The Aristocrat

by Penelope Ward

  Smiling, I opened it and saluted the ceiling. “This is for you, Mrs. Angelini.” I took a long swig, the cinnamon liquor burning my throat as it went down.

  After several minutes and a few more sips, I could feel it going to my head. And it was not having a relaxing effect. Instead, I felt emotional. Thoughts of Mrs. Angelini flooded my senses. I had so much regret when it came to her. I thought I’d have many more years to show her how much I appreciated her—how much I loved her. It wasn’t until she was gone that I realized she was my mother—in all the ways that mattered, at least.

  She never knew I saw her that way. I’d had her in my life longer than the woman who birthed me, and I wouldn’t even call her by her first name. It undoubtedly would have brought her joy to know I had opened my heart to her. Looking around her room only validated that. There were pictures of me everywhere: me and Matt dressed for our senior prom, my high school and college graduations, photos of Mrs. Angelini and me on the boat with her brother, Paul.

  Why is it that sometimes we only realize how much we love someone once we lose them? It’s one of the most unfair things about life, if you ask me. Closing the bottle of Fireball, I tucked it back inside her night table. I could have fallen asleep in her bed, a sobbing mess, but I lifted myself off the mattress and went to my room.

  If I thought that would ease my aching heart, I was wrong. The first thing that met my eyes was Leo’s painting, the one I’d watched him create the day that we admitted it was essentially over for us. I remembered that horribly bittersweet feeling of watching him paint that afternoon, a mix of hopelessness and appreciation for the moment. And now I was thinking about him again. As if crying over a two-year-old’s SpaghettiOs wasn’t bad enough.

  Walking to my window, I looked out across the bay at the house where Leo and Sig once lived. Thinking about Leo’s cousin made me chuckle. He was such a dickhead—but a funny one.

  There were lights on at the house. I had no clue who lived there now, but it was easy to imagine Leo and Sig were inside, just like it was yesterday—Sig cooking in the kitchen while Leo got ready to drive the boat across the bay.

  I looked up at the moon illuminating the night sky.

  “At night, when you look up at it, I hope you’ll think of me.”

  There wasn’t a single time I’d looked at the moon in the past five years that I didn’t think of Leo. My heart clenched. I needed to stop. But like anything, the more I tried to stop thinking about him, the worse it was.

  He’s thirty-three now.

  He had to have gotten married. I wondered whether he had a child. I wondered what happened when he returned, whether his father had survived the cancer. I wondered a lot of things, even as I tried not to let those questions overtake my brain. Leo was always there in the back of it, though. Always.

  Once again, my mind turned to thoughts of regret. Not only did I wish I’d told Mrs. Angelini how I felt about her, I wondered what would have happened if I’d answered Leo differently when he asked me if I would consider going to England with him. I remembered the disappointment on his face when I’d expressed my doubts and fears. That was the moment that had truly ended all hope—had ended us.

  Had I made the right decision? Sure, I’d gone on to do the “responsible” thing—finished my education, started my career. But where did following through with my plans really get me? I hadn’t found a job that made me happy yet. And I certainly hadn’t found a man who’d made me as happy as I was during those weeks with Leo.

  Would dealing with the scrutiny of half of England have been worse than infinite longing for the rest of my life? At least I would’ve had Leo by my side. The stress might have been temporary. I could’ve gotten used to it. But the regret I still held in my heart to this day? That might last forever.

  There was a little voice in the back of my head that occasionally said, Call him. But every time it spoke, I shut it down. I’d made my decision five years ago. Now I had to live with it. While being apart from him meant constant “what-if” thinking, contacting him might mean perpetual heartbreak. My gut told me he had moved on by now, and confirming that would ruin me. It was better not to know. It was better to imagine that we lived on in his heart than realize he’d all but forgotten me.

  Shaking the thoughts from my head and forcing myself away from the window, I reminded myself to focus on why I was here: to honor Mrs. Angelini while I found a way to make a meaningful living. There was irony in that. I’d once told Leo I couldn’t relate to having a family or a legacy. And yet with Mrs. Angelini gone, here I was, wanting nothing more than to make her proud, keep this house running, and keep her memory alive. If that wasn’t upholding a legacy, I didn’t know what was.

  * * *

  Felicity

  Track 18: “Please Read the Letter” by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss

  The following day, there was a knock at the door. It was the neighbor, Hank Rogers, who’d been so helpful in the two years since Mrs. Angelini’s death.

  “Hey, Felicity. Welcome home,” he said when I opened the door. “Everything kosher?” He wiped his big, construction-worker boots on the mat.

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “Just trying to get used to being back here. I’m glad you came by. I was just about to head over to your place to see if there was anything I need to be aware of.”

  He stepped inside, placed his hands on his hips, and looked around. “Nope. Other than the hot water heater being replaced last week, nothing eventful. Of course, you already know about that because you paid for it, but it’s all taken care of.”

  Mrs. Angelini had left me a good amount of money to handle such things, so I’d had Hank send me the bills, even as he graciously handled the logistics in my absence.

