“Of course,” he said lightly. “We wouldn’t want aspersions to be cast upon your character.”
Discomfited by his wry words, Letitia glanced at him, but he’d already turned away. She prodded her horse to follow.
Upon reaching the stables, Letitia was surprised to see Edward outside, his face a mask of disapproval.
His smile wide, William dismounted and strode over to Edward, clapping him jovially on the back. “Edward, old man! What brings you to the stables?”
“His Grace wishes to speak with you, my lord. At once.” Somehow Edward managed to keep a civil tone.
“Does he now?” He turned his attention to Letitia. “A more faithful manservant one cannot find in all of England or India, I’ll wager. Imagine. Standing out here in the muck and awaiting my return. What loyalty!”
William laughed, but Edward remained sober. His gaze shifted upward to Letitia, and his breath caught. She was lovely.
Her thick, glossy hair had broken free of its restraints and waterfalled down her shoulders and back in wavy abandon, while soft tendrils caressed her face. The healthy color, once absent, now bloomed from her cheeks, reminding him of blush-pink roses kissed by morning dew.
“Boy!” William addressed a stable hand. “Tend to my horse.” He then affected a ridiculously flamboyant bow to Letitia. “Alas, I must leave you, dear lady. Duty calls. But I hope to again have the pleasure of your company.”
Gratification thrummed through Edward to hear Letitia’s noncommittal reply. Once they were alone, he held up his hand toward her.
“Permit me?”
Letitia hesitated before nodding. He placed his hands at her waist and helped her to alight. When her feet reached the ground, she stumbled into him.
“Oh! Forgive me.” Her words a mere breath, she turned her face upward. “I’m unaccustomed to the saddle. That is—it’s been a long time.”
His own legs as shaky as a rice pudding, he nodded. His thoughts ebbed as he continued to stare into her luminous, wide eyes.
“Edward?” she whispered in quiet entreaty.
The dictates of propriety fled. Sound judgment escaped, hot on the heels of trained wisdom. Before he could change his mind and call them back, Edward lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. No more than a feather’s touch. The kiss of angel’s wings. Of earthly sweetness encapsulated in what must resemble heaven.
The shrill call of a hawk sliced through the air and startled them apart.
Letitia’s face flamed. “Oh.” She pressed her fingers against her cheeks and stepped back. “Oh!”
Concern filled his eyes. “Letitia—”
“No.” She retreated another step, backing into the mare. “What have I done?”
“Please, don’t take this to heart so. The blame was entirely my own. You’ve done nothing of which to be ashamed.”
Wanting, needing to escape his quiet words and gentle eyes, she abruptly turned. Familiar weakness shot through her hip. Edward caught her as she staggered and almost fell. “Letitia!” Worry colored his voice.
She pushed from his arms. “Please—don’t.” Being in his embrace caused her heartbeat to escalate. Caused her to evoke the soul-stirring touch of his lips against hers … and hope for another kiss as sweet as the last.
If news of this were to reach Lady Marian or any of the guests, she would be in disgrace, cast away from decent society as her mother had been. Perhaps even sent back to Spain. While she would cherish seeing her family, she didn’t want to be a disappointment to them or add to their trials by giving them another mouth to feed. Her mother wrote that the crops had been bad this year.
Picking up her skirts, she made haste for the manor, ignoring Edward’s plea to wait.
Thankfully, he didn’t pursue her, nor did anyone waylay her as she took the stairs to her room. A housemaid dusted within the bedchamber, humming. She bobbed a curtsy. “La, miss. I didn’t expect you.” With downcast eyes, she moved toward the door.
“Please,” Letitia said. “Don’t go.”
The girl halted, uncertain, and Letitia realized her request must seem strange. After all, the girl didn’t know Letitia was a servant, too.
“I don’t mind if you stay and finish your chores,” Letitia explained, unable to bear the solitude of her thoughts another moment. “And please continue your song.”
The girl’s eyes brightened. A slight smile shone on her freckled face, and she nodded, again flicking her feather duster along the wardrobe while she resumed humming.
