by Fanny Finch
But no. There it was, in plain letters. Or as plain as it was possible to be in writing when a letter could always fall into the wrong hands.
He had to sit down, unable to properly feel his legs.
So that had been what had happened last night.
He had been so certain, so very certain that she wanted Mr. Carson. He had been ready to find some way to give her up and to bow out.
When he got her letter he had expected nothing other than an apology and an end to their correspondence. Or perhaps she would continue on as before, although it would hurt him to know that he was simply a consolation prize.
In fact, he had been bracing himself for almost anything… except for this.
A declaration of love.
He had thought that Miss Weston was so upset last night because she was dejected. Instead it had been because she was overwhelmed with emotion in realizing she loved him?
He was not so surprised at the being overwhelmed part of it all. Miss Weston had always been an emotional girl. She was imaginative. Prone to daydreams and outbursts of passion. He had seen her give quite a few lectures in her time.
It was the fact that she was overcome because of him. Because she cared for him.
James knew that he was reading it and that it must be true but it was so difficult to reconcile what he had known for so long with the new truth that was in front of him.
He realized, for the first time, that despite his writing letters to her he had still not truly believed that he could win her. That he could actually change her mind and convince her to fall in love with him.
And yet, it had happened.
He was a bit concerned for Mr. Carson. Not only for the man’s feelings but also for the situation in general. But he supposed that they would cross that bridge when they got to it.
In the meantime, though… in the meantime there was Miss Weston.
Miss Weston who had been crying because she was so overwhelmed with how she felt about him. Who had written at once to tell him about it.
She must have written at once. How else would the letter get to him so quickly? It must have been sent out with the first morning’s mail in order to reach him in time for him to read it over a leisurely breakfast.
He wanted to ask if she was certain. If this was not merely the throes of the moment.
James called for a paper and pen. He had to write to her at once.
He owed it to her to tell her the truth. But he could not do so over letter. He had been a coward for long enough.
When the materials were brought to him he began to write, right there at the table. He did not trust his legs to bear him if he tried to stand up and walk to his desk.
Dear Miss Weston,
Are you certain of these feelings?
I do not mean to insult you by doubting you. It is only that I know you are prone to great bouts of emotion. I do not wish for you to declare anything that you will regret in time.
Are you positive that this is not merely the product of a moment of excitement and confusion?
I would hate to reveal myself to you and have you already have changed your mind. I do not wish to embarrass either of us.
But if you are certain, then let me know and I shall call upon you at your earliest convenience.
I remain,
James hesitated over what to put as his signature. He always hesitated, no matter how many letters they exchanged.
But this was the last letter that he would send to her. If she had changed her mind and told him not to meet her and reveal himself then he would not write to her anymore.
This must have done. Clearly this correspondence was messing with both of their heads. It had to end. Either by revealing himself or by disappearing into the ether.
She would possibly be disappointed but if she did not truly love him then that disappointment would be easily gotten over.
But if this was to be the last time…
He hovered his pen over the page and then finally signed it,
Yours.
For he was. And always would be.
Miss Weston’s reply was a swift one.
It was short, and James was already getting ready for the ball that night when he saw it laid upon the tray at the front door.
His hands shook slightly and he had to calm down his breathing as he opened it.
Dear Sir,
I am in earnest. Please, tell me who you are. I feel as though I am going to burst if you do not tell me your name.
James nearly burst out laughing hysterically in relief.
She was certain. She loved him.
But then doubt came in again, swift and terrible.
She loved the writer of the letters.
Would she be able to reconcile that man with him? With James Norwich?
Or would she be far too entrenched in her opinion of him? Would she reject him? Find him wanting? Would she wish that he was more like Mr. Carson or some other man?
There was no time for him to ponder it now. He had to get to the ball.
Miss Weston would be there but he could not tell her then. Not in front of all of those people.
He would have to tell her in the morning.
James hurried to the ball, smiling at those he knew as he entered, a trifle late.
“You seem distracted,” Miss Perry noted. “Are you quite all right, Mr. Norwich?”
“I am as well as anyone can be,” he replied. As well as anyone can be when they are in receipt of such news as I am, he thought.
Miss Perry gave him an odd look that suggested that she did not believe him, but she left him to it.