  “Try not to stress too much,” he said. “She’d want you to relax a bit and enjoy being home. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I’ll try. I’m hoping for a laid-back summer and plenty of time to get the house in shape for the colder months.”

  “Good way to look at it.” He grinned.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing I might need to know?”

  Hank scratched his chin. “Oh! I’ve been checking the mail every few days and bringing it in. I leave it in a pile over on the desk in the corner of the living room. It’s not much since you had most of the bills forwarded to you, but there are some cards people sent, a lot that came in around the time she died—sympathy cards and such. I saved them. And some catalogs you probably don’t want. I threw anything away that was definitely junk mail. But things still come in addressed to you and her every so often. If I’m not sure what it is, I keep it in the pile since you told me not to forward anything except bills or tax notices.”

  I nodded. “I appreciate it. I’ll go through everything. Thank you again for all of your help. I can’t begin to pay you back.”

  “No need. Eloise was a true friend. I’d do anything for her.” He smiled. “And that extends to you. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

  “I will, Hank.”

  “The Mrs. wants you to pick a night to come over for dinner this week. She’ll make that seafood casserole you like.”

  “I’d love that. I’ll text her and work it out.” I smiled.

  After he left, I made some lunch and ate it out on one of the Adirondack chairs in the yard. The August heat was a bit much, so I didn’t last long.

  When I went back inside, I decided to sort through some of that mail Hank had been piling up for the past couple of years.

  Like he said, there were several sympathy cards. And I smiled at how many Victoria’s Secret catalogs there were. Why Hank didn’t just toss those, I wasn’t sure. Maybe he’d enjoyed them.

  I paused on an envelope addressed to me. Unlike the cards with my name on them, this looked more like a letter. When I caught sight of the name on the return address label, I nearly had a heart attack: Leo Covington. I froze, and the envelope slipped out of my hands. My heart kicked into high gear.

  As I
bent to pick up the envelope, I looked more closely at the line under my name: Care of Eloise Angelini. He knew the only way to reach me was through her, since he’d never had my address.

  Oh my God. How long has this been sitting here?

  I was terrified to open it. My lunch felt like it might reappear, and the room seemed to sway.

  My hand trembled as I took the letter over to the couch and shakily opened the envelope. The paper was thick and cream-colored, and the words were written in blue ink.

  Dear Felicity,

  I don’t even know where to begin, but I should probably start with: “How are you? It’s been a long time, eh?”

  I sincerely hope this letter finds you well. I’m certain you weren’t expecting it. I can honestly tell you I wasn’t expecting to write it.

  But here goes.

  As I sit here alone in my room, there are over a hundred people downstairs celebrating me. And all I’ve wanted to do the entire evening is escape. Thoughts of you are particularly heavy today. That’s nothing new—it just doesn’t normally happen until I lay my head on the pillow at night and close my eyes. It’s always you I’m thinking of in that moment.

  I sometimes wonder if it’s only me feeling like this. I wonder if you still think about me as much as I think about you. I told myself I wasn’t going to contact you, that nothing good could come of it after so long. This isn’t the first time I’ve broken my vow not to try to reach you, though. I tried calling you about a month ago but couldn’t get through to your phone.

  I had to stop reading for a moment. That hurt my heart so much. A couple of years ago, I’d gotten rid of my old cell phone and switched to a new phone and number my law firm had given me. While I did transfer all of Leo’s information into my new phone, if he’d tried to reach me at the old number, I wouldn’t have known. When I left my job, I’d kept the number of my corporate phone, but switched to a personal plan.

  I continued reading.

  I have no other way to reach you, so I’m writing this letter in the hopes that you receive it. Felicity, the truth is I still love you. And in case it wasn’t clear that I felt that way, I did fall deeply in love with you that summer. On some level, I knew that when I left. But I hadn’t realized the extent of it until we weren’t together anymore. There are still moments where I long for you more than for the air I breathe. They happen at very random times—I’ll suddenly smell something that reminds me of you. Or see a flash of red hair on the streets of London and think for one insane second that you changed your mind and came for me, only to realize it was just a fleeting delusion.

  I’m still in love with you, or at least the memory of you. As for the reasons we supposedly couldn’t be together—nothing has changed in that regard. My life in no way fits with yours. I’m all wrong for you in every way—aside from the fact that I love you. If you’re still reading this and haven’t crumpled it into a ball out of frustration, you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all of this. Why now…after all this time has passed?

  Well, here it is: I’m getting married, Felicity. My father is dying. He fought a good battle over the past several years, but there’s nothing more they can do. They’ve stopped all treatments, and he only has about six months left to live, if we’re lucky. As was always the plan, I want to give him the peace I know he needs. He wants to know I’m settled and that I’m going to follow through with his wishes, continuing the family name and business.

  I’m engaged to a wonderful woman—one who deserves a man whose heart belongs only to her. Her name is Darcie. She was actually one of my friends growing up, and we reconnected about a year ago. She’s kind and beautiful, and she knows this life inside and out. But moreover, she’s a good person whom I’m very fond of. I don’t think I would regret marrying her. The only thing I regret is that she’s not you. Once we’re married, I plan to take my vow seriously. Part of planning for that is trying to work out these unresolved feelings before I enter into a lifelong commitment.

