The Earl, the Lady and the Song of Love by Fanny Finch
Chapter 14
Two days later, Imogen was in the garden painting, when Mr. Ramson arrived.
“Miss Imogen, a letter for you.”
She stopped, turning around to face him, brush still in hand.
“For me?” she asked, wondering who could have sent her one. As she reached for it, she remembered that Lord Kensington had asked her to write to him.
It had only been two days, but perhaps he had grown weary of waiting for her. A part of her was thrilled by the thought.
“Yes. A messenger delivered it just now. He is waiting by the door. He says he was asked not to return without a response from you,” Mr. Ramson answered.
“Oh, I see.”
She quickly took the letter, admiring the seal for a moment before opening it. She was met with the finest handwriting she had ever seen, and she found herself smiling before she began to read.
Dear Miss Hartford,
I hope this finds you well. I wonder if the ride back to London was as wonderful as the ride to Kensington. I do very much hope so.
I am writing because I would like to see you again. I thought I could wait a little longer, but it appears I am quite eager. I do believe I might even miss your presence.
What do you say? If it is not too much to ask, shall I pick you up at noon? We could go to Hyde Park, take a walk. It is the perfect weather for one.
I understand if you cannot say yes, as this is quite sudden, and you might already have other plans. Please, let me know when I can see you again.
I look forward to your response.
Yours sincerely,
Lord Kensington.
She placed her hand on her heart as she finished reading, willing it be still.
He had said he missed her and that he wanted to see her again. How could she refuse? She liked his company. Being in his presence was wonderful. The little time they had spent together at his estate, just the two of them, had been lovely.
Imogen could not remember a time when she had ever felt so comfortable with someone she had only just met. She especially cared for the fact that he had made her laugh harder than she had had reason to in a while.
She looked at her canvas and the letter. Her plan had been to spend the entire day painting with hopes of finally finishing the piece, but it would have to wait.
Of course, she wanted to see him again. She had been trying not to think about him or what could come of their budding friendship since leaving his home, but with letters like this it was hard not to feel like he considered her special.
It was almost impossible not to let her heart care.
“My lady?” Mr. Ramson called softly.
Drawn out of her thoughts, she was reminded of the messenger waiting by the door.
“Oh yes. Please, Mr. Ramson, do fetch me quill, ink, and some paper, will you? I shall write a response right away.”
“I will only be a moment,” the butler responded, bowing his head before he took his leave.
While she waited for Mr. Ramson to return, Imogen busied herself with reading the letter over and over again.
He wrote so beautifully. The delicate stroke of the letters told her he was a patient and thorough man. One who paid attention. It made her think of how she was with her painting. It appeared it was something more they had in common.
As Mr. Ramson had promised, he was back in no time.
“Thank you,” she muttered, finding a place to sit. She decided on one of the brick stools that had been made for people to sit in the gardens.
When she had settled, she dipped the quill into the bottle of ink, brought it out and began to write.
A moment later, she was done. Carefully, she folded the letter and handed it over to Mr. Ramson.
“Do remember to stamp it with the seal before sending it off, will you?”
Nodding, Mr. Ramson accepted the letter. “Certainly. If that will be all . . .”
“It is,” she replied softly. “You may go.”
He left just as he had come, quietly.
He had only disappeared through the doors, into the house, when Imogen caught sight of Lewis.
“Looking for me?” she called out.
He nodded as he joined her. “I would say I was. There is someone at the door. He says he has some message for you.”
Imogen rose to her feet. “Oh yes. From Lord Kensington. He wanted to know if I would be willing to go for a walk.”
“When?”
“Today, at noon.”
Lewis’ brows arched. “Truly? Ah . . . it appears the Earl is a man of action. A man who knows what he wants and wastes no time going after it.”
Imogen’s cheeks flushed at the implication of her brother’s words. “I would not exactly say he is after anything. Perhaps, he is only being friendly.”
“Huh. Something tells me even you do not believe that.”
His eyes went to the letter on the stool. “Is that it?”
Imogen nodded.
“Let me guess, you agreed to go.”
She lifted her shoulder in a small shrug. “I saw no reason not to. I have nowhere else to be after all, and I do have the time to spare.”
“You like him, do you not? I asked you after dinner and you said you could not say for certain. I bet you could now.”
Imogen did not want to admit it just yet, at least not aloud, but she could not lie to Lewis. He would see through her like a veil.
So, deciding to handle it calmly, she turned to go to her canvas.
“What is there not to like?” she asked with a flippant shrug. “He is nice, gentle, attentive. Charming, even.”
“Not to mention, handsome,” Lewis put in, his voice a tease.
