by Fanny Finch
“I fear I would give you as many chances as you asked for,” Georgiana admitted. “And then some.”
Captain Trentworth glanced away, clearing his throat. “I… I confess, Miss Reginald, that a part of me that indulges in fancy had hoped… but common sense dictated…”
He shook his head and then looked back at her. “I find I do not quite have the words.”
“You need only say four little ones,” she advised him, laughing lightly.
Captain Trentworth took her hand. “There is that laughter. I have so longed to hear it.”
“I have been saving it for you.”
He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles softly. “You know that I am not one who does well with his own words,” he said. “But do you remember that poem from Byron?
“She walks in beauty, like the night
“Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”
Georgiana blushed and had to glance down at the ground lest her face give too much away. “She Walks in Beauty,” she said, naming the poem.
Captain Trentworth had written it out to her in one of his letters. It had been ‘their’ poem. She was surprised that he still remembered it by heart, although she supposed that she ought not to be.
He nodded. “That is you, to me. How you have always been to me. And always will be.
“One shade the more, one ray the less,
“Had half impaired the nameless grace
“Which waves in every snow-white tress—”
Georgiana laughed, for she remembered that as well. The original words were ‘in every raven tress’, but Georgiana’s hair was the opposite of dark. She was always the lightest-haired woman in the room.
And so Captain Trentworth, when he had written it out to her that first time, had changed it to ‘snow-white’.
He squeezed her hand. “Or softly lightens o’er her face;
“Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
“How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.”
Georgiana smiled at him and finished the poem for him:
“And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
“So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
“The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
“But tell of days in goodness spent,
“A mind at peace with all below,
“A heart whose love is innocent!”
Captain Trentworth nodded, tenderly tucking a lock of unruly hair behind her ear. “I have often thought of you and that poem. I think of it, and I think of you. I think of you, and I think of the poem.
“I am no poet myself. As our previous letters often showed.”
Georgiana giggled in remembrance and he smiled at her.
“But I do have a good memory for the words of others. And his have stuck in my heart, as has every word that you have written or spoke to me.
“I will quote that poem, or any poem, at you if it will convince you to allow me to do what we should have done all those years ago: join us together as one.
“Tell me that I may finally call you mine. As you have always been in my heart.”
His eyes were so terribly earnest gazing into hers. Georgiana’s breath caught in her throat.
This was what she ought to feel when proposed to. This was how she ought to feel when she was about to give her answer. No doubts. No sick feeling in her stomach.
Just beautiful, wonderful, certainty.
Epilogue
Robert could not find it within himself to breathe.
He wanted to keep begging her, imploring her to say yes, but he was out of words. He did not know what else to say.
Miss Reginald was gazing up at him with wet, warm eyes, a smile dancing repeatedly across her face. Her soft laughter still rang in his ears.
She had recited the end of the poem for him. She had gazed at him in rapturous wonder as he recited it to her. Please, let this be the moment. Let all his dreams finally come true.
“You know, Captain,” she said slowly, a teasing light entering her eyes, “you have not yet asked me directly.”
He started. “Have I not?”
She shook her head, pressing her lips together in a vain attempt to hide her amused smile. “No.”
“Well then.” He was a proper idiot. “Allow me to rectify that. Miss Georgiana Reginald, would you allow me to make you my wife? Will you marry me?”
She squeezed his hand, where it was still caught with hers. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, always.”
He caught her around the waist and spun her, his sudden rush of elation too energetic to be ignored. She laughed, clinging to him, letting him spin her like children.
Robert set her down, smiling helplessly. Then he remembered—they were at a wedding for someone else.
“I must apologize—it was not my intention to take anything away from your brother’s momentous day. I simply could not—I fear I allowed myself to get carried away.”
Miss Reginald smiled at him, shaking her head. “There is no need. We shall tell them once the dinner is finished. But I certainly encouraged you to become carried away.”
He chuckled. “Well, yes, when you tell a man that you are still in love with him, of course he is liable to get a little carried away in response.”
“We will tell them after dinner,” she repeated firmly. “They will be overjoyed for us.”
“I do not want to interrupt this special day,” Robert protested.
