Love Letter Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 6)

by Karey White

“Although a tragic one.” He looked toward the fire.

  Lucy didn’t know him well enough to guess what his expression meant. But his profile tempted her to start another sketch of him. Instead, she reached for the final letter on the table near her chair. “There’s one more letter. It’s written by Lucille, but she never sent it.”

  Lucy handed it over, and Calvin unfolded the letter and read it aloud. She leaned back in her chair, listening to his deep, mellow voice.

  My Dearest Calvin—

  You will never see this letter, but I wanted to write to you one more time, and then I will put this away with all of your letters I’ve saved. I knew you would come to my bedside. I had been praying for it. Although I didn’t want your last image of me to be of a weak and ill woman, I could not depart this life without saying good-bye to you in person.

  I envy the years you have to live, and mourn the years that I am losing. Even though we could never truly be together, I was married to you in my heart. You have brought me the greatest happiness I could ever imagine. Knowing you were close by, and knowing that you cared for me, helped me endure.

  All my love forever,

  Lucille

  Calvin looked up. Lucy realized her eyes had teared. She blinked back the tears and tried to smile.

  “Do you know,” he began in a quiet voice, “my great-grandfather had a gravestone made for Lucille in her memory, and had it placed in our family cemetery? It’s surrounded by a half dozen rose bushes and a low stone wall. It’s as if she has a private garden at Bevans Estate.”

  Lucy looked toward the fireplace and flickering flames. “She gave up a lot for him.”

  “It couldn’t have been easy for him, either— to marry another woman with her so near at hand.” He gathered up the letters into a pile.

  Lucy and Calvin fell into silence for a few moments. She thought about how everything might have been different if Calvin Bevans Sr. hadn’t married another woman. The man sitting across from her wouldn’t be alive.

  “I supposed he was right in marrying to have children,” Lucy said. “The house has stayed in the family, and you and your wife will pass it on to your children.”

  A smile touched Calvin’s face. “You sound like my sister.” He handed over the letters, and Lucy set them on the table next to her.

  “My bachelorhood and lack of funds are my sister’s greatest angst,” Calvin said. “She arrived this morning, here for a few days to set me straight, no doubt.”

  Lucy laughed, then covered her mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. But you look perfectly capable of handling your own affairs.”

  “Thank you.” His gaze assessed her, and she found herself staring back into those lake-blue eyes. “What are you drawing?” he asked.

  Heat rushed through her face. “Oh, I’m sketching the rooms and gardens of Quinn Manor. I don’t want to forget my visit.” She couldn’t hide the wistful tone in her voice. “I was amazed to inherit such a place… I mean, an English estate! I know it’s small compared to Bevans, but it’s beautiful and peaceful. I feel like I’ve walked into a storybook.” Feeling even hotter, she took a much-needed breath. “Sorry, I’ve been rambling.”

  Calvin chuckled. “I don’t mind. I agree with everything you’ve said, and even though I grew up here, I’ll never tire of the place. If I could get all of my work done outside of London, I’d live at Bevans fulltime.” He told her about his business in London, and how he hoped to renovate the estate in a few years.

  “Will you live here after the renovations are complete?” she asked.

  “I would love to, but it would be difficult to run the business from here. I must be close to London unless I can find some profitable investments that allow me to cut down on the number of clients.”

  “My fiancé knows all about investments,” Lucy said. “I could have him write you with advice.”

  “You’re engaged?” Calvin said.

  For some reason, his question made her flustered. “Almost. It’s only a matter of time before he proposes.”

  Calvin simply nodded.

  “Robert’s a stock broker. He runs his own firm and is incredibly busy. That’s why he’s not with me now. He sent along articles for me to read about the market so I’d understand his world more.” Lucy realized she was clenching one of the letters in her hand. She set it down and picked up her drawing pencil. “He’s very knowledgeable; he wouldn’t lead you astray.”

  Calvin leaned forward in his chair, his eyes intent on hers. “If he’s well versed in the foreign markets, I’d be happy to hear his advice.”

  “All right.” Lucy flushed at the intensity of his gaze. “I’ll write him.”

