Bradford scoured every copy of thePostthat arrived. It was the one instruction he’d left with the household staff in London on his whirlwind out the door—to collect and send him copies. Each week, Bradford received a tightly tied bundle, and he couldhardly breathe until he’d read through the lot. Lily was not married yet, at least—not according to the papers.
There had been six such bundles; six weeks had passed since Bradford had left London. Doubt constantly nibbled at the edges of his focus. Had he done the right thing? What if he’d been wrong to leave as he had? What if Lily could have loved him, despite what he’d done all those years ago?
His resolve not to go to her was a tensioned, fraying string. Several times, he caught himself yanking on his riding boots before he realized what he was doing. Each time, he kicked them off again, telling himself that he’d done the right thing. It was wrong of him to have coerced her into a relationship, no matter how unintentionally he’d done so.
Bradford wanted her to know that he’d meant it when he said he would never betray her secret to anyone. Lily deserved to have clarity in order to make her decisions, and the best clarity Bradford could offer her was to leave. How could she know what she truly wanted when his presence was an unspoken threat hanging over her?
Besides, Bradford reminded himself for perhaps the thousandth time, if Lily truly wanted him there, she would have written to him. If she did, he swore to himself that he would return to her immediately and tell her everything. It was the only consolation he could offer his own battered heart.
A knock at the door had him turning; Mrs. Clark stood in the open doorway. “The post has come, my lord.”
He turned back to the window. “Thank you, Mrs. Clark. Please leave it on the desk.”
Bradford didn’t turn back around until he heard her faint footsteps retreat down the hall. Truth be told, every time the post was announced, his heart acted much like one of Mr. Belfour’s hounds—jumping and running. He needed a momentto calm himself. It was a ridiculous response to have toward yield reports and requests for routine maintenance.
Bradford sighed and took his seat. The bundle was small, obviously not containing the newspapers he expected to arrive today or tomorrow. He sliced the twine from the packet of letters and they slid across the polished desk. A sliver of familiar blue made his breath catch in his throat, sent him pawing through the stack until he found it.
She’d finally written. There was no mistaking that familiar wax seal. It was a relief of lilies, with the letter L cleverly worked into the flowers. He clasped the letter and stared at it for a few moments, terrified at what the letter might contain. Bradford didn’t doubt that the entirety of his future rested upon the lines within.
He frowned suddenly. In his haste and high emotion, he hadn’t noticed that the letter wasn’t even addressed to him. It was addressed to Rebecca, like all the other letters Lily had sent before. It staggered him—the idea that perhaps Lily wouldneverwrite to him, that perhaps she only meant to keep up the correspondence with his daughter.
But surely Lily had to know that Bradford would read them first. Perhaps there would be some hint, one single line in the letter that might tell him what he wanted to know. Bradford felt like a cold beggar looking through a window at a scene of warmth and light he’d never be part of. His hand shook as he jerked his knife through the wax seal.
Strangely, the letter was dated just three days after he’d left London.
Dearest Rebecca,
It is with great joy that I tell you that I intend to be married. The wedding will occur either at the end of this Season or sometime after, depending upon my betrothed’s preference.
Spots appearedin Bradford’s vision. He stopped reading long enough for his seized lungs to gasp some air. It had happened sosoon? Meredaysafter he’d left?
There had been a war within Bradford as he left London, and ever since. Part of him was certain that Lily feltsomethingfor him. But then, perhaps that small, doubting voice in his mind had been right all along. Maybe she’d faked that moment in the park, made Bradford believe she cared in order to protect her sisters.
He took a deep breath. If that were the case, then he’d made the right decision. Bradford would much rather she make a true attachment to someone else than to fake one with him. He grimly straightened his back and continued to read.
I amcertain you will like him very much, indeed. In fact, I would not be surprised if he were your favorite person in the whole world.
Bradford scowled.Of all the nerve! Though he’d invited Lily to visit after she was wed, Bradford certainly hadn’t extended the invitation to her newhusband. Bradford never wanted to meet the fellow, and his daughter certainly wouldn’t.
It isa funny story how we met—one that I will share with you when you’re older. As you like specific dates attached to commitments, I promise to tell you the truth of it on youreighteenth birthday, and not a moment sooner. I know you will hold me to it, as you have an excellent memory.
Still, I don’t think it at all inappropriate for me to describe him to you in the meantime. He is taller than I am, with broad shoulders. I find him very handsome?—
Here,Bradford’s hand spasmed, crinkling the parchment and blurring the words before his eyes momentarily. Rage coursed through him, so hot and pure he had to set the letter down, lest he bellow incoherently and tear it to shreds before he finished.
It was but moments before furious curiosity had him snatching up the missive again.
—even though hehas a naturally serious mien. His nose is possibly his most interesting feature. It has a slight bump in the ridge, as if it were once broken. Based on recent experience, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’d been punched in the face by a young lady whom he’d left behind in London just as she’d gained the courage to admit her great affection for him.
Bradford rearedback and read the previous lines twice before continuing. His heart pounded and something lodged in his throat, threatening to cut off his air entirely. He thought it might be hope.
Or perhaps hesneezed while he was carving those tiny pieces of furniture and struck himself in the face with his stupid little hammer. Or even more feasibly, perhaps his ego was so large, his mind too full of itself—because he always thinks he knows what’s best for everybody—that the sheer pressure of his ownhubris somehow broke his nose from within. I don’t know; I’ll have to ask him if I ever see him again.
On those lines,the pen had been pressed very hard to the parchment. Bradford hardly cared that the insults were half-legible and barely made sense. He was grinning now, so hard it pulled at the skin of his cheeks and made him realize how long it had been since he’d truly smiled at all.
Sir Vernon saysit would be best if I threw him over for one of the dozen suitors who call on me every day.
Bradford’s grinslid from his face as quickly as it had arrived.
