My Merry Marquess (Wallflower's Christmas Wish #3) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,14
He held out a hand to halt her, glancing around for his boots.
She shook her head. “Read the letters, Nicholas.”
And then she was gone.
Nick wasn’t sure how long he stared at the door behind her before he could bring himself to face the letters. Dread had his heart skipping a beat. Because even though he’d never seen her handwriting, he was in no doubt they had been written by her. The realization of what that meant had him frozen in disbelief.
And shame. And sickening regret.
She’d written him? How had he bloody not realized that? What answers would those notes hold? Had he been carrying the answers to all those questions swirling in his head all along?
He traced the letters with his fingertips. Of course, her writing would be neat and clean but also elegant. Lady Eve Bailey was not one to affect unnecessary embellishments. There were no markings in the seal of wax, of course. She would not have wanted to advertise the fact that she, an unmarried lady, was corresponding with an unmarried gentleman who was not a relation.
He padded to the window and stared out into the snow at the same time he broke the wax, which had grown dry over time, and withdrew the letter.
My Dearest Nicholas,
You cannot know the torment I am in that I cannot speak with you before my father removes us from London. I’m so sorry I cannot say goodbye in person. My mother’s cough has worsened, and it is imperative that we remove her to the country air without delay…
Yours Affectionately,
Eve
Nick’s eyes scanned the single paragraph a second time and after checking the date, he quickly opened the subsequent letter.
My Dearest Nicholas,
You cannot imagine how different my days are from the ones I experienced with you in London. And the nights! The flowers, the balls, the candlelight, the long walks alone whenever we could sneak away. Is it possible that they were only a dream?
Although my father believes Mother is much improved, I do not think that is the case. She is coughing up more and more blood and I am doing my best to keep her comfortable…
The letter went on, but his heart roared in his ears, making any sort of reasoning difficult. Feeling sick inside, he opened the others.
Nicholas,
I’m writing this by candlelight, very late at night, doing my best to convince myself that something very important is keeping you from returning my letters. When I am feeling desolate or inconsolable, I remind myself of the day you declared your love…
Nicholas,
Mother told me I should not have been writing to you. She told me that five days ago…
Nicholas,
Mother has died. It is nearly Christmastide. I can’t begin to tell you how much it hurts that you’ve not responded to me at all. I will not send any more letters.
Most Sincerely,
Eve B.
Nick reread each letter multiple times, slowly drowning in regret and self-loathing with every pass. The onslaught of emotion was paralyzing and by the time a series of heavy thumps sounded on his chamber door, he was startled to realize he was sitting in near darkness.
“Open up, you bloody bastard.” Jack’s voice, along with another solid bout of pounding, forced Nick to move for the first time in what felt like hours.
Schooling his features, he opened the door, allowing light from the wall sconces to allow Tidemore’s shadow to flood his chamber.
“I’m beginning to think Dash might have taken a blow to the head after wandering into the blizzard last night—either that or the fair maidens across the square have all but robbed him of his manhood. If we’re to hold our heads up in London this spring, it’ll be up to you and me to stand firm.” He lifted a half-full tumbler into the air. “A toast to the Duke of Dashlington. May his loss of manhood be nothing more than a temporary affliction.”
Shaking his head, Nick opened the door wide for Jack to enter. With a bottle tucked under one arm, and a second glass wedged between his fingers, Nick could only assume that Jack did not intend to drink alone.
Swaying ever so slightly, the bastard dropped into the chair vacated by Eve earlier, spilling a splash of liquor onto the carpet.
“By all means, make yourself at home,” Nick commented sarcastically before lighting a flint from the remaining embers in the hearth and igniting several candles.
“We need to get the hell out of Maybridge Falls before this emasculating village castrates all three of us.” Jack handed a drink