It’s not your place.
Gentlemen were not to write women, especially ones they didn’t know.
Kimberly had sent the letter to her great-aunt.
Not him.
Yet she’d made a request for funds for a muff.
He should tell Lady Macy to send the money.
But then… he’d have to tell Lady Macy that he’d not only stolen the letter but had taken great pleasure in reading it.
He could send the money anonymously.
But what if she didn’t accept the money?
It would be indecent to do so.
But if he sent a muff… anonymously.
That’s what he would do.
But then again… Why be anonymous when he could be someone else?
He could write her and hope—pray—she wrote him back.
He’d accept a simple thank you for the muff.
Anything really.
But even if she didn’t write, at least he would be doing something. It would be a break from the nothingness that had become his way of life.
He pulled out a paper and began to write.
Dear Miss Kimberley Clemens
∫ ∫ ∫
CHAPTER 03
Miss Kimberley Clemens pressed her hands underneath the folds of her arms as her friend and sister-in-law Lady Sarah climbed onto the sled behind her. After treading through the snow and carrying a metal and wooden sled up a great rise for the last hour, the women were finally ready.
Down below, the white field faded into to a frozen lake, that when really cold and with great speed, would carry the sled for yards across the frozen water, allowing the women to glide and laugh as the frosty wind wrapped around their faces.
They’d waited all month for the lake to be solid enough to hold them and had inspected the hill during the fall for any holes that would ruin their descent, just as they’d done every year since they were ten.
During the summer, many came to picnic on the hill, as it had a great view of the city of Leeds. Yet come fall, everyone knew.
The hill belonged to Kimberley Clemens and Sarah Scott—now Clemens.
Kim always felt a little nervous whenever she was at the top of the hill. Once the sled started, it could not be stopped. Her brother Charles had taught them how to be careful, but when he’d become what he called ‘too old for childish games,’ he’d left the hill to the women.
Sarah wrapped her arms around Kim’s waist. The addition of Sarah’s body gave Kim the warmth she needed to uncover her hands.
As had been her way since the winter Charles took his last trip down the hill, Sarah asked, “When will be we be too old for this childish game?” She enjoyed teasing her husband even when he was not about.
And, as usual, Kim grabbed the edges of the sled, leaned forward, and whispered, “Never.”
The slight bend in her body gave them all the push they needed.
The sled rocked forward and then Kim’s stomach dropped. Her mouth opened, and she screamed as the women went coasting down the hill.
Sarah’s arms tightened around her as her own voice rose over the whistling of the chilling wind.
It went on for what seemed like forever.
Then they were on the lake, and the screams turned to laughs as Kim bent left and the sled began to spiral.
It was the most exhilarating fun she had all year. Nothing beat the freedom of falling and spinning.
Kim closed her eyes and soaked in the motion. For long moments, she stopped existing as she was and became something more.
When the sled began to slow—which always saddened her—Kim stretched her hands to the sky.
The thinness of her gloves allowed the bitter cold to touch her flesh, but she didn’t care.
Just one more minute.
The sled finally came to a halt.
Sarah sighed. “Why can’t everything feel that wonderful?”
Kim laughed. She wasn’t ready to get up. She wasn’t ready for the moment to end, even though she knew she could no longer cling to it.
Like everything wonderful, it was just out of grasp.
“Kimberley!” her mother cried from the door. “You’ve a letter!”
Kim frowned and wondered who had thought to write her. Everyone she knew and cared for lived in Leeds. Rarely did anyone write to each other unless it was an invitation and even that was usually addressed to the entire family. Not just her.
Sarah, as if reading her thoughts, said, “Do you think it one of your friends from school?”
Kim hadn’t thought of that possibility, but it was a good one. She’d made many friends while at school, but she’d not heard from any of them in almost a year, as often happened when people lost touch. “Perhaps.”
“Or maybe it is from Louvell?” Sarah asked with overdone enthusiasm.
Kim made a face that told Sarah everything she needed to know about that idea. Firstly, she could not see Louvell sitting down to write to anyone. Secondly, a letter from Louvell would be nothing to smile about.
She was kind to the man, for Louvell was by no means an evil man at all. But Kim couldn’t have made it plainer that she did not care for him in particular.
Sarah tucked her chin and then gasped. “Perhaps it’s your aunt. Perhaps she read your letter.”
