Seeing Miss Heartstone

by Nichole Van

  As soon as the basket left the ground, Blake claimed her hand, holding it low where no one else could see. Belle clung to him. The ground was receding at an alarming rate. Now was not the time to realize she suffered from a fear of heights.

  He had donned his coat, but he remained hatless. With his free hand, he clutched one of the ropes securing the basket to the balloon, a crazy grin on his face.

  Belle was torn between enjoying the wonder of flight or merely staring at his beloved face.

  She had always thought Blake had set her free to float into the sky, himself remaining the perceptive voice, grounding her. But was that to change, too? Her soul ached to be tethered to him permanently. To soar to great heights together.

  Belle squeezed his hand. He gave a reassuring smile in return.

  She reminded herself to breathe. This dramatic gesture did not express more than mere friendship—though he was still holding her hand.

  And he had kissed her under a week ago.

  And she suspected she was seeing something more than just friendship in his eyes when he looked at her.

  The world appeared so different from above. People crawled across the ground. Enormous ox carts shrank to the size of children’s toys. As they cleared the London roof line, a sea of chimneys extended before them, broken only by the rising bell towers of various churches. Looking back across Hyde Park, the enormous dome of St. Paul’s cathedral rose to her left. The high steeple of Westminster Abbey to her right.

  Even more miraculously, the sounds of the city retreated to a soft hum, leaving them to float in an ocean of hushed quiet.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, leaning closer to him. “This . . . this is as marvelous an experience as I will ever have.”

  It was true. She was quite sure as she lay on her deathbed, she would remember flying through the sky, holding hands with her dear friend, the Marquess of Blake.

  “You are most welcome. As you have been flying quite competently in a figurative sense all these years, I figured it would only be fair to add actual flying to your repertoire.”

  Belle shook her head. Wonder spilled through her veins, bubbling like champagne.

  “Why have you done this?” she asked.

  “Well, after my words and behavior at Lady Atterson’s ball, I figured I needed to beg for your forgiveness.”

  “No, ’tis I who should ask for forgiveness. I was unnecessarily harsh—”

  “No. I needed to hear what you said.” He smiled down at her. Eyes kind and gentle. “I have thought of you and the past seven years almost constantly. I sat down and re-read every letter you have written me.”

  “You kept them?”

  “Of course. They came from the hand of a dear friend, you see.”

  “Oh!”

  “While reading the letters, I finally understood. Yes, you were perhaps wrong to not correct my erroneous assumptions early in our correspondence. But without that small omission, I would never have come to know you as I have. Sometimes a mistake can transform into something beautiful. And I would be a great fool to let my pride stand between me and the company of my best friend.”

  Belle gave him a wobbly, watery smile. “I do not deserve such grace, Blake.”

  “I fear I would strongly disagree. Though you should probably call me Colin. I came to my title later in life, so I never lost my preference for my given Christian name. I know I intend to only call you Belle from this point on.”

  Her voice caught on a gasp.

  Oh! Did he mean what she thought he did?

  “I have quite thoroughly compromised you. Look at us.” He spread his free arm wide. “Here we are, sailing above London, entirely unchaperoned.”

  “Perhaps it is I who have compromised you, Colin.” The last came out on a whisper. Saying his given name felt almost like a benediction. A holy hallelujah. “I lured you into the sky—”

  “No, I did the luring in this case.”

  “True. Though I did come quite willingly.”

  “Shall I consider it a summons then, Belle?”

  “Please. But given that nearly all of London can see us, how have you compromised me? Aren’t we now being chaperoned by thousands?”

  He made a grand show of looking over the edge of the basket, scanning the ground below, smiling rather wickedly as the basket rocked, causing Belle to cling to his arm in terror.

  “I suppose you are correct, my love.”

  Love?! Had he truly just said that?

  He stood upright, that wicked grin still in place. “Well, I shall just have to ensure I do the deed properly.”

  Hope burned ragged and bright.

  Before Belle could blink, he raised their joined, gloved hands. “But this will not do at all.” Staring at her, he slowly pulled off his own gloves. First one. Then the other, stuffing them into his pocket.

  Then he moved on to her gloves. Gently unbuttoning the single button at her wrist. Tugging on each finger. Sliding the soft leather off her palm. Planting a scalding kiss on the back of her hand before moving on.

  He repeated the actions with her second hand.

  Belle’s mouth had gone quite dry by the time he finished. The balloon, the city before them, everything faded.

  It was only Colin’s eyes that held her. The sound of his breathing. The feel of his warm hands against hers.

  “Much better,” he whispered as her second glove disappeared into his coat pocket. He threaded the fingers of his right hand through hers. His thumb moving in lazy circles across her palm.

  His other hand moved to cup her cheek, lifting her gaze to his. She had heard the cliché of a lover gazing with his heart in his eyes . . .

  She could quite literally see her whole world in his.

  “Belle . . . my dearest, most beloved friend.” He stroked her cheek. “I should have realized sooner that I wanted LHF in my life permanently. I am determined to be quite persistent, if I must.”

