Geneva, February 1816
Dear Miss Lloyd-Jones,
I have yet to receive from you a single line. To my regret, I begin to suspect that it has naught to do with the quantity of snow outside my window. Switzerland is excessively cold, there being little to do in such weather but sit in my rooms to read and nurse my melancholy. Often, I wonder why I simply do not return home to you. I should have done so already but remain at the behest of your esteemed father, whose letters have found their way to me without the least trouble. It is his belief that you require more time to become accustomed to the notion of marriage. I agree that you are quite young and are in need of some seasoning. As such, I have conceded to his wishes.
Your Impatient Suitor,
Northrup
Analisa thought back to the previous winter and found that she could only agree with her father’s wise assessment, though the earl’s created in her a less favorable impression. She skimmed a few more letters from the previous spring, ones filled with diverting descriptions of people and places that would have proved just as delightful when they had arrived. However, she was in search of those that revealed what it was he wished her to know. Recalling that he had indicated that she should forego all others but those written from Italy, she found the first, dated June 1816.
Dear Miss Lloyd-Jones,
Germany and Switzerland are countries of dramatic beauty. I enjoyed them both exceedingly but find that the air of Genoa is the gentlest I have known since leaving England’s shores. Words are not adequate to describe the vibrant colors or the deliciously slow pace of life. I find I am drawn to it—I, who have been so eager to complete every quest. For the first time, I am reluctant to return to England. It is not that I do not yearn to see you; it is only that I begin to perceive that the man I have been is, perhaps, not the manner of man who can make you happy. I can now perceive that I have been too commanding, too jealous of your attentions to others, too sure of myself and what I have to offer. I pray that I possess the capacity to improve myself into someone with whom you can consider sharing your life.
As Ever,
Northrup
It was some time before she put aside the parchment upon which that letter was written. Indeed, she read it over and over in search of the phrase that had most caused her heart to swell. Unable to determine which, she moved on to a number of letters in which he wrote of his thoughts as he: roamed the hills, wandered the countryside, lingered in the museums, surrendered to music, learned how to dance with grace and execution, and visited with the native children as they played in the square. Reading such, it was not in the least difficult to know what was written on the heart of the man Lord Northrup had become.
Finally, there were only two letters remaining, ones she hoped spoke of the events to which he alluded with such insistence.
Florence, December 1816
Dearest Miss Lloyd-Jones,
It was always my father’s intention that I tour the Continent upon achieving manhood, just as many young men of my stamp have done. Indeed, I have met some such in my travels. He was wise to set me on this course before he shed this mortal coil, for I find that there is a most imperative broadening of the mind that can be afforded only by travelling beyond the shores of one’s birth. As I walk through the streets of the city and observe the mothers and fathers with their children, their goats and sheep by their sides, I see that they are a simple people, a poor people, but they are the happiest people I have yet beheld. Prior to leaving England, I believed I knew enough, if not all, to make me as knowledgeable as one might ever wish. I felt my country the pinnacle of any known to man, my family the pinnacle of the county, and I the pinnacle of that family. Though a nobleman only, I felt myself destined for greatness. The longer we are parted, however, the more I comprehend that the greatest achievement to which I can aspire is to make you happy.
Your Northrup
Analisa’s happiness was a matter that had never before been addressed by anyone outside of her family. Well aware that her parents had little idea of how to go about it, she owned that her brother was the only person who had set himself to the task with any degree of charity or ability. She had often longed to be loved as Colin loved his Elizabeth but had given up the notion as one so rare and unlikely that she had no hopes of it finding her. As such, the earl’s words penetrated her heart and filled it with such a swell of joy, it threatened to burst from her chest. Eagerly, she plucked the last letter from the counterpane and read.
Calais, January 1817
My Dearest Miss Lloyd-Jones,
How I long to see your face. I shall soon return to you a man changed from the one you once knew. I pray when that day arrives you shall find in me someone you can love. I shall never forget the moment I knew that I loved you and always should.
