Chapter Twenty-Two
You’ve Got Mail
“Good morning, miss,” Thompson said, throwing open the curtains to allow sunlight into Adaline’s chamber.
Adaline mumbled a good morning but flipped over to bury her face in her pillows.
The night had been late, and she had not slept well.
Her mind had not stopped churning since the theater two nights past.
“This was delivered this morning for you, from Mrs. Harrow. Along with a note that she will call upon you this afternoon.”
Adaline sat bolt upright in bed, all hint of sleepiness burned away in a rush of excitement. There was only one reason Lucy would send her a package.
She eagerly took the parcel from Thompson and dismissed her with thanks and then tore it open. Inside were several bits and bobs, mostly bits of ribbon and tassel for her to add to her drizzling box. But hidden amongst them all was a letter, a single peacock feather on the wax seal.
“Mayhem,” she said.
She cracked the seal, anticipation curling in her chest, that quickly turned to utter shock.
My dearest Millie,
Forgive me for the forwardness of what you are about to read, but I find I do not have the restraint in this moment to proceed with more caution.
I feel we have grown quite close over the last several months.
It is a state of affairs I never could have anticipated, but one for which I only grow increasingly grateful.
I cannot but believe that our connection would be even stronger if we were to finally meet.
I know we promised we would never do so. That we would keep all correspondence completely anonymous and be content with that.
However, I find I can no longer be satisfied with the limitations we have set. You are in my thoughts from the moment of waking to far into the night. And often upon closing my eyes as well.
I long to see you, face to face.
I swear to you, I have no expectations aside from discovering whether or not the connection we have upon paper will translate into real life.
If upon meeting, you determine you cannot stomach my presence, I swear to you I will disappear into the ether, and you shall never hear from me again.
My behavior will be guided by you in all things.
But I feel we have both come to a crossroads of late, one which neither of us can navigate until certain questions have been answered. Questions that I believe cannot be answered while we both remain in anonymity.
If you choose to decline my invitation, please know I will harbor no ill will.
You are more than justified in proceeding with the utmost caution.
And to be frank, if I were in your place, I would likely burn this letter rather than acquiesce to such a presumptuous request. So if that be your choice, I will abide by it and trouble you no more.
We can resume our letters as though nothing has passed.
Or you can be quit of me entirely. I will be guided by your wishes.
As for my wishes…
Let us meet. And perhaps then, the uncertainty which has plagued us will be resolved.
Yours always,
Mayhem
Adaline traced the elegant script with a trembling finger.
Her near overwhelming excitement was matched by a sudden wave of anxiety.
She pressed her lips together, wrestling with the enormity of what Mayhem asked.
To meet was to shatter the illusion of safety their correspondence provided.
And the outcome was not remotely assured.
Yet the longing in Mayhem’s words resonated with an ache she could not ignore.
She drew her shawl closer. Mayhem had been her secret for so long. Her confidant. Her escape from the judgements of society and the weight of her family’s expectations. In his letters, she found humor, acceptance, and a reflection of her own soul that she had never dared show anyone.
Yet as she gazed out over the gardens, her thoughts wandered to Hugo—the man she least expected to occupy her mind, let alone her heart. He had thrust his way into her life as an enemy. His biting remarks and rampant conceit had been a source of constant irritation. And unexpected amusement.
Adaline had hated him then. And he, her.
Or so she told herself. She had been angry, certainly.
And with good cause. But in recent weeks, she had seen another side of him.
One she wasn’t sure he revealed to everyone.
His own anger had faded, revealing flashes of genuine remorse.
He had defended her from scandalous gossip, stood by her when others retreated.
The memory of his hand, warm upon hers as she had wiped dirt from his face, sent a shiver through her.
But so did the words from Mayhem’s letters. Words that had embedded themselves into her heart.
They both presented a mystery she ached to solve. With Mayhem, there was the safety of distance and anonymity. The comfort of familiarity along with the thrill of the unknown. And a touch of danger. He could be anyone. Someone entirely unsuitable. Or someone entirely perfect.
