Chapter 5 #2
Simon had owned the house in Hanover Square for nearly two months now, and he wondered when he would feel that his new home was his own. Although the door swung open for him the moment he disembarked from his carriage and Bailey greeted him as the proper master, Simon felt an invader as he stepped into the entrance hall.
Perhaps it was because he had stayed away since returning to London. Or perhaps it was because it was evident the house now belonged more to his wife than it ever had to him.
Bouquets of delicately arranged flowers offered splashes of colour and perfumed the air of the entrance hall as Bailey accepted his coat and hat. A mirror in a gilt frame brightened the small lobby between the entrance hall and the staircase hall, which now had an Oriental rug in the centre, its copper undertones complementing the mahogany banister on the stairs. All were Hannah’s own touches and every bit her right as mistress of the house.
It was a mistake to return here. Seeing the changes she had made to the house to make it her own lit a warmth inside him that should not be there.
He needed to hold on to his anger. If he let it fade, he was like to do something embarrassing, as he nearly had last week, when Hannah had confronted him in his dressing room.
When she had taken him hostage until he forgave her, his anger had blazed to ferocious heights at her audacity to believe his forgiveness was something she could demand. Unlike other men who would rant and rage when flames of anger burned through them, it had always honed Simon into a sharp and calculated weapon who knew just how to strike.
He had thought to shock her with his nakedness and putting his hands on her, in the hopes she would flee the room, but she had stood strong against his advances.
Instead, he was the one who had nearly faltered. His finger still burned where it had touched the supple skin of her bosom.
And when she had begged him? Bloody hell, his body had nearly combusted.
Thankfully, Hannah had reminded him that she only wanted forgiveness from him and nothing more.
That had given him the composure he needed to steal the key and banish her from his rooms, finally granting himself respite from her alluring jasmine scent that always muddled his thoughts. As soon as he was dressed, he had fled the house and returned to the club.
He threw himself into the social life offered within its walls as everyone returned to Town to sit in Parliament. Although he had no title to grant him admittance to the House of Lords nor an elected position for the House of Commons, that did not mean he lacked political opinions that he could offer up within the club’s drawing rooms.
And his acquaintances offered up their congratulations on his marriage once the word spread. He received praise for selecting a wife who was both beautiful and had a healthy dowry. As far as they were concerned, he had achieved marital perfection with Hannah.
They had no idea that the marriage was torture for him. Anger kept the pain at bay, but as it faded with the passing days, the pain rose to the surface.
He vastly preferred the anger over this ache that came with the knowledge that he was stuck in a loveless marriage.
No, that was not quite true. It was not completely loveless. At least on his side.
One would think that would be reason enough to continue his exile from this house. Yet here he was, back within the walls where only pain awaited him.
He was a fool. A weak fool.
For all his anger and even his sadness, he could not stay away when he knew Hannah was here.
It had been easy to resist seeing her when she had been all the way at Cosburn Park. When the whim to see her hit him, he would always talk himself out of making such a journey before travel arrangements could be made.
But now that she was only a brief ride away, his resistance lasted only so long.
Because no matter how much he told himself that she did not care for him, he still cared about her. He wanted to know that she was well.
When she was at Cosburn Park, he could rely on the family to care for her. Now Hannah was his responsibility, her care left to him. It was his duty to ensure she was well. How could he ever look Talbot or Sarah in the eyes again if something happen to Hannah under his care?
Certainly Bailey or Mrs. Chapman would inform him if Hannah was truly in peril, but Simon still felt responsibility for her.
Or he was searching for any reason to see her.
Which was absolutely pathetic. Even when she deceived and manipulated him, he would still fall at her feet, forever submissive to her and ready to do whatever she wanted.
She was his true weakness. That night in his dressing room, the brief brush of his fingers against her supple curves as he retrieved the key had all but broken him. His demand that she leave one way or another was less from anger at her and more fear that if she stayed, he could not to stop himself from touching more of her.
Yes, he was helpless to stop himself from wanting Hannah, and not just physical desire.
He wanted to be in her presence, to hear her voice, to converse and laugh and live with her.
And so here he was in his home that did not feel like his home, looking to find his wife, who would never be his proper wife.
“Is Mrs. Langley at home?” Simon asked Bailey.
“Yes, sir. She is in the library.”
Simon nodded his thanks and went to the library, finding Hannah in tears, a letter in her hand.
He was immediately across the room, kneeling beside her chair, fear gripping him. Had someone at Cosburn Park fallen ill or had there been an accident?
“Simon?” She blinked at him in confusion at his sudden arrival. “I did not expect you to be here.”
“Tell me what has upset you so.”
Hannah waved an unconcerned hand at him as she put aside the letter to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief. “It is nothing.”
