“Oh, yes.” He laughed. “In a few weeks’ time, my innocent songbird.” He often called her that and the words did nothing but remind her of just how false everything about her was.
“I am happy for you,” she said, meaning it. Once Louvell was wed, he’d leave her alone.
They left the gallery and Kim found Sarah in the tea room. Relieved, she rushed to her friend.
Sarah stood with wide eyes. “Are you ready to depart?”
Was the answer that clear on Kim’s face?
While on the road to the house, Kim told her about her conversation with Louvell. Her brother and Sarah were strangely quiet about it all.
“A letter arrived for you,” her mother said once she stepped into the house.
The dowager had said other things after that, but Kim was in her room behind closed doors and opening the letter before her mother could finish her sentence.
You may have stood up to your share of men, but I’m certain that none of them were as great as me.
Or as bold.
Kim rolled her eyes but admitted that unlike Louvell, this James was likely not speaking from a place of self-flattery but confidence. Who was this gentleman?
Do my gifts not tempt you? If they do not, then I suppose I’ll have to send you more. Surely, the trunks under your bed can only hide so much?
Wear the muffs and write to me how they feel while you are outdoors. Only then will I be satisfied.
Also, I would like to address the rest of the letter you sent, or rather the lack thereof.
You did not explain your aversion to Lord Louvell’s charms or comment further on your future journey to London.
From your first letter, I’ve learned that you’ve known this Lord Louvell for some time, therefore I count the man daft if he’s not found the proper way to win you, if that is indeed his intention.
And as for London, you may not be cowering to me, but I declare you cower at the face of London. Is that why you claim revulsion for a city you’ve clearly never stepped foot in?
Have you the courage to respond?
James
It was a long moment before Kim realized she’d stopped breathing.
She’d sent one letter and it seemed James had seen into her very soul. He was right to assume that Louvell would never win her… and right to assume that the thought of London frightened her. She didn’t wish to place herself in a position where her family would become hopeful of a match. She didn’t wish her brother to spend money on gowns only to see nothing come from it.
Admittedly, guilt was the true reason she still wrote her aunt. Lady Macy had poured a great amount of money into Kim’s education in preparation to becoming a lady.
And what had Kim down with all that fine tuning? Given herself away far too much and too quickly.
She didn’t wish to speak about it, but she couldn’t have the man thinking her a coward, could she?
* * *
James,
I do not fear you.
However, in the hopes of preventing you from sending me more gifts, I will say that the gloves and muffs are beautiful against the white of winter and match my hair.
And Lord Louvell has all the charm of a snail. He goes on and on about himself, yet only inquires of others upon things that relate to himself. Thankfully, Lord Louvell has no intentions of marrying me, as he has mentioned that he is engaged and looking forward to buying his wife jewels that match his eyes.
And as to London...
You sound like someone who’s well versed on London. So, tell me, what is it that I have to look forward to? I have a grand social life here. I have friends. I go to country parties.
What more could I need?
∫ ∫ ∫
0 6
Kimberley,
You’ve not lived until you’ve watched an opera from a box at Covent Gardens and heard the tears in the notes of sopranos who, within moments, can make one feel as though they’d entered heaven.
There are fairs with chocolate and games to be had. There are rides through the fields of Hyde Park. Many go during the fashionable hour, but I’ve always enjoyed it at first light, when the sun rises over the tops of buildings.
There is society and then there is Society. There is a season and then there is the Season. Leeds may have its pleasures and its people, but one can make no claim to ever attending a true party until they’ve gone to one in London.
To be surrounded by beauty.
To listen to the flawless notes from the quartet.
To spin around a ballroom and feel as light as air.
The scents.
The scandals.
The stolen kisses in the dark corners of verdant gardens.
That is London.
That is life.
That is why you must go.
James
Kimberly took a breath.
James’ last letter had been full of so much honesty. She felt as though she herself had never been that honest with anyone. There was a joy and, if she was not mistaken, a vast amount of pain in that letter. James, who hadn’t given her his last name, had given her a window to what rested in a small part of his heart.
Alone in the drawing room, while the rest of the family was away visiting a friend, Kim sat at the writing desk and wrote.
James,
You’ve tempted me.
Aside from stolen kisses, I would almost like to see this London you speak of. I would enjoy seeing it through your eyes. You make it all seem like a dream and one that can be reached if one truly sets out to do it.
But I must admit, I fear going, because while a man may enjoy everything that is offered without any other ambition, I would be going for no more than the marriage hunt.
And I do not wish to marry.
My dream is to stay here in Leeds and to remain in the house I’ve known my entire life. It is by no means grand and, in comparison to all you claim the city has to offer, the pleasures are simple here.
But I enjoy them.
I pray I find a way to convince my family to leave me here, but I have little hope of doing so. My friend Sarah, who is also my brother’s wife, wishes me to be happy and her own marital bliss has her convinced that only marriage will do for me.