“Nonsense. They will be upset if we wait too long to tell them. They wanted us to get together. They encouraged me to definitively say no to Mr. Tomlinson and take the chance that you would still want me.”
Robert released a breath. “It appears that I have to thank the both of them, then.”
“You were right, in a way,” she said. “I needed to be courageous. I needed to take the risk, and so that is what I resolved to do.”
“You were also right,” he told her. “I was selfish. And I will do my best to not be selfish with you from now on.”
He took a deep breath. “May I take the liberty of kissing you, then?”
Georgiana blushed. “You most certainly may.”
He pulled her in that final inch and kissed her softly, tenderly, as he had so longed to do for all those years.
Georgiana melted into him. He thought that he would never want to stop holding her.
She pulled back and he released her, squeezing her hand one last time before stepping away.
“You will have to be in the receiving line,” he told her. “And I have no doubt that you have many other duties. Some of which you have deliberately volunteered for, I am certain, so that the bride will have as little to do as possible.”
Georgiana laughed. He was terribly excited to keep making her laugh for the rest of their lives. “I have taken on more than I might normally would, it is true. But you must remember that there is only one parent in this entire matter and he is too sickly to really handle things.
“And why should the bride not relax on her wedding day? I shall expect her to do the same for me on my wedding day.”
“Which will come as soon as we can be allowed,” Robert assured her. They had already wasted so much time and he did not want to waste a moment more if he could help it.
Georgiana looked as though she might burst into tears out of happiness.
“Shall we?” he asked her, indicating for them to head out.
She nodded. “Yes, we must.”
The rest of the evening passed by in a blur. He was almost vibrating with impatience. He could hardly wait to ask Lord Reginald for his blessing. He knew that the duke would not withhold it.
But he had to bow and exchange pleasantries with everyone. He had to pretend to care about all of the small talk that all of these people that he didn’t
even know were making.
The one bright moment was when he got to say hello to everyone in the receiving line and he could spend a moment with Miss Reginald again. She smiled at him, the smile of two people sharing a wonderful secret.
After dinner, after the dancing, after the celebration… it was finally, finally time for everyone to retire.
The lord and his new lady finished saying goodbye to everyone. The guests filtered out with their good wishes. And Robert waited in the drawing room while Miss Reginald finished instructing the servants on the clean-up.
When the duke and the duchess finally closed the door on their guests, they entered the drawing room with knowing smiles on their faces.
“My lord,” Robert said. “I was hoping that I might have a moment of your time, privately?”
Lady Reginald curtsied to them both and exited the room—no doubt to run immediately to Miss Reginald and ask her for information on everything.
Lord Reginald smiled at him. “Captain.”
“My lord.” Robert took a deep breath. Even knowing what the answer would be this time, and that it would be a positive one, he still found himself anxious. “I would like to ask for your blessing in taking the hand of your sister in marriage.”
The duke’s smile widened. “I take it that you have proposed and she has said yes?”
Robert nodded. “She had more presence of mind about it than I did, my lord.”
Lord Reginald chuckled. “That was how I felt when I proposed to my wife.”
Robert could tell that the duke had said ‘my wife’ for the sheer enjoyment of it. He could not blame the man.
“You have my blessing,” the duke informed him. “And when my wife and I return from our honeymoon I shall expect us all to begin preparations immediately. I am personally of the opinion that my sister has waited long enough.”
“I quite agree, my lord. And frankly, I have no wish to wait any longer than necessary either.”
“Edward,” the duke told him. “We are to be brothers. You may call me by my Christian name.”
“Robert,” Robert replied. “And it is an honor to call you brother.”
“The honor is all mine.”
The two women entered, arm in arm. Miss Reginald looked rather nervous, while Lady Reginald was beaming.
The duke—Edward—smiled at his sister. “I have given my blessing, my dear.”
She went to him and took his hands, kissing his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, and Robert could hear how her voice wavered with emotion.
She turned and crossed the room, allowing Robert to take her by the arm and pull her in. She was his, at last.
Finally, all was as it should be.
The Extended Epilogue
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Love Letters to A Lady
Chapter 1
Julia Weston looked forward to a great many things in life.
