When the Earl Met His Match (Wedded by Scandal #4) - Stacy Reid Page 0,16

connections who should have loved and protected my heart did not, so why should I ever expect it of another? I confess to you, and it is frightfully easy to do so because I do not know you, there is a heaviness in my heart, and despite my numerous reflections, I cannot understand my discomfort or what to do about it.

By the by, have you found your wife?

A Curious Lady.

…

Dear Curious Lady,

I confess I am not certain if that kind of love is real, having never experienced it myself. I’ve heard many poets, giggling young ladies, and blushing gentlemen describe it as something akin to heart palpitations, sweaty palms, restless nights, and nameless hunger. I have no desire to endure such unpleasantness, symptomatic of a wasting sickness and a collective delusion.

That being said, I love my family. But when I think of them, my father, brother, and sister, my heart does not race, nor do my palms sweat. I simply know they are of important and I will sacrifice much to make them happy. And perhaps that is the way to measure if love is real.

I hope my reply will bring some measure of relief to the heaviness in your heart.

By the by, I’ve not selected a wife as yet.

Sincerely, A Gentleman of Distinction and Wealth.

“She did not write to me because she is interested in being my wife, Father,” Hugh signed.

The old earl huffed. “I read her audacious letters to you. This is not a young woman who observes the proprieties…or would be faithful to them.”

Ah…faith. Loyalty. Characteristics very important to his father after the storm that had presented in his life in the form of his young countess. After she had wrecked them, she had departed their life without any hesitation. Though he had been ten when she left, he still recalled the tears that had coursed down his father’s cheeks as he had sat on Hugh’s bed to tell him she was truly never coming back.

Of course, he should never marry a woman like his mother…not one who was bright, vivacious, beautiful, nor one who would thumb her nose at society…nor one who was a nonconformist.

At his lack of reply, his father frowned and gripped his cane. “She is a blithe spirit, and that will never do in any lady who is to be your wife.”

Hugh moved his fingers. “I can admire her without being covetous.”

His father scoffed. “You think her improper spirit admirable?”

Hugh hadn’t thought of her as a candidate despite the way she had arrested his attention. He was fully aware the woman who was to be his future countess was simply the embodiment of a wish from someone who commanded his filial love and respect. The expectations and heartfelt hopes from the old earl were that Hugh would marry a genteel, privileged lady without a hint of scandal to her name—a proper lady who would be the very opposite of his fickle and flamboyant mother.

“Let us return to the main house. It grows cold.”

His father knew he avoided speaking of his mysterious lady writer. With an irritable grunt, his father walked ahead to the waiting carriage, every step communicating his anger and perhaps anxiety.

He picked up a stone and tossed it so it landed a few feet in front of his father.

The old earl stopped and slowly turned around.

“I assure you there is nothing to worry about.”

His father nodded then plodded on with more vigor, as if a burden had been lifted from his bony shoulders. It pained Hugh to see him like that, a shadow of his former self, who valiantly clung to life with the ferocity of a lion.

It took several minutes before he reached the main house. His father went to his favorite gardens while Hugh made his way down the long hallway to the library.

“Milord,” Mrs. Bateman, his housekeeper said, hurrying toward him, a large set of keys jangling in her hands. “This letter arrived for you earlier.”

Hugh was unsure why his heart had started pounding. A part of him had still expected to receive a letter from her, though she had promised the last one to be her final correspondence. He took the letter and went to the library, where he lowered himself into the sofa closest to the fire.

Dear A Gentleman of Distinction and Wealth,

Will you marry me?

Hugh’s breath wheezed from his body as if he had been drowning and had just been let up for air. It shocked him to see the paper shaking in his grip.