If he were strong enough, he would run to find her and drop to his knees. At best, all he could do was write her a response so heartfelt that it would surely bring her to his door.
Dragging the desk back onto his lap, he selected a fresh page from inside it, inked his quill, and stared at the paper for a long moment. Then the words came to him. Yes. Surely, this response would coax her to return to his bedside. He prayed it would, because nothing would strengthen him more than her presence at his side.
*
Felicity sat besidethe bay window in the inn’s dining room, sipping her tea but not tasting a thing. For all she knew, she could be drinking water from a puddle on the lane. Her mind was a whirlwind, and her poor, battered heart was no better. How would Drake take her response? Would he understand the conditions she had woven through her poem? Would he realize how strongly she meant them? Yes, she loved him, but she needed to be able to trust him. Trust was just as important as love. At least, it was to her.
“I be going to check in on Lord Wakefield.” Mrs. Bean toddled up to her, leaning heavily on her cane. “Be you coming, gal, or are you still making him stew in his iniquities?” With a weary grunt, the old woman lowered herself into a chair. “This town life be making me soft. I hope His Grace don’t be finding me lacking by the time we get to your home.”
“You could never be found lacking, Mrs. Bean.” Felicity took another sip of her tea and noticed it had gone cold. “And I am uncertain whether I will visit Lord Wakefield today or not. It depends.”
“On what?”
“How he responds to my letter.”
Mrs. Bean eyed her with a confused scowl. “The man is abed in a room upstairs, and you wrote him a letter?”
“He started it.” Realizing she sounded like a petulant child, Felicity cleared her throat and adjusted her tone. “He wrote me a poem, and I responded in like terms.”
“A poem?” Mrs. Bean seemed most unimpressed before slowly shaking her head. “Appears to me that a man’s actions say a great deal more than his words. He saved you, gal.”
“I am aware of that, but his untruthfulness put me in that dangerous situation in the first place.”
Mrs. Bean frowned, staring out the window while resettling her grip on the knobbed handle of her cane. “He told me about that.” She barely nodded while thoughtfully pursing her lips. “Sounded genuinely sorry for all that happened and thewaythat it happened. I be thinking he meant well.” She shifted her attention to Felicity. “He be a good man, gal. Just made some poor choices. Any of us might have done the same.”
“Yes…well…” Felicity allowed herself a determined sigh. “He and I are attempting to sort ourselves through all that.”
“Lady Felicity?”
Felicity turned to the maid, her heart leaping at the sight of the letter she held out. “Yes?”
“From Lord Wakefield.” The girl handed it over, curtsied, then hurried away.
Mrs. Bean pushed herself up from her chair. “I leave you with your letter, gal. I hope you and his lordship can sort things out.” She slowly toddled away, heading for the stairs just beyond the archway of the dining room.
Taking another sip of her tepid tea to wet her suddenly dry mouth, Felicity stared at the letter on the table in front of her. This letter, this reply, would decide her on what to do. She slid her finger underneath the wax seal and unfolded it.
His Vow Renewedby One Reborn in Love’sLight
Thy words, though tempered and sweet, strike keen andclear,
A just command, which I hold mostdear.
Thou asked not for vows in idleair,
But daily proof, in shadow and infair.
So be it, my love; I cast aside theguise
Of silence easy and of comfortlies.
If time must weigh me, let the yearsproclaim
That I am worthy to speak thy cherishedname.
At each new dawn, with reverence I shallrise,
And frame each word with care, not vaindisguise.
