Seeing Miss Heartstone

by Nichole Van

  “What in heaven’s name are you referring to?”

  “—I only wished to help. If you hear nothing else from me today, please remember that much. My heart and motives were always pure.”

  He gestured toward her with his ledger.

  “You are still not making sense, Miss Heartstone. I fail to see what any of this has to do with my business partner, LHF.”

  Silence hung heavy.

  She opened her mouth, as if to speak.

  Shut it.

  Opened it again.

  “Really, my lord,” she finally said, spreading her hands wide. “You are being somewhat obtuse. Allow me to repeat. Last evening, I said I did not know a man with the initials LHF.”

  She rolled a hand. Ergo . . .

  Colin frowned, sifting through the information.

  LHF was not a man.

  Which meant . . . what?

  “Do you mean to tell me LHF is not a gentleman? He is a commoner?”

  Belle threw her arms up in the air and shook her head.

  Looking at him like he was twenty-times a fool.

  Oh.

  Oh!

  His entire body went numb. Surely this wasn’t what he was thinking—

  She continued, her voice hushed. “As I said, I did not want you to know the truth of me. Because I feared you would look at me as you are right now—eyes wide with horror.”

  “Miss Heartstone, I—”

  She stretched her hand to him. “Please, my lord, hear me out. I stayed up most of the night composing an excellent speech. I have been trying to tell you this all week, but I have allowed you to change the topic each time. Let me give my apologies first, and then you may have at me.”

  Colin froze.

  This was what she had been trying to tell all week? She hadn’t been attempting to refuse his courtship?

  His mind was literally too stunned to comprehend the magnitude of this conversation. Colin could scarcely string two thoughts together.

  She shot him a beseeching look. “I realize that mere fear or discomfort on my part is hardly a valid reason for not divulging all to your purview. I should have told you my name years ago. I have begun countless letters laying the entirety of my situation before you without finishing them. It has been selfish cowardice in me to keep this information from you.”

  “Pardon a moment.” Colin held out a staying hand, his languishing thoughts struggling to catch up. “You . . . you admit to being the illusive LHF?”

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  “And you have always been LHF? From the beginning?”

  Once more, “Yes.”

  Colin pulled the note from his pocket. Yes. It was LHF’s handwriting. Plain and clear. Proof. Evidence. He tucked it back away.

  So . . .

  Belle Heartstone was LHF.

  He blinked. Shook his head.

  No, the sentence still struggled to settle into his thoughts.

  He began pacing, setting down his ledger, picking it up again. Back and forth.

  Miss Heartstone! Belle! LHF?!

  She was far too young. Far too female. Far too . . . beautiful.

  Why beauty would be a barrier, his scrambled wits could not say.

  But . . .

  She could be brazen, forthright. If any woman could pull off such a thing, it would be her.

  How was this possible?

  He paused and stared at her, trying to see his elderly, trusted friend in her pretty face, desperately trying to reframe the past seven years of his life.

  With little success.

  “A woman. LHF. You!” he spluttered.

  Colin was starting to worry that the shock had dislodged something vital in his brain. Would he become like the vagrants in Kings Cross, shouting random words at passersby? Turnips! Upholstery! Repent ye!

  “B-but why? And . . . how?” He began pacing again, a thousand thoughts chasing each other through his brain. “I have been writing an unmarried, young gentlewoman all this time?”

  She nodded, catching her bottom lip with her teeth. “Therefore, you will hopefully understand why I have been reluctant to reveal myself to you—”

  “Reluctant? That seems a monumental understatement!”

  He had to give her credit, she squared her shoulders and faced him, even as he continued to walk back and forth.

  “You must know I have only ever wanted your success and happiness,” she said. “I originally intended to just provide you with your needed capital and send you on your way—”

  Colin stopped and lifted his hand, palm out, averting his head. Give me a moment.

  In all his mental attempts to sort the puzzle of LHF, he had never once considered that his good friend might be a woman.

  Was Belle toying with him? Had she ever been true?

  He mentally skimmed back through their letters over the years. How had she described herself?

  I am neither tall, nor short in stature. Neither thin nor stout. My hair and eyes are a simple brown. In summation, I am utterly unremarkable.

  Which, though on the surface might be true, he would give serious argument against her unremarkable-ness.

  “We have been corresponding for . . . for . . . for years.” He said the word as if it were particularly repugnant.

  “Yes.”

  “You are still so . . . so young.” He gestured toward her. “When we began writing, you were practically in the schoolroom.”

  “I am perhaps not as young as you may think me.”

  “You could not have been a day over nineteen when this began.”

  A beat.

  “That is true.”

  More pacing. Colin threaded a hand through his hair.

  So young. How was all of LHF’s wisdom possibly contained within her slight frame and pretty face?

  He felt like a lake trout, gaping and gasping on dry land, trying to make head or tails of this strange world. “You have given me sound business advice, provided breathtaking mathematical calculations, guided our investments.”

  “Yes.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Mostly. Mr. Sloan has provided some help from time to time.”

