Lydia's eyes glowed wild with anticipation. "We are."
"Don't you think it might be dangerous? Those stairs should be condemned." Valeria's assessment was validated when her aunt ascended the first few steps, which creaked and popped beneath her weight.
"You can follow me, dear. If we happen upon any monsters, ghosts or ghouls, I will try to defend you."
"I'm not worried about ghouls, Lydia. I'm more worried about falling through the floor!" Valeria held her breath as she followed her aunt up the staircase.
"Are you alright back there?"
"Surviving, although it is unbelievably dark." Valeria tried to find a handrail, but there was nothing to grip. "I am amazed one of us hasn't fallen to our death."
"We've yet to reach the summit. Someone could still perish. Give it time."
"I do love how reassuring you are."
"And I love how you're so easy to tease."
When they reached the top, Valeria breathed an audible sigh of relief. Lydia crossed the room and peeled back the drapes, filtering a stream of light into their unfamiliar environs.
Valeria was surprised by how little there was to see. There was a bed at one end of the room, covered in blankets that had been seemingly devoured by vermin. At the foot of the bed was a chest that begged to be opened. The last piece of furniture was an empty shelf, on which there was an abandoned, well-used candle.
Valeria was the first to speak. "Well..."
"Well..." her aunt echoed her. "It isn't what I expected."
"It was a bit anticlimactic, wasn't it?"
Lydia answered with a disappointed nod. "But you realize we are likely the first ones to enter this room is almost twenty years?"
"Yes. Just us." As she stared at an enormous cobweb in the corner of the room, Valeria added, "and the spiders."
"Should we open the chest? It is easily the most intriguing thing in here."
"Is it locked?"
"I don't see a lock." Lydia approached the chest and tugged on the lid. When it opened, she said, "Not locked."
Valeria and her aunt stood shoulder-to-shoulder as they peered into the open chest.
There were letters, dozens of them. Lydia selected one at random, tore it from its envelope, and eagerly unfolded it.
"What are you doing?!" Valeria exclaimed.
"What does it look like I'm doing? It should be obvious."
"Those belonged to someone else! Out of respect, we should probably--"
"If the recipient of these letters did not want them to be read, they should not have left them behind," Lydia rationalized. "Are you not curious?"
"I... am." She had to be honest. "Very well. What does it say?"
Lydia read aloud. "Dear Miss Lacey, I know I should not send you this letter, scandalous as it is, but I could not let you go without telling you exactly how I feel. I find it is much easier to express my feelings with a pen. In short, I am enamoured by you. Ever since we met, you are all I have been able to think about. Your--"
"So it's a love letter?"
"So it would seem." Lydia was grinning as she studied the parchment. "The man who sent this must have been very bold indeed! Shall I continue?"
"I don't know. I feel it is a gross invasion of privacy."
Lydia ignored her niece's reservations and continued to read aloud. "Your beautiful brown eyes linger in my mind, I am quite convinced they are the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. As bright as they are, I wonder if they have not stolen their radiance from the stars. You are such a lovely woman, Miss Lacey, the loveliest woman I have ever set eyes on. If I could have but one taste of your perfect, pink lips, I would be the luckiest man on earth."
"How long has he known Miss Lacey?" Valeria mused. "If their acquaintance is a new one, it seems awfully inappropriate to ask for a kiss."
"Scandalous indeed. Shame on you, Mr..." Lydia checked the end of the letter, identifying the author. "Shame on you, Noah Worthington!"
"Is this entire box filled with love letters?"
"I don't know." Lydia discarded the first letter and unfolded another. "Dear Miss Lacey, In my dreams, I still think of our kiss. Your lips were unlike anything I have ever experienced, and it will be a lucky man who gets to kiss them for the rest of your life. I long to be that man. I would say your lips are like honey, but the comparison would not do them justice. I am sure your lips are sweeter than anything in this world."
"That sounds a bit exaggerated."
"Really? I think it sounds terribly romantic!"