  Calvin glanced at her hands. She was fiddling with her drawing pencil. “Can I see your sketches?”

  Lucy hadn’t expected his interest. “They’re quite amateurish. In fact, it’s such a small hobby, I don’t think I’ll continue after we marry. Robert says we’ll be too busy with entertaining. He aims for a political career someday, you know.” She looked away from Calvin’s gaze. “I don’t want to forget anything about Quinn Manor, so I’m drawing the rooms and the grounds.”

  “You’re in love, aren’t you?”

  The question sent a jolt through Lucy. She hadn’t exactly considered herself in love with Robert, although everyone said they were perfect for each other. “I…”

  “Admit it,” Calvin said, amusement in his tone. “No one would blame you for falling in love with Quinn Manor, even if it weren’t your inheritance.”

  Oh… he meant the estate… not Robert.

  “I am in love with it,” she said in a quiet voice, realizing she didn’t want to sell the place. She wanted to live inside the storybook. She suddenly felt melancholy, caught between two worlds— a new, fascinating one, which had captured her heart, and the old, familiar one, which was very dear to her too.

  Calvin rose from his chair and crossed the few steps that separated them. Towering over her, he extended his hand. “I’d love to see your drawings.”

  Lucy’s heart thumped. She’d never shown a stranger her sketches before. Robert and her mother hardly paid attention to them. She looked up at Calvin. “They’re simple, really.”

  He smiled, his fingers still extended, and Lucy reluctantly handed over the sketchbook.

  Calvin settled in the chair next to hers. With this arrangement, she could see the drawings as he turned each page. Her stomach knotted.

  The earlier sketches were of the ship they traveled on to England. Then the hotel they stayed in the first night. When Calvin reached the picture of Blackberry Hollow, he paused for a long time. He glanced over. “You’re very talented, Miss Quinn. Do you paint as well?”

  Her face heated at the compliment, although she knew he was just being kind. “Some watercolor, but I like sketching the smaller details, and watercolor tends to bleed everything together.”

  He turned the next page before she could remember to stop him. The sketch was of him reading the letters. Even though it was rough, it was plain who was in the image.

  Calvin looked over again, his brows raised, wearing a half smile.

  Lucy reached for the book. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

  He didn’t surrender it. “Why not?”

  “I— I don’t normally draw people, and it’s not finished—”

  “Will you finish it then?” His eyes held hers.

  She hesitated. Mostly because her heart was pounding way too hard, and she didn’t exactly trust what she might say. Finally, she exhaled. “All right.”

  Chapter Eight

  Walking the grounds with his sister as she explained all of the improvements the estate needed was not exactly Calvin’s favorite way to pass his day. Added to the torture was the feeling that he’d spent hours in the company of a woman who was becoming more and more intriguing to him by the moment.

  In his mind, he could still hear Lucy’s laughter. He pictured her bent over her sketchbook, concentrating, with
her full lips pressed together as she drew. Her brief glances at him as she sketched him watching the fire. At first, it had been disconcerting to know that he was being scrutinized, but the longer he’d sat and she’d worked, the more fascinating he’d found it— that an artist was re-creating him.

  What did Lucy see when she looked at him? At the time, when she’d finished, she’d said she wasn’t ready to show him— that she wanted to add some color first. Even though he was curious, even impatient, to see the result, he’d agreed to wait. If only to secure another meeting with her.

  Calvin barely listened to his sister as she went on and on about resurrecting the orchards, which he wholeheartedly agreed with. Lucy would love to draw the orchard in its different seasons.

  “Stop that,” Sylvia said.

  Calvin looked over at his sister. “What?”

  “You haven’t even been listening to me, have you?” Sylvia’s eyes, which everyone said matched his, looked like a thundercloud.

  Calvin sighed. They were near the house now, yet he could hardly remember anything from the past half hour. “I agree with all of your suggestions. But I’m not changing my mind, Sylvia. I can’t let you pay for the renovations; this estate is my responsibility.”

  She folded her arms. “You are stubborn like Father was.”