“It is not nothing if you are crying,” he said. “I must insist you tell me what has upset you.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “I must, must I? That is quite the insistence from someone I have not seen in nearly a week. Why would it matter to you if I am upset?”
He could not fault her for her suspicions, considering his questionable actions, and let out a weary sigh. “I care because I do not want to see you cry, Hannah. We might have our own difficulties, but I do not want you to hurt if I can help it.”
Her expressions softened, and she dabbed at her eyes again, ducking her chin. “It is not anything serious. In fact, it is completely silly.” She gestured to a stack of letters on the table next to her chair. “I found these here in the library, tucked into a hidden compartment behind the wainscotting. I have been reading through them. I know it is not polite to read others’ correspondence, but how else was I to discover who the letters belonged to without reading them?”
“Who do they belong to?”
“I still do not know. The author signed them with a pseudonym, and I fear they were only addressed to a P .”
Simon turned over one of the letters. Sure enough, only the letter P appeared there.
“And these letters upset you?” he asked.
She nodded. “They are a love confession from the writer to Miss P.”
Simon regarded the hefty stack of letters. “It appears it was quite a long confession.”
Hannah let out a soft laugh. “I believe they were written over many months, although there are no dates on them. The one I was reading when you came in is the last he wrote. There is such sadness and longing in it, it brought me to tears.” She sniffled, dabbing at her eyes again. “You must think me a fool for being so emotional over letters between strangers.”
“Not at all,” he replied. “What did he say in his final letter?”
“Would you like me to read it to you?”
She was hesitant with the invitation, clearly expecting to be rejected. Even if he had not been curious about the contents of the letter, he could not refuse her offer while her cheeks still bore the wet streaks of her tears.
“I would like that.”
Hannah unfolded the letter and cleared her throat before she began to read aloud.
Dearest P,
It is raining. How fitting for the eve before H is to propose to you. The Heavens themselves weep for us both.
In happiness for you and in pity for me, as I will be forced to watch you cleave yourself onto my dear brother. For I know you will say yes when H proposes to you.
Who would say no to such a charming man as he? I have watched him court you when I was too frightened to declare myself. You deserve a man who is bold enough to risk his heart for you.
It is unfortunate for me that the bold man is mine own brother. Even more unfortunate is the respect and affection I hold for him. If he were a monster, I would be quick to declare my desire to rescue you from him. I would not feel such torment and guilt for my love for you. But he is good and kind and all things perfect. It is, I fear, why you love him so.
And yet as I stare out the window watching the rain, I cannot tamp down my true desire. I had sworn when H told me he intended to propose that I would burn these letters. Yet I cannot bring myself to strike spark to tinder. The letters are yours and belong with you.
And so if this is to be the final letter I will ever write to you, please know that every word I wrote was true. I love you, P, forever and always. Go forward in your life knowing that as long as I am alive, you are cherished and loved.
Love Always
Your Faithful Officer
Hannah was crying again, and Simon even found his throat thick with emotion by the time she reached the end of the letter. The writer’s devotion was palpable, resonating with honesty and vulnerability that Simon connected with.
In fact, the writer could be him. He understood precisely what it felt like to watch the woman you love accept a proposal from another man.
“It is beautifully tragic,” Hannah said with a sigh. “The Officer loves her so deeply and yet he might lose her.”
“He never had her,” Simon said, and Hannah frowned. “One cannot lose something one never possessed. He says here that his brother was the one courting her. If this Officer was not even courting the girl, she was not his to lose.”
“You have not read his other letters,” Hannah said. “He was devoted to Miss P from the moment he laid eyes on her.”
“I do not doubt his devotion. I am merely pointing out that it was one-sided. He even writes that she loves his brother.”
“Yes, but the Officer was obviously intent on changing that. He said the letters belonged to her. He clearly intended to deliver them, otherwise he would have burned them.”
Simon scoffed. “Even if he gave her the letters, it would not make a difference to her. Miss P would have told the Officer to leave her alone so that she could marry the man she loves.”
“You do not know that,” Hannah insisted.
“I do not? Suppose a man approached you, declaring his love on the eve of your engagement to John, what would have been your response?”
Hannah flinched at the mention of her late fiancé’s name, but steadied herself enough to respond, “That would be altogether different. A strange man confessing his love would be ludicrous.”
“Ah, but our letter writer is not a stranger to Miss P. What would be your reaction if a man, as familiar to you as the Officer is to Miss P, told you he loved you?” She shook her head, the idea still ludicrous to her even with the addendum. That should be proof enough he was right, but Simon needed to hammer home the facts. If not for her, then for himself. “You would have rejected him, of course. Oh, you certainly would have been kind about it, but it would have been a rejection nonetheless because it is John you love and wanted to marry.”
