heart again.”
Alastair Dunn had the most expressive eyes Felicity had ever seen; that much had not changed. And though she had long since believed her memory of his affection to be false or flawed, his eyes burned with an adoration that was as warm and devoted as she remembered.
A heavy silence filled the churchyard, though unspoken declarations rang in the air.
Alastair drew closer, his foot bumped hers, and she looked up into his eyes as he leaned down to meet her. But when his lips drew close, Felicity straightened and jerked away.
“Alastair, please,” she murmured, clutching his letters in one arm while pressing her other hand to her stomach, as though that touch might calm the flutters that were less butterflies and more like a swarm of angry hornets.
His smile tightened, but Alastair nodded, putting a minor distance between them. “I apologize. I cannot seem to help myself around you, Felicity. You are intoxicating, and when I look into your eyes, my good sense is lost.”
Felicity gave him a tremulous smile, though she had no idea if she was pleased or irritated by his sentiment. Too much had happened in the past few days for her to think straight, and Alastair’s reappearance and confession were enough of an upheaval.
Holding her gaze, Alastair gave her a low bow. “I do not wish to add to your heartache. Please read my letters and see that my heart has always been true.”
Alastair straightened, the movement drawing him close once more, and he raised her hand to his lips. Though her hand was encased in leather, Felicity felt his warmth as he kissed her knuckles with a smile and a sigh as though her touch eased a pain in his soul.
Turning on his heels, he marched away without a backward glance, though Felicity watched him until he disappeared from view. She cast a look around her and fled to a bench someone had placed beneath a nearby tree. Her legs trembled, struggling to keep her upright in the ice and snow before she dropped to the stone, not caring how frigid it was. She clutched Alastair’s letters, her gaze unfocused as she stared into the distance.
Uncle George had always been careful to behave with the utmost decorum around Felicity, but he was not a perfect man, and a few of his more colorful phrases sprang to her mind as she tried to unravel the tangled mess that was her life. She had come to Bristow to escape such entanglements. Her time here was intended to be a solace from such overtures, yet two gentlemen had attempted to kiss her in the last few days.
Felicity Barrows was no young miss unaware of the machinations of fortune hunters. She was well used to spotting their lures and traps, but none of her experience gave her an ounce of clarity when it came to these two.
Mr. Finch wasn’t aware of her fortune, so it was a moot point. But Alastair?
Her first love. The man whom all others had been compared to, even if Felicity hadn’t recognized the bias. Alastair had left his mark, leaving her forever altered. And even with Uncle George’s claims of his unfaithful heart, some part of her had always longed for a moment exactly like the one he’d just given her. One filled with regret, apologies, and longing. An explanation.
Felicity glanced at the bundle in her arms that contained fifteen years of unspoken sentiments. She couldn’t believe he’d written so much without hope of delivering them. To carry them with him for so long surely meant something significant. Didn’t it?
Sliding out the topmost letter, Felicity unfolded the paper. The script was splotchy and hurried, as though Alastair could hardly get his words out fast enough. But then, he’d written it in the coach on his way to Plymouth.
My dearest love,
I can hardly breathe. Is it true? Are you free of him at last? I hardly know what to think and dare not hope that no other has captured your heart and hand. I find myself hanging from the coach window, shouting at the driver to lay on the whip, for every passing minute without you is an agony…
Goodness. The page was filled with his undying devotion and his dreams for their future. And Felicity was willing to admit that they called to her. Though her present life was beautiful in its own right, the letters promised a future filled with love, tenderness, and a family of her own.
Though the cold nipped at her