Chapter Fourteen
“You are daydreaming again,” Lucy said. “Thinking of a certain marquess?”
Adaline blinked and glanced up, her cheeks growing warm at Lucy’s knowing smile.
“I…am afraid I do not know what you mean,” Adaline said, turning her attention back to the tassel she had been picking at to get to the gold threads woven within. “My mind always wanders whilst drizzling. It is hard to keep it from doing otherwise.”
“Hm, that may be true,” Lucy said, extracting another bit of fringe from the drizzling box at her feet that overflowed with braids, bits of tapestry, tassels, and other random textiles waiting to be picked apart for their gold and silver threads.
“But I think your mind has been wandering in a certain direction of late.”
Adaline opened her mouth to deny it but couldn’t. She had been smiling more and more of late. And they both knew why.
“Perhaps it has,” she said, not bothering to hide her smile this time.
“I take it his latest letter has something to do with that.”
Adaline grinned again. “He is now calling me Millie. His Millie. And he calls himself my Mayhem.”
She didn’t mention their more intimate discussions.
And certainly did not reveal the drawing he had sent with his last letter.
The one of a naked woman reclining on a chaise surrounded by ribbon…
and very little else. He had drawn her with her arm covering her face, though something about her seemed vaguely familiar.
The whole scene had such an ethereal, quiet beauty to it.
He was supremely talented. And that he was imagining her when he drew it…
Adaline covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “I cannot believe I am mooning over a man I have never even met.”
“But…” Lucy prompted.
Adaline dropped her hands with a sigh. “But…I find I cannot help myself.”
Lucy’s chuckled. “Yes, that is often the way of it. When I met my George, I found myself swooning over the most ridiculous things. The way he smiled at me. Or let his gaze linger a moment too long. Simple things I never would have thought twice about before.”
“Yes, but you at least had the benefit of seeing Mr. Harrow in the flesh. I have never even met this man. How can I be so…” She waved her hands toward herself. “I am hopeless.”
Lucy chuckled again. “Perhaps you are simply hopeful.”
“Well, that’s true enough,” Adaline said with a soft snort. “I am ready to be mistress of my own household. My mother and brother mean well but…”
This time Lucy snorted. “Yes, they can be a bit overexuberant in their duties as your family.”
“Yes!” Adaline threw her hands up. “I know they love me, but Mother scrutinizes everything I do, every book I read—which she doesn’t really approve of, regardless of the topic—and Henry examines every bit of mail that might be sent to me and has scared away every possible suitor I might find interesting with his overprotective bullying.
I know they care but…they care a mite too much.
And, before you caution me,” she said, smiling at her cousin, “I know a husband may be just as controlling as my family. A bit like exchanging one jailor for another.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Lucy protested.
Adaline shrugged. “Even so, at least as a married woman I will have my own household. Some measure of freedom. I cannot be the spinster daughter who lives with her mother, or God forbid, under her brother’s rule her whole life.”
“As long as you are careful whom you choose as husband,” Lucy cautioned. “A cruel husband can be far worse than a loving family.”
Adaline shuddered at the thought. “That is very true. But Mayhem…” She couldn’t help the smile that played on her lips. “He wouldn’t be cruel. Or controlling. I am sure of it.”
Lucy smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Are you sure of that, dearest? After all, you do not even know the man’s real name. Perhaps he is hiding other things from you as well.”
“Perhaps,” Adaline mumbled.
She had considered the possibility, of course. She could admit she was more than a little infatuated with her Mayhem, but that didn’t mean she had been robbed of all reason. He could be anyone. Someone entirely unsuitable. Perhaps someone who was already married.
She shied away from that thought as one too painful to contemplate.
“I do think he is likely a gentleman,” she finally said. “His writing is too meticulous, the parchment too fine. And, let us not forget, that the original letter was found in front of your shop. Only someone who could afford your exorbitant prices would be in your shop.”
“Oh,” Lucy grumbled. “My prices are not exorbitant.”
Adaline chuckled and Lucy relented. “I do understand your meaning though. And I hope, for your sake, you are correct. Even still…”
“I know,” Adaline said with a sigh. “I do not know who he is or if we will ever meet in person so it would be foolish to pin my hopes on what is, for all intents and purposes, a fantasy.”
