Ever Yours,
x Damon Jennings
With a trembling hand, I laid the letter in my lap and smoothed my hand over his words, my fingers lingering on his name. His penmanship was exquisite, his words beautiful. Careful. Honest.
What he must have thought when I didn’t write him back.
I could hardly stand to think of him waiting day after day after day for my letter that never arrived. It was no wonder he had turned his attentions to Lady Margaret—he had no reason not to.
A tear slipped down my cheek and fell onto the letter. And although I quickly dabbed it away, a few of his precious words were lost forever.
I clutched the letter to my chest with one hand and wiped my face with the other.
Damon loved me.
Or . . . at least hehadloved me. If only I had received his letter sooner, I would have written to him, and perhaps he would not have courted Lady Margaret.
But I hadnotreceived his letter, and hehadcourted Lady Margaret, and it was much too late. He could, even now, be making her a proposal of marriage. She was certainly expecting one after the time they’d spent in each other’s company this weekend.
My heart clenched, and it felt as if it might stop.
I hated that he would never know that I had not received his letter, that after all he had sacrificed so that we might be together, he did not know that I loved him, that I chose him.
No. I couldn’t just sit here. It very well might be too late, but if there was even the slightest chance that it was not, I had to find him and confess the feelings of my heart.
I rose from my bed and ran from my bedchamber. My feet flew down the corridor to the stairs and carried me to the drawing room.
A footman scurried to open the door.
My gaze flitted around the room. Henry, Georgiana, Amelia, and Mr. Atherton sat at a table, playing a card game. At the hearth, Captain Bromley stood with a small group. But I did not see Damon.
“Miss Kent,” a velvety voice said behind me. I turned and found Lady Margaret. “I must say, you are an incredibly difficult person to gain an audience with. I have been trying to speak with you all weekend.”
“You have?”
“I have. Although a force named Lord Jennings seemed rather intent on preventing it.”
“I had noticed that. Perhaps we should have a word with him. Do you know where he is?” It was a sorrowful attempt to learn his whereabouts.
She smiled knowingly. “Idoknow where he is, but I am not sure I should tell you. He has been quite distraught these past few days, and I believe that is, at least in part, due toyou.” She took a step closer. “Miss Kent, time is of the essence, so I must ask you to be candid. Do you care for Lord Jennings?”
The answer to this question was almost assuredly the key to her telling me Damon’s whereabouts. Tell her the truth of how much I loved him and she would not tell me where he was; lie and she might tell me. But . . . I couldn’t do it. No matter the consequences, I loved Damon and would not deny him.
“Youdolove him, don’t you?” Wonder touched her words.
“Yes.” I nodded. “I’m sorry. I know you love him too.”
“I’m sure Icouldhave loved him—he is quite handsome and wise—but it really was a lost cause from the start, seeing as the man is completely besotted withyou.”
My eyes widened in surprise.
“Thatis what I have been wanting to talk with you about,” she said. “But why, pray tell, if he loves you and you love him, have you been gallivanting about withMr.Jennings?”
“I—” My sentence hung in the air. I had no idea what she did or did not already know. To explain everything that had transpired this year between us, as well as all that had happened with Lord Winfield and Summerhaven, would take a considerable amount of time indeed. “It is complicated,” I finally said.
“Relationships between men and women often are.” She sighed, and I got the distinct impression that she knew this fact to be true from personal experience. “Thank you for being honest. Lord Jennings has become a friend, and I did not want to cause him anymore pain. But now that I know you are in earnest, there is no more time to delay. He left directly after dinner, intending to travel home. You must catch him before he is gone.”
Needing no encouragement, I uttered a hasty, “Thank you,” and hurried from the drawing room.
