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L
etty rather enjoyed this temporary interlude, except for the pain in her ankle. For the first time since she’d come Ivy Castle, she had someone’s undivided attention, though the ducal estate had nothing to do with that.
And neither did her family, for that matter.
“For all the time I spend in a school, I don’t spend nearly enough time reading for pleasure anymore,” she admitted when she felt the weight of the baron’s gaze upon her.
“Aren’t you rather long in the tooth to still be in school, Lady Lettice?”
“It’s a touch ill-bred to mention a lady’s age.” Before she could really engage the handsome baron in conversation, she flicked her attention to his sister. “You have one part of that assessment correct, Miss Beckwith.” After draining her teacup, she stretched out her arm as far as she could and barely reached the low table near her position. Once she’d deposited her cup upon it, she added, “I am long in the tooth, but age is only a number and means absolutely nothing. As for the schooling part, I’m the headmistress of Miss Bertram’s School for Young Ladies in Brighton. It’s a finishing school for daughters in the ton.”
Miss Beckwith sniffed. “You mean for parents who want their daughters to be perfect little replicas of china dolls, with poise and grace and manners and no personality enough that will attract a man so he can install her into his household as an object.”
“Abigail, enough!” Exasperation rang in the baron’s voice.
Letty smiled. She held up a hand to stay any further recrimination from him. “More or less, yes, that’s the point. And for some of those young ladies, it’s quite true. However—and this must remain a confidence between the three of us—my favorites are the handful of students who refuse to conform. Personally, I think it’s horrifying to squelch spirit from a girl in lieu of proprieties and rules, but this is what their parents want.”
The younger woman pulled a face. “I’d like to find a husband too, but I’m not willing to hide who I am to secure one.”
“Abigail!” The poor baron. If he squeezed his teacup any harder, she feared the china would shatter.
“And neither should you.” Letty attempted to move her ankle into a more comfortable position, but when pain streaked through her lower limb, she hissed. Honestly, she’d rather utter one of the curses she’d heard her brothers say from time to time, but that outlet was beyond the resources of a headmistress. “You should always marry a man who admires and loves the real you. Accept no substitutions.” She vaguely remembered the woman as a young girl. She was at least five years younger than her brother. Mostly, back in their childhood days, Abigail spent her time with other children more her own age, but she’d been a hellion even then, preferring to accompany the boys on wild adventures.
“Perhaps I’ll find a match while attending your mother’s house party.” Miss Beckwith glanced at her brother, who shrugged. “Though Courtland is adamant we do not enjoy most of the entertainments in Bedworth during this time, since we’re supposed to be observing mourning.”
“I understand your frustration, Miss Beckworth.” She frowned when the wrapped towel fell from her ankle. “However, mourning is an important part of life. If one doesn’t allow oneself to feel one’s emotions during this time, they’ll become bottled up and catch one unaware later.”
“Do you have personal knowledge of this, Lady Lettice?” the baron asked in a soft voice. Its resonance sent tiny tremors of delight through her chest.
“Unfortunately, I do.” She transferred her gaze to him, and with the firelight backlighting him, he looked like a Greek god given supernatural powers. “I lost my husband four years ago, shortly before Christmastide.” Her chest tightened at the mention of Henry, for she hadn’t meant to speak so candidly so soon in their relationship.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Baron Henshaw glanced at his sister. “Abigail, will you please give the lady and I some privacy?” When she raised her eyebrows, he sighed. “We’re old acquaintances, as I’m sure you remember, from childhood. Nothing untoward will happen.”
Letty nodded. “Plus, I’m injured and don’t intend to move from this spot, but I would enjoy the opportunity to renew a friendship with Lord Henshaw.” She offered a tight smile. “This will give you time to pack clothing and personal items. I imagine when your brother drives me back to Ivy Castle, you’d like to come in order to join the house party.”
The younger woman’s eyes lit. “That’s true. Thank you, Lady Lettice.” Miss Beckworth bounded up from her chair. “I needed that reminder. Perhaps Christmastide won’t be such a dreary affair after all.”
“I fear my sister doesn’t share my grief,” the baron said once they were alone.
“That doesn’t mean she’s not missing your father in her own way,” Letty responded in low tones, for concern and confusion lined his face. “Everyone grieves differently.”
He nodded. “I suspect she’s suffering from loneliness as well.” A sigh escaped him, and he took a sip of tea. “She hasn’t had much company of late, and I’ve not been the best of companions to her.”
“It’s understandable.” She held his gaze. The stark pain in those coffee-hued depths tugged at her heart. “Do you wish to talk about your father?”
“Not at this time but thank you for the offer.” A muscle ticced in his right cheek. Perhaps he was clenching his jaw. As an awkward silence fell between them, the baron pushed out of his chair. He set his teacup on the low table. “Does your ankle feel any better?” He moved to the sofa where she sat and then sank down on one knee.
“Not really.” Letty pulled at her skirting enough to uncover the ankle. “I’ll wager it’s already beginning to bruise.” A tiny gasp escaped her when he once more took her foot in his hand.
