Adelaide headed down the hallway towards the library, her mind racing with unspoken concern for her father. He did not look well. There had been several outbreaks of consumption across the country, and she could not help but worry. He was such a strong and proud man, and yet he seemed to have withered before her very eyes.

You must trust him, she told herself. He says he is well, and you must believe that to be true. Perhaps, it is nothing but a trifling cold, as he has said.

She turned away from the library, seeking the comfort of her bedchamber instead. With Jasper’s letter in her hand, she did not want anyone discovering her in the midst of reading it. Hurrying up the stairs and across the landing, she slipped into her room and moved towards the window-nook.

With rain still pattering against the window, and a gloomy autumn sun struggling to break through the clouds, she gazed out at the park for a moment. In her mind, she imagined Reuben standing there. He had fallen somewhat silent after news of the engagement had been announced. And yet, she remained untroubled. The Dowager Duchess had sworn that they would marry, and she did not believe anyone would cross a lady such as her. Not even her son.

I have nothing to worry about. He and I shall be wed, and ours shall be a unique and thrilling marriage. It will have its share of turbulence, but I believe there will be contentment, too. He inspires some sort of affection within me. He is handsome. He is well-read. He is wealthy. Indeed, he shall make a good husband… if only on the exterior.

However, a lingering doubt remained in her mind. She could not shake it. In writing the letter to Jasper, using her words in Leah’s handwriting, she had realized something—no man had ever spoken to her in such a way, and she had never felt inclined to speak to a man with such emotion. All her life, this had been absent. Now that she knew it could exist, deep in her heart, she wanted to hold onto it. She wanted to be one of the fortunate ones, who loved and was loved.

Casting off her gloomy thoughts, she picked up the letter and opened it out. Her eyes danced across the page in absolute delight, absorbing every sweet word. She pictured Jasper saying them and discovered a smile upon her face. This back-and-forth of letters was exciting, in a way she did not know letters could be:

My darling Miss Green,

I do not wish your heart to be heavy, for it ought to be as light as a feather. Indeed, were it weighed on the scale of truth and honor, it would balance completely. I am sorry that such tragedy has taken you away from London. It is the city’s loss, and mine. Your presence shall be sorely missed.

I hope that, wherever you may be, you can find some joy in my letters. I would not have the strain of your family’s ailment darken your spirits. You do not deserve to have such shadow in your life, for you are all things fair and delightful.

You cannot know how much your letter cheered my own spirits, for I thought I had behaved so foolishly that you would never speak with me again. Emotions do not come easily to me in the spoken word, though I find them pouring onto the page as I write. I am glad that you wish us to improve our acquaintance at a slower pace, so we may get to know one another properly. There is so much that I still wish to know.

I must start by saying that I admire and respect you enormously. I care for you, beyond a simple friendship. However, I am a restrained sort of gentleman and there is little that can be changed about that. I have always moved at a snail’s pace, but I believe it will be of benefit to us.

As for your allusion to not being a true lady, I say that is nonsense. You are every bit a young lady, and I adore you for your raw spirit and effervescent character. It is why I felt such surprise in your coldness. Now, I see that it was not coldness, and merely confusion and disappointment. I let you down, and I am sorry for that. I hope I may make amends in the near future.

With regards to your mother’s wishes for you to marry, I only wish I could give you a better indication of my intentions. The truth is, for all my words surrounding the ridiculousness of our society’s marital contracts, you are correct in your assumptions. I do not know that I am free to offer my heart to whom I please. Once I discover where those boundaries lie, you may be assured that I will tell you. I only hope that, if the limitations are not too strict, I do not come to you too late with my news.

May I begin with a line of questioning that may allow us to better know one another? I have been so reserved in my conversation when you have been at my side. Now, I do not feel those blockades of propriety as readily as I did. Tell me of your childhood—where did you live? What did you love? Tell me of your most-prized memory? With regards to your mother and father, please tell me what they are like—tell me what you admire most about them? Tell me of their love story, if you know it? Is it a love story, or was it a marriage of convenience?

I must insist that you are not selfish in your pursuit of love. Love is never selfish, after all. However, we must discover the true core of our feelings for one another. I believe these letters may prove useful in that endeavor, as you have already suggested they might. I hope they may keep you occupied whilst you care for your family, and that they may, indeed, soothe you.

There is no need for your apology, Miss Green. I acted poorly. I drove you to those extremes, and I am eternally sorry for that. You did not deserve a display of indifference, for I am anything but indifferent to you.