James could see her, gazing about the room with far more openness than she should have.
Miss Weston.
She was wondering if he was there. Her letter writer. She was terrible at hiding her emotions and always had been. James almost wanted to laugh.
It was just so sweet. She thought that she was being subtle and yet everyone in the room could probably tell that she was on edge. Looking for something. Or someone.
“You’re as on edge as my daughter tonight,” Mrs. Weston remarked, walking sedately up to him. If he didn’t know that it was because of her illness, he would have thought that she was moving with such stillness and care because she felt like it.
As it was, the crowd practically parted before her.
“She seemed rather upset last night,” James admitted. “I lent her my handkerchief but she would not let me stay with her. She wished to be alone.”
“I am afraid that we exchanged some harsh words earlier in the day,” Mrs. Weston replied. “I said some things that I had to later take back. She is a good girl.”
“That she is.”
“And are you going to do anything about it?”
“I am, actually. Tomorrow. If you will permit me. I plan to call upon you at your earliest convenience.”
“As early as you would like. I plan on sleeping in so do not be worried if my daughter receives you alone. She has done so often lately with morning callers. I find that if I am to go out in the evenings I must save my strength throughout the morning.”
“I must say, madam, you carry your misfortune with a dignity that I have rarely seen.”
“Thank you. Your kindness has not been overlooked. Your calling upon us is fortuitous in its timing. I fear that Mr. Carson will make a firm play for her shortly.”
“I have it from the lady herself that she does not care for him.”
“Is that so? Well, I wish that she would have told me so in order to help me with my poor nerves.”
“She was not certain until last night. That was part of why she was in such tears, I believe. She would not tell me much at the time.”
“Well, I am glad to hear it. There is nothing particularly wrong with the man, of course. But he is not for my Julia.”
Mrs. Weston watched her daughter dancing, a look of such complete fondness on her face that James wished that he had some way to preserve it.
If only so that Miss Weston might see it later and know how much she was adored by her mother.
Her letters to him had revealed her doubts about how well she was doing as a daughter. He wished to take away those doubts. Miss Weston was a beloved daughter. She had not disappointed her parents. She could not. They would love her no matter what.
“My Julia. Look at her, Mr. Norwich. Is she not a true flower?”
James looked obligingly, both to please her and because he was glad of an excuse to watch Miss Weston dancing. “Truly.”
“She is my only child, sir. You would do well to remember that. Your wife she might be but she never ceases to be my daughter. If she is not made to be perfectly happy I shall have more than just words with you.”
“If she deigns to marry me, I would make my mission in life nothing less than ensuring her constant pleasure.”
“You know, you are lucky that I saw the awkward, serious boy you were growing up. You are far too charming nowadays. I cannot trust a word that you say when you are like that.”
“If it is any consolation, madam, I am being far more forthright with you about my feelings for your daughter than I have been to any other person about her.”
Well, other than to Miss Weston herself in the letters. But that was to her, and not about her. A fitting enough loophole.
Feeling that things had perhaps become a little too serious, he sought to lighten the mood. “And how do I know that you will not be listening or peeping in at the keyhole tomorrow when I call?”
Mrs. Weston chuckled. “You are a clever one. Rest assured, my daughter will tell me whatever transpires between you. She always tells me everything.”
James felt another swift pang of guilt. Miss Weston had not told her mother about the letters. He had made Miss Weston keep a grave secret from both of her parents.
Well, he was going to remedy it all tomorrow. Everything would be out in the open. Perhaps Miss Weston would then be able to tell her mother about the letters as well if she so wished.
James watched Miss Weston dancing, out of his reach. But only for that evening. Tomorrow he would tell her who he was. And then it would all change. It would all be different. Hopefully, it would all be better.
Chapter 15
Julia was terrified.
She had put on her best frock, her favorite one, and had done up her hair with care. She had eaten early and was now pacing up and down the sitting room.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Her letter had hopefully arrived by yesterday evening. It was possible that it had not arrived until this morning’s post, however.
She could be waiting all morning. If the gentleman had not received the letter until this morning at breakfast then he might not be able to call upon her until later.
He might not even be able to call upon her that day at all.
In fact, he might not even call. He might simply write her a response. Then she would not know who he was until that evening with the post.