  “Colin . . .”

  His thumb brushed across her lips. “You darling, beautiful woman. Everything good in my life began the day you entered it.”

  He bent down. Or she raised up.

  Belle could not recall afterward.

  But, somehow, they met in the middle.

  His lips . . . warm and soft and giving. Yielding under her own.

  It only took a second for his hands to move around her waist, pulling her closer to him. For her part, Belle wrapped her arms around his neck, threading her fingers into his hair.

  Finally! How could this finally be happening?

  “Oh, Colin . . .” She pulled back with a hiccupping gasp. “I have loved you for so very, very long.”

  He cupped her cheek again.

  “Belle, my darling, beautiful Belle.”

  They kissed and kissed and kissed. Until Belle’s knees had quite melted. And surely the entire city of London had spied them.

  Colin held her tight to him. Forehead to forehead. “One last riddle, my love. What short word is the longest promise of happiness?”

  Belle shook her head, licking a tear off her lip.

  Colin kissed her forehead. “You asked me first. But, Belle, I intend to ask you last.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Marry me, my love. Say you will be mine?”

  Later, Belle had no memory of actually saying, Yes!

  All she remembered was kissing him over and over, tasting tears of happiness as they flew through the sky.

  Epilogue

  . . . I already miss you, my dearest wife. Shall I tell you precisely what I miss? In no particular order: your laugh, the skipping bounce in your step when you are excited about something, your soft hand in mine, your frigid nose pressed against my cheek when you are cold, the way you sigh when I embrace you after a long day. Please hurry home after finishing your business at Hopewell Manor. I ache to see you . . .

  —excerpt of a note from Lord Blake, tucked into Lady Blake’s reticule, which she finally noticed when twenty miles outside London

  . .
. I cannot wait to hear how your speech went today in Lords. I am utterly positive it was a rousing success and will set the bar for Parliamentary speeches for years to come. I believe in you, my love, and the good that we are trying to do in the world.

  —a note from Lady Blake, hidden in Lord Blake’s waistcoat pocket, which he found just before delivering a speech in the House of Lords on the necessity of child labor reform

  You look exhausted.” Colin tucked his wife closer to his side in the rocking carriage. “Come, Lady Blake. I won’t have anyone saying that I am neglecting you. Imagine the horror.”

  Belle laughed softly, burrowing her nose into his shoulder, wrapping her hands around his elbow.

  He wasn’t wrong about her feeling exhausted, however. Everything had required so much more effort as of late.

  The past eight months of her marriage to Colin Radcliffe, Lord Blake, had been idyllic. Their joint business and charitable endeavors had grown by leaps and bounds. Their presence in London was sought out and curried; Belle quickly found herself as one of the premier hostesses in Town.

  But the external success paled when compared to the soul-deep adoration she had for Colin and their life together. Marriage to her best friend had shown her true joy.

  She and Colin weren’t just tethered together now. They had created their own air-ship and were able to control it, sending them soaring into unknown countries. Together.

  Just the thought had her wiping away tears.

  Granted, nearly everything brought her to tears recently. Hadn’t she cried over a glowing report from Fyfe Hall just two days previous? And then there had been that pair of darling puppies in Regent’s Park. And the wisteria in such beautiful bloom—

  She was officially an emotional mess.

  “Did you enjoy yourself this evening?” Colin asked. “I know Cecily delights in having you as a sister-in-law.”

  Belle smiled and snuggled closer. “I adore how much your sister adores you. I know that you have at times assumed she cares more for your title than yourself, but that is not true. She loves you as you are.”

  He snorted. “Though the title doesn’t hurt.”

  “No,” she giggled, “it does not.”

  “Lord Halbert was charming, as usual.”

  “I cannot believe you thought him LHF all those years.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “Though I do admit he makes an excellent alter ego.”

  “I thoroughly enjoy his company.” Colin pulled her tighter against him as the carriage rocked back and forth. “All those years in India, I would imagine Lord Halbert at dinner with Cecily and George, laughing and making merry at Christmastide. It made me dreadfully homesick.”

  “You longed for that yourself,” she murmured, blinking back the emotion in her throat. Was everything determined to render her a weeping pot?

  “Yes.”

  “And now?”

  “Now?” She heard the smile in his voice. “Now I am the happiest of men. Though I’m afraid I will insist on you retiring instantly when we arrive home,” Colin continued. “I would see you well rested, my love.”

  Belle sighed and cuddled closer. He brushed a loose curl off her forehead, placing a tender kiss there.

  “It will be of no use, Colin,” she replied. “I fear exhaustion will play a large part in my life for the foreseeable future.”

  She felt more than saw Colin’s alarm. He pulled back, looking down at her in the dim carriage light.

  “Are you unwell?”

  Belle shrugged. “No more than is to be expected.”

  “Belle love, you’re frightening me. What is wrong?”

  She placed a gloved hand against his cheek. “There is nothing to be frightened over. It is a simple riddle.”

  “A riddle?”

  “Yes. When does one plus one equal three?”

  Belle emphasized the question by placing a hand over her stomach.