"If I was Miss Lacey, I think I would be put off by Mr. Worthington's ardor."
"Dear, you need not be such a cynic. He's fallen in love with her. She was lucky to find a man who adored her so much." Lydia smiled as she read the next few sentences to herself. "You know, Henry was quite the romantic in his youth."
"Uncle Henry? Really?"
"Indeed. When we were just a bit younger than you, he used to write poetry. Not unlike Mr. Worthington, he would write odes to my eyes and stanzas about my silken skin. His eloquence would rival Lord Byron."
"Then that's all the more reason we should respect the privacy of poor Miss Lacey. Would you want someone to read your poetry from Uncle Henry? Miss Lacey, wherever she is... do you think she would want us reading her letters?"
"Henry's poems should be read. In fact, if you would like to have a gander..."
"Oh, pish. You aren't going to listen to me, are you? You might as well continue to read, because I know it would be impossible to convince you to abandon them."
Lydia kept reading, despite her niece's dissent. "I keep singing your praises to anyone who will listen. When I mentioned your perfection to a close friend, he tried to tell me no one is perfect. But you truly ARE perfect. In fact, you reach so far beyond the limits of perfection, you are truly too good for this world. I feel lucky just to stand in your presence."
"Beyond the limits of perfection..." Lydia repeated with a sigh. "What a lovely sentiment."
"Really? It sounds a bit excessive to me. Perhaps it would have more of an affect on me if I was on the receiving end of such a compliment. Come to think of it, I am not sure I have ever been on the receiving end of a compliment. Any compliment."
"Really? Never?" Lydia's wrinkles deepened as her eyebrows sprang to her forehead.
"Never," Valeria insisted. "In particular, I have never been complimented by a gentleman... unless he was complimenting my wit or knowledge."
"Then we will have to compliment each other." Lydia gently laid a hand on her niece's arm. "Valeria, dear, you are a very pretty young woman."
"I'm hardly young," Valeria protested. "Or pretty."
"How quickly you belittle yourself! You should learn to accept a compliment when it is given."
Valeria sighed. "My apologies."
"You have such lovely hair. I always wanted dark hair. It looks so exotic." She gently touched one of the curled black tendrils that framed her niece's face. "And the smattering of freckles across your nose is really quite adorable!"
"Thank you, Lydia. I will graciously accept the compliment." As she stared at the letter in her aunt's hands, she wondered how she would react to such compliments if they were paid by a gentleman. Someone like Mr. Worthington. "As for you, Aunt Lydia, your eyes are as bright and blue as ever. Your hair is as pure and white as snow, like something you might see on an angel."
"Now that's doing it much too brown!" Lydia chuckled. "As for the letters..." She reached into the chest and scooped several more envelopes into her hands.
"You're really going to read them?"
"All of them." The grin on Lydia's lips was a bit devilish. "It looks as if I will have sufficient entertainment for the next few days. Would you care to join me?"
Chapter Three
Two days after discovering Miss Lacey's love letters, Lydia Langley continued to enjoy them. She and her niece were sitting on a bench in the barren garden, where remnants of rose bushes surrounded them. The dead bushes and brown sh
rubs were more than a bit depressing, but Lydia required fresh air. So did Valeria, whose throat still tickled from all the dusting she had been forced to do.
"Oh, listen to this one!" Lydia waved the yellowed parchment and waited for her niece's full attention. "I cannot believe you are finally mine, and that you will be mine forever. How did I get so lucky? I must have been blessed by someone divine, someone who thought I might be worthy of you. I don't deserve you."
"It sounds like Mr. Worthington and Miss Lacey might be engaged," Valeria observed.
"So it does. I would like to think their courtship ended in marriage, but I have reason to believe otherwise."
"What do you mean?" Despite her cynicism, Valeria had been secretly stirred by the strangers' romance. She hated to think their ending was anything less than a happy one.
