by Elaine Hart
Lord Fennell glanced at her and she shook her head.
“You had never told me of Lady Rebecca until after I met her, but still you remained rather vague of the details. I would not have thought much of it if you did tell me of her. She was your childhood love—”
“She was not.”
“Then what was she? Fennell,” she said, as a tear ran down her cheek, “please talk to me. You owe me that. You owe me an apology for lying to me, for keeping things from me while I was always forthcoming towards you. You have treated me rather unfairly, my lord, and you cannot keep lying to me. I deserve to know the truth, but I fear that it would only hurt me.”
“The truth is not something that will ease your mind, nor your heart, my lady,” he said.
“Your lies hurt me more than anything else ever could,” she pointed out.
Lord Fennell took a deep breath and glanced at her briefly before saying, “I am in love with Lady Rebecca.”
Lady Cassandra did not seem as shocked as he thought she would be. She simply stared at him and shook her head. “When did this happen?”
“On the eve of my ten-and-seventh birthday,” he answered.
Lady Cassandra’s jaw dropped slightly, as she had not expected his forthcoming answer.
“It was a clear night sky and Lady Rebecca had snuck through the whole in the fence to wish me a happy birthday. It was the night we carved our names into the tree. She brought one of her favorite books of poems for me. She had never parted from her beloved books, and the mere fact that she wished me to have it...” His voice trailed off and he pursed his lips.
“She gave you that book?” Lady Cassandra asked. “The book you read to me in Paris?”
“Yes.”
“You were still in love with her then?”
“We parted under terrible ways and I was convinced that she would hate me for the rest of her life.”
“But she did not, and neither did you. You kept the book. You did not even entrust me with it,” Lady Cassandra said in a hurtful tone.
“My lady, this is not about the book,” he said with a furrowed brow.
“Of course it is. That book means something to you, it always has. I was under the impression it was of Paris, and you and I.”
“I am sincerely sorry, my lady. I do not have the words to express how sorrowful I am. It was never my intention to hurt you, or lie to you.”
“Why did you lie?” she asked and crossed her arms.
“I tried to convince myself that I felt nothing for her any longer, and it worked for a while, for the entirety of our time in Paris. When I saw her at the tea garden all my feelings for her returned, and I did not want them to. I lied to myself and to you, and everyone I loved because I was too afraid to admit that I never stopped loving her, and I hurt you in the process,” he explained.
Another tear ran down Lady Cassandra’s cheek and she brushed it away.
“I hate seeing you this way, my lady,” he said with a sigh. “I wish there was something I could do to make all this right.”
“I thought hearing the truth would make me feel better,” Lady Cassandra said and inhaled deeply.
“It only made it worse,” Lord Fennell said. “I made it worse.”
She glanced at him with a frown. “As much as it pains me to say this, my lord, I would rather be hurt by someone who told me the truth, than be married to someone who only pretends to love me.”
“I am truly sorry.”
“I know you are,” she said and slowly approached him. “You are a good man, my lord, and you will make her very happy.”
“If she will speak to me.”
“Why?” she asked and glanced at him with a scowl. “What did you do?”
“I did nothing. She is still under the impression that I never had feelings for her,” he answered.
“Why on earth would she think that?” Lady Cassandra asked.
“My father wrote her a letter, claiming to be me,” he answered.
“His Grace did not wish for you to be together?” Lady Cassandra asked.
“My father believed I was destined for something more, something great, and that Lady Rebecca would hold me back. She was adventurous and free-spirited, two traits that my father did not deem appropriate for a wife, especially not for his only son,” Lord Fennell explained.
“Your father is foolish,” Lady Cassandra muttered. “Lady Rebecca is the kind of woman who would build you up and support you no matter the circumstances.”
“I am aware of this. Lady Rebecca had always been there for me, and I had never truly thanked her for that.”
“Perhaps you should.”
Lord Fennell smiled slightly and glanced at Lady Cassandra. “Will you ever be able to forgive me for what I did? For the lies?”
“Evan, my only wish for you was to be happy, and if that means that you are happy with Lady Rebecca, then so be it. She is the one who holds your heart, and you would be foolish to allow her to slip through your fingers again,” Lady Cassandra smiled through her tears.
“Thank you, my lady,” he said and took her hand. “One day you will find a man who does not make you shed a single tear, apart from tears of happiness.”
Lady Cassandra smiled weakly and nodded at him. “You best get going,” she said.
“Will you be alright?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said.
Lord Fennell nodded and rushed out of the study and down the hallway, skipping down the stairs as fast as he could without causing a threat to his life. He rushed through the terrace doors and glanced around him. The fastest way to Powderham Hall was through the hole in the fence. He ran as fast as he could and when he reached the hedge which covered the fence, he briefly glanced at the willow tree in the distance. A smile ran across his lips and he shuffled himself into the hedge. He pushed himself through the narrow space in the fence and stepped out onto the lush green grass that was always immaculately kept by the Duke Glastonbury's groundskeeper. The sun was low and the sky was simmering down as it was saturated in hues of orange and red, and it would soon be dark.
