Page 67 of Dare it all for Love

Dearest Georgina,

It has been so long since we last saw you. I hope all your family are well and prospering in Scotland, though I do wish you would come and visit us more often.

I expect you have heard by now that Florence is to marry Henry Stanhope. It is a wonderful match and the two of them are so very happy together. I am so pleased for her. How lucky she is to marry a man she loves so well. If only we should all be so fortunate.

I wish I were with you now, Georgie. The wilds of Scotland are exactly where I would love to escape to, but we cannot always escape the future can we? No matter how far we run. Oh dear, all this wedding planning has made me sentimental and now I’m rambling and filling this letter with nonsense. Do write and tell me how you are, and your three brothers, of course. Are they still growing? I wonder the castle can accommodate such big men, and your father too. Are they still driving you to distraction?

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Grace Weston (daughter of Jemima and Solo Weston, Baron and Baroness Rothborn) to Lady Georgina Anderson (daughter of Ruth and Gordon Anderson, Countess and Earl of Morven.)

26th August 1839, Holbrook House, Sussex.

Henry looked over his shoulder as they walked away from Holbrook House towards the lake.

“He isn’t following us,” Florence said, laughing at him.

Henry frowned. “I feel like I’m walking into a trap. Your father has been quite jovial all day, and now suggesting we might like to go for a walk as it’s such a fine evening?” he added suspiciously.

“Mama spoke to him,” Florence said, taking Henry’s arm and leaning into him. “We are to be married in two days, after all, and he doesn’t wish to trap you. He likes you. Besides, there’s no need, I trapped you quite efficiently all by myself.”

Henry looked down into her glorious green eyes. His heart did an odd somersault, as it always did when he looked at Florence, and as he suspected it always would.

“So you did,” he replied, smiling at her smug expression. “Though I did help.”

“Oh, you were a marvellous help,” Florence added, and then blushed as she remembered just what he’d been helping her with when her father had interrupted them. She glanced up at him and smiled shyly. “I can’t wait to be married, Henry.”

“Nor I,” he replied, meaning it with every fibre of his being.

He had given Gabriel his solemn vow to behave as the perfect gentleman and take no liberties before the wedding. This was no mean feat as he was discovering Florence was an impatient little devil. He’d spent the entirety of the past week like a cat on hot bricks, wanting to be alone with her whilst praying he could keep his vow. There was a wicked, dark desire in him to tell Gabriel to go to the devil and take what he wanted, but he knew why that was. Lily had jilted him just days before their wedding. Henry had been oblivious, full of excitement for the future, and suddenly his world had been turned on its head. There was an illogical part of him that was terrified history would repeat itself. The jittery, anxious place in his heart that was petrified something would go wrong made him want to claim Florence now, so there could be no backing out. He dreaded every night as much as he welcomed it, certain that he would wake to discover something had happened to stop the marriage, that she’d changed her mind, come to her senses. It was all nonsense. He knew it was all nonsense. At least, he knew it in the light of day when she was beside him. In the early hours of the morning, alone in his bed, then his imagination ran riot and his nerves jangled as he counted the hours to their wedding day.

“Let’s walk down by the lake,” she suggested.

Henry darted her a glance, finding his lips twitch as she smirked at him. No doubt the suspicion in his eyes amused her, the wicked girl. There was a summerhouse down by the lake, as she well knew.

“I’ll behave, I promise,” she said solemnly.

“Hmmm,” Henry replied, uncertain she knew the meaning of the word.

“Well, you knew I was spoiled and wilful, Henry. I really don’t see why you look at me so, it’s not as though it should come as a shock to you.”

He took her hand and drew her to a stop. She turned towards him, tilting her face up in enquiry.

“You’re not spoiled in the least, Florence,” he said, tracing the elegant line of her jaw with a finger. Every part of him ached for her, to love her as he wanted to, but it was only two more days, and he could be patient. He really could. His skittish heart had lasted this long, it could manage that. “You may have led a privileged life, but it’s not spoiled you. You’re kind and giving and everything that is good, and I love you.”

Florence sighed, staring up at him, and then gave a huff of frustration and stamped her foot. “Two whole days, Henry! How shall I stand it?”

Henry snorted. “Did you really just stamp your foot?”

Florence pouted at him, staring up at him from under her lashes.

“Still think I’m not spoiled?” she whispered, her eyes glittering with mirth. “You will be forced to take me in hand, I’m afraid.”

“Apparently so,” he murmured, leaning down and nuzzling the sweet spot beneath her ear that he knew made her shiver. “I can’t wait.”

Florence sighed as his lips traced a path down her neck.

“But we must,” she said, the regret in her voice audible.

“Two days,” he murmured.