Regards,
Mr. Timothy Hunt, Esq.
The faint scent of cinnamon sugar tickled Daniel’s memory.
Perhaps his first thought should have been for the plight of the late earl. His second thought, perhaps, should have concerned his apparent unexpected inheritance.
But his only thought was Miss Rebecca Bond.
He regretted nothing more deeply than the lost friendship he’d shared long ago with the one woman who treated him like a man, not a title.
Rebecca was the epicenter of Daniel’s best and worst moments at Crowmere Castle.
The best such memory happened to also be Daniel’s all-time favorite birthday. His fifteenth, to be exact. Rebecca had been twelve. Old enough not to require a nanny, yet young enough for her parents to think nothing untoward of their daughter spending the afternoon in the company of a young lad on his birthday.
They’d snuck into the castle kitchen, where Rebecca had baked him raisin biscuits—the only thing she knew how to make. She had flecks of flour in her glossy black ringlets and sugar on the bridge of her nose. She smelled like warm cinnamon. He’d stolen a kiss that tasted like every present he’d ever wanted. Raisin biscuits were his favorite to this very day.
Rebecca likely didn’t think of him as fondly.
A few years later, when he was seventeen and she fourteen, they once again crossed paths at Crowmere Castle. There had been a crush of some kind, and the castle brimmed with important people. Daniel no longer recalled the occasion. All he remembered were those few moments with Rebecca.
She had been radiant that night. Her best gown, her black curls piled high, her lips plump and deliciously red against the smooth porcelain of her skin. But it was still two years before her come-out, and her parents had forbidden her from joining the party.
Daniel hadn’t even wanted to attend until he’d caught sight of Rebecca. If she couldn’t enter the ballroom, what lure held it for him? The only thing he wanted was gazing up at him from beneath dark lashes, a flush of pink dusting the apples of her cheeks as she asked him to dance with her right there, since she was forbidden to go inside.
He wanted to. He should have done. Daniel still hadn’t forgiven himself for that night. How much he’d hurt her. Nor had he forgiven his grandmother, Lady Octavia, for her role in the matter.
Shortly after, he’d inherited the viscountcy and no longer had time for anything or anyone. Life had other plans. He and Rebecca never spoke again, just as he no longer spoke to his grandmother.
But Rebecca had always been the loss that stung.
He straightened his shoulders. Now that his life and the viscountcy were under control, he was in a different position. He was a differentpersonthan he’d been back then.
This was his chance to prove it to Rebecca. His excuse to finally extend the olive branch he couldn’t offer her years before.
He reread the summons. Crowmere Castle was three hundred miles away. The first of November was less than a fortnight hence. He considered his options. Most of the other guests wouldn’t arrive until closer to the reading. If Daniel left immediately, changing horses as often as necessary to take advantage of every scrap of daylight, he could make the trip in three days.
Better yet, he could start now. Couldn’t he? There was no moon to speak of, so he wouldn’t be able to leave London until dawn. But the sun rose at six o’clock in the morning, and as it was already half three. That left him two and a half hours to pack his trunk, rouse his valet, and set off toward the first posting-house. A capital plan!
He shoved the letter into his waistcoat pocket and raced to his dressing room. It was considered badtonto abandon one’s own birthday party, but if Daniel wished for a chance to speak to Rebecca in private, he had to arrive before the others.
There were no other circumstances in which the two could be alone without raising eyebrows. No better opportunity to even be under the same roof. Once the other guests arrived, his chance to make amends would vanish.
He’d already squandered too many opportunities. He couldn’t let it happen again.
Without wasting a single moment, he collected his trunks and his valet and set out for Cornwall. They took hurried meals at humble inns along the way, and stopped at posting-houses only long enough to change horses or grab a few hours’ sleep.
As the wheels of his carriage brought him inexorably closer to Crowmere Castle, all Daniel could think about was Rebecca.
When he’d first met the pretty gray-eyed girl all those years ago, he’d had nothing to offer her. Daniel’s father had been Lady Octavia’s prodigal second son, whom she had vociferously declared unfit for the title. When the viscountcy had dared to pass to seventeen-year-old Daniel, Lady Octavia had been even less pleased with the newest lord.
As angry as he’d been with his grandmother for her constant belittling, young Daniel couldn’t help but seek her approval… or at least enough success to make her eat her words.
He’d thrown himself into the title, the estate, the House of Lords, and spent the next few years proving Lady Octavia wrong. At the expense of all else. He’d been so focused on managing and improving every aspect of the viscountcy, he hadn’t had a moment to spare for so much as a single dance during Rebecca’s first Season. He hadn’t even returned her calls.
Next year, he’d told himself. Next year he’d have everything under control and be able to relax and enjoy life. Next year he’d finally be free to sweep Rebecca off her feet at a midnight waltz, if some blackguard didn’t beat him to it.
But next year never came. Rebecca never set foot in London again. The chance was lost.
