London, September 13th, 1829
Sebastian stoodon the dock and rocked back on his heels. He’d wanted to collect Maggie from her townhouse himself, but she’d insisted on meeting him here. He felt as though he’d been waiting forever for this day. He stared at the water and his heart swelled. The Thames could hardly be more inviting on this warm September afternoon.
Sebastian had considered obtaining a special license shortly after she’d accepted his proposal so that they could marry without delay. God knew he wanted nothing more. But he also wanted to watch his bride,Maggie, walk down the aisle, willing to give herself to him freely in the sight of God, witnessed by all their friends and family.
He’d not realized what a sentimental fool he could be until then.
Initially, they’d dismissed the idea of a small ceremony at the chapel at Land’s End due to Lady Danbury’s delicate condition. Danbury’s countess was expecting in late summer, and Sebastian and Margaret had decided a wedding would be too great of a burden.
Lady Danbury, however, begged to differ and asserted that she had more than enough assistance, what with nurses and staff. Of course, she insisted they make the journey so that Margaret’s brother could give her away.
Even by post, Lady Danbury was difficult to disagree with.
They would marry at Margaret’s brother’s estate on Oct. 22nd.
Sebastian had suggested the date to her tentatively and then explained that he wanted her to know a happy beginning at the end of her sad week of anniversaries.
She’d stared at him wordlessly for a moment, and he’d thought he’d made a mistake. Those whiskey-colored eyes of hers had even welled up with tears.
“We don’t have to—” he’d begun, but then she’d blinked and nodded.
“No. It’s perfect.” She’d walked into his arms.
She’d sent word to her brother and sister-in-law, who had gone right to work planning another house party, and they’d begun making plans for their journey. The party would be a smaller one this time and would mostly consist of just his and her close friends and family.
For what remained of the summer, hardly a day passed that he was not squiring her about all of London or visiting her at her Mayfair townhouse. He’d loved the woman he met last autumn; he’d die for the woman she was now.
Although still very much the lady, she had blossomed in ways he never could have imagined.
They’d gone up together along with Lord and Lady Darlington, in one of Lady Montfort’s hot air balloons. The ladies had oohed and ahhed and laughed and, for days afterward, Maggie had done her best to create the perfect painting of their bird’s-eye view.
She had also taken him around the foundling houses where she was welcomed with smiles by children and staff alike. Together they worked on the wording and contents of new legislation that his father considered backing.
The two of them never lacked conversation but could enjoy quiet times as well.
But the nights. Those ended up not being as idyllic as everything else. Although he’d visited her late on the first night of his return—keeping his hands off her had not been an option—he’d had the damn fool idea of protecting her reputation for the duration of their engagement, of promising to remain celibate until after their wedding.
Before suffering for even three nights, the longing he experienced revealed exactly how asinine of an idea that had been. And so instead of sitting up longing for her each night, he’d written to her.
My lonely, lonely bed, July 30th, 1829
Maggie,
I’m waging the war again and losing the battle tremendously. You are so close and yet so damn far. Release me from my promise. Let me come to you.
Let me climb into your bed like a thief in the night. You’ll know my touch as I draw back the covers to reveal your naked skin. My hand craves the feel of your skin, it craves the power of bringing you to completion, seeking and entering past your warm, wet folds.
My lips crave your mouth, your breasts, your thighs… all of you.
Let me come to you. Let me bury myself inside of you. I love you, Maggie, now and forever.
Your most passionately devoted future husband,
Sebastian
Waiting for her now, Sebastian smiled to think he’d likely sent her over twenty or so such missives. And always, on the next day, when he collected her to visit some museum or office or one of her other charities or foundling houses, she met him with a secret smile.
He pulled her most recent letter from his jacket.
