A Gift for Fiona (The Love Letters Series Book 2)

by Rogers, Suzanne G.

  “I’ll take care of it, I promise.”

  Fiona moved over to embrace Lara. “Write and tell me all your news.”

  “Nothing will be quite so much fun without you. Please don’t rush into anything as far as Sir Harry is concerned.”

  Again, Fiona merely smiled. Miles was next, and she extended her hand. “I hope you find the rest of the Season to be enjoyable.”

  He shook her hand. “Thank you, Fiona. Don’t stay gone too long.”

  Angelica gestured to her son. “Come along, Billy, and give your aunt a hug.”

  The nanny had the toddler by the hand, but as soon as Fiona knelt and held out her arms, he broke away and ran to her. When she buried her face in his chubby neck, she was almost undone. The little boy smelled of Castile soap and some other mysterious, wonderful fragrance of his own. Her throat began to burn with suppressed tears, and she wished there were some way to deaden her emotions.

  “I’m going to miss you,” she murmured. “Be a good boy while I’m gone and take care of your mama.”

  He nodded with solemnity. “I will.”

  Fiona stood. “Come along, Moira. We’ve a train to catch.”

  She strode through the door without looking back, unwilling to let anyone see the tears coursing down her cheeks. Although her departure was difficult for her, at least her family would feel relief at her absence. Miles would propose to Lara at last, and life at the Greystoke townhouse would be happy once more.

  Billy burst into tears when the front door closed. Although Angelica tried to comfort him, the little boy seemed inconsolable. Finally, the nanny clucked her tongue.

  “Come along, luv, and let’s see if we can find you a biscuit.” As the nanny led Billy toward the kitchen, his wails softened into the occasional snuffle.

  Lara touched Miles’s arm. “You look troubled.”

  “There’s definitely something wrong. Fiona was awfully formal with me, did you notice?”

  “I did, rather,” Lara admitted.

  “I can’t imagine what I’ve done to offend her.”

  “Perhaps nothing,” Angelica said. “I daresay we’ll understand a little more as time goes on. Let’s not worry about it at present.”

  Miles and Lara disappeared into the drawing room, and Angelica made her way upstairs. Despite her advice to Lara and Miles, she was dreadfully concerned about Fiona. Of the two twins, Fiona had always had the more difficult time coping with disappointments. Although she’d occasionally made some bad choices, she’d always managed to make things right in the end. Angelica had almost always been taken into Fiona’s confidence before now, and the girl’s reticence worried her more than anything else. Whatever her troubles, why hadn’t she asked for help?

  As Angelica approached Fiona’s room, one of the maids appeared with a wrinkled blue and white striped gown draped over her arm. “Mrs. Greystoke, this was in the laundry room. I think Moira must have forgotten about it.”

  Angelica recognized the dress as one Fiona had worn the day before.

  “It’s in a dreadful condition, I’m afraid. Would you sponge and press it, please? I don’t want to send along a dirty gown.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I found this letter in the pocket.” The maid produced a crushed envelope. “I didn’t know if Miss Fiona meant to throw it away or not.”

  “Thank you, Emma.”

  After the maid left with the dress, Angelica smoothed out the crushed letter. She was taken aback to discover it was from Rory Braithwaite. Fiona hadn’t said a word about receiving a letter from the man, and she’d had every opportunity to say so at breakfast. Something must be amiss, or her sister wouldn’t have taken such pains to conceal it. Had he written something to upset Fiona so badly she’d decided to flee London as a result? Angelica bit her lip, struggling against the temptation to read the letter. To do so was not only a breach of etiquette, but it might even be considered unforgivable. Oh, blazes, she should just take responsibility and read it. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have her sister’s best interests at heart.

  Halfway through reading the missive, she sat down in a nearby rocking chair with her hand over her mouth in dismay. Afterward, she rang for a servant to fetch Miles immediately. He came at a run, with Lara hard on his heels.

  “Are you unwell, Angelica?”

  She shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with me, but you’ve been greatly mistaken in your friendship with Rory Braithwaite.” Tears sprang to her eyes as she gestured toward the letter. “He wrote a letter to Fiona, and I’ve never read anything so horrible in my life.”

