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He thought of Miss Loery with her fair hair that sparkled like champagne when she wore it in tight curls atop her head. She was almost statuesque in her beauty as she stood very tall, and her eyes were an icy blue which intrigued Richard. Whenever he brought a picture of her to mind, he focused on those crystalline eyes as they were often so unreadable. He felt, very much, that she spent her days studying his movements and evaluating if he would in fact prove to be a proper husband. He sincerely hoped he held up underneath her weighty scrutiny. But as she had agreed to be his wife, he figured that he must have done something right—at least thus far.

Thinking of Miss Loery filled Richard’s entire being with a mild sense of grief.

I want her to love me…just as I wish I could love her…but—

There was no conclusion to that thought. The grand finale was less than desired. Richard knew that most marriages weren’t built on love. He understood how many of his friends had not even been given the same luxury as he was to choose his own bride as several fellows had been matched up years ago by their parents. So, he knew he ought to be grateful to his mother for allowing him the time and leisure to select his own bride, court her, and marry her during this lavish wedding weekend. But he would have liked it if there was some affection between them.

He sighed despairingly, refolded the list, and tucked it back into his pocket where it belonged. He reached for the empty claret bottle and tipped it upward, seeking the taste of even the most meager amount of alcohol but finding none. Then, he stood and patted his jacket, feeling the weight of the list there.

Almost done…almost complete.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself by holding one hand against the back of the armchair. Then, he left the room, searching for the nearest housemaid who might be able to do something about the mess he’d made in the library. He gave a quick glance around the hall, noting the flurry of carriages that were accumulating out front, and he switched course, not entirely ready to face his guests just yet. He steered toward the staircase and had just turned so that he might step upward when he ran straight into Leticia.

Their foreheads touched, and Leticia sprang backward at once. “Bottled spider!” she breathed, making the Shakespearean insult sound most natural. “Plague sore.” Her hands flew to her head, and she clutched there. When he was fourteen, he and Harry had begun reading several of Shakespeare’s great plays. When they were home on holiday, they taught the young Leticia, who at the time was only eight years old, several choice insults which she ran about the house shrieking hysterically anytime either of them did something to displease her like leave her out of their tomfoolery.

Richard’s hand went to touch the tender spot on his own forehead, and he whispered, “Some things never change, thou poisonous bunch-backed toad.”

Leticia’s hands dropped away from her forehead now, and her hazel eyes grew wide with astonishment. “I didn’t expect to run into you.”

“Nor I into you.”

She gave him a look of discomfort and reached up to touch her hairline once more. Her delicate fingers wove into the tendrils of brown locks near her temples. “What were you doing running about? Aren’t you supposed to be greeting your guests?” She grimaced, but using her free hand, she waved toward the front entry way.

“And what about you?” Richard asked, avoiding her question entirely. “Shouldn’t you be upstairs with your aunt?”

Leticia sighed glumly. “Your mother and my aunt are determined to see me find my match this weekend. I don’t think I can be asked to endure such torture.”

Richard chuckled. “Come now, you pied ninny. Finding a husband is not quite the calamitous affair you make it out to be.”

“So, you say,” she paused before tacking on, “you crystal-button, knot-pated pouch.” Now they both tittered with laughter, but Richard saw how Leticia did not take her hands from her forehead.

“Here,” he said, reaching forward and placing his fingertips lightly near the spot where she was pressing. “Tell me if this hurts.”

“It hurts.”

“I hardly even touched you,” Richard argued then, he extended his hand toward her and escorted her safely off the staircase. Now that they both had their two feet firmly on the ground, he gently placed both hands on her shoulders. “Relax,” he said soothingly, “I just want to see if you hurt your head.”

“I didn’t hurt my head…thank you very much. If anyone hurt my head, it was you when you turned to go barreling up the stairs. Where were you going in such a hurry anyway?”

As she had just answered his question honestly, admitting to fleeing the company of her aunt and his mother because she didn’t wish to speak frankly about getting married, he knew it was only right and proper to do her the same courtesy by sharing exactly what he’d been doing. But now, with his fingers gently moving along Leticia’s forehead, and her wide hazel eyes looking at him expectantly, he couldn’t quite recall what had made him leave the library behind in such a hurried manner.

“It’s unimportant,” Richard returned, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

“I’d say it was very important,” Leticia scoffed. “If I should suffer a head trauma from our collision, I must have something to report to the physician so that he can tell others why it’s necessary I miss the rest of the wedding weekend.”

“You moldy bounder,” Richard whispered appreciatively. “Are you, even as we speak, crafting a plan to get out of this wedding weekend?”

“Are you?” Leticia retorted with the challenge thick in her voice. It was then that Richard realized just how very close they were standing to one another. He was so near to Leticia, he could smell the sweet perfume of the bluebells that dangled from her hair.

“Of course not,” Richard answered, pulling his hands away from her forehead and taking two large steps backward, the heels of his boots clacking on the parquet floor, giving emphasis to his movements that were designed to separate them. “I was merely—” But he didn’t have to finish his statement with fabrication as a sudden noise startled Leticia.

Her eyebrows lifted and all signs of her previous pain disappeared. She smiled at him. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she said, glancing down the hall in the direction of where the noise emanated. “Want to come with me?” She held out her hand to him, and for a beat, he considered taking it. Almost as if she could sense the way his soul was wavering, she deepened the taunt by whispering, “I’ll never tell anyone where we’ve gone.”

Richard gazed into her eyes then, seeing them dance merrily with mischief and mirth. He raised his hand to put it in her own but then tucked it behind his back instead. “You go on ahead, and should I need to seek refuge later, I will come in search of you.”

“As if you’ll ever be able to find me.” With that, Leticia raised one finger to her lips and made a motion as though to silence him. She twirled one time, allowing her white skirts that were trimmed in pale gold stitching to swirl around her, and then, as if she were emulating Queen Titania herself, she skipped down the hallway, turned toward the backdoor, and disappeared.

Leticia…Richard stood for a moment, thinking of his childhood friend and her enigmatic ways.

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