Drew
Dear Ana and Lord Madewood,
I’ve received an offer of marriage from my current employer, the Duke of Lachlan, and I have accepted. I apologize for the shocking nature of this news, it has been a whirlwind for us all.
What this means for you, is that my time as your Spinster Boarder has, at last, come to an end. Thank you for allowing me to live as a guest in your household these great many months.
If you are amenable, I hope to send servants and a carriage to remove my belongings and set the room to rights. Do let me know what day might be most convenient for this task?
If a social call would suit you or your schedule, I would be pleased to host you for tea in Pollen Street or call on you in Golden Square at your earliest convenience. The wedding will be a private ceremony followed by breakfast with the duke’s immediate family—over and done by next week.
All my best,
Drewsmina
Mother,
Hello.
I’m writing to inform you that a solicitor may be in touch this week in regard to the annuity I receive from Father’s estate. Please cooperate. I have accepted an offer of marriage from Ian Clayblack, the Duke of Lachlan, and will marry in a private ceremony next week.
Drewsmina
The letters had been written in the middle of the night. When dawn broke, Drew sent a boy from the stables to deliver them.
When she wasn’t passing midnight hours writing and rewriting letters, Drew had paced. When she didn’t pace, she’d lain in bed, sleepless, grappling with a terrible, nagging sense of disbelief.
Was she engaged to be married?
Yes.
Well, yes—for the moment. Possibly. So it seemed. Against all odds.
Should she be mortified and ashamed about the nature of the betrothal?
Also possibly. In actuality, she felt no such thing. But perhaps this was one bit of her former life that hadn’t been properly made over. Did pleasant, thoughtful women stew in horror because a handsome duke had kissed them?
God only knew.
What bothered her far more was not knowing if the duke’s incredibly generous attitude would persist.
Would sunrise bring the same casual pleasantness? What about next week? What about any day for the rest of their lives, which, the last she checked, was the length of a marriage?
It was impossible to know if (or when) bitterness or outrage or resentment might raise its terrible head.
When that happened,thenwhat would she do?
The questions and lack of answers were maddening, and Drew felt almost rigid with uncertainty, like a wet kerchief left to harden in the hot, bright sun. Formerly functional, now too stiff to do any good, easily mistaken for a dead bird.
When finally the household began to stir, Drew’s disbelief gave way to strumming anxiety. She hid in her room until after breakfast. The loose plan had been to meetLachlan at an appointed time and hope to intercept the girls as they left the morning meal. Ultimately, she reached the door too early and was hovering outside the breakfast room when Lachlan clipped down the stairwell. At the sight of him, a small flock of birds launched inside her chest.
“Hello,” he said, coming to a stop before her. He crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes were bright and blue and keenly observant. He had not been tossing and turning all night.
“Hello,” she said.
There was too much to say and also no words whatsoever. She held her breath, waiting for him to tell her he’d changed his mind.
“Can you hear them?” he finally asked. “Through the doors?”