  Miles exchanged a bewildered glance with Lara. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Just listen.”

  Although she nearly choked on the words, Angelica read the letter aloud. Miles audibly gasped when she read the part about his distaste for Fiona’s company, and Lara dissolved into tears.

  He held his tongue until she reached the end. “That’s complete and utter tripe from beginning to end!” he exclaimed finally. “May I see that letter?”

  Angelica relinquished it to him.

  Blotting moisture from her eyes with a handkerchief, Lara sank onto the footstool next to Angelica’s chair. “Poor Fiona! Even though it’s all lies, I can’t bear to think what she must be going through!”

  “I wish she’d shown the letter to me,” Angelica said. “I only happened upon it when she left it behind in her haste to depart.”

  “I imagine she was too mortified to confide in anyone,” Lara said. “I told her that Mr. Braithwaite and Miles are as close as brothers, so she would have taken what he wrote to heart.”

  Miles peered at the letter. “He didn’t write it. This doesn’t sound like Rory, and I don’t recognize the handwriting.” He glanced up, stricken. “How could Fiona ever imagine I have less than the warmest regard for her?”

  “Because of Lord Moordale’s shabby treatment, she was demoralized when she read the letter,” Angelica said. “Sometimes when you’re at your lowest, you’ll believe anything.”

  “This cannot be allowed to stand.” He folded the letter into his pocket. “I’ll call on Rory immediately and get things cleared up.”

  “What if Mr. Braithwaite and his sister have already left for Paris?” Angelica asked.

  “I’d follow Rory to Paris if I must, to settle this on Fiona’s behalf.”

  Lara stood and gave him a hug and a kiss. “Do hurry!”

  In the library, Rory perused the shelves as he searched for books to bring with him on his journey. Although he wished he could just escort Iris to Aunt Naomi’s house in the Faubourg Saint-Germain district and leave right away, his aunt would consider an abrupt departure ill-mannered. So he planned to spend his time wisely by enlisting Aunt Naomi’s help with her favorite niece. The woman was well-connected and wealthy and surely could make a match for Iris with some hapless Frenchman who wouldn’t mind being hen-pecked for the rest of his life. Certainly if Iris took up residence in France, Rory wouldn’t complain.

  Just as he selected Hardy’s Far From the Madding Crowd from the bookshelf, the sound of a row in the entryway gave him pause. The butler appeared with a harassed expression on his normally placid face. “Excuse me, Master Rory, but—”

  Miles brushed past, looking more upset than Rory had ever seen him. “I must speak with you on an urgent matter that can’t wait!”

  The poor butler turned pink and sputtered in protest, but Rory held up a quelling hand.

  “It’s all right, Glade. If Mr. Greystoke says it’s important, I’ll make the time.”

  “Very good, sir.” The butler shot Miles a deadly glance and left.

  Rory peered at his friend with concern. “What’s happened?”

  Miles thrust a creased envelope toward him. “Did you send this letter to Fiona?”

  “I’ve not sent her any correspondence at all, why?”

  “Read it.”

  Although he was bewildered, Rory slid the stationery from the envelope and read what w
as written thereon. A sense of horror came over him. “No, I didn’t write this, and nothing would have induced me to do so!”

  “I didn’t think you had, but we must get to the bottom of it for Fiona’s sake. She left London for Blythe Village this morning, thinking you and I both dislike her.”

  A wave of emotional pain tore through Rory’s heart, but he forced himself to examine the letter again. It didn’t take long for him to realize who’d written the letter, and why. He tugged on the bell pull, and Glade appeared almost instantly.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Summon my sister and father, please,” Rory said.

  The man hesitated. “And if Miss Iris declines to come?”

  “Inform her I’ll be up directly to yank her downstairs by the collar, if necessary.”

  A whisper of a smile lifted the corners of the butler’s mouth. “Yes, sir.”

  After Glade disappeared, Rory gave Miles a grim glance.

  “This poisonous letter is my sister’s handiwork.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve no doubt Iris meant to punish me in the worst possible way by hurting Miss Fiona, and she succeeded.”

