to me, for I am not a gifted writer. So, I will give you a quote from one of my most beloved books instead, in the hope that it might explain more clearly, “You have given me the world. Countless worlds. For as long as I live, I shall smile, thinking of this gift of eternal wonder you have given to me.”
I apologize if such saccharine sweetness makes you grimace.
Yours Sincerely,
Your Damsel, No Longer in Distress.
Henry could not decide if he wanted to take the inkwell beside him and launch it at Seth’s head, or if he wanted to run directly to the stables down the road and plead with the stable hand to saddle his horse as swiftly as possible. Arabella had warned him that it would be saccharine, but he did not find the sweetness cloying. Rather, it made him desire more.
“Shesaidshe had written to thank me for the gift!” Henry muttered in Seth’s direction, only to find him asleep on the settee, curled up like a cat. On the low table in front of him lay a veritable mess of opened letters, looking like peculiar, downed birds that could not find the strength to fly again.
Deciding to let Seth continue in his peaceful slumber a while longer, Henry turned to the second letter. Tearing it open, his heart lurched as he saw the date—it had been written the afternoon he had departed the Bowles Estate.
Curse you, Milford! Curse you and your cavalier attitude to correspondence!
Anxiously, Henry read Arabella’s long-awaited reply.
Dear Henry,
It was a delight seeing you today. I have more freckles than I dare to count, though I am certain there would be more if you had not gallantly shielded my face from the sun. Your hand must be rather red. Cassie says you ought to rub a dock leaf upon it, though I worry she is mistaking sunburn for a nettle sting. Yet, I am almost glad of my new freckles, for each one will remind me of a happy moment in your company.
If the weather is fine again in the coming weeks, before this blasted ball, might you consider visiting again? I have developed a taste for dipping my feet in the lake when the sun is fierce, but I think it would be rather sad to enjoy such things alone. If you are otherwise engaged, I will have to force Cassie to take your place, though she loathes all the insects by the lake. Spare her that, I beg of you.
Apologies, I am digressing from the main purpose behind this message. You see, the letter you sent to me has vanished. I have turned the drawing room upside-down, and the servants have all scoured the rest of the house, but it cannot be found. I do not know if it was accidentally put away or mistaken for something that was no longer required. With that in mind, I wondered if you might send it again? If you can remember the contents, that is.
I am sorry to bother you in such a manner, but there were many things in that letter that I desired to read. I would be heartbroken not to know what you wished to say.
I hope to hear from you soon.
Yours Faithfully,
Arabella.
Henry once again cursed under his breath, damning his dear friend for becoming some sort of magpie for correspondence, hoarding it all in his nest of iniquity. If Henry had received this when he was supposed to, he knew he would have ridden directly to the Bowles Estate, not wasting a moment upon paper and ink.
“There were many things she desired to read… She would be heartbroken not to know what I wished to say…” He let the words sink in, fighting hard not to let himself hope that she meant the sentiments he had spoken during their walk. He gripped the edges of the letter tightly. “She wanted me to visit again! Shewantedme to be in her company! She has not been ignoring me, she simply has an idiot for a brother!”