“I suppose that is true for me,” Hannah said, “But I am not Miss P. Perhaps she felt differently. After all, she must have kept the letters after the Officer gave them to her.”
“ If he ever gave them to her. He seems too cowardly to do so.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because he says it himself. He was too frightened to court her. He writes her letters instead of speaking his feelings. It is likely that after he finished this letter, he lost his nerve to do anything. I’d wager he hid the letters away the very night he wrote this one because he did not have the strength to burn them.”
Hannah chewed on her bottom lip as she considered his words. “Then I have even more pity for the man. To live with such fear is painful. And to think that he may be out there, living with the regret of hiding away his confession instead of being honest. It is a tragedy.”
Yes, living with the regret of unrequited love was a tragedy, as Simon knew all too well.
“Perhaps he hid the letters as a way to purge himself of it all,” Simon suggested. “By sealing away his written confession, he did the same with his feelings. It may have allowed him to move on from Miss P. He may have met another lady, and now he lives in a house filled with children and grandchildren.”
A hopeful outcome for the Officer and one Simon would never have.
She folded the letter and set it with the others, her hand brushing affectionately over the stack. “I would like to know whatever became of Miss P and her Officer. Do you know who owned this house before you?”
“Sir Something or Other. The surname was Campbell. He was quite old and died. I purchased the house from his heir, Sir Michael Campbell. He had no need for a house in London as he resides in Scotland.”
“Perhaps Sir Something or Other was the Officer. Or did he have a daughter who might be Miss P? After all, he may have been braver than you thought and given her the letters.”
“No daughter was mentioned, as far as I recall. Although I only dealt with Sir Michael’s solicitor and there would be no need to mention a daughter during our dealings.”
Hannah was once again gnawing on her bottom lip as she picked up one of the letters with a disappointed sigh.
For all his talk about the Officer’s weaknesses, disappointing Hannah was one of his own and he could not let it happen.
“I will check with my secretary to find information about Sir Something or Other’s actual name and information about any of his offspring. If there is a daughter with a name that begins with Miss P, mystery solved. Which I am assuming you are hoping does not happen, as I know you enjoy solving a mystery. I remember when the jam tarts the cook sent up for us as a treat went missing, and you discovered a pigeon living in the day nursery at Cosburn Park. You were tireless in solving that mystery.”
“That was because Nanny blamed me for eating all the jam tarts when I was innocent. I was in search of justice,” Hannah said with a laugh.
“I do not know why Nanny blamed you,” Simon said. “They were apricots tarts. Everyone who knows you knows that you despise apricot after you ate too many unripe ones in the orchard and then tossed up your accounts in the carriage on the way to church.”
Hannah let out an embarrassed groan. “I have never been more humiliated nor ill in my life than I was that day. And poor Sarah and Papa. They could not help but do the same once I had retched all over them. I do not understand how you were able to maintain yourself.”
“An iron stomach, of course,” he said with a pat on his belly. “Besides, someone needed to remain composed enough to signal to the driver to return us to Cosburn Park. Imagine the vicar’s reaction if we appeared at the church in such a condition.”
“He’d have likely thought the Devil himself had cursed us.”
They laughed together, and it felt good. It felt as if they were once again the friends and companions they had always been. No marriage schemes or unrequited feelings between them. Simply lifelong friends who enjoyed being in one another’s company.
Hannah offered him a tentative smile. “Now that you are here, I should tell you that we have received an invitation to dine with Lord and Lady Rothsay.”
“I should have told you to expect the invitation. Rothsay said his wife wished to dine with us.”
“Do you want me to accept?”
She asked it with a fearful uncertainty, clearly worried about provoking his anger. Not that surprising, considering their last interaction had ended with him threatening to throw her out if she did not leave him.
Of course, that had been because she had been trying to force his forgiveness to assuage her guilty conscience. It had been another manipulation to get him to do what she wanted, regardless of how he felt.
Just like with their marriage.
My God, Langley, you are as weak a fool as always.
He had done exactly what he had promised himself he would not do. He had let his weakness for her make him forget that Hannah did not think of him beyond what she could use him for.
“I would prefer that you accept the invitation,” he said, his voice cool and clipped. “They are curious about our marriage and a refusal might make them suspicious. It would not be good for your reputation if others discover the unhappy circumstances of our marriage. People look down on those who use innocent people for their own gains.”
She looked stricken at his words, tears pricking her eyes again, but she held them back as she nodded and then stood.
He rose to his feet as manners dictated, but she spared him no glance as she gathered up the letters.
Guilt consumed him as she left the library, but he fought it back by reminding himself that she did not care if he was sad or not.
She did not think of him ever, and he needed to remember that.