Lord Fennell ran to the side of the building, remembering the way to the kitchen and the staff quarters where he and Lady Rebecca would sneak in and out. He recalled Esther, the cook, who would sneak grapes out of the kitchen for them. He wondered whether dearest Esther was still employed by Duke Glastonbury but as he rounded the corner, a woman walked straight into him with a bucket of water, drenching him completely.
“Oh my goodness, I am sincerely sorry,” the woman said.
“It is quite alright,” he muttered, shivering from the cold water.
“Lord Fennell, is that you?”
Lord Fennell glanced at the woman and smiled. “Esther, how wonderful it is to see you.”
“Likewise, my lord, although it was not my intention to drench you in water,” Esther cringed. “I sincerely apologise.”
“There is no need to apologise, dearest Esther. In fact, it is I who must apologise for my abrupt entry,” he answered and glanced down at himself with a chuckle.
“What on earth are you doing here, my lord?” she asked.
“I must speak with Lady Rebecca. It is rather urgent,” he said.
“With all due respect, my lord, there is a better entrance than the kitchen,” she said.
“Nonsense. I entered through here when I was a boy, and there is certainly no reason for me not to enter here now.”
“As you wish, my lord. Who am I to argue with you?” Esther chuckled. “Still as headstrong as ever, I see.”
“May I go to her, Esther?” he asked.
“Be my guest, my lord,” Esther answered, “although I am not too certain where Lady Rebecca finds herself this evening. She had been reading outside for a while, but rushed in through the kitchen faster than a fox during hunting season. Those little critters are fast.”
“Did you perhaps see where she ran off to?” he asked.
“I am afraid I cannot tell you
that. I was in the middle of kneading dough for the evening loaves,” she answered. “I do know Lady Rebecca well enough to make an educated guess where she might be.”
“Please, you must tell me.”
“In the upstairs library, by the marble statue of some Greek goddess.”
“The Athena statue,” he said.
“That is the one. I keep forgetting that name,” Esther smiled.
Lord Fennell embraced her and kissed her on the cheek in sheer gratitude. “Thank you, dear Esther,” he said before running inside and through the kitchen.
“You are most welcome my lord,” he heard her say before he ran down the hallway. Knowing the hallways of Powderham Hall like the back of his hand, he made his way directly to the upstairs library, where he and Lady Rebecca would spend many afternoons reciting poems to one another. He stopped abruptly in front of the two large wooden doors and he was suddenly struck with fear. Fear of rejection, fear of losing Lady Rebecca once more, only this time would it be forever?
He silently scolded himself and inhaled deeply through his nose. He was most certainly not going to allow her to slip through his fingers again.
“Why are you all wet?” he suddenly heard behind him just as he reached for the brass handle of the library door.
Lady Rebecca’s youngest sister, Lady Diana, stood beside him in the hallway, staring up at him innocently.
“Hello,” he said politely.
“Why are you all wet?” she asked once again. “You are ruining Mother’s carpet, and the floor is wet. Someone might slip and fall.”
“Do you perhaps know if your sister, Rebecca, is in the library?”
“She is.”
“Wonderful.”
“Mother will not be thrilled with this mess,” Lady Diana said and glanced at the floor.
“I promise I will clean it up.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I am here to speak with Lady Rebecca,” he explained briefly.
“She is in the library,” she said and pointed to the door.
“Thank you for showing me the way, my lady,” he answered gallantly.
Lady Diana giggled and said, “You are welcome, my lord.”
Lord Fennell smiled as he watched young Lady Diana turn around and skip down the hallway. He waited until she was out of sight and opened the door to the library. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Diana, I told you to go away,” he heard Lady Rebecca mutter and spotted her sitting on the floor behind the statue, as if she sought out the protection from the iconic goddess.
Lady Rebecca sighed as she turned to the door and said, “Diana, please go...” Her voice trailed off as she saw Lord Fennell approaching her and she immediately scurried to her feet. “My lord, what on earth are you doing here? And why are you drenched?”
“It is a long and illogical story.”
“I bet it is.”
“I came to speak with you,” he answered simply.
“Is your betrothed aware that you are here?” Lady Rebecca asked and crossed her arms.
“In actual fact, she is.”
Lady Rebecca’s brows raised up and she cocked her head. “She is?”
“Indeed.”
“What is it you wish to speak to me about?” she asked, still reluctant.
“I am not here to speak of what happened in the past, as there were a few things that were brought to my attention.”
“Such as?”
“The letter that you received was in fact not from me, but from my father,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?” she gasped.
“My father was under the impression that you would be a distraction to me on my road to greatness,” he explained. “He wrote that letter to you, and he admitted it to me earlier today.”
