Chapter Three #2
She was asleep again within minutes, leaving Vanessa to smother her laughter behind her hand and Lady Wayworth to fume in offended silence.
The rest of the journey passed without incident. No highwaymen appeared, much to what Vanessa suspected was Aunt Bertha's genuine disappointment. The roads improved marginally as they drew closer to London, the countryside giving way to villages and then to the outskirts of the city itself.
London rose up around them in all its chaotic glory, the press of buildings, the rumble of carriages and the shouts of street vendors and the general air of purposeful activity that characterised the capital.
Vanessa watched it all through the window, feeling the familiar mixture of excitement and exhaustion that London always inspired.
Another season was upon her bringing with it yet another opportunity to repeat her same mistakes.
***
The London townhouse was exactly as Vanessa remembered it: elegant, well-appointed, and already bustling with servants preparing for their arrival.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Abbott, greeted them at the door with the calm efficiency of a woman who had been managing the household since before Vanessa was born.
"Lady Wayworth. Lady Vanessa. Mrs. Crawford." She bobbed a curtsy, her grey hair neatly pinned beneath her cap. "Everything is in readiness. The fires have been lit, the beds made up fresh, and Cook has prepared a light supper for whenever you wish to dine."
"Excellent, Mrs. Abbott. As always, your competence is a comfort." Lady Wayworth swept into the house with the air of a queen reclaiming her throne. "Have the trunks brought up immediately. And send word to Lord Wayworth that we have arrived safely, he will be anxious to know."
The next several hours were consumed by the chaos of settling in. Trunks were carried upstairs and unpacked. Rooms were aired and arranged. Lady Wayworth inspected every corner of the house with a critical eye, finding fault with the placement of a vase here, the color of a curtain there.
Vanessa had barely finished changing out of her travel clothes when a knock came at her door.
"Come in."
Edward appeared in the doorway, looking windswept and slightly muddy from his ride. "We have survived another journey. I was not certain we would, around the third hour, when Mama began discussing the decline of modern morality."
"You escaped. I had to endure it."
"You have my profound sympathy." He dropped into the chair by her window with the casual grace that had always characterised his movements. "I have also come bearing news. I stopped by the club on my way here, and I encountered several gentlemen who were most eager to discuss the upcoming Season."
“My spirits are quite elevated…”
"It gets better. Apparently, the Crawfords have already arrived in town. Miss Crawford was seen at the lending library this morning." He said the words with studied casualness, but Vanessa caught the slight flush that crept up his neck.
"Helena is in London? How wonderful. I must call on her tomorrow."
"Yes. That would be... yes." Edward cleared his throat. "Perhaps you might mention, when you see her, that I…that is, our family…would be pleased to see her at any events where our paths might cross."
"Edward Wayworth, are you asking me to put in a good word for you with my best friend?"
"I am doing nothing of the sort. I am merely suggesting that it would be pleasant to see Miss Crawford during the Season. In a purely friendly capacity."
"A purely friendly capacity."
"Indeed.”
Vanessa studied her brother with growing amusement. Edward, who had never shown the slightest discomfort around women, was actively avoiding her gaze. His ears had gone quite pink.
"You are quite taken with her” she said.
“I have always been fond of Miss Crawford, as she is your friend…and it would be strange if I had an aversion to her.”
"That is not what I mean, and you know it." Vanessa leaned forward, her own troubles momentarily forgotten in the face of this delightful development. "You are interested in her. Romantically interested."
"I am…" Edward stopped, sighed and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Is it that obvious?"
"To me, yes. To Helena, probably not as he has a tendency to assume the best of people, which unfortunately includes assuming that handsome rogues like yourself could not possibly be interested in someone as quiet as she is."
"She is not just quiet. She is..." He trailed off, searching for words. "When she speaks, it matters. She does not fill silences with meaningless chatter like so many others. She thinks before she speaks, and when she does speak, it is worth hearing."
"That is quite poetic, Edward."
"Do not mock me."
"I am not mocking you. I am genuinely pleased." Vanessa smiled at her brother with real warmth. "Helena is wonderful. She has been my dearest friend for years, and I cannot think of anyone I would rather see her with than you."
"You would not find it strange? Your brother courting your best friend?"
"I would find it delightful. Assuming you are serious about it.
" Her expression sobered. "Helena is not like the women you usually pursue, Edward.
She is not interested in games or flirtation or the thrill of the chase.
If you are not serious about her, please do not pursue her at all.
I will not have her heart broken by my own brother. "
"I am serious." Edward's voice was quiet, stripped of its usual lightness. "I know my reputation, Vanessa. I know what people say about me. But Helena is different. When I am with her, I want to be different too. Better."
It was perhaps the most honest thing she had ever heard him say. Vanessa felt a sudden swell of affection for her rakish, careless brother, who was apparently not so careless after all.
"Then I will help however I can," she said. "But you will have to do the hard work yourself. Helena is not easily won, and she deserves someone who is willing to earn her regard."
"I know." Edward rose, his expression thoughtful. "Thank you, Van. For not mocking me."
"I would never mock you for such a serious affair as this…for many other things…but not this."
He departed with something approaching a genuine smile, leaving Vanessa alone with her thoughts. Edward and Helena. It was unexpected, but not unwelcome. If her brother was serious, if he truly meant what he said, they might actually suit each other quite well.
It is a relief to think that someone of our name possesses the good sense…or the good luck…to be happy.”
The thought was more bitter than she had intended. She pushed it aside and turned her attention to the trunk that had been deposited at the foot of her bed, waiting to be unpacked.