He loved her. It was an unlooked-for sentiment—one she had never thought to consider. She had always felt he regarded her merely as a possession to which he was entitled, not a soul to cherish. Savoring the first few lines of this letter, she read them over and over again before she moved on to the remainder of the letter.
I was ten and three years of age, the sole emotional support of my mother, head of my household and family, and a titled lord. Like other boys of my station, I attended a boarding school where I quickly learned that all must pay the price set by the older students. The most recent term had ended, and the young people of the county were at home. We had all been invited by the Duchess of Beaufort to a party to celebrate her daughter’s birthday. Present was one of the boys with whom I attended school. He was a strapping lad, sixteen years of age, exceptionally nimble-witted, and dangerously so. His sole aim all the weary term long had been to make my life a misery.
He found me at the refreshment table, and when he referred to me respectfully by my title rather than to call me “Ginger-Gabe” or worse, the dreaded “Lordy Laurie,” I felt somehow safe from his former abuses. He led me to the stream that he insisted bore a treasure hidden in its depths. When I failed to discern anything out of the ordinary, he proposed that I lie on the bank so as to improve my scope of vision. Had I known he would hold my face under the flow of water, I should have resisted. Pray, believe my most honest exhortations when I say he had no wish to put a period to my existence; he merely wished me to believe he did. I was only too happy to oblige and knew the end was near when, suddenly, he released me. I rose shakily to my feet and turned around to find, standing before me, a girl younger than myself but already noble in her bearing, with long dark hair and magnificent gray eyes.
I wanted nothing more than for her to believe I was not so weak, so craven, as to allow such violence to my person. And then I looked into her eyes and knew she had seen too much. She smiled at me, held out her hand, and said, ‘Come, return to the party. The lemonade is more refreshing than the water of the stream.’ How I loved her for it. That very day I made it my utmost concern to learn her name and family. I confess it came as some relief to discover that her father was not a nobleman, for it gave me the utmost confidence there would be no objections when I was ready to make her mine. After all, I was an earl.
When I returned again to school, matters were different. There were still the taunts and the misery, but there was also a grudging respect. It seems that my tormentor had concealed himself so as to witness this girl’s kindness. It inspired in him, as it does daily in me, a desire to be a better man. On my darkest days, I found I could always call to mind her ready smile; her warm laughter; the feel of her hand, gentle on my arm; the myriad virtues that followed her about every moment of every day. To secure her hand for my own before I left England’s shores was the wisest choice I have ever made. I had pictured my life with her present for too many years and could not risk leaving her at the mercy of society and its vagaries.
To that end, my dear Miss Lloyd-Jones, I wrongly threatened all those who might seek your hand within an inch of their lives if they did not leave you be. My reputation as a man with a wild temper was such
that they feared me. Letters from your father attest to the truthfulness of this; he writes that none dare to appear as if they are courting you, fearing I shall learn of it and return home to wreak my vengeance. To my undying shame, he reports that while your friends enjoy the company of suitors, you are often on your own and suffer from melancholy. Please know that this knowledge has caused me ceaseless torment since I first learned of it.
When I have returned to England, I pray I shall find that my sins are not beyond the reach of your forgiveness. If you find you can indeed absolve me of the wrongs I have done you, I humbly beg you to write and tell me what is in your heart. I know well enough it is more than I deserve, but, should you wish to do so, I ask that you have it delivered to my home. In that way, I shall have your absolution in my hand the moment I arrive. Until then, I must content myself with my hopes and dreams.
He Whose Heart is Forever
Yours,
Gabriel, Lord Northrup
A vision of the earl arriving home in quest of his letter rose into her mind; how his heart must have smote him when no letter was to be had! Tears wet her cheeks as she considered how he had arrived at Dance Hall, injured heart in his hands, in hopes he might yet earn her forgiveness. How unkind she had been—how impatient. How arrogant to assume him too self-indulgent to be alive to the truth of her wishes and feelings.
