“Yes,” he said, his gaze flickering away from hers as if he felt shame at the very memory.
“Pray forgive me. If I had but thought . . .”
To her astonishment, he pressed her captive hand to his chest and covered it with his own. “Analisa,” he said as if the weight of her name felt foreign on his tongue. “Have you truly read my letters? Not the ones at the beginning,” he instructed, shaking his head. “Those aren’t of any value. The ones I wrote once I arrived in Italy and after, those are the ones to which I refer. I fear perhaps they have gone missing.”
“Not at all,” she was glad to confess. “I received them, one each month, regular as clockwork. It was something upon which I knew I might always depend.” She was surprised to realize that she had, indeed, depended on the arrival of his letters. It allowed her to suppose that, even if every other man had forgotten her, one had not.
“Then you must remember that day, the one of which I wrote; I shall never forget what you did.”
She hung her head, unaccountably terrified that he should read her expression and learn the truth.
He took her chin in his free hand and drew it up. “You do remember,” he prompted, searching her eyes, his own full of hope.
She was painfully aware that she dared not delay her confession any longer but she could think of nothing but the manner in which his heart pounded under her hand. She could not work out what it could possibly mean.
“I do believe this is the moment Mrs. Smith would have me turn away in maidenly modesty.” Her words were meant to serve as an amusing distraction, but, to her astonishment, her voice shook and, despite every effort to do otherwise, she found it impossible to look anywhere but his lips. Most alarming of all was the manner in which her heart beat in tandem with his, hard and ever faster.
“Analisa,” he whispered as he lowered his head to hers. “So long have I waited for you.”
His kiss was that of a man parched with thirst, his lips hot, demanding and too much occupied to bar the groan that rose up from his throat. Quite unlike the kiss bestowed by Mr. Callerton, it was long and lingering. He did not drag her into his arms nor take liberties that implied he thought her his; rather, he plundered her lips as if they were stolen treasure he could no longer resist or deny.
To her chagrin, nothing had been said in Mrs. Smith’s etiquette lesson as to what manner a young lady should espouse when having her lips scorched and her knees buckled. Analisa rather thought she was meant to favor his impertinence with a resounding slap, but her right arm was trapped against his chest, and the other hand, of its own accord, crept up to rest where the curls met the back of his cravat.
When, finally, he lifted his head, hers was swimming so that it proved difficult to think. The smile he offered was as sweet as any she had seen, and she returned it too quickly to allow her time to consider what it might cause him to believe.
“Your father had a message from you before I left for Dance Hall. I was present when he sent your mother to your room in search of letters. Perhaps I am wrong to yet entertain expectations,” he said, his words belied by the manner in which his eyes fairly danced. “However, it has given me great hope to know that you wish my poor scribbles near you.”
Analisa had never been so grateful for one of Mrs. Smith’s lessons for there was not a better moment to look away with maidenly constraint. She was most grateful, also, for the support his arm gave her when he took hers up again to proceed towards the front hall. Weak with fear that he had indeed assumed too much, she fretted that her guilt showed on her face. Having no wish to meet a living soul, the main portion of the house was achieved sooner than she had hoped. Her fears were realized when she spied Emily lingering by the front portal.
“Ah, Miss Everitt,” the earl announced in so steady a voice Analisa could not help but wonder at it. “Many thanks for your efforts in locating Miss Lloyd-Jones. As you see, I have found her.”
“My lord, how clever of you! But, Analisa, you were meant to attend the etiquette lesson. I was growing anxious on your behalf.”
“I went to take a turn about the garden, and when I finally found a door into the house, I became disorientated.” Her voice sounded strange in her own ears and more than a little breathless.
“Dearest, you appear to be burning with fever,” Emily said. She stepped forward and laid a hand against her friend’s cheek.
“Do I?” Analisa replied weakly. “It is nothing. ’Twas exceedingly warm in the greenhouse.”
“Greenhouse?” Emily echoed.
