If only for a few more stolen moments.
23
With dawn came the morning papers. Chloe couldn’t bear to look. She didn’t have to. Graham inhaled every word before breakfast.
There was no engagement announcement. Nor was there any gossip that the betrothal had been delayed. Other than a description of Philippa’s gown and a faithful recounting of which sets she’d danced with Faircliffe, there was no further gossip about them whatsoever.
Chloe rubbed her temples. “What does it mean?”
“It means,” Elizabeth said with a shrug, “it’ll be in tomorrow’s paper. These were likely on the printing press long before the dancing stopped.”
“I’ll hear before that,” Graham assured Chloe. “When I make my rounds in an hour, I’ll learn all about the betrothal and report back to you.”
“Please don’t,” she said. “I do not want to hear any details at all.”
Randall, the Wynchesters’ butler, stepped into the dining room bearing a silver tray. “Letter for Miss Chloe.”
“Philippa.” Chloe groaned.
Perhaps Philippa wished to spread the good news to her reading circle before the gossip columns did it for her.
The last thing Chloe felt like doing was congratulating her on her fine catch.
But the letter wasn’t from Philippa.
The Duke of Faircliffe’s seal was right there in the middle.
“I…I’ll read this in my room.” Chloe rose on shaky legs.
Tommy leapt to her feet. “I’ll come with you.”
As soon as they were alone in Chloe’s chamber, she broke the wax seal and read the letter’s contents.
I miss you. Come over?
~L
He missed her.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, toss the letter into the fire or frame the words on her wall. How long had she waited in agony for such a sign? That he noticed when she was gone, that he wished she were there…that hecared.
And he’d chosen to send this the day after he betrothed himself to someone else?
Tommy’s brow lined with concern. “What are you going to do?”
Chloe crumpled the letter in her fist, then just as quickly uncrumpled it, placing the wrinkled parchment atop her dressing table and running her trembling hand atop the ridges in an attempt to smooth it back to the way it had been before.
It didn’t work.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice raw and miserable.
Tommy leaned against the plain wardrobe. “Do you want to see him?”
“Yes.” Chloe stared bleakly at nothing. “No.”
She lowered her heavy forehead to the dressing table, pinning the wretched letter with the weight of her thoughts.
Of course she wanted to see Lawrence. The knowledge that she had lost him, that it was now final and official and over, was more than she could bear. Why drag out the inevitable good-bye?