He said that he loved her, not for her wealth and consequence, but for her kindness, her faultless comportment, and her virtue. She imagined his devastation when he realized her deceit. Worse yet was Mr. Callerton’s revelation. It can only have led the earl to believe she had behaved in a manner so unworthy of his love.
Taking the bundle of letters in her arms, she rolled onto her side and shed tears of bitter regret. She knew not how long she wept, only that she was forced to swallow her tears in order to deny Ruby entrance when she rapped at the door. When, sometime later, Emily tiptoed into the room, Analisa feigned sleep. After she placed a shawl over her friend, Emily left as quietly as she had entered, but Analisa heard her in conversation through the closed door.
“She is asleep. I believe she might be ailing.”
“In that case,” came the voice of Mrs. Smith, “it is best that we leave her be. If she is to miss this afternoon’s dancing lesson, let us hope she is in top form for the ball tomorrow night. This is her third Dance Hall house party, and I fear my reputation shall suffer irreparable damage if she does not accept an offer of marriage before the week is out!”
Chapter Eight
Ballet Blanc—A Dance in White
Analisa awoke to merry birdsong. It was so cheerful, it took her a moment to realize that someone rapped at her door. “Come in,” she called as she quickly gathered the crumpled letters and placed them under a pillow.
Emily appeared on the other side of the door. “I thought you should never awake!”
Analisa smiled. “As you can see, I have done. Have I slept through breakfast?”
“Not quite, but you have slept through last night’s supper.”
“And the dancing lesson,” Analisa said slowly. “I suspect I am not in good odor with Mrs. Smith today.”
“Quite the opposite,” Emily assured. “She wants you well and rested for the ball tonight.”
Analisa rose and contemplated her reflection in the mirror. “I suppose I am well enough, but my appearance is another matter entirely.” She sat at her dressing table and picked up a brush. “Did Lord Northrup return for the lesson?” she asked as she studiously avoided Emily’s reflection in the mirror.
“No, he did not. It was most remarked upon.”
“And Mr. Callerton?”
“Yes, he was there. He danced with several of the girls. As for myself, I took the lesson with Mr. Wainwright. I find him most charming, do you not?”
“Yes, I do,” Analisa said with a wry smile. “And I think he shall make you very happy.”
The smile faded from Emily’s face. “Are you certain it shall not injure you were I to marry him? I know you hoped for an offer from him before you became a young lady with two other men fixed on marrying you.”
Analisa replaced the brush with a sigh. “There is only Mr. Callerton, and he is one I can never love. As for Lord Northrup, even if I were to consent to honor our betrothal, I doubtless shall not see him again.”
“Analisa,” Emily said quietly, “do you love the earl?”
“I do not know that I do.” Analisa rose from her chair and began to pace the room. “And yet, I do not know that I do not. I begin to remember the times we spent together when we were younger before he had become so insufferable. And now he is not in the least insufferable and is so very kind and truly wishes for my happiness above his own. And, Emily,” Analisa said as she whirled about to face her friend, “he loves me. I had not looked for that, not from any, and most especially not from him whom I thought so caught up in his consequence that he could love none but his own self. It seems that he has truly changed, and I, rather than return his feelings, have given him a disgust of me.” She squared her shoulders in determination. “I do not believe I can continue with the house party. I shall write to Papa and have him send the carriage.”
“Pray, do not be heedless,” Emily begged. “Perhaps Lord Northrup simply requires time on his own to think. If you were to send a message to your father, asking for some trifle or another, mayhap the earl will return with it.”
Hope sprang to life in Analisa’s breast at her friend’s words. “I do believe you are correct. I should then have the opportunity to speak with Lord Northrup, to explain everything, before the others arrive for dinner,” Analisa said with renewed enthusiasm. “But what if Mr. Callerton were to insist on coming along?”