“It is quite lovely,” the earl replied. “Perhaps Mr. Wainwright would be best pleased to explore it with you, Miss Everitt.”
“Mr. Wainwright. But of course,” Emily said with an arch look for Analisa.
A prolonged silence fell before Lord Northrup again spoke. “Miss Lloyd-Jones, I wonder if you would be good enough to escort me out onto the drive. There is something I would like to show you.”
Analisa noted the gleam in Emily’s eye and knew they were of one mind; Lord Northrup meant to renew his proposal of marriage. “I should be happy to do so, my lord, if it requires but a moment,” she said in tones meant to dampen his intentions. “It shall be time, soon, for luncheon, followed by the dancing lesson.”
Her admonition apparently caused him no concern as he motioned the butler to open the door, after which her suitor took her by the hand and led her out onto the drive. Analisa’s heart sank within her; his disappointment at her betrothal to another would now prove greater than it might have less than an hour ago.
“My lord,” she began, unsure of what should follow.
Immediately, he stopped and turned to her, his face wreathed in smiles. For the first time in her memory, she believed him comelier than any man of her acquaintance.
It was at that moment Mr. Callerton burst from the house, Emily in his wake. Analisa knew not whether to be relieved at the delay of the inevitable or apprehensive of what was now to come. As she snatched her hand from the earl’s grasp, a rider appeared on the path from the gatehouse and proceeded towards them at great speed.
Mr. Callerton seemed to take notice of naught but Analisa. “Miss Lloyd-Jones, you are utterly charming,” he proclaimed as he edged the earl to one side and took her hand in his. “I so enjoyed our little tête-à-tête this afternoon.”
She watched Mr. Callerton bend over her hand and kiss it as if it were happening to another girl entirely. Rather, it was the earl who claimed all of her attention. Her heart hammered in trepidation as, slowly, a crease appeared between his brows, and the smile fell from his face. She was never to know his further reaction to Mr. Callerton’s behavior for in that moment the rider forced his mount nearly to Analisa’s side and, with a spray of crushed limestone, ground to a halt.
“You fool!” Mr. Callerton placed himself as a barrier between Analisa and the restive horse. “You have put the lady in some danger.”
“I beg your pardon,” the rider said as he slid to the ground, “but I was told to deliver this without delay.” The rider held out a packet just as Mr. Callerton reached for it, and the ensuing collision sent the entire bundle of papers tumbling to the ground. The rider lost no time in attempting to collect them, but Mr. Callerton would have none of it. The manner in which he pushed the boy away was so proprietary as to be brash.
“Why, Miss Lloyd-Jones, how extraordinary.” Mr. Callerton turned to her, his hands full of packets of parchment, most with seals unbroken. “These look to be Laurie’s letters to you from our days on the Continent. Perhaps now you might read what he wrote of me,” he suggested with a broad smile.
Quickly, she looked to the earl, her heart quailing within her as he plucked a sampling of parchment from Mr. Callerton’s hand. In disbelief, Lord Northrup shuffled through the still-sealed letters until, finally, the anger she had so feared since his return became agonizingly apparent.
“What am I to make of this?” he demanded with far more restraint than she had dared to expect.<
br />
“As you have surmised, I sent for them. I wished to read them,” she began, hoping to explain.
“How can that be? You gave me reason to believe that you had done!”
“I have done no such thing,” she returned, indignant.
“What you, indeed, have not done was to read my letters followed by your audacity in leading me to believe that you had. And for what purpose should you wish to read them now? To glean from them my assessment of Mr. Callerton?”
Analisa was lost for a reply that would not serve to deepen his anger. Worse, any response she made should only serve to sink her further in his esteem; it was that from which she shrank the most.
“The words I spoke,” he ground out as he shook his head in disbelief, “would have remained unsaid if I had but known the true state of your heart.” He looked at the ground in dismay, the crease between his brows dark and thunderous. “And in my earnest belief that my feelings were finally returned, I . . .” He pressed his lips together in refusal to air the words that would make the others privy to what should prove to be her shame. “And you allowed it!”