How old are you? Are you wed? Perhaps, you, too, are a believer of this bliss?
I wait for your response.
Kim
* * *
James frowned at the letter.
He’d been expecting Kim’s usual fire and fury in the letter, but this one was very different.
It was sincere.
He’d never had a woman actually share her inner thoughts with him... or ask him for his. Such things were very serious, and James had worked very hard at not taking life so seriously.
His life, for the most part, had been a happy one. His parents had been good to him. He’d had friends. Aside from Lord Lore, there had been Gideon Merton, the Viscount of Sillian. He’d never lacked for anything. Everything he’d wanted, he’d received.
Perhaps, he’d been spoiled.
Just a little.
But he’d been the only child his mother had ever been able to carry through to the end.
He’d been her greatest treasure. And his father’s.
Even when he’d been sent to school, he’d been happy.
James had known happiness as though the feeling were an actual thing he’d been able to hold and care for.
But then he’d been disfigured, and things had changed.
This letter. This gift. He treasured it.
He’d been given many, many things, but this was something wholly different. Something new. It brought just as much joy as it did worry, for he knew a gift such as this would require something from him in return.
Truth was a powerful thing, much more powerful than a lie, for it left the giver exposed.
He pressed it to his chest and thought upon Kim’s words.
Her sincerity had leaped from the page and buried itself dee
p within him.
When he’d started this, he’d been looking for a distraction, entertainment. Not anything of actual value or with true meaning.
Now, it meant so much more. This new friend was so very different than the ones he had in Lore or Valiant or Lady Macy.
If he were not careful, James could find himself made vulnerable.
Not that he already wasn’t, with his scars.
He could never meet Kimberley. He knew she was beautiful. There were many signs aside from his own instincts.
What did he say to such a woman? Whether or not he was married was an easy question to answer, but did he believe in marital bliss? James was only thirty-two. He hadn’t planned to think about marriage until he was at least forty.
But now with his scars...
There were few who could claim to truly know the inner workings of the Marquess of Denhallow and he liked it that way.
But Kimberley Clemens had become special to him. Almost as special as his inner thoughts. Sacred as his truest self.
Was that even a thing? A possibility?
Sitting up in bed, he walked over to his writing desk and allowed himself to write whatever came to mind.
* * *
“What are you looking for?” Kim asked upon finding her mother looking over the papers on her desk. She had a feeling she knew but waited for her mother to confess to it. Her heart raced so fast that her vision blurred.
“I’m looking for your last letter from Aunt May,” the dowager said without an ounce of shame. She lifted a stack of notes and shuffled through them. Then she looked up at Kim. “I’ve never known Aunt Mary to give anyone so much attention, and she’s written you nearly every day this week. I wish to know what you’re discussing.”
Lady Jane Peckshire had been very fond of Lady Macy while growing up, but Jane’s fall from grace when she married a poor man—titled or not—had made her mother wary about visiting the aunt who’d advised her against the match years ago. Jane’s parents had not been against the match. Only Lady Macy had. Yet for some reason, from what Kim had gathered from when her mother shared stories of her past, Lady Peckshire had always seemed closer to her aunt.
Kim put on a smile and crossed the room to her mother. Then she grabbed the papers out of the dowager’s hand and placed them back on her table. “Mama, Aunt May and I discuss… private things.”
Her mother frowned, as though she’d never heard the phrase before. “Private? What sort of private things?” Her mother’s gray-green eyes rounded. Little creases frowned about her mouth. “Do you discuss… men?”
Kim blinked. “Perhaps.” Even though she could lie without flinching, it didn’t mean she enjoyed doing so. She thought a small truth wouldn’t hurt. Though she wasn’t discussing anything with her Aunt May, she was discussing marriage, and discussing James’ thoughts about it.
“Oh.” Her mother looked around the room as though she’d never seen it before. Then she sat in Kim’s chair as though a great burden had placed her there. Her shoulders fell, and she lifted her head. “Well. Why don’t you discuss such things with me? Who is this man?”
There was no man. Not really. Aside from James. But Kim would never, ever tell her mother about James.
He was hers. All hers. She’d share him with no one.
She hadn’t known just how much he’d come to mean to her until that moment.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Kim said. “I simply told Aunt May that I don’t wish to go to London. I don’t wish to join the marriage market.”
Her mother stared at her. Her head began to tilt, the lace and silk bonnet tilting with her. Then she righted, and her eyes widened. “It that because you already have someone in mind for marriage?”
Kim frowned and made ready to say no. But then another thought came. “Perhaps. Perhaps, I’ve given my heart to someone and cannot bear the thought of courting someone else.” Strangely, James came to mind.
Her mother stood, brightening. “Who is it?”