The door banged inward.
Dismay pierced Letitia’s heart. Marian stormed into the room, then caught sight of the maid. “Leave us.”
The girl bobbed a half curtsy and scurried out the door, closing it behind her.
Marian stormed toward Letitia and slapped her. “How dare you!”
Letitia raised a hand to her stinging cheek. “I—I didn’t mean—the kiss happened before I was aware—”
“You kissed him?” Marian backhanded her across the other cheek. “You kissed the marquis? Spanish strumpet!” She grabbed handfuls of Letitia’s hair and pulled hard.
“No, it was Edward! Not the marquis!”
Tears stinging her eyes from the pain, Letitia struggled with her cousin. She clamped her fingers around Marian’s punishing ones, trying to break their tension and pull them away.
“You rode with him,” Marian sputtered. “Did you think I wouldn’t hear? You willfully disobeyed orders, you wretched girl. You’re no better than your mother. She was a strumpet, too!”
“Marian,” a voice roared from the doorway. The rapid thumping of a cane followed. “Desist such unseemly behavior this moment! Do you hear?”
Marian loosened her hold and turned, shock draining the color from her face. Gratitude streamed through Letitia.
The dowager viscountess stood in the doorway, her countenance formidable.
Chapter 7
What is the meaning of this?” Grandmama Ackers’s voice brooked no refusal.
“She has disgraced us,” Marian cried. “She defied all convention and rode with the marquis—alone—then kissed him!”
“Not the marquis,” Letitia cut in. “Edward.”
“Edward?” Lady Ackers’s brows lifted.
“You rode with the marquis. Lady Sedgeworth saw you!”
“Sí, but I kissed Edward.” Heat seared Letitia’s face, and she swung her gaze to Grandmama. “But I did not mean to kiss him,” she added in a whisper.
“Hmm.” The dowager viscountess studied them both, a speculative gleam in her eye. “Marian, I will speak with you later. Letitia, come with me.”
Fearing a well-deserved lecture, Letitia followed the woman to the bedchamber she’d been given. Lady Ackers sank to a chair, her hand wrapped around her cane, but no chastisement followed. She did, however, study Letitia with a discerning eye.
Letitia shifted, uncomfortable. “I’m happy to see that you changed your mind about coming, Grandmama.”
“Yes, I presume you are.” The woman’s words were wry, but Letitia didn’t miss the amused twitch of her lips. “The trunk at the foot of the bed. Open it.”
Letitia knelt to do so and fell back on her knees, bedazzled. A mound of shimmering satin embellished with silver and gauze of the same color met her eyes.
“It’s the gown you’re to wear to the masquerade ball at week’s end, and below is the mask. Bring it to me.”
Letitia retrieved a white silk mask. Tiny seed pearls had been sewn along the edge. White feathers winged upward from the top. She gave it into Lady Ackers’s hand and sat on the floor beside her chair. The gnarled fingers brushed over the stiff mask while a softness touched her time-worn face.
“I was seventeen, your age, when I wore this to my first masquerade ball,” she said wistfully. “It was the week of my coming out, and the night I met Phillip.”
Letitia’s mouth parted. Lady Ackers’s husband had been named Gerard.
“Our love was forbidden
. His social status was beneath mine—he, a mere scholar and poet—and my father had higher aspirations for me. Still, we couldn’t deny our love and sought for moments together throughout London’s social season. We spoke of eloping, but days later Phillip was killed in a duel by a brash and prideful count who was skilled with weaponry. Poor Phillip wasn’t as well-versed with a pistol.” She sadly shook her head as if lost in another time.
Letitia was stunned but finally understood why the dowager viscountess had become her dearest ally. She must have seen traces of the girl she’d once been in Letitia’s mother.
