I await your reply,
Your friend,
L.G.
“Your friend indeed,” she muttered, feeling vexed with the man, for he tempted her to act in this foolish manner. Why would friends need to meet in the dark in secret at another ball! Eleanor twirled the quill between her thumb and forefingers for several seconds, wondering how to reply to him, painfully aware of how alive she felt…how her heart raced, and the odd sense of anticipation curling through her. It was very difficult, but she could not concede to dancing with him again, yet she could not bring herself to write the words down. The very next day, he sent a short note.
Dear Miss Fairbanks,
Have I stolen your wits and words with my request for a dance?
Yours,
L.G.
Dear L.G.,
I am afraid to comment on Lady Preston’s ball, and I gather you have ascertained it.
Yours,
E.F.
Dear Miss Fairbanks,
It is never my intention to inspire fear in your heart. Quite the opposite.
Your friend,
L.G.
Thinking about the lesson she received from Hermina this morning, Eleanor smiled. It was always a lady’s prerogative to remain silent on matters she wished to avoid. Mr. Lucien Glendevon received no reply from her, and Eleanor ventured out for a picnic in Kensington Gardens with Mr. Hayford and a few of his friends. The day was warm and pleasant, and Mr. Hayford was indeed a handsome and charming man, and while Eleanor liked his character greatly, she did not find herself moved in a romantic nature. That afternoon, she returned home in time to miss the sudden downpour of spring rain. She sat by the windowsill in the library reading a novel Lucien had sent her, finding great enjoyment in the story.
“What amuses you so?” Julia asked, coming over with a wide smile on her face.
“This novel is rather fun,” Ellie murmured, patting the sill beside her.
“Everyone has gone shopping,” Julia bemoaned, coming over to sit beside Eleanor. “I cannot understand why I cannot go.”
“You have your studies,” she gently chided. “Mama was very considerate in having you with us in town for the season. Do not disappoint her expectations. It is only one in the afternoon. You have dancing lessons. Go and prepare yourself.”
With a groan, her sister flounced off. She returned to her novel; however, a firm knock on the library door interrupted her. The butler entered, and her heart leaped to see the envelope in his gloved hands.
“Another letter for you, Miss Fairbanks.”
She winced inwardly to see the touch of curiosity in his eyes. Of course, he would know more than anyone else that sometimes two letters arrived for her each day for the last few days.
“Thank you, Orwell,” she murmured, accepting it. She waited until he departed before slitting it open.
Dear Miss Fairbanks,
Lady Preston’s ball is tomorrow. A simple word from you and I shall not attend.
Your friend,
L.G.
CHAPTER10