  “I’ll be able to start in a few years,” Calvin tried to amend. “There’s no hurry.”

  Sylvia’s stormy eyes filled with tears.

  Calvin froze. She’d never cried about it before. “What’s really going on? Why are you so determined to make changes now?”

  She wiped at a tear that had fallen onto her cheek. “It sounds foolish, really…” She glanced up at him, then looked down at her clasped hands. “Marriage has been so boring.”

  Calvin stared at her, then laughed.

  When she turned away, crying more, he bit back his laughter. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make light of your distress.”

  She sniffled, her shoulders shaking, and Calvin realized his sister was laughing. “I’m terrible… I’ve turned into a horribly spoiled woman.” She turned around, wiping at the tears spilling down her cheeks. “I have everything I could ask for— cooks, nannies, servants— it’s all rather revolting, if one really thinks about it.”

  Calvin was smiling, but he also understood this side of his practical sister.

  “I mean, I could lie in bed all day and do nothing but eat sweets if I wanted to. Phillip would still adore me, and my children would still be spoiled.” Her eyes finally dry, she took a deep breath. “I want to do something that matters, Calvin. And this place matters to me. It’s where I grew up. Phillip’s houses are gorgeous, but this place— it has my heart.”

  His home had Calvin’s heart too. He pulled his sister into his arms. “I understand. Perhaps I can allow you do one, very small project.”

  She squealed, then hugged him hard. He laughed as he drew away.

  “You will not regret it.” She pinched his cheeks. He hated it when she did that, but he didn’t have time to complain, because his niece, Gwen, came screeching out of the house.

  Calvin wasn’t about to decipher what the little girl was screaming about. He’d never heard her speak more than a few shy words, so this running girl, braids flying behind her, as she clutched something in her hand, was a shock.

  “What is it, dear?” Sylvia ran toward her daughter.

  Calvin hurried after his sister, fearing her child had been hurt. Or perhaps she was sick. But did little girls scream and run when they were ill?

  “He ruined it! I hate him!” Gwen yelled.

  Sylvia was holding Gwen now, who waved a piece of paper.

  After much crying, and some coercing from Sylvia, Calvin finally gathered that Gwen had spent “all day”— which could have only been half an hour— drawing a picture of the “horsey in the stable” when Jupiter, one of Calvin’s hunting hounds, had bumped into Gwen. She’d fallen, and the picture had become soiled and wrinkled.

  Calvin understood the disappointment, but did all children carry on this way? He took the picture and smoothed it out. The dirt was barely noticeable after he gave it a good brush-off. Not much could be done about the wrinkles, though. “Would you like to draw another picture of the horse?”

  To his surprise, the suggestion sent Gwen into another fit of wails. He met his sister’s helpless gaze over the girl’s head, who was now clinging to her mother again.

  “Or… perhaps I could draw you a picture?” Calvin said. Even more dismay. “I’m not such a bad artist,” he tried again. “Perhaps you’d like my picture. I could add in the dog as well.”

  More crying.

  “She wants this picture fixed,” Sylvia murmured.

  Suddenly Calvin had a possibly brilliant idea. “Gwen,” he said, crouching down so that he could look her in the eye. She must have noticed his confident tone, because she turned her head to look at him.

  Calvin’s heart hitched at the sight of her puffy red eyes. “I know someone who can fix it.”

  Gwen’s eyes widened, and for the first time, Calvin noticed that she had her mother’s eyes, which meant he had something in common with his niece.

  He held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  Amazingly, Gwen put her small hand in his. A day earlier, he wouldn’t have done anything like this, but ever since Sylvia had cried about wanting to do something that mattered, Calvin had unexpectedly wanted to help her little girl smile too.

  “Calvin,” Sylvia whispered, walking next to him as he led them to Quinn Manor. “What are you doing?”

  He merely grinned. He’d told Sylvia nothing about their American neighbors or of the forlorn love letters between their ancestors, and certainly not of the drawing session he’d sat for Lucy.

  When Mrs. Yates answered the front door, Calvin braced himself out of habit. But when she smiled and greeted them, Calvin quickly recovered. “Is Miss Lucy Quinn available?”