“My aunt gave me this mask,” she continued, her attention drifting to its shimmering front. “Lady Leighton. She wore it to her first masquerade ball, where she saved her true love, my uncle, from his cousin’s evil scheme. The man pretended to be my uncle, hoping to get him killed by instigating a duel, and thereby receiving the title and lands that were Lord Leighton’s. Ah, yes. In truth, this mask has quite a history. It’s needed to be mended due to age, but it was said to be worn the night a young couple escaped Paris during the revolution. And also at a masquerade when a mysterious woman in red attempted to wreak havoc between a couple. But these stories I shall tell you another time.”
Awed by the little she’d already heard, Letitia dropped her gaze to the mask.
“I want you to have it, Letitia. For your first masquerade ball. Perhaps you, too, might find your true love there.”
Caught up in its past, Letitia took the proffered mask.
“Now, tell me about this Edward.”
The abrupt change of topic brought Letitia’s head up. “He’s the marquis’ manservant. A good man, kind and gentle. He’s come to my aid twice.”
“Do you love him?”
Taken aback by the abrupt question, Letitia only stared.
“Come, come. Do you love him?”
“I … Sí.” Amazement swept through Letitia to realize the truth. “I think I might. But there is a matter that disturbs me.” She smoothed her skirt’s flounces, uncertain how to proceed. “His eyes, they … remind me of one of the highwaymen.”
“Indeed?” Lady Ackers’s brow furrowed as if in deep thought. “Have you shared this with anyone else?”
“No, I—I could not be certain.” Letitia felt foolish. “The sun was bright, and the marquis possesses eyes of the same color.”
Lady Ackers steadily regarded her. “Perhaps the strain from the ordeal confused you.”
“Perhaps.” Relief cloaked Letitia to hear the assumption she’d reached stated as fact.
“As to the matter of my granddaughter …”
Letitia stiffened. The mere mention of Marian brought back the pain of the attack.
“You needn’t tell me what I witnessed was a rare occurrence; I know otherwise. Mayhap I should have spoken sooner.” Lady Ackers straightened. “Be that as it may, I’ve talked to Hester and have decided to give to you early what I’d planned to bequeath to you upon my death. One hundred pounds, to be used as a dowry, if you wish it, or to sustain you until you find another position. If such is your preference, I shall do all within my power to find you gainful employment upon our return to London. Lady Fillmore seeks a governess for her children, and that family is mild mannered. You’d do well to find a position there.”
Tears clouded Letitia’s eyes. “You’re dismissing me?”
“There, child, don’t cry.” Lady Ackers stroked Letitia’s head, as if she were a small girl. “I cannot bear to see you further mistreated. I only desire your happiness.”
“But I shall miss you. How can I be happy without your presence in my life?”
In a rare display of emotion, the old woman let her cane drop to the floor and gathered Letitia into her arms. “There, there. You’re the daughter of which I’ve dreamed. Your name comes from the Latin and means ‘joy,’ did you know? And you’ve brought such joy to me in my old age. In thought and in heart, we’ll never be far removed, no matter the distance that separates us. We’re kindred spirits, you and I.”
Closing her eyes, Letitia laid her head against Grandmama’s shoulder, allowing the woman’s slow rocking to soothe her. Letitia could only hope that this was indeed God’s will for her life, but that didn’t ease the ache within.
Catching sight of Letitia, Edward strode into the sitting room the family used for times of private worship. She stood looking at a framed portrait above the mantel. Uneasy, Edward followed her gaze.
Letitia glanced over her shoulder. Her expression grew stunned. “Edward.”
“My lady.” Since their kiss, he’d thought of little else but her. Yet his best recourse would be to keep that moment buried and not air apologies again. “The family came by that painting years ago. William Holman Hunt is the artist. The duchess requisitioned him to paint it after having viewed the original. She highly favors it and paid five hundred guineas, though I venture to guess it’s worth far less.”
“Oh, but who could put a price on anything so splendid? I believe some possessions are worth more in value than any monies can provide.” Letitia returned her gaze to the painting. “It gives me such warmth to see our Lord Jesus standing near the door and clothed with lantern light against the darkness, His face so entreating, His hand raised to knock. He’s always there for us, is He not? Always waiting for us to open the door to Him, assuring us that He’s there.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
The saddest expression clouded her face as she faced him. “You don’t know or believe in the Savior, Edward?”