“Choose something small that the earl may manage on the horse. He needs must return Mrs. Smith’s mount anyhow. Perhaps he will think ahead and bring his evening clothes along as well, so as to change for the ball.”
“Emily, you are quite, quite brilliant! I shall ask for my pearl drops and suggest that Papa send them with the earl as soon as can be.”
Analisa hastily scratched out a message, and Emily took it directly to the downstairs maid to arrange delivery. Within a very short space of time, all was sorted, and Analisa felt peace for the first time since she had learned of Lord Northrup’s return to England.
After breakfast, a meal that did little to quell Analisa’s sudden pangs of hunger, she went to the greenhouse to choose the buds for the coronet she planned to wear for the ball. This pleasant task was followed by luncheon, a merry meal attended by only Mrs. Smith and the girls of the house party, all of whom were in high spirits.
When Analisa returned to her chamber, it was, ostensibly, to rest up for the ball. In truth, she wished to be alone so as to hide her growing agitation. The hours that passed whilst she waited for Lord Northrup to arrive were the longest of her life. When a rap came at her door a mere hour prior to the dinner bell, she ran to throw the door wide.
A house maid curtsied and held out a small parcel. Analisa reached for the box and opened it to reveal the expected ear bobs. “Wait,” she called to the maid who had already hastened down the passage. “From whom did you receive these?”
The maid turned and curtsied again. “Miss, it was from the same messenger who was sent to deliver your most recent missive.”
“Thank you,” Analisa said in a voice that was faint in even her own ears. Pushing the door shut, she leaned her forehead against it and burst into tears. At length, when she finally wiped dry her eyes, she noticed a small piece of parchment beneath the ear bobs. With trembling fingers, her heart throbbing with its last hope, she retrieved the note and read the woefully few words written thereon.
Be patient, my child. He is a man wounded but one who loves you well.
“Thank you, Papa,” she whispered, her heart swelling. Perhaps he knew how to make her happy, after all.
There came another rap at the door, followed by the appearance of Emily. “What has happ
ened? Has he come?”
“No, he has not. However, this arrived with my pearls.” Analisa held out the message for Emily.
“Then you have cause to hope!” she cried upon reading it. “Clearly, he has spoken with your father, who has persuaded him to stay. He shall be at Dance Hall tonight, I know that he shall!”
Analisa embraced her friend. “I pray you are right,” she murmured into Emily’s shoulder. “However, his presence is no assurance that he yet wishes to marry me. Either way, what am I to say to Mr. Callerton?”
“You shall not marry him, then?”
“No,” Analisa said with perfect surety. “I fear I am quite spoiled for any man but he who wrote those letters. If, after all, he does not want me, I shall remain a spinster.” Analisa leaned back to look Emily in the eye. “Perhaps I ought to take up residence with Mrs. Smith and assist with her etiquette lessons until I am old and gray and too deaf to take note when someone deigns to whisper in my ear.”
Emily laughed merrily. “You shall do no such thing. You shall wed Lord Northrup as you were always meant to do. Now, I shall repair to my room to make my toilette, and you shall do the same.”
This time, when Analisa shut the door, her heart was sounder than the last. She went to the washstand to cool her face and bid Ruby to enter the room when she rapped on the door. The first task to which they attended was the dressing of Analisa’s thick hair that they artfully arranged into numberless looped braids softened by ringlets. It required an inordinate amount of time to accomplish, and Analisa had never been more pleased with the result.
At last, the moment arrived to don the ball gown Ruby had pressed and hung in the cupboard earlier that morning. It was the loveliest creation Analisa had ever seen in the pages of Ackermann’s Repository, but the reality was positively breathtaking. She stared at herself in the pier glass and could hardly believe that the vision in silver tissue was she. As she pulled the soft gloves up over her elbows, she realized there was something amiss. “Ruby, where is the coronet I asked you to fashion for my hair?”
Timeless Regency Collection: A Midwinter Ball Page 7