"I will tell you in a moment. Listen to this..." Lydia cleared her throat and proceeded to read a passage from a different letter. "I can hardly wait to see you again, Miss Lacey. My love for you drives me mad. At long last, I am finally able to confess my true feelings. I love you, Abigail Lacey. I fell in love with you from the moment I saw you, and I will surely love you forever."
"I wonder if she returned his love?" Valeria asked with a shrug.
"Obviously, she appreciated the letters enough to keep them. I am sure she returned his feelings."
"I would certainly hope so."
"This is from the same letter," Lydia said, and continued to read, "Before I met you, I had nothing. You have given me a reason to live, a reason to look forward to the days ahead. And I know, without a doubt, you have made me a better man than I was. You have brightened my life in more ways than you know. You are the solitary star in my moonless sky."
Lydia expelled a dreamy sigh. "Isn't that a lovely sentiment?"
"I suppose."
"You really should read one of your Uncle Henry's poems. They were every bit as passionate as Mr. Worthington's letters."
"Then I would be more than happy to read them."
"Now, as for Mr. Worthington himself..." Lydia folded the letter and returned it to its envelope. "I've been asking around, and apparently... he lives nearby."
"And I would assume Miss Lacey is his wife?"
"That's the thing, dear. I don't think so. According to what I've heard, Noah Worthington is something of a recluse."
"Are you sure it's the same man?"
"Of course. How many Noah Worthingtons could there be?"
"So, what happened between Mr. Worthington and Abigail Lacey?" Valeria was surprised by how stirred she was by the lives of two people she would likely never meet. "They didn't get married after all?"
"I would assume they did not. For what other reason would he be, to this day, an unmarried hermit?" Lost in thought, Lydia tapped her chin with the corner of an envelope. "It is strange to think the author of these letters is still out there. Wouldn't you like to meet him?"
"No!" Valeria's answer came swiftly. "What could we possibly say to him? That we read his private missives?"
"Possibly. And we could ask him what became of Miss Lacey."
"You really want to meet him?" When she saw her aunt's nod, she added, "It's madness, you know."
"I happen to think it's exciting! Meeting Mr. Worthington... my heart trembles at the thought!"
"It sounds like you're a little bit in love with Mr. Worthington."
Before her aunt could protest, they were silenced by the sound of crunching foliage, and a male voice uttering a single word. "Valeria."
It was a familiar voice, but it made her jolt. When she turned around, she saw the face of her longtime friend, Harold Rigby. "Harold! Oh my! What are you doing here?!"
When Harold's gaze landed on Lydia, he said, "With your aunt here, I suppose I should call you Miss Woll."
"That's hardly necessary. I am sure Lydia knows our acquaintance is a long and familiar one." Valeria rose from the bench and took a step in Harold's direction. She had known Harold since she was nineteen, and while he had courted her at first, their relationship ultimately ended in friendship. It had been some time since she had seen him, perhaps a year or two. There were a few grays mixed in with his black hair, and he had a few extra lines around his eyes, but other than that, he looked as handsome as ever. "Did you come all the way from London?"
"I came all the way from Bath, actually. The waters were a miracle. Not only did they heal my infection, they helped me clear my head."
"You had an infection?"
"A troublesome tooth. It was inflamed, but now it feels perfectly fine."
"That's good to hear."
"I tried the front door. There was no answer."
"We have no butler," Lydia explained. "Nor a maid, or a servant of any sort. We've only recently made this our home."
"I see. Then I hope you don't mind that I approached you in the garden?"
"I don't mind at all," Valeria said with a smile. "And I'm not entirely sure you can call this a garden. Everything is dead out here. This space is in desperate need of a revival."
"It isn't so bad," Harold lied. His eyes lingered on Lydia, then he asked, "Valeria, may I speak to you for a moment?"
"We're speaking right now."
"Privately," Harold insisted. "It won't take long."
"Seeing as you have traveled all the way from Bath, it must be important." Valeria accepted Harold's proffered arm and followed him away from the bench. She could still see her aunt in the distance, unabashedly watching them. "This really is a surprise, you know."
