A Love Letter, Obviously
“Luke! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
My brother’s booming voice does nothing to endear him to me at the moment. After a long evening in a stuffy parlor listening to rival lords vie for Father’s attention and fending off the advances of a pair of eager socialites, I’m looking forward to a quiet cup of tea; pertinent part, quiet.
Hugh, outfitted in bright orange tonight, bounds up to me as I pause in the hallway outside my study door. “Well, not all over,” he says. “I actually knew you’d be here. Do you ever think of spending time … somewhere else?” He gestures expansively.
“I just spent the evening at Lord Ingersoll’s. Does that qualify? By the way, Miss Ingersoll was sorry you missed it.”
He pooh-poohs my mention of the family. “I already courted both the Miss Ingersolls, so there was no reason for me to attend. Besides, I had to go speak to Miss Smith like you told me to.”
“Like I—Hugh, I never told you to speak to Miss Fl—Miss Smith !”
“Didn’t you?” His face is all innocent wonder. “But you wanted me to get her a position.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I wanted you to leave her alone.”
“Ah, but if I had left her alone, I never would have gotten this .” He pulls a small, folded paper from his breast pocket and dangles it in front of me.
“And that is…?”
“A love letter, obviously.”
Pursing my lips, I turn to push open my study door and stride into the room. Hugh follows, naturally, for he never knows when he’s not wanted.
“Well? Don’t you want to read it?”
“I want a quiet cup of tea,” I say, sitting down behind my desk and ringing the bell. “I have no interest in your love letters.”
“ My —? Oh, didn’t you see?” Hugh slides the note across the desk. “It’s not for me .”
A curious feeling—nausea, possibly, or it might be fever?—pools in the pit of my stomach. Prince Lucas is scratched on the outside of the thin paper, the handwriting large and looping.
“Well?” Hugh prompts again, and I realize I’m still staring at it. I sweep it away from him, into my lap, as the door opens and Rodering walks in.
“You rang, Your Highness?”
“Tea, for one.” I glance pointedly at Hugh, but he fixes Rodering with a dazzling smile.
“And I’ll take wine.”
Rodering bows and withdraws silently. With a sigh, I choose a book— Tariffs and Taxes, Their Impacts and Consequences— from the stack on my desk and crack it open.
Hugh clears his throat.
I read my book.
“Well! Aren’t you going to read it?”
I look up blankly. “I am reading.”
Hugh huffs and reaches over the desk to snatch the note from my lap, jostling Tariffs her cloak was in tatters, and it will only get colder. I didn’t mean it to be a bribe, although I suppose I should have thought of that before I sent it.
I take a sip of tea, but it’s lost its appeal, and so has my book. I ring for Rodering to clear away the cup and rise to leave the room, Miss Flanders’ note safely in my pocket.