She looked forward to balls and dancing, to long walks and picnics, and of course shopping.
But most of all, she looked forward to nothing better than a lively dinner party.
Balls were all well and good and she enjoyed them immensely. There was something oddly intimate about balls, the way that one could carry on a conversation with a friend and it was busy enough that nobody could overhear you.
A proper dinner party, however, was the best for lively conversation. A group of witty people, discussing anything and everything over dinner. And then cards and games afterwards!
It was all quite fun.
Dinners also had the added benefit of being easier on Mother. She did her best to go to balls but Julia didn’t want to overtax her. With a dinner party, Julia could play host and Mother could take dinner by herself. Then she could come down and engage in the card games.
Sometimes dinners could be awfully boring if there weren’t the right sort of people at them. Stuffy people with no imagination and no literary bent and nothing to talk about but the weather.
She did so hate those dinners.
Fortunately, this was not going to be one of those such dinners. She was hosting it and therefore she was in charge of who was invited.
Of course there were always courtesies to be upheld. And she had to invite a few people for Mother’s sake. But overall it would be a lively affair.
Julia looked herself over in the mirror. Georgiana, her dearest friend, had always said that Julia was blessed for liking her appearance. Most women seemed to hate how they looked and wanted nothing more than to look like someone else.
But Julia had always liked her dark hair and dark eyes, her sharp eyebrows and thick eyelashes. She knew the thing nowadays was to be pale and fragile-looking. Georgiana fit that perfectly with her white-blonde hair and gray eyes.
Julia, however, thought she was quite content just the way that she was.
The light blue frock she was wearing, with its slightly darker blue ribbon around the middle, quite complemented her look. Or so she thought.
“I think it’s ravishing, don’t you, Mother?”
Mrs. Weston, Julia’s mother, had once been a great beauty. Julia could remember being a child and watching her mother get ready for a ball in the evening.
It had been like watching a queen get ready. In fact, Julia had once thought her mother must be nobility of some kind. Why else would someone be so regal and so beautiful?
But illness had done away with all of that. It broke Julia’s heart to see her mother in such a state.
Of course, Mother bore it all very well. Her mind had not gone and her wit, often spoken of in social circles, was as sharp as ever.
But she could rarely stand to go out for long periods of time. She spent most of her time at balls sitting. Friends went to her now instead of her calling upon them, for walking too much and in the sun tired her immensely.
Just a short two months ago, Julia and her mother—along with Georgiana and a young gentleman—had gone on a picnic. Mother had not complained once, but she had slept all the next day in order to recover.
Sometimes, Julia wished that there was something she could do. That she could be like a heroine in a novel, and learn that there was a cure! A great, wonderful cure, if only she could compel an expedition to go to the heart of deepest Africa, or the highest mountains of Tibet, or the wilds of South American jungles to find it.
Julia had never seen anything wrong with indulging in a little flight of fancy now and again. In her mind’s eye she could see herself, triumphantly grinding the rare tropical flower into a powder and putting it in a soup, presenting it to her mother.
Then Mother would be well again, and become the joyful, beautiful person that Julia remembered from her childhood.
But flights of fancy always ended. And she would have to face the truth once again.
Neither Mother nor Father were fans of pessimism. And Mother was a woman possessed of an unusual determination.
But Julia could not help but worry. This was her mother.
Mother raised an eyebrow. “I hardly see the point of wearing that frock, my dear.”
Julia frowned at her dress in the mirror. “Why would you say that?”
“Because the point of looking lovely is to show yourself off to potential suitors. And since you are woefully picky about said suitors you might as well wear black for all your frocks are worth.”
“Mother!”
“Well there is little point in setting out a bird feeder if the feeder is empty,” Mother replied tartly.
“Mother—”
Father appeared in the doorway, knocking lightly upon the open door. “May I enter?”
Julia sat down in her chair in despair. Father always to
ok Mother’s side.
“You look lovely,” Father announced. He always said that. Julia was convinced that she could put herself in a sackcloth and Father would say that she looked quite fashion-forward. “I am departing for London in the carriage. Do me a favor and don’t cause too many scandals while I’m gone.”
