Page 5 of The Gentlewoman Author

“It was my idea—and a splendid one. I want you home. We need your steady influence. I need it. I am surrounded with lunatics, which is quite literally true, for, as you know, the word is from the Latin lunaticus, madness caused by the moon.” She laughed at her own overused witticism. “Besides, you are…what shall we say? A little left-footed around women. Don’t look like that. You know as well as I that the span of an age may pass before you capture another.”

How would she know if he were awkward? The passage of ten years changed him, probably. It was hard to say since he’d spent far more of those ten years earning money than socializing. He clenched a cushion but kept himself from throwing it across the room. “I’m going out.”

“It is far too late, sweetness. Stay with me.”

Daniel walked away, turning to kick the library door closed, but it didn’t budge. He kicked it again and groaned when it remained in place. The conversation reignited that horrible time when he had learned his fiancée had married another man. The news came directly after his receipt of an amorous letter from her. The sphinx.

His mother tittered. “It hasn’t shut in ages. Rusty hinges, you know.”

Turning his back to his mother, he trudged up the stairs to his room, where he removed a bundle of letters from his still packed trunk and left the castle. It was a twenty-minute ride to the tavern. No matter. If he over imbibed, maybe he would stay all night and teach his parents a lesson. Perhaps he should let them give Almery to his sister Emma and her useless husband Andrew and watch it crumble around them. It would only be what they deserved. Therein lay the problem. They would not care. The castle was of no worth to them, neither did they value the improvements he had made, though the estate now had the potential to sustain them all for generations.

In the stable, he ran his hand over his mare’s velvet neck. “It is too bad that women are not as trustworthy as you.” He mounted and bolted into town.

A full moon led Daniel over the country road and to the tavern without incident. He tied up his horse and followed raucous noises to a door that opened before him with a whoosh of warm air, laughter, and song. A man staggered into Daniel, who offered a steadying arm.

“Can I help you home?” Daniel asked.

“Nar, I’m-a nearly there.”

Daniel watched a moment, making certain the man could walk.

“Close the door!” someone shouted.

Daniel shut himself into the dark tavern, where a fire blazed, setting aglow men of all ages and stations, who bellowed, sang, and drank. A group of men played a loud game of dice in a corner. He approached the bar, pushing himself between two men, and asked the barman for a gin, downed it in three gulps, and begged an ale. Drinking away sorrows did not suit him, but there was nowhere else to go.

He took his mug and sat in a lone chair close to the fire. He pulled the collection of letters from his pocket and eyed Miss Jensen’s looping script. His fingers caressed the satin-soft paper and stroked the edges of the letters, which had worn into decided creases. He could read them once more, but there was no need. When the relationship began, he was working at Smith’s Bank with a desperate frenzy nearly every waking moment. When not analyzing investments or meeting with clients, he was reading Miss Jensen’s letters. He had his favorites, certain lines he repeated to himself. They’d given him hope, a vision of the comfortable domestic future that awaited him once he earned enough to restore Almery. How absurd of him to have kept her letters. Once she had married, he worked even harder, though without the softening expectation of matrimony.

Behind him, a raucous group of young men sang a song about a wench with a thousand lovers. How appropriate.

Heat from the raging fire burned his legs and face, signaling it was long past time to bid farewell to his unfaithful love. His reluctant fingers pulled on a pink satin ribbon, unraveling the bow and releasing the stack of missives. He tossed a letter into the fire. It curled in on itself and fluttered to ash. He threw in another and another.

“Good evening. Mind if I sit?” A young man scraped a chair toward Daniel’s and sat before gaining permission. Daniel recognized him as one of the men who had been playing hazard. “It’s never good to drink alone, especially not when burning a lady’s letters.”

“How would you know what I’m burning?”

“What else could it be?”

Daniel shrugged, the letters tight between his fingers, somehow not wanting this man to witness the ceremony.

“How long have you known her?” The man was in his early twenties, perhaps a decade younger than Daniel, of medium build, with sparkling eyes, brown wavy hair, and pleasing manners. The kind of man who made everyone feel like his best friend.

“It is an old wound. I hardly know why I still have them.” The man waited, so Daniel continued. “I thought we had an understanding, but I mistook her intentions.” Speaking the truth aloud freed him to fling another letter into the fire.

“Such are women. I’m through with them myself. Through with this whole town and heading to Bath.”

“So far? Why not London?”

“Too big for me.”

Daniel envied his open and jovial laughter.

“I like a small town where I can know everyone. Plus, less competition.”

“I thought you were through with ladies.”

“A lie.” He winked and leaned forward. “I need a fresh supply.”

Daniel tossed letters into the fire in twos and threes, each a burden lifted. “My parents want to arrange a marriage for me.”