  “I’m appalled, Rory.”

  “As am I.”

  “Did you have an argument with Fiona? That letter seemed to suggest she’d sent some sort of apology to you.”

  “If so, Iris intercepted it.”

  “You never mentioned having had a disagreement.”

  “It was between me and Miss Fiona. You see, she was a little put out after Moordale’s betrayal, and didn’t want to have anything to do with the Braithwaites. Although it grieved me, I can’t say that I blamed her.”

  Peyton strode into the library. “What the devil is going on? Your sister’s in an uproar, and neither of you is ready to leave for—” He broke off when he spotted Miles. “Hello, Mr. Greystoke. I was unaware you’d come to call.”

  “It’s not a social visit, sir.”

  “Paris will have to be postponed, Father,” Rory said. “We’ve a grave situation to sort out involving Iris. I believe—”

  Iris stormed into the room. She was fully dressed for travel, but her hair was hanging down around her shoulders in hanks, as if she’d been interrupted mid-coiffeur. “This had better be worthwhile, brother! Glade related your primitive, brutish sentiments, and I consider them to be extraordinarily rude!”

  Her gaze fell onto Miles, and her expression turned wary. “Oh…good morning.”

  “Good morning, Miss Braithwaite.” Miles’s tone was icy.

  The butler reached for the door handle, to pull the door closed.

  “Pardon me, Glade, one more thing. Did I receive a letter yesterday?” Rory asked.

  “Er…yes, sir. A letter came by messenger and I gave it to Miss Iris for safekeeping. I hope I didn’t do anything wrong?”

  “No, of course not. Thank you, Glade.”

  As the door closed, Iris’s gaze dropped to the oriental rug underneath her feet.

  Rory cleared his throat. “Father, Miss Fiona Robinson sent me a letter which Iris intercepted. Thereafter, she took it upon herself to answer it in my name and in doing so has caused untold havoc and injury!” He held up the offensive missive. “Fortunately, Miles has just brought this entire debacle to my attention.”

  “Let me see that.” Peyton took the letter and perused the contents.

  A flicker of apprehension crossed Iris’s face. “It was a silly joke. Nobody sensible could ever have taken it seriously.”

  “Where’s the letter Miss Fiona sent me?” Rory demanded.

  Her voice became child-like. “I’m not certain.”

  “If you don’t find it, I’ll search your room myself. Trust me when I say I’ll think nothing of ripping up all your hats and gowns in the process.”

  Her eyes flashed with anger. “You’re a horrible bully!”

  Fortunately for Iris, the rude response bubbling up onto Rory’s lips was quelled by the presence of Miles. Peyton muttered an oath under his breath as he read the letter, and thereafter he lanced Iris with his gaze. “You wrote this?”

  A tiny nod.

  “And you intercepted Miss Fiona’s letter to your brother?”

  Another tiny nod.

  “I’m glad your mother isn’t alive to see what you’ve become.”

  Her face crumpled and she began to cry. Peyton pointed to the writing desk in the corner.

  “Write an apology to Miss Fiona immediately. Afterward, you will return her purloined letter to your brother.”

  Without protest, Iris hastened over to the desk, sat, and began to write. Her pen made scratching noises on the stationery as she scrawled out the apology. While she worked, Peyton paced back and forth, deep in thought. Rory and Miles exchanged a glance, but nobody spoke until Iris set down her pen. “I’m done.”

  Rory crossed over to his sister, picked up the letter, and read it. Although perfunctorily, Iris had explained what she’d done, taken responsibility for her actions, and offered her apology.

  He handed the letter to Miles. “If that will do, I’ll make plans to depart for Blythe Village immediately. I intend to deliver the letter personally to Miss Fiona and explain this entire mess from beginning to end.”

  Miles read the letter, nodded, and gave it back to him. “The personal approach would be best.”

  “I just wish there was some way to make amends,” Rory said.

  “Perhaps Miss Fiona will take some solace in Iris’s exile,” Peyton said.

  She hung her head. “I’m to go to Paris permanently, then?”