  “Yes, she’s in the back gardens, I believe. I’ll have her come in and meet you in the sitting room. Mrs. Quinn is in there now.”

  Sylvia threw him a questioning glance when the housekeeper ushered them inside. “Who’s Lucy?” she mouthed.

  “She’s the American who inherited the property,” he whispered as they followed the housekeeper. “She’s also an artist.”

  They reached the sitting room, and Mrs. Yates announced them to a woman who was unmistakably Lucy’s mother.

  Mrs. Julia Quinn rose from her seat where she’d been writing at a small desk. “Welcome. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

  Mrs. Yates bustled out, and Calvin stepped forward to take Mrs. Quinn’s hand. He’d met her earlier that day before reading the letters with Lucy. Calvin introduced his sister and niece to Mrs. Quinn.

  “How lovely to meet you,” Mrs. Quinn said, smiling at both of them.

  Mrs. Yates opened the door, and Lucy walked into the room, pulling off her wide straw hat. Her hair was full and wavy, knotted at the nape of her neck. Lucy’s brown eyes met his, curious, then went to Sylvia and Gwen.

  “Your sister?” Lucy said.

  “Yes. May I introduce Mrs. Sylvia Worth and her daughter, Gwen Worth, who also happens to be an artist.” He motioned to Lucy. “And this is Miss Lucy Quinn.” Gwen grabbed onto Calvin’s hand, which he found quite endearing.

  “I’m not an artist,” Gwen said, her fingers tightening around his.

  Calvin held up the drawing he still held. “Did you not draw this?”

  Gwen’s eyes shone. “Yes.”

  He peered at the drawing closely. “It’s an exquisite drawing of a horse. If a girl of only seven drew this, she must be an artist.”

  Gwen giggled.

  “We’ve had an unfortunate incident,” Calvin said, looking over at Lucy, who had a smile tugging on her face. “Gwen needs your help restoring her drawing. Maybe some colored pencils would help?”

  “Let me see.” Lucy held out her hand for the drawing. H
er smile was soft as she looked at it. “I think I can help.” Her eyes found Calvin’s, then moved to Gwen. “Wait here. I’ll return shortly.”

  Chapter Nine

  Back in her bedroom, Lucy put a hand over her racing heart. Her heart wasn’t pounding from having just climbed the stairs. Calvin had returned, bringing his sister and niece in tow… and Lucy had never seen anything more adorable than in how Calvin proclaimed the young girl an artist. She could tell that Gwen had been crying— her small, puffy eyes, and intermittent sniffs.

  Calvin will make a great father, she thought, then immediately shook her head. What was she thinking? Ever since Robert had said he wanted to wait several years to have children, she’d felt a little downcast about it. She’d told herself that that why she was so aware of how other men acted around children, nothing more. She picked up her metal tin with the colored pencils, and her gaze fell on the sketch she’d finished of Calvin— fully colored now. The colors had brought him to life, especially his lake-blue eyes, although she didn’t think she had the color exactly right.

  She took a couple of calming breaths before returning downstairs. Seeing Calvin with his sister and niece had impressed her— he was a man with depth, compassion, and cleverness. A man who knew how to make a little girl dry her tears. A man who made a fuss out of appreciating a small child’s artwork.

  Lucy found herself smiling again as she walked downstairs and returned to the sitting room. Calvin had moved a small table in front of the sofa, and Gwen sat there waiting, her tiny hands clasped in her lap.

  “Coloring pencils are a great secret of every artist,” Lucy said, glancing at Calvin with a smile. Her mother sat near the fire, the inventory ledger in hand, as if she meant to review her notes. But she spoke quietly to Sylvia, and Lucy could tell their conversation was about Lucille’s love letters.

  Lucy settled beside Gwen. “You can borrow my coloring pencils today.”

  “No one else knows the secret?” Gwen said.

  “Only artists, so we must ask your mother and uncle not to tell anyone else.” Lucy opened the tin and picked out three shades of brown. “You never want to use just one color. If you blend colors, the animal, or whatever else you are drawing, looks more real.”