Yes, that was it. If he could just get home and speak to Isolde, he would feel better. He would conclude his business tomorrow, no matter what, and be back in Hartington the next day, or the day after at most.
The decision eased the tension in his body, but his mind was still racing. Finally, he pulled himself from bed, lit the candle on his bedside table, and stumbled with it over to his writing desk. He took out a piece of paper and stared at it for a moment, words forming themselves in his half-awake mind.
He had barely dipped his pen in the ink before he found himself scribbling away.
Miss Fairchild,
I write to let you know that I shall be concluding my business in London early and willbe back at Hartington sooner than expected. Moreover, I would very much like to spend moretime with you once I am returned.
Please forgive me if this request is too bold. I would never want to do anything todistress you. Yet I have found, as I am here alone in London, that I miss the pleasure of yourcompany. It would be a great favor to me if you would grace me with your presence more in thefuture.
And if you will allow me to take an even greater liberty, I have come to wonder if I wastoo hasty in suggesting this solution to our situation. I had never considered myself asinterested in marriage or indeed love, but one’s feelings can change.
Is it possible we did not allow enough time to see what might bloom between us? I find Icannot sleep for want of asking you this question and thus came to unburden myself in writinglike this. I beg your forgiveness if I have caused offense, but hope that you will consider mywords, and we may speak of this more in person.
Thaddeus set the pen down, a sense of euphoria rushing through him. He hadn’t realized how good it would feel to write down those words. He felt free, from something he hadn’t even realized was binding him.
He took up the pen again, contemplating how to sign the letter. Surely Lord Hartington was too formal? And yet anything else risked the offense of being too forward. He should take care because the letter itself was already so bold.
His eyes swept up the page, and he read the letter again, trying to imagine how it might seem to Isolde. Doubt began creeping into his mind. Would she see this as a heartfelt confession?
Or an imposition? He did not know her well enough to be sure. He read the letter again, his heart sinking. This was madness.
He picked up the letter, wet ink still shining, and crumpled it into a ball before throwing it into the fire smoldering in the grate. He watched it catch fire, burn into ash, and then sat down at the desk and began to write again.
Miss Fairchild,
I write to let you know that I shall be concluding my business in London early and willbe back at Hartington soonerthan expected. Once I am returned, I hope to find a moment tospeak to you alone. There is much for us to discuss, I believe.
He read the letter over and felt the loss of warmth and of honesty. He blotted the paper and set it aside carefully, replacing it with a fresh sheet.
He scanned the two sheets and then buried his head in his hands, tearing at his hair in frustration. He had a desperate desire to rewrite the first letter, to give in to that feeling of freedom that had come from finally voicing his burgeoning feelings.
And yet the idea of Isolde knowing of those feelings terrified him. Suppose she did not feel the same? She might be so uncomfortable that she left, no matter what arrangement they had agreed upon.
No, it was simply too risky. He put the blank paper away and signed the other. It would have to do, at least until he could return to Hartington and see her in person. Perhaps, then, it would be easier to judge.
He blew the candle out and returned to bed.
***
It was summer, and they were in the meadow. The sun was beaming down, making everything warm and golden. Isolde was ahead of him, pulling him along by his hand.
She wore no gloves, nor did he, and her skin was warm against his where their fingers entwined. It sent a spark through his whole body.
Her hair was loose, only half of it pinned up, the rest left to flow around her shoulders and down her back. There were flowers tucked into it, bright bits of color amongst the deep red, making her look like a goddess.
She kept looking back at him and laughing, and it was the prettiest sight he’d ever seen. His heart felt light in his chest, so buoyant he thought perhaps he could float away. But no, he could not, because she was holding his hand. She would keep him safely on the ground.
The sweet scent of flowers mingled with the heat of the day to wrap him up in a heady feeling, like he was a little drunk. He wanted to lie down in the grass and stare up at the sky.
He wanted to pull her down with him, wrap his arms around her, and never leave. But she was leading him somewhere, tugging his hand to hurry up, and he was powerless to do anything but follow.
They reached the edge of the meadow, and he realized their destination – the old tree they had hidden behind as children. She pulled him under its branches, and it was as if they were in their own world.
She leaned back against the tree, and he stepped up close to her. She smelled sweeter than the flowers.
“Thaddeus,” she said, and at the sound of his name on her lips, his heart beat faster. He leaned in, wrapping a curl around one of his fingers. She reached up to caress his cheek with her hand, and he felt a thrill at the touch. His whole body was alight with desire, and he had to kiss her.