Kim looked away. Sometimes, lying did hurt. “I cannot say.” She began to arrange her desk again. “But it does not matter. I cannot have him. He is… unreachable.” Again, she thought of James. It was so easy to do so.
In her mind, he was a dark and handsome man.
She nearly feared what he would say to her next. What if he didn’t wish to write to her anymore? She’d changed the tone of their letters. Before, it had been light and playful. Now… What if he didn’t write back at all?
“But you speak of him to Aunt May?” her mother asked.
“No.” Kim turned to her. “I don’t speak to Aunt May about him. I only made mention that I don’t wish to go to London this Season.” Or any Season.
Her mother nodded. “All right.” She smiled. “I understand.” Leaning forward, she kissed Kim’s cheek and then touched her chin. “Don’t fear, my dear. It will all work out for you.” Then she started for the door. Yet, at the door, she turned around and said, “Oh, I almost forgot. You’ve a new letter.” She pulled it from her pocket.
Kim choked on her speeding heart. “Did you read it?”
“Of course not.” Her mother frowned. “I wouldn’t open your mail. I wouldn’t dream of taking such a pleasure from you. There is just something so wonderful about breaking a seal, is there not?”
Glad her mother would only ever look at old mail and glad that Kim had known to hide her letters from James underneath her bed, Kim took the new one from her mother’s hand and forced herself to smile calmly.
She would not rush her mother from the room.
She wouldn’t.
Even though she greatly wished to.
“Thank you,” Kim said.
The dowager touched her cheek again and then floated from the room.
Kim broke the seal where she stood—and yes, there was something wonderful about breaking a seal for the first time, the crisp snap of it—and began to read, not even bothering to sit.
∫ ∫ ∫
0 7
Kimberley,
How did a man on paper make her heart race faster than any she’d met in person? Lord Louvell actually possessed a wonderful voice, but James… Her James made her skin warm.
I’m thirty-two, and I am not married.
And though I wish to know more about why you’d deny yourself the pleasure of a stolen kiss in a dark garden, I will save my wondering for another time.
I’d never given much thought to marriage and happiness until recently.
Now, there are days when I wish I had given it more thought. There are moments when I realize how many years I wasted, allowing women to warm my body but not my heart.
Do not think yourself a coward, for you are a brave woman to wish to break tradition and take on life’s long journey alone.
I do not believe myself to be that strong. If given the choice, I would marry, but such an opportunity is unlikely to present itself now.
Yet while my own dreams seem so very out of reach, I wish there were a way I could give you yours.
If I could, I would fashion a world dedicated to your happiness.
I imagine you living in your little house in the country.
Tell me. What color is your hair? Your eyes? It will help fill in the void of my imagination.
I imagine you sitting at a writing desk twenty years from now, writing a single letter to Lady Macy every month, and, if I’m fortunate, to me as well.
People are always convinced that they know what is best for us, but in the end, you have to live with your choices.
But why do you not wish to marry? If you like, say so in your next letter. If not, pretend I did not ask it.
If you go to London, do write me and tell me what you see. I will not be going myself, but it will bring me pleasure to hear news of my favorite city from someone who had yet to experience it.
“Oh, James,” Kim whispered. She grazed her fingers across the words and then closed her eyes.
If I could, I would fashion a world
dedicated to your happiness.
Was it possible to fall for a man she’d never set her eyes upon, because Kim feared it to be happening.
The great anguish in this letter broke something inside of Kim. Her James was hurting. Why could he not marry? He was only thirty and two. And while he’d not outright said he believed in marital bliss, he’d spoken of warmed hearts.
It was enough to say that, yes, James did believe in happy marriages.
And why would be not be going to London if he loved it so much?
She could not think or a reason that would hold him back and doubted the reason to be monetary. He had spent a great amount on her gloves and muff. When she’d worn them to the assembly hall a few days ago, every lady there had been quite envious.
But Kim realized just how much more satisfaction she got from these letters than the gifts.
How would James react if she sent him one back?
She’d asked him questions, yet his letter had only managed to add more. A
nd Kim wanted to know everything about him.
Taking the letter to her writing desk and reminding herself to hide it after she finished her own letter, she began to write a man whose conversations had come to mean more to her than those she had with her family.
James,
The color of my eyes has always been a great topic of discussion in my family, as the color cannot be defined by any word in the English language. They are gray. They are green. And sometimes, they grow far too murky to truly say. I inherited them and my black hair from my mother.
You seem like a great romantic. I am surprised you’ve not married and made sad that you think it out of reach now. You have come to mean something to me, James, and I wish to help you just as much as you wish to help me.
You’ve said London is for the beautiful. You’ve spoken of how much you loved London. Am
I wrong then to surmise that you are beautiful?
And, at thirty and two, I see no reason your dreams of marriage cannot be met.
Mark of The Marquess (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book) Page 3