  “But . . . you are a—”

  “A woman? Yes. But . . . my father was a veritable financial wizard. He never saw my sex as a barrier to my abilities.” Was there accusation in her tone? “I learned everything I know at his knee.”

  He turned away and returned to his pacing.

  It was too much to absorb.

  Pacing.

  Back and forth, shifting the ledger from hand to hand.

  A solid, manly activity.

  The perfect thing to do when one was desperate to reorient the last seven years of one’s life.

  His very sense of reality had shifted around him. He ran a trembling hand over his chin.

  “We have exchanged drawings.” He plucked the words out of the air, as if scribbled pictures of cheeky monkeys were the issue here.

  “Uhmm. Yes.”

  “W-we founded charities together.”

  “Indeed. They have helped a great many people. It’s been a source of tremendous satisfaction for us both.”

  More pacing. His hands still shaking.

  “You have sent me books, discussed philosophy, laughed over dreadful gothic novels.” His voice rose with each syllable.

  “Yes.”

  “You came up with devilishly clever riddles.” He flung the words at her.

  “Thank you. Yours were quite clever, too.”

  He stopped and pinned her with his gaze.

  She squirmed. “Uhmm . . . to be completely honest, Miss Rutger may have helped somewhat with the riddles.” She bit her lip again. “She has a knack for them.”

  “You cheated?” He could hear the outrage in his tone.

  “Uhmm, I would not use the word cheated, my lord. I’m not quite sure one can cheat at riddles. Shall we say I sought professional advice?”

  And there it was.

  That dry
humor he had experienced in letter after letter. The same gentle wit he had been enjoying all week.

  How could it be?

  How could this woman be LHF? How could Fate have dealt with him like this?

  His chest heaved. Something that tasted strongly of panic choked him.

  “Why?” he finally gasped.

  Why me? Why you?

  How did this happen in the first place?

  She walked forward a few steps, placing a tense hand on the map table between them. “You were kind to me that morning in Hyde Park—”

  “I was?” Colin stopped, trying to recall exactly what they had said.

  “You were. You needed funds. I wanted to help. Truthfully, I simply wished to pass along my father’s excellent advice. I honestly never intended to write you again. But then you wrote me, and I wrote back, and we were in the middle of it all before . . .”

  “But you did not know me.”

  “Well, that is not precisely true. I did have a Runner research you.”

  “Right.” Sarcasm edged in. “To decide if I was husband material.”

  She squirmed again, obviously not appreciating the reference to her behavior that day.

  “But we had never met before that morning in the park.” He angled his head. “Had we?”

  “We were introduced at a musicale in London right after you rose to the marquisate.”

  A beat.

  “I have no memory of that.”

  “Yes. I gathered as much.” Again with the dry humor.

  It was an unwelcome reminder. He cared deeply about LHF. Colin had considered the man to be his Mentor, his guru . . . practically a second father.

  An older, wiser, patriarchal figure.

  Miss Heartstone was . . . not that. She was youth and feminine and beauty. A love interest. He had been intent on courting her.

  He simply could not reconcile the two people into the same body.

  His life currently sprawled before him, a shattered mass of expectations and reality.

  Some dry part of his brain unhelpfully noted that his thinking was perhaps a smidge melodramatic.

  No more gothic novels then.

  That same dry voice also pointed out that he usually championed women who seized the reins of their own destiny. So why was he now upset that someone he had looked up to and admired proved to be female?

  Colin blew out a frustrated breath.

  That was true.

  But . . . but . . . her reins were connected to his team of horses. He was fine with women in general being liberal and free. But when one controlled his journey like this . . .

  And . . .

  And . . .

  And . . . pondering this personal hypocrisy was consuming too much brain power.

  He shook all thoughts loose.

  “Again, why?” he asked “You didn’t need to help me. I refused you, after all.”

  She looked down at her hands on the table, studying her fingers.

  “As I said, you were kind to me that morning.”—She gestured toward him.—“I know my behavior was rash and unseemly. But instead of castigation or mockery, you gave me gentleness and encouragement. You changed me. I merely wished to return your behavior in kind.”

  Her fingers curled in agitation, gripping the edge of the table. She still did not raise her head.

  A wet splash dashed her hand. Followed by another.

  Blast. He had made her cry.

  Well, given her deception, she probably deserved to cry. The sorrow of the guilty.

  She was a quiet crier, he would give her that. Loud hysterics would not be her style.

  Emotions thrummed through him. Memories of Sarah’s betrayal surged forward, his emotions then and now converging into a hardened mass of . . . of . . . of—

  Colin let out a harsh breath. “Though I understand that our initial friendship might have begun in an unanticipated way, there surely was a point in the past seven years when you might have told me that You. Were. A. Woman!”

  She flinched, chest hiccupping.

  Clearing his throat, he shifted his ledger, slapping it against his thigh.

  His heart pounded in his chest. His hands shook.

  How could this be the answer to LHF?!

  Why was his throat so tight? Why was he so blindingly overset?