Her room was smaller than her chambers at home, but comfortable enough. The wallpaper was a delicate blue, the furniture simple but well-made. A window overlooked the street below, where carriages rattled past and pedestrians hurried about their business.
London. She was in London, for yet another Season, with all the possibilities and pitfalls that entailed.
Her trunk had been placed at the foot of the bed, waiting to be unpacked. She crossed to it and lifted the lid, pushing aside layers of carefully folded clothing until she found what she was looking for.
The writing box.
Still wrapped in its protective shawl, still locked and still safe. She lifted it out and carried it to the small desk by the window, setting it down with a sense of homecoming. This, at least, was familiar. This, at least, was hers.
She reached for the key around her neck… and stopped suddenly…
The ribbon was there, warm from her skin, but her fingers found nothing at the end of it.
The key was gone.
Vanessa's heart stuttered. She yanked the ribbon over her head, examined it frantically. The ribbon was intact, unbroken, but the key that should have hung from it was simply... not there.
No. No, no, no. She had checked it this morning, before they left. She was certain she had checked it. The key had been there, right where it always was, and she had tucked it back beneath her dress and thought nothing more of it.
When had it fallen off? On the journey? During the packing? Had the ribbon loosened without her noticing, allowing the key to slip free and disappear into the chaos of departure?
She dropped to her knees, searching the floor around the desk, around the trunk, in every crevice and corner of the room. Nothing. She dug through her trunk, shaking out every garment, checking every pocket and fold. Nothing.
The key was gone.
But the box…the box might still be locked. Perhaps she was panicking over nothing. Perhaps the key had simply come loose during travel but the box itself remained secure, its contents undisturbed.
She picked up the writing box with trembling hands and examined the lock.
It was open.
The latch that should have held firm was turned to the unlocked position, the mechanism disengaged. Whoever had the key had already used it.
Vanessa's blood ran cold.
No. Please, no.
She lifted the lid.
The box was empty.
For a long moment, she simply stared, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. The box was empty. The letters were gone. Six years of letters, six years of her most private thoughts and feelings, six years of Dear Martin…gone.
Where? How? Who could possibly have…?
"Vanessa, dear?"
She spun around to find Aunt Bertha standing in the doorway, her face wreathed in a pleased smile.
"I am so glad you found it. I was worried the box might have gotten lost in all the confusion. These moves are so chaotic, are they not? One never knows where anything will end up."
"Aunt Bertha." Vanessa's voice came out strange, strangled. "The letters. The letters that were in this box. Where are they?"
"The letters?" Aunt Bertha blinked, her smile faltering slightly. "Why, I sent them, of course."
The floor dropped away beneath Vanessa's feet.
"You... sent them?"
"Well, naturally. When I was helping with the packing…
your mother asked me to check the upstairs rooms, you know, make certain nothing was overlooked…
I found the key on the floor near your desk.
It must have fallen from your ribbon. And when I opened the box and saw all those letters, just sitting there.
.." Aunt Bertha shook her head, tutting softly.
"Six years' worth, Vanessa! I could not believe you had let them pile up so.
The poor duke must have thought you had forgotten him entirely. "
"The duke." Vanessa could barely form the words. "You sent them to the duke."
"Of course. They were all addressed to him, were they not?
'Dear Martin,' every single one. I assumed they were correspondence you had written but forgotten to post. You know how these things can slip one's mind.
" Aunt Bertha smiled again, clearly pleased with her own helpfulness.
"I had James take them to Montehood House myself, three days before we left.
I wanted to make certain they arrived safely, you see.
So much can go wrong with the post these days. "
Three days. The letters had been at Montehood House for three days. Martin had them…had probably read them…while she was traveling to London, oblivious, thinking her secrets were safely locked away.
He knew. He knew everything. Every humiliating confession, every desperate longing and every pathetic declaration of love she had poured onto those pages for six years.
He knew how she felt about him. He knew she watched him across ballrooms. He knew she compared every suitor to him and found them wanting.
He knew she had written Dear Martin hundreds of times, thousands of times, pouring out her heart to a man who had never shown her anything but casual indifference.
"Vanessa?" Aunt Bertha's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Dear, you have gone quite pale. Are you feeling unwell?"
Vanessa could not speak. Could not move. Could not do anything but stand there, clutching the empty box, as the full horror of what had happened crashed over her like a wave.
"Vanessa? Should I fetch your mother? Perhaps some tea…"
"Those letters." Her voice was a whisper, a rasp, the sound of something breaking.
"Those letters were never meant to be sent.
They were private. They were…" Her throat closed around the words.
"They were my diary, Aunt Bertha. Written to him, yes, but never meant for him to see. Never meant for anyone to see."
The color drained from Aunt Bertha's face.
"What?"
"They were private," Vanessa repeated. "And now he has them. All of them. Everything I have ever felt, everything I have ever thought about him, for six years…" Her voice broke. "He knows. He knows everything."
"Oh." Aunt Bertha's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Vanessa. Oh, my dear girl. I had no idea. I thought…I assumed…they were addressed to him, and I thought surely you had simply forgotten, and I only wanted to offer my assistance…”
"I am fully aware you wished to assist…” you wanted to help." The words came out flat, hollow.
“I am aware that you had the best intentions at heart, but have you any idea of what has just transpired?
Can you fathom …?”
She could not finish. She could not breathe. The room was spinning around her, the walls closing in, and all she could think was he knows, he knows, he knows.
Martin Hale, Duke of Montehood, finally knew that Vanessa Wayworth held him in the highest esteem…had the deepest affection for him since she was sixteen years old.
And Vanessa had absolutely no idea what she was going to do about it.