Imogen gave into the urge to roll her eyes, her back turned to him.
“Well, that certainly is an incentive.” It was a truth she would not deny.
“I knew it. What are you going to do if he asks to court you? Will you say yes?”
Imogen had not let herself think that far ahead, but as Lewis mentioned it, she found that she would most likely say yes. After all, it was the reason why she had asked Father to choose for her, was it not?
She had hoped to marry whoever he chose, and courting did come before marriage. It was a good thing that he had picked someone she happened to like, very much so.
“I suppose I will,” she answered finally.
Lewis sighed. “I thought as much.”
There was something in his voice that made her turn to him.
“You disagree.” It was more of a statement than question.
“Not precisely. I just believe you should not be so quick to make such decisions. Give it time still. Get to know the man properly. Besides, I do not believe you should so hastily settle for a loveless marriage. You are young still, Imogen. You have, at the very least, another year to choose a husband. It would be wonderful to wait for love, do you not think?”
Imogen wished everyone would let the matter of love drop. She had tried it once and what had it gotten her? Nothing but pain and betrayal.
“Lord Kensington and I could grow to love each other,” she answered, her voice firm, signaling she would not discuss the matter further.
“And if you do not?” Lewis pressed still.
Imogen looked away, blinking. She could not bring herself to hold his gaze.
Truthfully, it was a matter she had not considered. The fact that Aunt Rachel and Uncle Peter had fallen in love did not mean she would be so lucky.
It appeared that in some ways, she had not given up on a love match. She had simply been hoping to find it in the man who would become her husband.
What if that never happens?
Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she struggled with accepting that eventuality.
She only opened them when she found a semblance of peace with the thought.
Holding her brother’s gaze, chin raised, she said, “I suppose I would have to settle for friendship and mutual respect then, would I not?”
Lewis nodded. When he spoke, his voice was solemn.
“It appears you have made up your mind. Very well, then. I wish you the very best, dear sister.”
“Thank you, Lewis. Do not worry too much. My mind can still be changed.”
He gave her a small smile then. “I trust you will have the strength to do so if need be.”
Those words were still on her mind when Lord Kensington arrived at exactly noon to escort her to their walk.
Lewis had stepped out earlier to attend to some business matters, so Imogen took Elena along as a chaperone.
“I am happy to see you again, Miss Hartford,” the Earl said as they exchanged pleasantries. “I was very glad to receive your reply. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
Even though her conversation with Lewis had given her cause to worry, she found herself smiling up at Lord Kensington.
“Thank you for inviting me. A walk was an excellent idea. The weather is indeed perfect for it.”
His response was a grin that almost blinded her. So bright, it dazzled.
With his help, she and Elena got into the carriage, and they began their journey to the park.
It was a quiet ride, affording Imogen more time to sort through her words.
As they neared their destination, she remembered the dreadful event that had happened during her last visit there.
She found it interesting that if she had not caught the Baron and Alicia that afternoon, she would not be here now with the Earl, who appeared to be a much better man than Lord Exeter could ever hope to be.
Just then, the carriage rolled to a stop and she tucked those thoughts away.
“Looks like we have arrived,” Lord Kensington announced.
Her lips curved as she looked at him. “I do believe we have.”
Again, with his help, she and Elena dropped down from the carriage.
Then, they began to walk. Elena fell five paces behind them, affording them privacy to talk.
“The weather seems to be changing swiftly. The skies are threatening to pour soon,” Lord Kensington said.
Imogen looked up. He was right. Clouds were beginning to gather, and the sun was fast disappearing.
“Oh . . . what shall we do? We only just got here.”
“Hopefully, it will pass. Let us watch it for a little longer. If it appears it is not letting up, I shall take you back home.”
This saddened Imogen. She had looked forward to spending the entire afternoon with him. “Well, I suppose we shall have to make do with what little time we have then.”
She turned to him when she felt his gaze upon her, and their eyes met. His dark ones held words whose meaning she could not quite decipher yet. For some reason, they made sweet shivers run down her spine. When his lips curved in a small smile, the tremble extended to her belly.
“Yes, let us do that,” he said, his eyes still trained on her.
They seemed to snap out of the trance simultaneously, and they both turned to look ahead.
“Did you have business to attend to this morning?” she asked him.
He bobbed his head. “Some errands. I cleared the rest of my schedule so I could spend some time with you.”
There it was again, the soft tremor rippling through her heart.
“When you say things like this, I am tempted to believe you truly missed my presence. Tempted to feel special . . .”