“Lord Northrup,” Analisa cried, aghast. “You rather make it sound as if I am expected to be the keeper of your virtue. Do you expect the same from others or is it only I who must ensure that behavior be pristine?”
He frowned in apparent bafflement. “Others?”
She looked him directly in the eye, fulminating as it was, and lifted her chin. “You traveled for nearly two years on the Continent, to Italy and other places as well. I find it difficult to believe that in all of that time you had none for companion but Mr. Callerton.”
His face drained white as his eyes opened wide in comprehension. “There have been,” he said in clipped tones, “no others. That I cannot say the same of you . . .” Jaw gripped tightly against what he might have said, he pushed past Mr. Callerton and threw the fistful of letters in his possession to the ground. Then he swung himself onto the messenger’s horse and galloped away.
Mr. Callerton dropped the balance of the missives to join their fellows in the limestone gravel. “I fear Sir Rectitude shall be in a fury for a good while yet,” he said as he once again possessed himself of Analisa’s hand. “I expect he shall never forgive you. In the end, however,” he said with a wink, “it shall clear the way.”
“Mr. Callerton,” Analisa said slowly. “The dancing lesson shall not commence for several more hours. I would be pleased if you were to leave until expected.”
“But of course,” he replied with an inclination of the head.
Analisa hardly noticed his departure, so intent was she on the diminishing figure of the earl as he galloped into the distance. She waited until he was well and truly gone before she fell to her knees and allowed the sobs to rise from her throat. When she had plucked every one of his letters from the ground, she stood to discover Emily still in the drive, transfixed in astonishment.
“Analisa, my darling, what has happened?” Emily begged. “How is it possible that anything of note has happened? We have only been parted since breakfast.”
“Emily, you must swear to me that you shall never tell a soul.”
“What might I possibly say?” Emily asked as she went to Analisa’s side and put her arms about her. “Though, I shall admit that I am trembling in fear for you.”
Analisa relaxed into Emily’s arms. “You are my dearest friend, and I swear to tell you all. Only, we must not be overheard.”
Together, they entered Dance Hall and made their way to Analisa’s chamber. Once she had locked away the letters in her portmanteau, she gave Emily her full attention.
“Lord Northrup kissed me.”
“Oh, indeed something has happened, and it is terribly exciting! Mrs. Smith would suffer an apoplexy if she knew of it,” Emily pronounced with a roll of her eyes. “But I do not see how that has led to such a dreadful altercation.”
“I do! Oh, Emily, I have made such a muddle of things,” Analisa moaned as she collapsed onto the bed.
“Then, dearest,” Emily said as she laid her head on the pillow next to her friend’s, “you had best start at the beginning.”
“I confess I hardly know where that is. He has always behaved as if I was his due, and it just as unendingly vexed me.”
“He vexed us all,” Emily said with a sigh. “He was always such a little jackanapes.”
“He was no such thing,” Analisa insisted, though she refrained from asking herself why it hurt to hear him made such an object of fun.
“But of course he was! And yet, you were always kind to him, always saw the matter as if looking through his eyes, just as you are doing now.”
“Perhaps, but kindness is not love, Emily. He has expected me to love him. It has been quite intolerable. Why, he is nothing but a boy—that rusty hair, those freckles! And he ever so tall and thin as a rail!”
“Analisa Lloyd-Jones, now it is you who are the jackanapes! He is a man grown, and his hair is no longer rusty. I don’t know precisely how you would name it,” Emily mused, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. “But it’s so glorious that I wish nothing more than to run my fingers through it the moment I lay eyes on him. Naturally, he is still quite tall, but he has grown into his height, and wonderfully so! And now that his face is no longer as white as a ghost’s, one barely perceives the freckles.”
Analisa forced down the tremor of anxiety that rose in her heart at Emily’s exclamations of delight. “Yes, you are quite right. I suppose my words were meant to explain why I have not read his letters—why I have not wished to—before now.”