Lucy’s eyebrows rose. “That is very wise.” Then her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I do not trust it.”
Adaline’s laughter rang out and she tossed her tassel at Lucy. “All will be well, Lucy. Stop worrying so.”
“Hmm. And what of the other man in your life? Does he not feature in your daydreams at all?”
Adaline’s cheeks were flushing before she could deny knowing of whom Lucy spoke.
“Lord Hugo is hardly in my life.” She frowned slightly, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. “Well, at least not in the same manner.”
“No, that’s true. He is tangible, visible, and exists beyond the confines of a letter,” Lucy teased.
Adaline grimaced, but she could not deny the stark facts.
Lord Hugo was real. Mayhem was, by and large, real only to a point.
Despite how much they revealed about themselves in their letters, there was still a large degree of imagination and speculation about their relationship.
She had never heard his voice, his laugh, or seen his face.
Part of her felt as if she knew him better for all of that.
Part of her missed the physical aspect of becoming acquainted with someone.
There was much to be said for being able to see the unspoken words that people often unconsciously revealed.
And Lord Hugo was nothing if not real. Larger than life, almost. When she’d hated him, she’d been able to ignore the more physically appealing aspects of his nature.
But now that she’d become more familiar with him, she knew he wasn’t the devil she’d thought.
He was actually quite intelligent. And thoughtful.
On occasion. Certainly attractive, if somewhat arrogant, but…
amusing and unexpectedly kind. With eyes always full of laughter.
That deep voice that seemed to resonate in her chest when he spoke.
And he had a handsome face she could not help but think of despite her best intentions.
“Perhaps if his arms did not fill out the confines of his jacket so well, it would not be so difficult.”
“Whose arms, dearest?” Lucy asked, her innocent gaze belied by the amused smile tugging at her lips.
Adaline bit down on her lip, mortified she had uttered that aloud, and mumbled something non-committal under her breath.
Then she let out a sigh. Thoughts of both men tumbled about in her head.
Not warring. Somehow harmonious. Combined, they made her perfect man.
One who both challenged her and accepted her.
Protected her but allowed her to fight for herself. Tantalized and intrigued her.
She might never have the opportunity to choose between the two. And perhaps that was a good thing. One man, she had never wanted. The other she could never have. Yet both suddenly seemed a possibility.
And how ever could she make such an impossible choice.
*
The blunted tip of Arthur’s foil stabbed into Hugo’s chest.
“Ow.” He grimaced, rubbing at his sternum as his brother planted his foil tip-down against the ground and leaned against it slightly while catching his breath.
“If this was a rapier, you’d be dead right now.”
Hugo ran a hand through his damp hair with a scowl. “And then you would be guilty of fratricide.”
Arthur snorted. “I would be applauded. And you would deserve your fate. If you cannot keep your mind on the sharp, pointy object in your hand, you should not be fencing.”
Hugo waved his foil in his brother’s general direction. “As you have so kindly pointed out, this is neither sharp nor pointy.”
Arthur’s exasperated scowl brought a smile to Hugo’s lips.
“My point stands,” Arthur said. “Are you still daydreaming about that letter you’ve been carrying about in your pocket? Or is it the harridan you’ve been stalking who has stolen your wits?”
“Do not call her that,” he grumbled. “And neither.”
“Or both,” Arthur said, amusement still pulling at his lips.
Rather than acknowledge the truth of that remark, Hugo turned away to grab a towel, taking far longer than necessary to mop his brow.
Millie was never far from his mind. That had been the case since the moment he’d received her first letter.
Each subsequent missive had only cemented her in his thoughts.
In his dreams. And in his heart, though he was loath to admit it.
He had never before been in love, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with such emotions.
Especially when the object of his affections existed only on paper.
And then there was Adaline Girard. An unexpected disturbance in his life who had only served to captivate him more and more.
Far from the animosity of their first meeting, each subsequent encounter seemed to be more pleasant than the last and only served to whet his appetite for more of her company.
He found himself wanting to share everything with her, just to see her reaction.
Would her eyes flash with furious fire? Would she laugh, either with him, or at him?
Would that delicate brow of hers rise in sardonic amusement?