I pray that your reply may come swiftly. Until then, I shall keep you in my thoughts.

Fondest regards,

Jasper, Lord Gillett

Adelaide held the letter to her chest for a moment, as though she might press the ink straight through to her heart. She had to remind herself that the words were not intended for her. They belonged to the fantasy of Leah, the one that she had created, so as not to wound Jasper. It was hard not to pretend that they had come from a secret admirer, who adored Adelaide with all of his heart.

Not Jasper, she pondered with a smile. Jasper would never speak in such a way to me. All our life, we have grown up side-by-side, and he has never indicated a smidgen of romantic intent. If he had… would things have been different? Would I have allowed him to woo me? Would I have fallen in love with him, had he spoken words like this to me?

The thought left her speechless and a touch sad. Why had he never attempted a romantic attachment with her? Was she truly so unlovable that her dearest friend had thought her unworthy of such affection? The man who knew her better than anyone. He had seen beneath the façade of unique beauty and peeled back every layer of her character. That could only mean one thing—he did not care for what he had seen.

If he does not like the person that I am, then how may Reuben? He shall see my true nature and find himself equally reviled… I am certain of it.

Forcing back embarrassed tears, Adelaide retreated to her desk and took out fresh vellum. Retrieving her quill and ink, she pushed away her gloomy disposition and began to write a response. If she could not have the fairy-tale for herself, then she would fabricate it until she had to release Jasper from its clutches.

I shall write to him as though he loved me once. I shall write to him as though he thought me worthy, throughout the years we have spent at his side. I shall write to him as though I have something of merit to offer. I shall write to him as though I am someone else entirely.

She did not seek his love for herself. True, she adored Jasper, but they were lifelong friends, nothing more. It was merely the wounding, of knowing he had never desired her, that pressed her on. At least, that was what she insisted upon telling herself.

Dearest Lord Gillet,

You speak prettily of my heart, though it feels somewhat empty without the promise of your continued presence. I miss London terribly, and the joyous endeavors that we have shared. I miss knowing that I may come to visit with Lady Adelaide and find you about the Colborne house in some capacity. I know your friendship with her means a great deal to both of you. Indeed, I am sorry that I sought to break it apart, for I have never seen its like before. I did not understand it.

Tell me… I know it is impertinent of me to ask, but have you ever loved Lady Adelaide in a manner beyond simple friendship? You may be honest with me, as I am not a jealous woman. I can also see that such intensity of feeling no longer exists within your acquaintance of one another. As such, I feel no threat. I did, perhaps, but that is gone now. She has assured me that I have nothing to fear, and I believe her.

Where I am is rather beautiful and picturesque, but it pales in comparison to the bustle of the city. I walk often. What might such a thing be like for you? Do you enjoy walking in the countryside? I know you have a property in Yorkshire—there must be rather splendid woods and forests to seek adventure in. Are there? I should like to hear about them.

I understand that emotions do not come easily to you, for you have been raised in a way that once seemed alien to me. I show my intentions somewhat bluntly. I know that ladies of your peerage do not. They often hide away in layers of subterfuge and propriety, for fear of what their true character may reveal. They cannot be free, for they worry after the opinions of others. They believe they will be mocked or wounded… or worse, ignored. Having never been raised that way, I cannot understand the shackles of not being able to be oneself. It must hurt.

I am pleased to hear of your admiration and respect, and also your care. I think, perhaps, we may have a rather splendid friendship. The more we write, the more I am certain that you and I are not intended for one another after a romantic fashion. You are dear to me, but I cannot be selfish in my desires. I apologize if my words pain you in any way, but I feel I must speak the truth. Besides, a friendship is a rather marvelous thing.

Your words on marriage contracts amused me. I knew you could not be so averse, given your heritage. We are all bound by the laws of our society, whether we agree with them or not. I look forward to hearing where your boundaries lie, although I will not perpetuate my hopes that they reach towards me. Not yet, anyway.

I shall answer your questions to the best of my ability. I hope they may satisfy your curiosity.

I grew up in the countryside, not far from London. We lived in a quaint house with beautiful gardens, for my grandfather was also wealthy. He had earned a small fortune in the tobacco trade, and my father inherited it. I enjoyed the fresh air and the cool breeze on my cheeks, and the way the snow fell in winter, and covered everything in a blanket of soft white.

I enjoyed walking in the woods by the house, where a babbling brook meandered through the trees. I would sit on the bridge there for hours, my feet dangling down. Minnows darted below, and I would watch their silvery scales flash like diamonds underneath the water. I liked to throw sticks, too, and see how swiftly they could sweep under the bridge.