“Does it hurt here?” He gently pressed a finger to her ankle bone.
“No.” How was it possible that the touch of a man that had no intimate connotations behind it could send such flutters into her belly?
“How about here?” His fingertips skimmed lightly over the flesh surrounding the bone.
She inhaled sharply. “Yes.”
“Then you’ve no doubt sprained it. Which is better than being broken.” With a slight grin curving his sensual lips, he rewrapped the towel about her limb. This time he tucked in the ends firmly, apologizing when she whimpered with pain. “Shall we get you home?”
“Not just yet if you don’t mind.” It was all too comfortable here in his drawing room. The faint scent of cedarwood and orange wafted to her nose, which made the whole situation even more delicious. “Please, sit with me. I’d like to enjoy your fire before braving the elements once more.” To say nothing of his company.
“Very well.” He sat in the closest chair to her position. “Do you enjoy being a headmistress?”
“Most of the time.”
“You always were the managing sort.”
Letty frowned, but there was no censure in his expression, merely a trace of teasing. “Perhaps I was; I needed to be surrounded by so many boys.” She clasped her fingers together in her lap. “It’s a demanding occupation, but that’s good, for it doesn’t allow much time for thinking, and working around young girls doesn’t make me feel so old.” Oh, why did she admit to that? It made her sound like she was indeed ancient. “However, I do miss Brighton. It’s a beautiful area, and there’s nothing quite like walking the seashore when my mind’s trending toward the maudlin.”
“I’ve never been to Brighton.”
“Perhaps you should visit soon.” It would certainly make her return to the area much brighter if she knew a friend would drop by.
“I’ll consider it.” A slight frown pulled at the corners of his lips. “Would you like your tea refreshed?”
“No, thank you.” Why couldn’t she stop staring at his mouth? Beyond that, the thought that it might be nice to experience a kiss from him wouldn’t leave her alone. It was shocking enough, for she’d never had that urge since she’d lost her husband. To distract herself, Letty shifted her focus to the fire behind the grate. “Though the chatter of the girls is oftentimes shallow and naïve, I’m glad for it most days. It keeps loneliness at bay.”
“I envy you that.” There was so much emotion in his pleasant tenor her gaze wandered back to his face.
“Why? The last I heard, you enjoyed a rather robust social life in London. Is that not true?” Not that it mattered, for if he chose to linger at Beckwith Trace, after Twelfth Night, she would return to her life in Brighton.
“There are aspects of life in Town I like. There is certainly more to do in London.” He nodded, but his eyes retained sadness. “However, there are good things to say about living in the country. Especially at this time of year. It makes me remember happier times.”
It was uncanny how some of his thoughts mirrored hers. “It’s both a blessing and a curse, being back here in Bedworth,” she answered in a soft voice. “At every turn I see Henry’s face or catch another memory.” Letty curled a hand into her cloak. “My family, though nice and caring, has never gone through the loss of a spouse. They don’t quite understand the acute ache such grief brings and why I can scarcely breathe at times.”
“I haven’t lost a spouse, but I do know what you mean.” His voice was as low as hers. “When I lost my mother years ago, I was a much younger man and was therefore resilient, I suppose, but when my father died, that event was so sudden. There was no time to prepare. I’m still reeling from it.”
“Yet, the moment I’m gone from here, I miss him still, only in different ways.” She found the baron’s gaze with hers. The torment there collided with her own that tightened her chest. “It was one of the reasons I accepted the position in Brighton. I wished for a full removal from both London and Ivy Castle. A chance to make new memories and a life that had nothing to do with Henry.”
“Except you had a child with him.” The corners of his mouth curved upward but the gesture never burgeoned into a full smile. A bit of cold disappointment took hold in her belly, for it was really too bad. He was handsome enough but if he grinned, he’d be devastating to a woman’s peace of mind. “I imagine every time you look upon your daughter’s face, it brings both joy and sadness.”
“Yes, exactly that.” She took in a shuddering breath. “How did you know about Lucy?”
He shrugged. “Your mother mentioned the girl in passing last night.”
“Ah. Why did you not seek me out if you went to the trouble of attending the ball?” Perhaps it was vanity that caused her to ask, but she’d thought their friendship from long ago would have endured enough to warrant a hello.
“I made an appearance to thank your parents for the invitation. When one is a new baron and one receives an invitation from a duke, one doesn’t ignore it.” This time, he did grin, and it was every bit as glorious as Letty thought it might be. A flock of butterflies took flight in her belly, and she nearly gasped from the novelty of it. That hadn’t happened since early in her relationship with Henry. “In any event, your mother treated me like a long-lost puppy. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to socialize, and I certainly didn’t wish to show anything but the typical stiff English upper lip while in company, so I left shortly after arriving.”
“My parents would have understood. They know you lost your father.” The poor man. Obviously, he struggled with his own form of grief but had no idea how to release those pent-up feelings, which no doubt butted up against his upbringing that men should never show emotion.
