Chapter Fourteen #2
He seemed to be counting the minutes until he could match wits with her again and have those piercing golden eyes of hers boring right into his soul.
He sighed. He’d spent his life avoiding feminine entanglements and in the space of a few months had somehow managed to become inextricably enmeshed with two of the most fascinating—and unattainable—members of the fairer sex.
“I only seek to caution you—” Arthur started, but Hugo cut him off.
“You have already done so. Numerous times.”
“Yes, but you are not taking my caution into account, so therefore I feel the need to harp on the point.”
Hugo snorted. “Your harping is not needed, I assure you.” The constant running monologue in his head was far more than adequate.
“Hmm.” Arthur rubbed a finger across his upper lip, and Hugo let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Oh, just out with it before you explode.”
The grin Arthur aimed at him made Hugo want to remind Arthur who was the elder brother.
But he didn’t want to draw any more attention than they already had.
The last thing he needed was a fresh rumor with him and his love life at the center.
Not that continuing this discussion at home would be any better.
Their mother had forbidden them to fight in the house, and he certainly didn’t want to bring her into their conversation.
However, of the two options, their present location was preferable.
They were certainly not alone at Angelo’s Fencing Academy, but it was still best to let him have it out here.
Arthur’s words of caution were an irritant, to be sure.
But one that Hugo could quickly handle. And then ignore.
At home, there was more danger of his mother overhearing.
And she was an entirely different story.
She and his father had already made their thoughts on Adaline Girard perfectly clear.
There would be no approval of her from their direction.
As for his…literary activities, if those were discovered, there would be hell to pay.
And he was still floating in the heaven that Millie’s letters created.
Oh, devil it. He rubbed a hand over his face, alarmed by his own thoughts. Maybe he did need a good talking to. An intervention of sorts. A stiff drink?
Or…just another letter from Millie. Or an afternoon with Adaline.
“That,” Arthur said, pointing at Hugo’s face. “That look right there. That is what concerns me so greatly.”
“What look?” Hugo asked, though he could imagine all too well. If even half of what he felt was betrayed by his expression, his brother did indeed have cause for concern.
“You know what look.”
Yes, yes he did. But he wasn’t going to make it that easy for Arthur. “Do I?”
“Look, Brother. I want nothing but your happiness. But I fear that this obvious…infatuation you have over this woman—”
“Which one?” Hugo asked, curious if his brother could perhaps deduce which enticed him more. Because damned if he could determine his own mind on the subject.
Arthur merely scowled. “Both. Your infatuation with them both is dangerous.”
Unhelpful. Not incorrect. But still, unhelpful in his current predicament.
Arthur continued on, oblivious of Hugo’s inner turmoil.
“If anyone were to discover your correspondence, you’d be forced to marry the woman. She’d be just as compromised as if you had been caught kissing behind the garden shrubs. Perhaps even more so, as there is tangible proof of your indiscretion.”
Arthur didn’t know the half of it. Their last batch of letters alone…
their discussion of her reading activities, the drawing he’d sent her…
Hugo rubbed another hand over his face. Though regret was the furthest thing from his mind.
He wanted nothing more than to continue what he and Millie had started.
“Do you think I haven’t considered that?
” Hugo turned on his heel to return his foil to the receptacle where they were stored and began to gather his things.
“We have been taking the utmost precaution. We do not use our real names or any personal, especially identifying information. Our letters are sent through an intermediary. The threat of discovery is minimal.”
“But not non-existent. Are you prepared to deal with the consequences, should they occur?”
Hugo paused, though he didn’t truly have to ponder it. He’d been thinking of little else for weeks now.
Arthur sat back, a surprised huff punching from his lungs. “Good God. You have.”
Hugo shrugged, still trying to play nonchalant, though his emotions were anything but. The thought of marrying Millie not only didn’t concern him, it sent a chorus of thrills ricocheting through his body.
Until thoughts of Adaline intruded. For despite their acrimonious beginnings, the prospect of a match with her sent a similar chorus of thrills through him. Which made him feel like the worst kind of scoundrel.
What an atrociously convoluted mess he had enmeshed himself in.
Arthur followed him through the building, blessedly silent while they nodded to friends and acquaintances as they quickly changed and made their way to their carriage. The reprieve did not last however. As soon as the carriage door had closed behind them, Arthur started in on him again.
“I do not understand the purpose of either your continued correspondence with your mystery lady or with your strange friendship with Miss Girard. Either will likely end in nothing but disaster for you. And them. What are you thinking?”
Hugo threw his hands up. “I am thinking that it is long past time that I married. Mother and Father have been harping on me to do just that since the day after they married off Edward. Grandmother has thrown every eligible woman at me and frankly has pointed out a few that are slightly less than eligible. One young duchess married to an especially ancient duke, in particular. Are either of the women with whom I am currently involved really a worse choice than her? Or any other? I am ready to take on more responsibility, including a wife. Would it truly be so bad if I found one whose company I actually enjoy? A woman I might even grow to love?”