  For all I know, you may be in love with someone else right now. You might have moved on. I’ve tried to look you up. I’ve tried to find information, and I’ve come up with nothing.

  I feel like this letter is my last hope in reaching you. I know I’m rambling. And admittedly, I’m a little pissed. (That means drunk, remember?) Having a few Negronis was the only way I could tolerate this engagement party. Which reminds me, I should probably return to it at some point. So, let me get to the heart of this letter.

  If there’s any chance you’ve regretted being apart from me as I’ve regretted being apart from you, I need to know. Reach out to me. I don’t know what that will mean for us, but I’m fairly certain the only way I can go through with this wedding is if I know there’s no chance for us to reconnect in this lifetime.

  I need to know whether you’re still thinking of me. I need to know whether there’s any chance you would want to see me again. If you don’t respond, I’ll understand. I will get the message loud and clear. I don’t know when you’ll get this letter, but my wedding is set for September 16.

  I had to stop reading again. My heart was going a mile a minute. I looked at the date at the top of the letter: June 2, 2025. Holy shit. He’d written it a little over two months ago.

  September 16.

  I calculated in my head. Oh my God. That’s three weeks from now.

  He’d assumed Mrs. Angelini would be here to tell me about this—which she absolutely would have the second she received it. But now, he must have thought I’d chosen not to respond. I looked at the envelope, and although the date stamp was smudged, it had an Express Mail label on it, which meant it probably took less than a week to get here. It had likely been sitting here for two whole months.

  I braced myself to read the last part of the letter.

  I don’t want to hurt Darcie. I have every intention of honoring the commitment I’m about to make. But I would be doing myself a great injustice if I didn’t at least reach out to you before it’s too late.

  Again, you don’t need to respond if this letter in any way upsets you. I can’t begin to imagine where you are in your life right now and whether receiving this news is disruptive. But Felicity, if there’s any chance you would want to see me again, that you would want to throw caution to the wind as we figure things out together, I need to know.

  With love (always),

  Leo

  With the letter in hand, I must have paced for three hours straight.

  I have a chance to stop him before he gets married.

  However, he had probably already assumed I wasn’t going to respond and had come to terms with his plans. Contacting him now would be cruel. It would turn his world upside down. Was that fair? But how could I not? I did still love him. This was my chance to tell him—something I’d never done. Hadn’t Mrs. Angelini’s sudden death taught me about leaving things unsaid?

  Speaking of Mrs. Angelini, I would have given anything—anything—to have her advice right now. Sure, I could’ve called Bailey, but I didn’t always trust that she had my best interests in mind. I loved her, but she was way too reckless. She’d tell me to hop on a plane and go there tonight.

  I looked up at the ceiling and said a silent prayer. I probably should have been talking to God, but it was Mrs. Angelini I tried to reach.

  “What would you tell me to do?” I whispered.

  I forced myself to take a shower, figuring running water might bring me some clarity. But it didn’t help.

  As I got dressed, I felt more and more panicky, like my life now had a timer attached to it, and the ticking sound was deafening.

  Needing something in my stomach before I passed out, I made my way to the snack cabinet. There wasn’t much in there, but I noticed an old blue can of butter cookies and wondered if they were still good. If so, I’d probably demolish the entire thing.

  When I opened the tin, though, there were no cookies inside. Instead, I found something I hadn’t laid eyes on in over five years: Leo’s ne
cklace—the one with the diamond ring that had belonged to his grandfather. It was probably worth the price of a small house, and I’d been too afraid to take it with me to Pennsylvania. I’d worried something might happen to it, and it had been too painful to look at. I’d told Mrs. Angelini to put it in a safe place, and she’d assured me she would take care of it. I knew why she’d put it in this canister. If someone were to rob the house, this would be the last place they’d look for jewelry that cost a fortune.

  Placing it around my neck, I remembered exactly what it felt like when Leo had put it on me. I’d been devastated because he was about to leave, but also confused as to why he was entrusting me with such an important family heirloom when he wasn’t ever going to see it—or me—again. It had seemed like some strange form of insurance and left me a little unsettled. I couldn’t imagine him wanting me to keep something so important forever.

  When it hit me, chills ran through my body. This is it. This was the sign I’d prayed for. Mrs. Angelini had led me to where she kept the necklace, but only I could interpret what that meant. I closed my eyes and knew she wanted me to follow my heart and go to him. That’s what I wanted, too, even though I was scared.

  Fiddling with the sparkler around my neck, I picked up the phone and dialed Bailey to fill her in on everything that had just happened.

  “Have you Googled him at all?” she asked.

  “No. I don’t want to see photos of him with her. And I’ve managed to not Google him all these years. I’m not going to start now. I wouldn’t even know what to believe.”

  “Okay. So what’s your next step?”

  “Do you think I should call him?”