  How could Belle be LHF? How could his two separate worlds have collided so thoroughly? After Sarah, he had thought to avoid such women in the future.

  He ignored the unhelpful prick of his conscience that pointed out the differences between the women.

  Sarah’s bold refusal to accept the consequences of her behavior.

  Belle’s quiet owning of her actions—

  She dabbed at her eyes. “P-please know that I am genuinely sorry we have come to this—”

  Pain whipped him, lashing deep. “I do not wish for your apologies, madam. You have used my affections and friendship most abominably.”

  Quiet.

  “Understood.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What shall we do about our business?”

  “Our business?!” Colin barely avoided flinching. “You throw this . . . this . . . information at my feet and then ask me to think about such things?”

  “Of course not. Of course—”

  “I trust you will, at least, do the right thing and retreat back to London immediately. You will not suffer us to remain in close proximity to each other for the next week. And as the wronged party here, I should not be forced out.”

  “Naturally.” Another whisper.

  “As for our business, I cannot say at present. When I am ready to speak on it, I will contact Mr. Sloan, and we will proceed from there.”

  He shot her one last glance. One last look at her pretty face and soulful eyes. How could this be his answer?

  Too many emotions clogged his throat. Too much to sort through—

  “Goodbye, Miss Heartstone.”

  Colin turned on his heel, practically stomping from the room, gritting his teeth at the sounds of soft sobs behind him.

  PART III

  Consequences

  20

  . . . The magistrate grows bolder. I fear the orphaned children will be cast into the street and set adrift before we can intervene—

  —letter from Mr. Sloan to Lord Blake, sent but not yet delivered due to rain

  The door slammed behind Blake, the noise reverberating through Belle’s chest, shattering what remained of her heart.

  Blake was gone. Their friendship in tattered ruins. He had said nothing more. Merely bowed and stomped out.

  She had never considered how much hope she had secretly harbored. That somehow, against all odds, Blake would see her. That he would discover the truth about LHF and not run off in horror. But, instead, look at her with admiration.

  What had she thought would happen? That he would fall down on one knee, profess his undying devotion, and sweep her off on his noble steed to a castle in the sky?

  Oh!

  Yes, please.

  That would be so lovely.

  Ugh.

  She really needed to reassess how much bad literature she consumed.

  She was fifty—no, a thousand—ways a fool.

  Somehow, Belle managed to wipe her eyes and save the ugliest of her crying until she had retreated to her bedroom.

  Once there, she didn’t collapse onto the bed as much as it came upwards to meet her. She sprawled across it, just as she had as a child. Resting her arms on her pillows, she let it all out.

  The guilt of keeping her secret for so long.

  The relief of finally having told him.

  The pain of knowing she had lost him forever.

  A barren emptiness stretched before her.

  Belle knew, in the way of knowing things, that she would forever consider this moment to be both a death and a birth.

  A pivot point.

  One’s existence could alter so quickly. A breath. A word. A mistake. A boon.

  She kn
ew the rest of her days would flow from the actions of the past hour. Just as the events of the past seven years had been sparked by another morning in Hyde Park.

  Nothing would be as it had been.

  Every person was forever only one day away from an absolutely different life.

  Hers had now arrived; this had shattered her in truth.

  Blake was lost to her. Worse, he had taken more than just her heart with him. His loss had fractured something deep within her. She was at sixes and sevens, not knowing how to glue herself back together. And even if she did, she would forever bear the scars of where she had broken.

  Anne found her a while later.

  Belle’s sobs had moved into hiccupping breaths by that point. Her handkerchief had devolved into a dripping rag, her face surely red and splotchy. She had never been an elegant crier. When she was little, her nurse had said she looked like she had run through a patch of stinging nettle after a good weep.

  “Well, that’s done then, isn’t it?” Anne murmured, running a soothing hand down Belle’s spine.

  Belle could only nod, chest still heaving in ragged gasps.

  “It appears to not have gone well.”

  Belle nodded again, hiccupping. “It went q-quite poorly.”

  “I see.”

  “H-h-he asked me to l-leave.” Belle managed to raise her head.

  “Yes, that is not unexpected. As the wronged party, he should be allowed to continue the week with the Strattons and not be forced to leave on such short notice.”

  “I-I know.”

  “We should leave him in peace. ’Tis the honorable thing for us to do.”

  Belle hiccupped again. “I-I shall h-have to g-give my apologies to G-Georgiana.”

  “Yes.” Anne nodded. “Simply tell her that an urgent matter has arisen. Your face will speak for itself.”

  Belle set a hand to her forehead.

  “You speak with Lady Stratton.” Anne rubbed a comforting hand along Belle’s shoulder. “I’ll start packing our bags and have the carriage readied. I think we should be able to leave within the hour.”

  Belle nodded again.

  Anne looked at the rain setting a steady rhythm against the window glass.

  “Let’s just hope the weather holds enough to keep the roads passable,” Anne sighed. “At least Mother Nature has the good sense to be dreary.”