“Is that what has made him so angry, then?”
“Yes. I was afforded a number of opportunities to tell him the truth and I did not. I was apprehensive,” she said with a wan smile. “But that is not all that has made him angry. I can’t say how he could possibly have divined the truth about Mr. Callerton, for he has kissed me today as well.”
Emily’s brows rose nearly into her hair. “Analisa Lloyd-Jones! Do remind me to beg off of etiquette lessons in future!”
Analisa chuckled ruefully. “It was not as if I refrained from attending in pursuit of my first kiss. Rather, I wished to be alone so as to ponder. The other morning, the earl and I came to a bit of an understanding. I made it known that I had no desire to marry him, and he conceded that he was wrong to assume I had done. He gave me reason to entertain hopes that if I should invite an offer of marriage from someone else before he had a chance to post betrothal notices to the papers, he would consider our marriage contract null and void.”
“Why have you not spoken of this to me?” Emily demanded.
“I don’t know,” Analisa said with true regret. “I suppose I felt that you were hoping for an offer from him, yourself.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! How could I have been ignorant of his intentions towards you? You have spoken of it often enough. But, pray tell, what does this have to do with his letters?”
“He wrote of what he wished me to know,” Analisa replied. “His feelings about events that occurred in the past, I believe. That is why I had them fetched; I meant to read them all tonight so that I need no longer lie. But, Emily, that is not all; Mr. Callerton has offered marriage.”
“Egad! What are you to do?”
“I shall marry Mr. Callerton. Only . . .”
Emily reached across the counterpane and took her friend’s hand in hers. “Only what?”
Analisa sighed as tears started in her eyes. “The notion of causing grief to the earl has precipitated such a dampening of my spirits. And yet, I cannot help but feel that Mr. Callerton shall make me a more comfortable husband, one who shall not expect me to love him in ways that I do not. Does that make me insufferably self-indulgent, Emily?”
“Not insufferably so, I don’t believe, but very possibly foolish. One does not feel downcast over the pain of a man for whom one does not care. And, in all fairness, Lord Northrup offered for you long ago.”
“It is true, but wh
en Father informed me that the earl had asked for my hand, I could not refrain from weeping. Even Colin thought it a bad match. He knew Lord Northrup could never manage me, and I agreed.”
“Yes, dearest, but since then you have transformed into a woman. No longer are you the petted and adored debutante of every ball, demanding, albeit good-naturedly,” Emily added hastily, “to have her way in any disagreement. You are meeker, more biddable, and it is all to the good.”
“I suppose I should feel vilified by your words,” Analisa remarked. “However, to my astonishment I find that it is only his opinion of me that matters in the least.”
Emily reached out and brushed away the tears that streamed down Analisa’s face. “Perhaps your path shall be made clear in the reading of his letters.”
“Yes,” Analisa replied. “They have waited long enough.”
Chapter Seven
Jete—To Leap
Analisa, Lord Northrup’s letters in hand, settled herself on the bed against a quantity of lace-trimmed pillows. Quickly, she put aside the few she had read upon his initial departure two years prior; there was no need to reread such self-important, objectionable words. Then she carefully broke the seal on each of the folded pieces of parchment and arranged them accordingly by date.
Frankfurt, September 1815
Miss Lloyd-Jones,
I write to assure you of my safe arrival into Germany. I would not have you unduly alarmed for my safety and have made the assuagement of your fears my first order of business upon obtaining my room. I look forward with great anticipation to the day when our presence in one another’s company shall be contiguous, and we might travel together as far and wide as we wish. I have not as of yet received any of your letters and can only assume that I have traveled too far and too quickly for them to find me. Have no fear; I am persuaded they shall catch me up in due course.
Yours, As Ever,
Northrup
Analisa put this letter aside with distaste; it served as an excellent reminder of the earl’s former arrogance. With a sigh, she chose a missive with a later date.
Timeless Regency Collection: A Midwinter Ball Page 6