Page 62 of Presenting Miss Letitia (Once a Wallflower 1)

Willard laughed. “I’ve trained you well, Brandon. You are first rate at hiding your feelings. You won’t admit to loving the girl, but I caught the excitement in your eyes. Haven’t seen that for a while. And never for a lady. I wish you luck!”

“Thank you, Willard,” Brandon said with a grin. “And please, thank Mrs. Willard for her concern.” If he got the chance to confess his love, Letty would be the first to hear it. If he wasn’t too late.

Brandon walked to his carriage with a heavy heart. Despite his outward insouciance, he admitted he was deeply in love with Letty. He tried to tamp down his raging impatience. If only he could leave immediately for Cumbria, but to insult the Regent by not appearing to receive his medal, would also permanently injure his relationship with his father. He was forced to face the unpalatable fact that his future happiness must remain uncertain.

Chapter Twenty-Three

If Letty had thought accepting Geoffrey’s proposal of marriage would bring her p

eace, she was wrong. She had not had a moment’s peace since. Now that the matter was settled with everyone busily discussing the ceremony and the wedding breakfast, her unease only grew. They weren’t often alone, but she must talk to him away from his parents and her uncle and aunt whose enthusiasm made it impossible for her to think clearly.

A week had passed, and she’d hardly slept, and knew she was not in her best looks as she set out for the squire’s, where Geoffrey was breaking in a new horse. Squire Verney organized the hunt for the local gentry and supplied many of the horses. He now left most of the work to his son, and Geoffrey was perfectly content with the arrangement.

While it would be wrong of her to be critical of his disinterest in the world beyond their village, she did not share his view. It upset her to realize she would never return to London. She’d just begun to find her feet in society and make some friends when she was forced to leave it.

Geoffrey would no more attend a London Season, than honeymoon in Paris, another city he’d expressed an abhorrence for. If she had changed, Geoffrey had not. He was like an immoveable rock. And the differences between them seemed to widen while her fears grew.

She found him in the paddock, holding a rope which was looped around the colt’s neck as the horse circled. He gently guided the animal which was young and unsure, but exhibited no fear of him. There was no violence in Geoffrey, she admired that about him. But he also lacked something that she felt she needed in a husband, the ability to laugh, and be a little outrageous, and not care so much what others thought of him. Because Geoffrey did. He cared very much for his parents’ approval. A fine thing, but taken to extreme she considered it a sign of weakness. An inability to take life by the throat and live it according to one’s own lights, and not others. He should have told his parents to go to the devil and married Anne Wilson years ago. He should now.

Letty sighed. She knew why she felt this way. It was Brandon. He had chosen his own path in life against much opposition. She smiled, recalling his wry humor in the face of trouble. He could be gentle, too. He’d protected her, cared for her. Her chest tightened, she really must stop thinking of him. It was unfair to Geoffrey to compare the two men, when they were so different, and both exceptional in their way. Brandon’s final words came back to her. Don’t make compromises, remember your great Aunt Lydia’s adventurous life.

She rested her arms on the rail as the awful realization struck her like a lightning bolt, making her tremble with distress. Even though she would never see Brandon again, she could not marry Geoffrey.

After traveling through barren moorland bordered by stone walls that seemed to march for miles, the landscape changed to mist-shrouded dells, and fells falling away to large bodies of water, while above in the mist, the mountains rose majestically. It was very beautiful, but all Brandon could think of was Letty. Was he too late? Would he have to offer his felicitations to the bride and groom?

Brandon arrived in Hawkshead Village in the late afternoon. A small pretty place of higgledy-piggledy houses and narrow lanes and squares, surrounded by green pastures dotted with cattle and sheep, known to be the childhood home of the poet, William Wordsworth.

He put up at the King’s Arms, a tidy, whitewashed two-story building with a slate roof and well run by the look of the patrons. Drawing the innkeeper into conversation, he was told that as there was to be a full moon this evening, a dance would be held at the church hall. People came from miles around to attend it. Brandon thought it likely that Letty would be there.

After he washed and changed into his blue coat and buff breeches, he partook of a good supper in the dining parlor, then walked up the hill toward the church spire rising above the trees. In the summer twilight, the air was crisper than London, fragrant with flowers and greenery. The church hall was alight with candles, chatter and laughter drifting out.

A foot on the step, Brandon paused. Might this be a ceremony of some kind, a celebration? The innkeeper would surely have warned him when he expressed his intention to attend it. He would hate to appear in the middle of a wedding breakfast or a pre-wedding celebration. Might it be preferable to wait until he could visit Letty at home? With an impatient shake of his head, he mounted the steps and strolled through the door.

It seemed as if every person in the long hall turned to observe him.

A fiddler and a pianist played a lively piece, a country dance in progress. A gentleman stared at him, lost his place, and trod on his partner’s foot. The lady was vociferous in her condemnation, but the man merely grinned and someone dancing past them chuckled.

Struck by how informal it was and how different to London, Brandon searched the room until he spied Letty where she sat talking to an older woman on one of the benches. She looked up, startled, and said something to the woman who peered at him curiously. Letty rose and made her way over to him, her cheeks pink, a question in her lovely brown eyes he was eager to answer.

He bowed, taking note of her dress, one he remembered she wore in London, and unlike a wedding gown, although he couldn’t be sure, because country weddings would be a different affair. “I came to offer you and your fiancé my best wishes,” he said, smiling down at her.

“That was very good of you.” Her gaze roamed his face as if learning every feature. “Such a long way to come.”

“Yes. Quite a tedious journey in fact,” he said with a smile. “Charming place though, once you get here.” He looked around. “Which one is Geoffrey? I must congratulate him.”

“Over there, the fair man in a brown coat. He is dancing with Miss Ann Wilson.”

“Oh? Why isn’t he dancing with his bride-to-be?”

Letty smiled and shrugged. “He might be, who knows?”

His breath quickened. Unfamiliar with the force of the emotion which gripped him, he struggled to retain his composure. “You and Geoffrey are not to be married?”

“No. We decided against it. I’ve behaved foolishly. Everyone thinks so.”

He took her hand. “Then we need to talk.”

He drew her toward the door.

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