  Colin’s astonished expression sent her straight into tears.

  Of course.

  “Truly? You’re with child?” he whispered.

  Belle could only nod, her eyesight blurry.

  “Ah, my love.” He tenderly kissed her. “Now I am the happiest of men. Of all our adventures together, this one will be the most precious.”

  Naturally, Colin’s words took Belle’s weeping from gentle to torrential. But she didn’t care. She smiled through her tears.

  Because he was right.

  Author’s Notes

  This story has always been one of my favorites. I knew when I wrote it initially that Belle and Blake had a much more involved tale to tell. It’s been so fun to deep dive into the Regency era again.

  If you struggled with the riddles where no answer was given, I’ve listed them here for you:

  At night, they come without being fetched. By day, they are lost but never stolen. What are they?

  Stars

  Four days start with the letter ‘T.’ One is Tuesday. The other, Thursday. Can you name the other two?

  Today and tomorrow

  What is so delicate that even saying its name will break it?

  Silence

  What occurs once in every minute, twice in every moment, but never in a thousand years?

  The letter “M”

  A couple more fun facts:

  Despite what many suppose, there were wealthy businesswomen during the Regency era. In fact, two of the largest banks of the time—Coutts Bank and Child’s Bank, now the Royal Bank of Scotland—had women as their largest shareholders and active managers. Though much rarer than today, of course, women were not quite as invisible as we might assume today.

  The history of ballooning is fascinating. It began in France in the late 1700s and was all the rage in Regency London. That said, balloon rides were notoriously unsafe for the first hundred years or so of their existence. Many of the first balloon enthusiasts died in crash landings or other related catastrophes. Charles Green, who is mentioned in passing here, was not one of them, fortunately. But he was the first to pioneer using coal gas (a fuel produced through the gasification of coal) to fill balloons. Though I didn’t bring this into the story, one of the most famous balloonists of the era was a French woman—Sophie Blanchard.

  Streams and rivers do vary tremendously in size depending on rainfall. It seems weird, but most rain in the U.K. falls gently and slowly. So a heavy, torrential downpour can quickly cause a small stream to turn into a raging torrent.

  I have created an extensive pinboard on Pinterest with images of things I talk about in the book. So if you want a visual of anything, pop over there and explore. Just search for NicholeVan.

  As with all books, this one couldn’t have been written without the help and support from those around me. I know I am going to leave someone out with all these thanks. So to that person, know that I totally love you and am so deeply grateful for your help!

  To my beta readers—you know who you are—thank you for your editing suggestions, helpful ideas, and support. And, again, an extra-large thank you to Annette Evans and Norma Melzer for their fantastic editing skills.

  Again, I cannot thank Rebecca Spencer and Erin Rodabough enough for their insights. And a shout-out to Julie Frederick for her keen observations.

  And, finally, thank you to Andrew, Austenne, Kian, and Dave for your endless patience. I love you.

  Reading Group Questions

  Yes, there are reading group questions. I suggest discussing them over lots of excellent chocolate (solid, liquid, frozen, cake . . . I’m not picky about the precise state of matter of said chocolate. Chocolate in any form is good chocolate.)

  This book has a clear, three-act partitioning. Why do you think the author did this? Do you like the division? Why or why not?

  What do the titles of each of the subsections refer to? What proposals do you see in the first section? How many betrayals in the second? What are the resolutions in the third?

  What does the title—Seeing Miss Heartsto
ne—refer to throughout the book? How many different types of “seeing” can you infer?

  As a character, in what ways does Belle Heartstone change throughout the novel? In what ways does Blake change?

  Did you figure out what the initials LHF stood for? If not, what did you think they referred to? Did you find the mystery initials to be an interesting addition to the story? Why or why not?

  The metaphor of flying is also strung throughout the book. Did you like how the metaphor played out? How do you think the concept of flying could be connected to the title, Seeing Miss Heartstone?

  How did you feel about Belle’s reluctance to tell Blake about LHF? Did she procrastinate too long? Was Blake too quick or too slow to forgive her? Has there been a situation in your life like this—where you knew you needed to tell someone something hard, but you procrastinated doing it?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  The Short Version:

  Nichole Van is a writer, photographer, designer and generally disorganized crazy person. Though originally from Utah, she currently lives on the coast of Scotland with three similarly crazy children and one sane, very patient husband who puts up with all of them. In her free time, she enjoys long walks along the Scottish lochs and braes. She does not, however, enjoy haggis.

  The Long Over-achiever Version:

  An international bestselling author, Nichole Van is an artist who feels life is too short to only have one obsession. In former lives, she has been a contemporary dancer, pianist, art historian, choreographer, culinary artist and English professor.

  Most notably, however, Nichole is an acclaimed photographer, winning over thirty international accolades for her work, including Portrait of the Year from WPPI in 2007. (Think Oscars for wedding and portrait photographers.) Her unique photography style has been featured in many magazines, including Rangefinder and Professional Photographer. She is also the creative mind behind the popular website Flourish Emporium which provides resources for photographers.