Kim laughed at that. “Let us hope she didn’t and simply burned it like she does all the others.” Kim knew it a risk to write as flippantly as she did, but after the first time she had done so over two years ago, she’d been unable to resist doing so again and again.
Kim stood, planting her boots into the frozen grass, and then turned to help Sarah onto her feet.
Compared to Kim, Sarah was petite with fair hair and blue eyes. She didn’t look a day over sixteen, but she and Kim had been born the same month.
They started for the house.
Were it not for the windows that allowed light to shine through, the Clemens’ residence would have looked like nothing more than a hill of snow. It was a two-story pleasant structure that Kim loved, yet knew most of the ton would think small... to her mother’s ire. Nowhere near as grand as the one Lady Peckshire claimed to have shared with Kim’s father, Lord Peckshire, during the first year of their marriage.
Kim’s father had been a viscount, and though not wealthy, the family had never gone without.
Until he’d died.
But that was all about to change, thanks to Kim’s recommendation that her brother join in on an investment that a few other wealthy men from the town had thought to do.
Charles, with risk, had poured everything he had into it.
And it had all been worth it.
Now he and Sarah would finally have the means to live as the lord and lady they’d always dreamed of. Charles would never have to tutor again, and Sarah could enter London Society with her chin lifted high.
Kim would be getting a proper dowry. However, all she really wanted was a pair of gloves and to be left behind when her family went to London in a few months, but there was no way that was going to happen.
They entered the house and Kim was glad to find it warm.
From the foyer, she could see into the dark green and gold papered dining room on one side and the pale blue and white drawing room on the other. Up the red-carpeted stairs to the right of the room were three bedchambers. Just enough for there to be one for everyone. Sarah and Charles shared one and likely would even when they moved to a larger house.
They’d been in love for years, though Charles, being a few years older, had pretended not to notice Sarah for a time. Now they were happy, and Kim was happy for them.
Sarah excused herself to go look for her husband, and Kim went to the drawing room.
“It came with a package. Do you think it from my aunt?” her mother asked as she entered the room. Dowager Peckshire wore a fine white muslin dress with a bonnet that held an abundance of silk and lace that looked a little overdone in Kim’s opinion.
Kim had inherited her mothe
r’s eyes. A dark hue that truly had no exact color. Were they green or dark gray? Kim didn’t know. She’d gazed into her own looking glass for hours and still was no closer to an answer.
Kim had also inherited her mother’s black hair and warm coloring.
Though, as Kim stared at the brown package that sat on the tea table and was wrapped with a beautiful red ribbon, her stomach fell, and she was certain all the color left her face.
The rectangular gift was the perfect size for the muff she’d asked for.
Panic gripped her, making it impossible to walk.
She almost wished it was from Louvell now, but something told her it was not.
“Kim?” her mother called, her gaze narrowed. “Read the letter. Do not make me wait.”
Kim had lied to her mother about her great-aunt, claiming the woman wrote back. She’d created the lie in order to encourage her brother to make the investment.
Now, the dowager, and Charles, always anticipated word for Lady Macy.
Kim had encouraged them to thank her aunt or respond through her own letters, claiming to have already formed a bond with her great-aunt. Her family had agreed to it, but she knew it was only a matter of time before the truth came out.
Leeds was by no means far from Manchester. A day’s ride, if that.
When her mother waved the missive, Kim started forward and took it.
But instead of sitting by her mother in the place on the couch she’d indicated when she’d moved over, Kim went to sit by the wingback chair. Close to the fire. Just in case she had to toss it in to prevent anyone else from reading it.
She knew what to expect.
Her aunt would be disappointed.
Scandalized.
Just how many times had Kim mentioned nudity in her note?
Never one to stretch out a painful act, she broke the seal on the letter and began to read.
Yet as she finished the first sentence, she paused. Then she frowned, turned the note over, and gasped.
It was not from her aunt at all.
See how James and Kimberley's story unfolds.
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VALIANT LOVE SERIES
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Book 5 - Mark of the Marquess
Book 6 - Dread of The Earl
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COPYRIGHT AND DISCLAIMER
Copyright © 2019 by Deborah Wilson - All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are either the product of author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this book in any form or by any electronic means without written permission from the author. Recording of this book is strictly prohibited. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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