A woman he was already half in love with—and yes, that applied to both of them, God help him. Not that he’d mention either of those points, considering Arthur was already bubbling over with worry.
“No. I suppose not. If you must marry, that is. I, on the other hand, would prefer not to marry at all,” Arthur said. “I am far too young.”
“You are nearly six and twenty, Arthur. Father was married with three children when he’d reached your age.”
Arthur’s mouth dropped open, momentarily struck dumb by the reminder of that bit of information. Then he recovered, waving it away. “We are discussing you.”
“Yes. And I am telling you that if I must marry, I could do much worse than Adaline Girard. Or Millie.”
“Millie?” Arthur asked, perking up.
Hugo’s lips pinched together. Damnation. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. He waved his hand. “Nothing. It’s a pet name. It doesn’t matter.”
Arthur flashed him a delighted grin. “Oh, but I think it does—”
“Let it go, Arthur,” Hugo said, a note of warning in his voice that Arthur, surprisingly, listened to.
He slumped back against his seat, though an amused smile still lingered on his lips.
“Be all that as it may,” Arthur said, “I do not think you are taking this as seriously as you should, especially when it comes to this Millie of yours. Miss Girard is a problem in and of herself, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is our family’s decided prejudice against her.
But this mystery woman…are you really considering—”
Hugo let out a long-suffering sigh. “I do not see how I could take it any more seriously. I am willing to marry the woman if we are discovered. How much more serious should I be?”
“Truly? She could be literally anyone, Hugo. A nursemaid. A seamstress. A…a…an actress!”
Hugo’s brows rose higher with every suggestion. And his smile grew wider.
“What if she’s a married woman with six screaming children clinging to her skirts?” Arthur continued. “Or…the queen’s laundress. She could be the queen herself! I’ve heard she’s fond of a bit of correspondence.”
Hugo laughed until his stomach hurt. “Or,” he said, still chuckling, “she could be a simple young lady who accidentally discovered a like-minded soul with whom she has formed an unexpected but thoroughly enchanting connection.”
Arthur groaned. “And why would a simple lady be sitting around writing to a strange man she has never met? I am appealing to whatever working faculties you might have left, Hugo. Something isn’t right.
Any normal young lady would be busy with suitors and engagements.
Why is she not? She could have a club foot. Or be horribly pockmarked.”
Hugo thought on that for less than it took to draw a full breath before he shook his head. “I wouldn’t care.”
That made Arthur pause. “Truly?”
“Truly,” Hugo said, without hesitation. “The woman is witty, kind, adventurous, passionate. She amuses me and intrigues me. I want to know her thoughts on everything and I tell her everything of mine. And none of that requires that she look a certain way.”
Arthur stared at him again, his mind obviously churning as he thought of another argument. “What if she is a mere child?”
“What?” Hugo blanched, horrified at the thought. But he immediately dismissed it. “She is not a child. I am certain.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Her manner of speaking, her thoughts, the representation of her life—or as much of it as she has shared with me—all indicate she is older. At least old enough to marry, as her family seems to be seeking a match for her as much as ours has for me.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “What if she is much older? Ancient even? You could be courting an octogenarian!”
Hugo rubbed his hand over his face again as Arthur laughed until he wheezed.
“Well,” Hugo finally said. “If that is the case, then at least I shall marry someone with some experience of the world. Perhaps she can teach me a few things.”
That set Arthur off again. Hugo laughed, but he was in earnest. He did not care who this woman was.
He was reasonably sure she was of an age with him and likely a lady, simply because of her manner of speaking.
Her penmanship. The quality of her quill, ink, and paper.
And she was writing to him through the hat shop which suggested it was an establishment she frequented.
He had briefly considered the possibility that its proprietress was his mystery lady but quickly abandoned that thought once he saw her with her husband. Plus, she did not behave as he believed Millie would. She was kind enough, polite enough, but not nearly as boisterous or venturesome.
As for the identity of the real Millie…he told the truth when he said it did not matter.
It did not. Oh, to a point, he supposed.
If she were already wed, that would certainly be cause for disappointment.
Then again, he knew that was not the case, as she had been under the care of her brother when her parents had been traveling.
So, she was likely a lady, young enough to need a chaperone but old enough to resent it.
Given everything he’d gleaned from her letters, he thought her to be in her early twenties.
Old enough to know her own mind and tenacious enough to use it.
Very similar to Miss Girard, now that he thought on it.
In any case, who she was, what she looked like…none of that mattered. She was Millie. That was enough for him.
Perhaps they should put all this speculation to rest and just meet?