“And he’s rich?” Fiona wanted to know.
“Very,” she confirmed.
“Well, if anyone in my new family objects to him... that’s simply too bad,” Fiona said loftily, with a pretty shrug. “They cannot and will not stop me from seeing both of you.”
“Likewise,” Felicity confirmed.
They all suspected it wouldn’t quite be that easy. But if there was anything the Woodville siblings understood, it was things that were not quite easy.
“Well, I’m the Earl of Highgrove,” Hogarth said. “I’m the head of the family. You have my blessing. Marchand is a good man, Ginny. I like him, though I confess I’m also a little bit afraid of him. He’ll take good care of you and your children. I suspect he would kill for you. You deserve someone who would do that, anyway.”
Ginny closed her eyes and exhaled and they all gathered around to embrace her. And she held on to each of them tightly.
And that left Francis.
She decided it was kindest to tell him in a letter, rather than subject him to the humiliation of visiting with the happy expectation of an enthusiastic acceptance of his proposal.
Dear Francis,
I have cherished our friendship, and it has been an honor to be esteemed by a person as fine and kind as yourself. It therefore grieves me greatly to share news which I fear will hurt you, and perhaps forever cost me your regard.
I have fallen in love with another man, who loves me in return. While this recent development has taken me quite by surprise, our feelings for each other are genuine, profound, and permanent. I cannot now conceive of a future without him, or with any other man.
I felt it would be unconscionable to wait another day to tell you.
I greatly regret causing you any pain. I swear upon all I hold dear that it was never my intent to mislead you with regards to my nature of affection, if this is indeed how you feel.
I wish for you the joy of the true love that you deserve. May life shower you and your family with blessings.
I will always think of you warmly.
Yours sincerely,
Guinevere
Her palms went clammy as she read the letter. The moment she sent it, her destiny would be sealed.
Finally, she sprinkled it with sand, took a deep breath, and squeezed her eyes closed against the image of Francis’s face when he read it.
How she loathed the very notion of hurting him. How unfair that claiming her happiness might cost someone else theirs.
But how did she know what lay in store for Francis? Like Marchand said, life was a tide that rolled in and out.
And it seemed to her that she was a little mad to send this letter before she’d even had a proposal. She supposed it was possible that Marchand had expired suddenly, or eloped with an actress. Where would that leave her?
Grateful for her time with him.
She would simply spend her life spoiling her nieces and nephews. There could never be anyone else for her.
I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me, Gabriel had said to her.
Her trepidation dissolved into a peaceful certainty.
She gave one of the Woodville footmen two shillings to deliver the letter to Francis at his father’s estate.
By the time he read it she would be on a mail coach to London.
“Are you sure this is where you’d like me to leave you, miss?”