Hugo, on the other hand, felt far more dangerous, even though he was known to her.
His flashing eyes and quick grin captivated her, despite her best efforts.
His mere presence caused her heart to beat faster.
Small touches of his hand only made her want more.
And unlike with Mayhem, she didn’t have to wonder if their physical attraction would match the intellectual.
Yet… Their families would certainly never approve. Even if she and Hugo had forgiven one another, the Brelsfords and Girards, as a whole, had not.
And…had they forgiven one another? She had thought so. Until he had looked right through her at the theater and refused to return her smile.
Then again, perhaps he had not seen her at all.
She had been sitting a distance away, and she often found herself staring into space not actually seeing what—or who—was right in front of her.
Though he had nodded. But perhaps he had been nodding at someone else.
Or nodding in response to something someone had said. Or nodding just to nod. Or…
Good Heavens. She would never know unless she asked him. A prospect she did not enjoy pondering.
She let out a sigh. Assuming she had been mistaken about his near cut of her, and they were, in fact, still friends…
Well then, her heart was divided over the possibilities a future with either man presented.
A wild, exhilarating feeling, to be sure.
But one tinged with dread. What if meeting Mayhem destroyed the magic?
What if loving Hugo meant inviting further turmoil?
A small, furtive part of her wished they could be one and the same. Then she would not have to choose. But while they did remind her of each other, that simply couldn’t be possible.
Could it?
A knock at the door startled her. Adaline hastily slid Mayhem’s letter beneath her pillow as her cousin Lucy entered.
Adaline glanced at her in surprise. “It is not afternoon already, is it?” she asked, throwing a quick look out the window.
Lucy smiled. “No. But the shop was quiet enough this morning that I was able to step out for a bit. I thought perhaps I should check on you. That letter you are hiding under your pillow—” Adaline jerked in surprise, and Lucy just smiled before continuing, “had been shoved beneath my shop door in the dead of night. Which is unusual enough I thought something momentous may have occurred.”
Adaline pulled the letter from its hiding place and held it to her chest. Lucy looked her over, her smile growing. Though there was a hint of concern in her eyes. “Judging by your expression, I am correct.”
“He wants to meet,” Adaline said, hardly believing the words though she’d read them over and over just a few minutes ago.
Lucy dropped beside her on the bed with an expulsion of air. “Well. That is momentous indeed.”
She seemed at a loss for what to say for a few seconds before finally letting out a laugh. “What will you do?”
“I…” Adaline stopped, realizing she had been about to say that she would meet him.
And perhaps there was her answer right there.
The answer that had risen to her lips without conscious thought.
Perhaps she had been thinking too much about the entire situation and needed to trust her instincts for a while.
She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I will meet with him.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. Then she nodded slowly. “Are you certain? Be sure of it,” she cautioned, before Adaline could answer. “Once you meet, there is no going back. If it does not go well, you’ve not only lost a cherished friend, correspondent though he may be, but depending on who he is…”
Adaline nodded. “I know.”
“Let me speak frankly, and then I’ll say no more about it,” Lucy said.
Adaline nodded, already knowing what her cousin would say but recognizing she would feel better for having said it.
“This business of secret letters is dangerous. If anyone were to discover it, your reputation could be ruined. I am fairly certain your mother suspects already. And if this man is…I don’t know, a rake, or a brigand, or a criminal, it will not just be your reputation in danger.”
“Lucy, I know you worry, and I love you for it. But do you truly think that a man could correspond with a woman for so long, and not betray such nefarious leanings? Surely I would at least have some suspicions if he were a malcontent. And I have had none.”
“I am glad of it, cousin. I merely wish to caution you. Men, at least certain men, are often terrifyingly talented when it comes to deceit.”
“I know I needn’t remind you of how you became acquainted with Lord Hugo Brelsford in the first place.”
Adaline pursed her lips, then replied quietly. “No. But he’s different now. It was a joke to him. That is not to say the entire affair doesn’t still irk me. But, he was not the only one to blame. Or even the most at blame. Henry bears a great deal of that. And… I have decided to forgive him.”