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Ezra’s voice slowed, the words he read aloud a surprising echo of his own thoughts and feelings.
Do you remember the evening you introduced me to Lord Brown? He lives not far from my current home, and yet, we’d never once been introduced. You were so charming and knew exactly how to keep his interest. Meanwhile, I stood by, mute and awkward. Gracious, but I felt certain you would have no interest in continuing to be my friend after that night.
Frances stood, and the subtle noise brought Ezra’s head up.
“I thought you were going to read it aloud.”
Had he stopped? He couldn’t remember when he’d turned to reading the words silently. Only, the thoughts expressed therein felt so familiar, so much like his own. He could very easily understand how Miss Stewart would feel relief at being away from London, even if it meant more solitude.
He held Miss Stewart’s letter out. “You need to answer this, Frances.” Ezra may have only laid eyes on Miss Stewart once in his entire life, but the few emotions she’d openly expressed on the page were painfully familiar. Miss Stewart was lonely and had struggled to find footing among theton. A kind word from Frances would go a long way in helping her feel confident enough about herself to do better next year.
Frances, however, only spread the letters in her hand and fanned herself with them. “Dear me, if only I could. But I am so busy answering all of these.”
“I’m not saying you have to invite her to live with us. Only write her back.”
“Because we both came out during the same Season? So I must now be her dearest friend forever?” She batted her lashes. “What a quaint notion.” She turned her back to him.
“Frances,” Ezra called, but she didn’t spare him a second glance as she passed out of the room.
He’d rather been wondering if Mother wasn’t spoiling Frances too much, ifheallowed it too often. Apparently, he should have stopped wondering and started changing things long ago. His gaze dropped to the letter still in his hand. He would speak to Mother about Frances later. For now, what was to be done about Miss Stewart? The rest of her letter—which he was fully aware he should not be reading but couldn’t resist regardless—was more of the same. Though she never came right out and said she was unhappy and worried she’d never find her place among society, it was all there, nonetheless.
After he finished the short letter, Ezra found himself reading it a second time, and then a third. The letter was sweet, and yet it also tugged at his heart. This young woman clearly needed a friend. His gaze fell to the ink pot and extra foolscap he kept on hand to write his own letters. What was the chance he could convince Frances to write Miss Stewart back? Poor, at best.
Which was horribly sad. Because it was clear that Miss Stewart needed a response. She needed to know thatsomeoneshe met in London had noticed she’d left, cared she was gone, and had thought of her while she was away. It wouldn’t have to be much. But Ezra knew the power of a short, kind word at just the right time.
He placed Miss Stewart’s letter down, his hand cupping his chin and mouth. He wasn’t particularly gifted at speaking to strangers, but that changed when it came time to write down his thoughts. He could more easily express himself in writing than he ever could while speaking.
Did he dare though?
Frances had suggested the very thing he was thinking now, but only in jest. He himself had called the notion “utter rot.” Gentlemen did not write ladies they were not connected to, either as a brother, father, or intended. Only a lady could write another lady.
Which was why he deeply wished he could get Frances to write the letter.
Then again...Miss Stewart didn’t have to know itwasn’tFrances who’d written her back. It wasn’t as though Miss Stewart had received letters from Frances in the past and so would know what her handwriting looked like. He could always express a thoughtful word and then sign it with his sister’s name. No one would be hurt by the small untruth, and indeed a great deal of good would probably come from it.
Blast, what was he thinking? Ezra ran a hand through his hair. He was completely insane to even consider the notion.
And yet...
...Miss Stewartdiddeserve a letter back. And Frances wasn’t going to be writing one herself...
Miss Grace Stewart nearly skipped across the room when the butler informed her that she’d received a letter. She’d written ever so many the week before last, and not a single lady of her acquaintance had yet to write back. Her London Season had been painfully awkward and lonely. But this one letter, this single response, meant it hadn’t been for naught.
She had at least one friend. If that’s all she could claim after an eternity of uncomfortable dinner parties and stumbling during musicales, then so be it. This lady would no doubt be her dearest friend for life.
Grace took the letter, hungrily taking in every detail. Most important, though, was the signature at the bottom. To her joy, her new and most blessed friend was Lady Frances Stanhope.