“But you are special, and I was telling the truth when I said I missed your presence. After you left my estate, I immediately felt sorry for letting you go. Like the last time we parted ways, I began to count the minutes until I would see you again. I hoped to wait at least five days, but I could not make it past today. I enjoy your company very much, Miss Hartford. It is like a breath of fresh air. I want to get to know you even more. That can only happen if we spend time together.”
He nudged her softly with his shoulders. “Plenty of time,” he added under his breath, but she caught it.
Imogen believed him. She was probably foolish to be making the same mistake twice, but he sounded genuine.
Her father had said Lord Kensington was trustworthy, had he not? Then it had to be alright to trust his words.
“You are right,” she replied softly. “It is just . . . hearing you say it feels foreign. The only person who enjoys my company is Lewis. Oh, my aunty too. Others seem to find me a bore.” The last part was almost a whisper. He heard it, nonetheless.
“A bore?” He sounded genuinely astonished. “I do not think that is a word I could ever use to describe you, Miss Hartford. Perhaps, we have not known each other long enough for you to bore me.”
Imogen managed a small smile. “It is usually the other way around. People find me uninteresting and if they happen to stay around long enough to know me better, they might accept that perhaps I am not all bland.”
“I beg to disagree. You must know, Miss Harford, I have been absolutely delighted by your person from the moment I first set eyes on you.”
These damned butterflies . . . I thought I had put you to rest.
“Truly?” she heard herself ask. Those words were like music to her ears. Strange music.
He nodded. “A man’s word is his honor. I do not use mine carelessly.”
Imogen believed him. With all heart. There was an air of sincerity to him. The way he spoke, the way he looked at her. A trait she had not once glimpsed in Lord Exeter now that she thought of it.
“Thank you,” she muttered softly. If only he knew how much those words meant to her.
Finally, all the fears she had nursed ever since that afternoon her father had told her she would be meeting with the Earl for the first time faded away. Every last one of them, vanished.
“You are welcome.”
There was silence for a long moment and Imogen took the time to bask in the wonder she felt, the lightness in her spirits. It was him who broke the spell.
“I hope you would not mind my asking something,” he started.
“Please, ask away.” she said with a small smile.
“I have been curious, and I was hoping to get an answer today. What is it you seek in a husband, Miss Hartford?”
Imogen stilled. She had not been expecting that question at all. Lewis must have been right. The Earl was not planning on wasting his time.
“Miss Hartford? Did I say something wrong?”
She turned to see that he too had stopped and was looking at her with the concern.
“What? Oh, no,” she shook her head. “Not at all. I simply was taken aback, is all.”
“My apologies if I was out of line. You do not have to answer.”
She was quick to brush him away as she recovered. “Please, no need to apologize. As I said, I was simply taken aback.”
There was a moment’s pause as she inhaled deeply. “What do I seek in a husband? Well, not much, I suppose. Compassion, respect, care, faithfulness, amity. All in all, friendship.”
And love. She shook her head. She was not that girl anymore.
The Earl seemed to give her words some thought. “Is that all?”
“What more could there be?” she asked, feigning ignorance.
He smiled. “I know many ladies who would first mention love.”
Her lips curved as well. “Well, I am my own lady. I know better than to entertain such naïve notions. Once there is friendship, a marriage has all it needs to blossom, I believe.”
“It appears we are in agreement. Love is but a fickle emotion. Friendship is more sustaining.”
“Then you do not seek love yourself?”
He shook his head. “No, I can do without.” There was a small pause before he continued. “I do believe that we are quite well suited, Miss Hartford, you and I. Now, I am even more eager to become your friend.”
There was something in the way he said those words that made her heart skip with joy.
This man is dangerous. To her heart and her resolve.
She followed him as he continued to walk, and they were able to enjoy another half an hour of pleasant conversation before the skies turned dark and the rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance.
Sensing that the rain would not hold back, they quickly returned to the carriage. The coachman rode fast, getting them home in a shorter time than usual.
Hurriedly, they said their farewells and she ran into the house. It had already started to drizzle.
She had just entered her chamber when the first deafening rumble bellowed, and the heavy downpour began.
Curling into a ball to keep warm, she took her mind back to the events of that afternoon. Smiling as she reminisced, she was convinced more than ever that this had been the right step to take. She was finally moving on with her life, healing. She had also found herself a good man.
A man she would have easily given her heart had she met him before she learned the hard way to never do so again.
Nonetheless, she would let herself care for him and she would allow him to care for her, if he so wished to. There could be no harm in that, could there?
She was still basking in her reverie when the wiles of sleep lured her away. Once again, she was taken back to that magical night, the ball room, and the tall dark stranger that suddenly felt like an old friend.