‘You are to be commended, Miss Fairfax,’ Lord Huntingly smiled. ‘There are few who would exchange the comfort of their slumber for such a view, but I am in hard agreement.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t catch me riding at that time– unless I hadn’t gone to bed at all!’ Fred chuckled.
‘And I wager it would be the last thing on your mind, even then.’ Sir Francis grinned, ignoring a melting look from Miss Amelia.
‘Lord, don’t wager a Fairfax, Sir Francis,’ Sophie chimed. ‘You really should know better than that, it can lead to all sorts of trouble.’ She glanced at her charismatic husband, who raised an eyebrow questioningly.
‘I think we all know who needs to learn to resist a wager,’ he replied drolly, setting everyone laughing again.
Josephine laughed with everyone else, but was conscious of the tightness returning to her chest. The rapport between her sisters and their husbands was heartwarming, yet it only accentuated the gulf between herself and Lord Huntingly. And then Sir Francis seemed so intent on teasing her that, by the time the ladies withdrew, she was longing for the peace and solitude of her bedchamber.
‘Lord, isn’t anyone coming to the drawing room tonight?’ Matilda complained as she, Phoebe and Sophie all made their excuses at the bottom of the staircase.
‘You can’t really blame us, Matty,’ Phoebe smiled. ‘We’re old married ladies now– well, nearly all of us– and tomorrow is going to be busy. Besides, the gentlemen will only lay each other a pony they can put out a candle with a flintlock orsome such thing.’
‘Put out a candle with a flintlock?’ Sophie echoed, wrinkling her nose in disgust. ‘I certainly hope not! I may be a Fairfax, but I’m still in a delicate state.’
‘Oh hush, there’s nothing delicate about your state, Lady Rotherby!’ Phoebe teased affectionately. ‘Come on, old lady, I’ll walk you to your bedchamber.’
‘And what’s your excuse?’ Matilda demanded mulishly, as their elder sisters turned to go.
‘Nothing other than the headache,’ Josephine confessed, ‘and a desire for my bed.’
‘Don’t worry, Matilda, we will keep you company!’ Miss Amelia cooed as she and Charlotte Davenport emerged from the dining room. ‘Josephine has an important day tomorrow, and, if the gentlemen wish for music, Sir Francis can play the pianoforte and I can help turn pages! Oh, I’m sure we will all be well entertained, and your sister will gain great comfort from a good night’s sleep.’ She turned her pretty smile towards Josephine, who had no doubt that her real delight lay in the prospect of turning pages for Sir Francis, with half the female party out of the way. Yet the thought of joining them for more baffling conversations and questioning looks was more than she could endure.
‘Thank you, Amelia, that is most kind,’ she nodded. ‘I’m sure I will benefit greatly from the rest… I bid you all good night.’
Then she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber where, at last, she was able to empty her wild and tumbling thoughts onto paper.
Dear Fitzwilliam,
I have never felt so lost. Having entered this betrothal with the clear purpose of protecting a most beloved sister, I must conclude that sustaining it is not straightforward at all.
In truth, were I to have no misgivings about the bridegroom’s character, I might welcome his inclinations towards my sister, and yet my misgivings have never been graver– and so I must go on with this charade…
Josephine sighed and reached forward to ink her quill just as a faint rustle made her pause. Frowning, she pushed her hand into the pocket of her skirt and withdrew the slim package Benson had given her earlier. She’d been so distracted by the evening, she’d completely forgotten about it. Swiftly, she untied the string, and opened the paper to find two yellow envelopes, bearing military stamps, inside. A strange excitement laced through her as she turned them over. She knew exactly who they were from for they weren’t fresh correspondence at all, but two more letters written in George Pellham’s distinct hand. And while there was no note, she knew that Mrs Pellham had sent them for her to read, that somehow they’d been separated from the main bundle.
Her gaze flickered briefly to her writing box containing the rest of the letters. She’d read them all twice and, aside from the brief line about Eliza’s regrets, they’d provided no firm evidence at all. But perhaps all that was about to change now, perhaps she was finally to learn the truth.
The truth. Wasn’t it the truth that she’d begun this believing she was sacrificing her heart, and now feared she no longer knew it?
She turned the first letter over in her hands, almost afraid to open it, and yet the barrage of conflict within her threatened todull all else. How was she to proceed at all without knowing what happened in Italy?
‘Huntingly’s name is far from unblemished. If I were you, I should take a little care… your Fairfax reputation will have much work to counteract his history.’
‘I cannot imagine how I would live without you, Eliza, you have always been my guide and strength, even through the darkest times, and I know, like me, you regret it all…’
Trembling, Josephine opened both letters and smoothed them out before her. They were dated three weeks apart.
2nd May 1825
Dearest Eliza,
I am beyond worried to read the contagion is sweeping the village, and pray your strength and constitution will bear you through the next few weeks. I also write in some haste for the inevitable has happened… Although in separate battalions, we have finally crossed paths here in Paris, and I could tell immediately that there has been no change on his part. He intends to know, one way or another, and so I have but one choice… It is extremely fortuitous that my time in occupation has recently come to an end and I can disappear– for that is my intention. I shall write again when I reach my destination, but for now please know that I remain
Your doting brother,
George