Julia could feel her heartbeat climbing and took slow, even breaths in order to calm herself. There was no use in getting all flustered. This was something that was out of her control.
She did so dearly hope that he would call upon her that morning. She could hardly stand it. She had to know who he was. This suspense was more than she could bear.
How on earth had the man endured being in love with her for so long without telling her? She had only gone two days without a proper response from him and she was already halfway to going mad.
Julia forced herself to stop pacing and sit down. Should she ring for tea? What if someone else came to see her this morning? They would be surprised to find her so nervous. She was sure to be a horrible hostess.
As if her thoughts had summoned someone, there came a knock at the front door.
Julia froze. Her breath halted in her throat.
Was this him? Could it be?
There was the sound of the servant opening the door, and then the sound of voices. Julia thought that she recognized one of them.
Then, to her surprise—Mr. Norwich strode into the room.
Julia stood up, completely unsure of what to do. “Mr. Norwich.”
“Miss Weston.” Mr. Norwich looked uncomfortable. She had never seen him in such a state. He always appeared to be so easygoing. So relaxed. “I hope that I have not come at an unpleasant time.”
“Certainly not. Would you like some tea?”
“Ah, no, no thank you, Miss Weston.”
Julia stared at him. It was so unlike him to behave in this manner. What on earth was going on?
“Is there something the matter?” she asked. “Perhaps you would like some water?”
“No, there is nothing—I apologize. My manner must seem quite strange to you. I am not often so nervous.”
“No, I can easily see that.” Julia attempted a smile and a small laugh, but neither seemed to work out for her very well. She feared that it came out strained, and her laugh sounded hollow and nervous.
“Was there a particular reason that you came to call?” she asked. Mr. Norwich did not usually call in the mornings. They saw one another every night between dinners and balls.
“Yes, actually.” Mr. Norwich looked around, as if casting about for some kind of excuse, or hoping that someone or something would change the conversation.
After an awkward moment of silence, Mr. Norwich cleared his throat and took a few steps closer. Julia had the strange thought that he looked oddly handsome, when he was disheveled like this.
And he did appear to be quite disheveled. He looked as though he had hardly slept all night. His clothes were just the slightest bit askew and his hair was only half done.
If Julia did not know any better, she would have thought that he had received some horrible news. That his brother had died overseas or that his father had unexpectedly passed.
She hoped that was not the case. She would hate for him to have to lose another member of his family. Although she was not sure how Mr. Norwich had reacted to his mother’s death.
Then he began to speak.
“Miss Weston. You must forgive me. I am not very good at this—I am not good at this at all—when I am speaking aloud. But you did ask to know who I was. You did say that you wished to see my face, to have a proper name to go with your letters.”
It felt as though the bottom had dropped out of Julia’s stomach.
Mr. Norwich—he was her mystery gentleman?
She never would have guessed that. Not in a hundred, no, a thousand years.
But he—he thought of her as a sister. He did not care for her in the romantic sense at all.
…didn’t he?
Julia would not have been surprised if she had been told that the world was spinning in the opposite direction now.
Mr. Norwich cleared his throat again. “I apologize. I am certain—all but certain—that this is, that I am not, the person that you wanted or expected.”
“I did not know who to expect,” Julia told him honestly.
They sized one another up for a moment. Julia felt as though Mr. Norwich was as unsure as she was.
She had expected her mystery gentleman to be confident when he approached her. Surely he had to know by now that she was his, as her letter had said. Why did he still seem as worried and anxious as she was?
“You can see now why I did not think you would receive me well if I simply came to you in person as I am,” he said quietly.
“It is merely that I am—I am so—surprised,” Julia blurted out.
“I wish I could say the same,” Mr. Norwich said, sadly. “That your reaction was not something that I had expected.”
“You expected me to be… taken aback?”
“Why would you not be?” Mr. Norwich did not sound—not angry, no. More like… disappointed? Or sad. “You have done nothing but overlook me for years, Miss Weston.
“I have been here in front of you. Always your closest friend. Other than Miss Regin
ald, who else can you say is closer to you?
“We banter at parties. You always invite me over for dinner. We dance together at balls and speak about others, gossip, knowing that whatever we say to one another will be kept in complete confidence.
“You sought me out only the other day for advice. It seems that I am the person that you run to when you most need assistance.