“He’s never done much for me.”
“Oh, but that’s simply not true.” Her smooth brow creased. She lifted her hands to her sides in supplication, stepping forward, as if in an effort to make him understand. “He died for you and gave His all so that you might live with Him for eternity.”
Her beautiful eyes begged him to grasp her words. Despite his resolve to remain rigid in his unbelief, he was moved. She’d endured a lot, but so had he. How could she hold on to such faith? Why should she care that he did not?
“Sadly, the artist made a mistake,” Edward said. “Have you noticed there’s no handle on the outside of that bramble-covered door?” He’d stared upon the painting enough times to know.
She looked back to see. “Perhaps Mr. Hunt did so on purpose, to convey that one must open the door from within. The Lord is too much of a gentleman to walk inside uninvited.”
Her words disturbed him more than he cared to admit. He gave a little bow. “I must attend to my duties.” Before she could further argue her point, he left her company. An important meeting awaited, and he could tarry no longer.
“Lady Letitia, will you take a turn about the room with me?”
Letitia looked up from her book in surprise to see Lady Eleanor, the marquis’ sister, smiling down at her. A bold jaw resulting in something of an underbite and small eyes did little to detract from the woman’s gentle beauty.
As always, Letitia was amused by the English nobility’s tradition of strolling about the room when one wished to speak in confidence to another. No one sat near her on the settee, and the room was large enough that the four playing whist in the far corner wouldn’t overhear. But she didn’t wish to injure Eleanor’s feelings and kept her thoughts to herself, setting the book aside. “Of course.”
As they began to walk, Eleanor pulled Letitia’s hand through her arm, drawing her close as if they were sisters.
“Dear Letitia, I’ve grown quite fond of you over this past week. You speak little, but when you do, your words are a delight.” They walked past the duchess, the dowager viscountess, and two other women, all engrossed in their card game, past the fire blazing within the shoulder-high grate, and on toward the window that overlooked the manicured lawns. “I would venture a guess that my brother feels the same. He appears quite besotted by your company.”
“The marquis?” Dismay pricked Letitia as she recognized the truth of Eleanor’s words. These past three days William had sought h
er company often enough that his behavior must be noticed. Strangely, Marian said little when they were alone, for the most part ignoring Letitia, but the frown between her eyes indicated her displeasure concerning the situation.
“You appear distressed. Tell me, I must know. Is it only my imaginings?”
Letitia hesitated. The marquis’ sister had become a friend, and Letitia didn’t feel comfortable continuing the charade with her. “Lady Eleanor, forgive me, but I’ve not been forthcoming with you.”
“Oh?”
“My station in life isn’t as grand as I’ve portrayed. I’m but a simple companion to my cousin. An English earl’s and Spanish count’s granddaughter by blood, yes, but my father holds no title.”
Halting her steps, Eleanor studied her. The pressure on Letitia’s arm didn’t decrease. “You have one day left with us. You could have kept silent, and I would never have been the wiser.” An intelligent light filled her hazel eyes. “You have a reason for telling me this.”
“Yes, I …” Letitia faltered, averting her gaze to the window and the maze beyond. How she had twisted things. “I ask pardon for baring my heart to you in what must seem an inappropriate manner, but I don’t love your brother and fear I should have spoken earlier so as to discourage his advances.”
“Indeed.” It was a moment before Eleanor spoke. “Your heart belongs to another?”
“Sí.” Relief seeped through her to tell the truth. “I hold … an affection for the marquis’ servant, Edward. I’ve made his acquaintance such a short time, but I feel as if I’ve known him all my life.” The frequent occasions she’d come across his path were some of the most precious to Letitia.
“Really? Well then, poor William will just have to pine his loss, eh?” Eleanor slyly smiled and squeezed Letitia’s arm as they again took up their stroll until they came full circle to the settee. “Edward’s a fine man. You could do no better.”
“Yet his refusal to acknowledge God troubles me.”
British Brides Collection Page 36