"I had to see you." When Harold turned in her direction, his eyes were locked on hers. "I can't believe you're living all the way up here. Was it really necessary to move so far from London?"
"My aunt wanted to come here," Valeria explained. "And I would follow her anywhere."
"Even if it meant leaving all of your friends?"
"Aunt Lydia is my best friend. I've been with her for the last seven years." With a resolute nod, she repeated, "I would follow her anywhere."
"It's... it's just a shame that you're living so far away." He glanced over Valeria's shoulder and studied the huge, decaying house behind her. "You deserve better than this ramshackle place."
"Living here has proven to be a challenge," Valeria admitted. "There are so many rooms, and most of them are unlivable. But I am trying to make the most of it."
"Valeria..."
"Yes?"
"Valeria." When he uttered her name the second time, Harold reached for her hand. "Do you remember when I said the waters in Bath must have cleared my head?"
"Of course I remember," Valeria chuckled. "You said it sixty seconds ago."
"We have been friends for a very long time."
"We have."
"And I am six and thirty," Harold said. "I am not getting any younger."
"Really?" Valeria cocked her head as she examined him. "I thought you were getting younger. Your face looks very taut."
"Valeria, this is no time for jesting. This is a very serious matter!" Harold stared at her mouth, wondering what it would be like to kiss her. As long as they had been acquainted, he wondered why he never tried to kiss her. With her black hair and amber eyes, she was at least passably handsome. And even though she was practically the same age as him, she still looked young enough. The longer he thought about it, the more he knew he was making the right decision. "I'm talking about marriage!"
"Marriage? To whom?"
"Do I really need to say it?" Harold heaved an exasperated sigh. "Surely you know what I'm suggesting?"
"Are you saying... we should get married? As in, you and I?!" His meaning was obvious, but she needed to be sure.
"Yes! You should be my wife. We have known each other so long, and I am sure we would get on exceedingly well."
"I... don't know what to say."
"I am not a man of extraordinary wealth," Harold continued, "but I am sure you know I could provide for you."
"What about the young women in London? I kn
ow you had many admirers."
"I have no interest in a young wife."
Valeria winced at his inadvertent jab. "But... do you really care for me, as a husband should care for his wife?"
"I care about you well enough. Perhaps I could even grow to love you." Harold let go of her hand and fidgeted with his cravat. "What do you think, Valeria? Will you make me the happiest man in the world?"
"As tepid as your sentiments were, I highly doubt you will be the happiest man in the world."
"Nevertheless, what do you think?" he asked again.
"I think... I will need time to think."
"Time?!" Harold wrinkled his nose as he uttered the word. "What would you possibly need to think about, Valeria?! At your age, it isn't as if you're likely to get a proposal from anyone else!"
His words were cold, but true. "Well... I have my aunt to consider."
"She could live with us, if it would make you happy. You shouldn't let her keep you from having the life you want. After all, she's quite old. She could die at any moment."
"Harold!" Valeria squealed. "What an awful thing to say!"
"It might sound awful, and it might sound cruel, but I have to make you see reality! Your aunt won't be around forever."
"Harold..." As she uttered his name, Valeria's voice was tinged with exasperation. "I am not saying no, and I am not saying yes." She was leaning toward no. "I will give you an answer once I have had some time to think." In the corner of her eye, she could see her aunt sauntering toward them. "It really is terrible, you know... what you said about Aunt Lydia. It kills me to think of losing her."
"My apologies." He started to reach for a tendril of her hair, perhaps to tuck it behind her ear, but he withdrew his hand before it made contact. "When should I return for your answer?"
"A few days, perhaps?"
"Very well." His disappointment was obvious, but she left him no choice. "I suppose I should excuse myself."
"You are more than welcome to stay awhile."
Lydia arrived with a different opinion. "No... let him excuse himself. There is something I need to show you, Valeria."
Miss Lacey's Love Letters Page 2