What I loved most of all was Christmastide at the house. My most-prized memory is of one afternoon, in my twelfth year, when I ran across a fresh blanket of snow and built a snowman in the garden. A friend of mine helped, the two of us rolling up the vast balls of packed snow and stacking them on top of one another. I stole a shriveled orange from the kitchen and the cook scolded me for it, but the snowman had the most splendid nose. His eyes and mouth were made of dotted coal, his arms fashioned from twigs. My friend lent the snowman his scarf for a while, but only until the poor fellow melted.

Now, as for my mother and father… well, I adore them more than anything. They are friend and family, wrapped into one. My mother is a remarkable woman with a sharp wit, a fierce humor, and an elegant grace that has not left her despite her advancing years. She offers me counsel and is wiser than any person I know.

My father is a strong, proud man who would do anything for his family. Nothing could prevent him from keeping us safe. I believe he would journey to the ends of the earth and back if it meant protecting us. He carries a warmth beneath his stoic façade, and revels in the delights of company. He converses with anyone and everyone, and I admire him for his perpetual cheer. He is a warrior amongst men and I would hope that any gentleman that I find myself wed to has the same strength and softness of character.

As for their love story… well, that is their story to tell. It is not mine. I believe they respect and admire one another deeply, but their love is no fairy-tale. Few are gifted such a rare love. In the time that they were married, marriages were hardly ever built on affection. However, I do sense that they would be lost without each other. They love each other in their own fashion, that warmth developing over the years. I should be lucky to have even a sliver of their happiness.

Love may not be selfish, but it can be envious. If I were to marry another, would you be jealous? I do not ask in a capricious way, I am simply curious. We cannot always have the things that our hearts desire. It is the fault in the human condition.

Now, I should be interested to hear your responses to those questions. Tell me of your childhood. Tell me of the things you adore. Tell me of the things that make you happiest. Tell me everything. I would know the love story of your parents, if there is one? I do so love the fantasy of romance. Don’t you?

Thank you for kindness regarding our interaction the other day. You are far more gracious than you ought to be, having been faced with such a cold disregard. I realize it may have appeared as though I was insincere about my affection towards you. Indeed, you likely thought me a fortune hunter. Sadly, I was not one then… although my mother would now see me one. She has suitors awaiting me, upon my return to London. I am not looking forward to it.

I am looking forward to your reply, however. May it arrive swiftly and safely in the hands of Lady Adelaide, who has been instructed to deliver all these letters to my residence in London. Please allow a day or so for any responses from me, though I shall endeavor to be as swift as possible.

You are in my thoughts also.

Fondest regards,

Miss. L. Green

Adelaide set down her quill and waited for the ink to dry. She had used memories of her own in her responses, though she prayed they would not be poignant enough to stir up Jasper’s remembrance. The countryside recollections of bridges and streams had been hers. She had spent hours and hours sitting in the peace of that wood. Indeed, in a fortnight, she would return there.

Although she disliked the echoing expanse of Kiveton Hall, she found she had a sudden eagerness for the country. After a full season, she was tired of London. Besides, she reasoned it might be the last Christmastide that she spent there as a proper resident. As soon as she was married to Reuben, they would move to his seat at Weston Park in Staffordshire. That would become her home.

Her mind drifted back to happier thoughts of her childhood. Jasper had also been the friend in the tale of the snowman. It had been his scarf that they had wrapped around the sparkling creature’s neck. Still, she did not believe he would be able to piece the truth together—lots of people adored Christmastide, and lots of people built snowmen.

Sealing it with a plain wax stamp, she slipped it into the top drawer of her bureau. She would hand it to Jasper tomorrow evening and say it had come via express rider.

Just then, there came a knock at the bedchamber door. “Come in,” Adelaide replied.

One of the younger maids, an unusual creature named Angelica, poked her head around the door. “There is a gentleman in the hall for you, My Lady.”

“Oh?”

“The Duke of Bradford.”

Adelaide nodded. “I shall be down presently. Please, may you ask him to wait in the drawing room?”

“Certainly, My Lady.” With that, she disappeared.

Adelaide experienced a bristle of anxiety as she rose to follow. It had been several days since she had last seen Reuben. Although their last exchange had been somewhat comforting, she could not shake the deep-rooted feeling that she was walking into a huge mistake. Reuben admired her, yes, but did he love her?

Not in the way she wanted to be loved.