“None of it was true?” she asked.
“My lady, I am not certain what he told you in the letter, and I have no desire to find out either. It will not change the situation,” he said and approached her. “Lady Cassandra and I are no longer set out to be married in April.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” she said with a cringe.
“You are as bad a liar as I am,” he grinned.
“She is a wonderful woman, the perfect woman in fact,” Lady Rebecca said.
“Some people may say that, certainly, but she is not the perfect woman for me,” he said and took her hand.
“And who might your perfect woman be?” she asked.
He squeezed her hand and smiled. “I am looking at her.”
Lady Rebecca’s cheeks colored and she lowered her gaze. “I am far from perfect, my lord.”
“To me you are perfect, my lady,” he said and reached out his hand to touch her cheek.
“I apologise for treating you the way I had, my lord. It was unfair towards you. If only I had known about the letter not coming from you, I would not have...”
“You would not have what?” he asked.
She glanced up at him and sighed. “I would not have lost my faith in love and become the cynical woman I am now.”
“That is not possible. You are still the same beautiful and wonderful woman you had always been. You are kind and witty, intelligent and spontaneous, and those are the things I love most about you.”
“You love me?” she asked.
Lord Fennell took her hand once again and smiled. “I do, and if there is one thing I regret, it is that I never told you the moment I realised it.”
“And when was this?”
“Do you remember the evening you snuck out through the fence on my ten-and-seventh birthday?” he asked.
“Of course I remember. It was the night we carved our names in the willow tree,” she said with a smile as she remembered that night ever so clearly.
“Indeed. It was also the night that you gave me your favorite book of poems,” he replied.
Her jaw dropped slightly and she glanced at him. “That is right. I loved that book very much.”
“I was aware of that. In fact, I am guessing the entire Exeter knew that,” he said with a chuckle.
“Possibly the entire county,” she giggled.
“I never truly acknowledged the importance of that book until I saw you again after all these years. The book was a token of your love, as you loved it so very much. You wished me to have something of great importance to you, and metaphorically speaking, by giving me that book, you gave me your heart,” he said.
She smiled and placed her palm against his cheek. “It is only a book.”
“No, it is much more than that. It travelled with me to Paris, and I would read it every night before I fell asleep, and it took me back to where we sat under the willow tree, glancing at the stars and dreaming of how our lives would turn out,” he said and looked deeply into her blue eyes. “Every night I wished that you could be there in Paris with me.”
She smiled happily and nodded. “I wished exactly the same things as I gazed out of my window.”
“I am here now, Rebecca, and I vow to never leave you again,” he whispered. “I love you with all of my heart and I cannot imagine my life without you.”
“I love you, Evan. I always had, even before your ten-and-seventh birthday, and I will love you long after that,” she said lovingly.
He smiled at her and pulled her close to him. He touched her chin and leaned in closer to her. He lingered for a moment, savoring the moment of having her in his arms, where she belonged. He leaned in slightly and their lips met in a tender, and much overdue kiss.
A kiss that had been in waiting for nearly five years, and now it was even better than either one of them could have imagined. In fact, it was even more perfect than any love story Lady Rebecca had ever read, and the best part of their love story was that it was only the beginning of their real-life happily ever after.
The End
A Lady’s Melody
The Daughters of Devonshire
Chapter One
May
1814
Upstairs study
Powderham Hall
Exeter
Devonshire
England
The Duke of Glastonbury sauntered about in his study, pondering to himself for a moment. The study was quiet, the way he preferred it, but something seemed amiss.
Being the father of four daughter, he had gotten used to the lively ruckus which each of his daughters provided. Lady Lucy, however, had the tendency to take things above and beyond, and attempting to tame her free-spirited manners was far beneath his touch. Lady Lucy was the third of the four daughters, and although the Duke and Duchess loved and adored all their daughters equally, Lady Lucy’s wayward ways seemed to earn her a rather intolerant position in Powderham Hall.
The Duke stopped and glanced out the window, not trusting the silence around him, and his brow furrowed. The garden of the estate was quiet and Lady Lucy was nowhere to be seen, or heard for that matter, which was quite worrying to the Duke. He expected something to happen, and knowing Lady Lucy, chaos would ensue very shortly.
“Your Grace?”
The Duke turned around and glanced at the family letter writer, Mr. James, and asked, “Do you hear that, Mr. James?”
Mr. James listened for a brief moment and his brow furrowed. “Your Grace, I believe I do not hear anything.”
Although the silence was pleasant, the Duke was well aware that it would not remain pleasant. “Precisely,” the Duke answered with a nod.
“I do not understand, Your Grace,” Mr. James uttered in confusion.
“It is much too quiet around the estate for it to be deemed normal. You are well aware of the chaotic nature in which we find ourselves on a daily basis,” the Duke said, appearing deep in thought. “I fear I should be worried.”