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“A-hem,” Eliza spoke from across the room. “What are you two whispering about?”
“We’re organizing a surprise concert,” Lenora replied. “Tonight, while Adrian takes his port, Nettie intends to play her harp-lute.”
“Tonight?” Eliza queried. “I thought you said you weren’t quite ready to perform, Nettie.”
Nettie shot Lenora a vicious glance. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“Carry on, then.” Eliza turned back to her sewing.
“You couldn’t think of anything else?” Nettie hissed.
Lenora shrugged. “You brought it on yourself by lecturing me.”
“Well, your ears are the ones that will pay. And I wasn’t lecturing. I was warning. Anyone can read letters, not just their intended recipient. Have you forgotten all the secrets we learned from Mother’s letters to her friend?”
“Of course I haven’t.”
Her family was haunted by those secrets—her mother’s unhappiness despite loving her father, and her father’s infrequent bursts of ardor, mere crumbs that kept her mother’s hope alive between long periods of his impatience and cruelty.
“Asquith is expecting a letter,” she said under her breath. “The correspondence is to be addressed to Lady Asquith, and he shall intercept it.”
Nettie looked unconvinced. “What if the plan goes awry?”
“The plan won’t go awry.” She turned back to the paper. “And you need to go away. Before anyone else notices, I must finish.”
“I will do, but don’t say I didn’t—”
“I know.”
Nettie flounced away.
Lenora rolled her eyes. Since when had Nettie turned so conventional?
She returned to her task, dipped the quill back into the ink, and restarted her letter. When she’d exhausted every safe topic and filled both sides, she ended the missive.
With affection,
Miss Lenora Wainwright, your ward.
Your ward. Why had she written that? He knew who she was!
Ah well. She sighed. Perhaps if she scented the paper, she might communicate some of what she’d left unsaid.
***
For the past fortnight, Asquith had to restrain himself from asking after the mail on an hourly basis. Every day he’d waited. And every day he’d been disappointed.
He’d expected Lenora to write early and often. He’d told her he’d set aside coin specifically for the post. So why hadn’t she written?
Finally, on a bright winter morning over four weeks since they’d parted, the first neatly folded missive arrived.
Unable to find complete privacy, he’d tucked the letter into his upper waistcoat pocket so that, throughout the day, her unread words would rest close to his heart.
Late at night, when he was alone beneath his sheets, he settled in, anticipating the quiet moment they would be “together.”
First, he raised the letter to his lips. Though the packet must have changed hands several times, a faint hint of lavender and calm still clung to the paper. The scent transported him back into Barker’s room, and for a heady moment, he savored the feeling of holding Lenora tightly—safely—in his arms.
He smiled, anticipating her characteristic wit—the quickness of mind and touch of dry humor he had only come to truly know after she’d blackmailed him into meetings, the real Lenora known only to a few.