  “Paris would be too much of a treat, I wager,” Peyton said. “No, I have cousins living abroad who might be willing to take you in, given the proper financial inducement. You’ll do very well in Philadelphia, I imagine.”

  “America?” Iris shrieked. “Why, that’s too cruel! Papa, how could you?”

  Chapter Six

  Blythe Manor

  “IT WILL TAKE SOME WEEKS to arrange the journey,” Peyton said. “First, I must write to James and Katrina to make sure they’re amenable to having company. Then, I’ll book passage for both of us on a steamship from Liverpool. I’ll escort you myself, of course, to make sure you’re well supervised. Until then, Iris, you’re to decline all invitations and be confined to the house, except for church on Sundays.”

  With a long, drawn-out wail, she fled from the room.

  Peyton glanced at Miles. “I apologize for my daughter’s appalling behavior. Do you suppose her punishment will bring Miss Fiona some comfort?”

  “Yes, sir,” Miles replied. “Thank you, Mr. Braithwaite. You’ve behaved in a very gentlemanly fashion, and nobody could ask anything more.”

  “It’s the least I can do, all things considered.” He shook his head. “My daughter is a very unhappy woman. Perhaps a new start in America is what she needs to improve herself.”

  Rory was unconcerned with his sister’s improvement. “Father, I’m going to Blythe Village this afternoon.”

  “You’re getting such a late start, I daresay you’ll have to spend the night at an inn.”

  “Probably so, but I’m already packed.” He tucked the letter of apology into his coat pocket. “I hope Miss Fiona will agree to see me.”

  “I’ll go with you, just to make sure she does,” Miles said. “Let me go back to the townhouse to pack a few things and then I’ll meet you at the station. If we hurry, we can catch the one o’clock and arrive well before nightfall.”

  Miles took his leave. Before Rory went upstairs to speak with his valet, Peyton gave him a sorrowful smile.

  “I’m sorry, Rory.”

  “What for? You didn’t have anything to do with Iris’s mischief.”

  “Not directly perhaps, but it’s as much my fault as anyone’s. Iris’s character took a dark turn after your mother died, and I should have used a firmer hand with her.” He paused. “You’ve an abundance of regard for Miss Fiona, I take it?”

  “She’s the most
intriguing girl I’ve ever met.”

  “Don’t let her get away, then. Your mother was the most intriguing women I ever met and I never regretted marrying her.”

  “I’ll do my best, Father, but I fear the task is truly impossible.”

  “Perhaps not. I daresay Miss Fiona wouldn’t have been quite so hurt by your sister’s ridiculous letter if she hadn’t cared a great deal about your opinion.”

  A sudden surge of hope made Rory smile. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Thank you, Father.”

  Peyton chuckled. “Carry on, then. Perhaps you should plan to stay a few days, to conduct a campaign, as it were.”

  “Why not?”

  Rory grabbed the Thomas Hardy book, hastened from the library, and loped up the stairs. When he made his way to his sister’s room to demand the return of Fiona’s letter, he discovered it torn into quarters in the hallway outside her closed door. With a sigh, he picked up the pieces and continued on to his own room, where his valet had not yet finished packing his trunk.

  “We’ve a change of plans, Garrison. Instead of traveling to Paris, we’re taking the train north to Blythe Village.”

  His valet gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank heavens. The crossing always makes me exceedingly ill.”

  “I’m not certain how long we’ll be staying, but be sure to pack evening and riding clothes, just to prepare for all eventualities.” Rory checked his timepiece. “And since we’re to catch the one o’clock, you’ll have to be quick about it.”

  While his valet worked, Rory went to his desk and pieced together Fiona’s letter. As he read her sweet sentiments, his eyes grew slightly moist with emotion. It was little wonder Iris had reacted so badly, since she didn’t seem capable of such honesty herself. Poor Fiona had laid herself bare, and Iris had answered her letter with such vicious spitefulness as took his breath away. No doubt, Fiona now thought him a foul fiend from the pits of the underworld. Even when he told her the truth, would she ever be able to look at him again without abhorrence?

  As they welcomed Fiona into the drawing room at Blythe Manor, her parents had an air of bewilderment.