A sheepish expression crept over his face. “Also, I’m uncomfortable in large crowds. It terrifies me to do the pretty in society. I’d much rather stay nestled in my library, surrounded with books and comfortable things than need to invent topics of conversation that don’t matter.”
“I would never make you do that, and books are quite a lovely form of escape.”
“Agreed. I’m partial to poetry, though Abigail makes light of it.”
“Then I’ll tell you a secret, so you won’t feel bad.”
“Oh?”
With a quick glance to the still-open door, she nodded and then rested her attention on his face. “When I confiscate the thrilling novels of adventure, Gothic angst, or romance from my students, I take them back to my room and read them, for I enjoy all of those tales.” Her cheeks heated. “It might make me a hypocrite, but I do so enjoy reading, and for a moment, those stories give me the escape that I need.”
“There is nothing wrong with that.” Again, he flashed a grin that caught her heart unaware. “Never feel guilt or shame for any sort of reading material that brings you joy. When an author pens words, they hope to transform a reader’s world or at least take them away for a time. It’s the best compliment, I think, to rave about a book so that others might know the same bliss.”
“Yes, you’re quite right.” Letty sat back against the sofa cushion with a sigh. Talking to Lord Henshaw was much like conversing with an old friend. It was as if they’d never parted. She glanced past him to one of the windows. “It looks like the snow has abated in its ferocity.”
“Then I suppose I’d best make arrangements to return you to the castle.” A touch of dread mixed with resignation in his voice, and that gave her pause. “You’ve been gone over an hour. Surely your family will begin to wonder where you’ve gotten off to.”
“Perhaps, but my errand to Beckwith Trace was innocent enough.” She looked at the basket of baked goods that rested on the table. “Cook does such lovely work during this time of year, as does Lynette, Stephen’s betrothed. I wanted to share the largess with you and your sister, figuring you might need it right now.”
“Indeed, we do, and as soon as I come back from seeing you home, I’ll do justice to that basket.” When he winked, her lower jaw dropped. “It’s unseemly for a man to devour pastries in front of a duke’s daughter as if he’s a pig at trough.”
His way of turning a phrase made her laugh, and the sound surprised her as much as it did him. How long had it been since she’d found anything amusing that the emotion would rise above the clinging grief? “I won’t fault you for the enjoyment, and should you wish for more, just send over a note.” Briefly, she bit her bottom lip. “Unless you’d like to join your sister and attend the remainder of the house party? Ivy Castle is quite spacious. There are plenty of guest rooms.”
A flush crept up his neck until it was visible above his cravat. “While I thank you for the generous offer, I believe I’ll pass the holiday here while my sister enjoys the parties and entertainments.”
Cold disappointment stabbed through her chest. “No one should be alone for Christmastide, Lord Henshaw.” Though she’d had similar thoughts just a day ago, after they’d renewed their acquaintance, she was loath to give up the friendship due to grief and the mourning period he was in. “How can I repay your kindness of rescuing me from your drive if you’ll hide yourself away?”
The grin he flashed was a tad lopsided. “Now that is an intriguing proposition.” As her attention once again fixated on his mouth, he continued. “The only way you could entice me to Ivy Castle is to promise me a dance, but with your ankle being injured, that’s rather out of the question.”
Heat infused her cheeks. Was he flirting with her or being a congenial host? It was difficult to tell, but she liked how his words made her feel all the same. “That doesn’t mean we can’t sit with the wallflowers and watch. Besides, my parents are hosting a lavish ball on Boxing Day for their wedding anniversary, which is the whole point of the house party. Surely you wouldn’t want to miss that. Practically everyone who’s anyone in Warrick County has been invited.”
“And the promised crush will send me deeper into hiding, I’ll wager,” he added in a soft voice that was again choked with worry. “It’s a far cry from reading poetry in front of a fire, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps, but you’ll never know unless you come.” Letty shifted her position. When she rested both feet on the floor, she winced at the streak of pain through her right ankle. “Five miles separates Beckwith Trace from Ivy Castle. I have at least that time to convince you finding yourself among friends—my family—for the holidays is superior than losing yourself to grief.” She grinned, but the gesture didn’t feel merry. “Trust me, I know this better than anyone. There is a time to allow sadness to sweep through your person and take comfort in it, but there is also a time to lean on companionship and keep living.” She sighed. “I think I learned that rather too late. Don’t let it happen to you.”
The baron sprang out of his chair. He held out a hand, and when she put her fingers into his palm, tendrils of sweet heat spiraled up her arm. “If I promise to think upon your words, will you promise to wait there until the carriage comes ‘round?”
“I suppose.” It was lovely having a man who wasn’t related to her care about her well-being. “And it’s glad I am that no one is around to witness me hobble through the house to said carriage.”
“Unless you consent to letting me carry you,” he added in a low voice. The twinkle in his dark eyes confused her. “After all, what sort of hero would I be to let you suffer such an indignity as that?”
This time, she simply had to know. “Why, Lord Henshaw, are you flirting with me?”
“I suppose we’ll discover that together.” Then, after he patted her hand, he crossed the room to the bell pull.