Dear Felicity,
I hope you do not find my letter intrusive, but after last night, I could not keep myself from wanting to check in and see how you are doing. So, how are you?
I want to apologize for anything I might have said or done to cause you distress. I have spent the past several hours wracking my mind to see if I had done anything that might have caused offense, and while I can think of nothing, I apologize all the same. I am sure once you write me back (as I hope you do), you will point out my errors in the gentle and kind way you do, and I will see clearly what an oaf I am. If I have not made myself clear, please allow me to make amends.
In case you decide not to write back to me, I feel I must return the compliment you so generously gave me last night. Dancing with you was the highlight of my year. Is that too much? Am I allowed to say such things? Regardless, it is true. Holding you in my arms made everything else in the room and in my life fade away. For those too-short minutes, there was no grief, no heartache, no responsibilities; there was only you. I can only selfishly hope that we will soon be able to repeat the occurrence.
Did I tell you last night how lovely you looked? If I did, it was not enough. If I didn’t, please excuse me — it was not for lack of thinking it but rather the lack of words to do you justice.
I fear I might have overdone my compliments. Forgive me. They are the truth, and I promised you my candor.
I send you this letter hoping you reply and tell me that you are well. And if you are not, that you will tell me what it is I can do to remedy that for you. It is the least I can do for a friend.
Yours,
Benjamin
* * *
“‘Yours?’” Delilah sighed dreamily.
She threw herself into the back of the settee and spread her hands wide, a faraway smile on her face. She looked how Felicity felt. It was not in her nature to share such a private note, but Benjamin had never been quite so direct in his previous writings, and Felicity felt a tad less burdened now that she had someone to share her secret with. Delilah sat up abruptly.
“You must write him back. At once.”
She stood and hurried over to the desk, pulling out a sheet of paper, a pen, and an ink well.
“What will I say?” Felicity asked, suddenly unsure.
After the first letter she had written to him, she had not been nervous or uncertain about what to say. But after all she and Delilah had talked about and the stream of compliments he had given her, she felt a shift in the nature of their correspondence.
“You will tell him that you have recovered from last night’s events. You will thank him for his compliments. And then you will tell him the truth.”
The necessary means of writing were placed on the small table in front of her. Delilah stood, her hands on her hips, as she waited for Felicity to pick up the pen. Felicity did so, dipping the tip in the ink, but her hand hovered over the blank page.
“The truth. What truth is that?”
“You tell me,” Delilah hedged.
With a steadying breath, Felicity looked at her sister, taking in the determined expression she wore.
“I will tell him of my affections,” Felicity decided. “I will let him know how I feel and give him the opportunity to do something about it.”
Delilah’s face broke out into a huge smile as she sat beside her sister and waited in silence.
It did not take Felicity long to pen the words. Once she allowed herself to admit them, it was more of a challenge to stop the words from coming. In less than half an hour, Felicity had finished her note. It was brief but left no room for doubt or uncertainty of where she stood.
“I need to find Ruth,” Felicity announced, folding the letter before sealing it.
“Go! And come back to me when the letter has been sent. I want to hear all about this Mister Chapman,” Delilah said with a smile.
Felicity left the drawing room, excitement pounding through her. She slipped the letters into her pocket and made off in search of her maid.
“Felicity.”
The voice from the study stopped her in her tracks.
“Father?” she asked, hoping he would remain oblivious to her actions.