Miss Lacey's Love Letters (3 page)

"What do you mean?" Despite her cynicism, Valeria had been secretly stirred by the strangers' romance. She hated to think their ending was anything less than a happy one.

"I will tell you in a moment. Listen to this..." Lydia cleared her throat and proceeded to read a passage from a different letter. "
I can hardly wait to see you again, Miss Lacey. My love for you drives me mad. At long last, I am finally able to confess my true feelings. I love you, Abigail Lacey. I fell in love with you from the moment I saw you, and I will surely love you forever."

"I wonder if she returned his love?" Valeria asked with a shrug.

"Obviously, she appreciated the letters enough to keep them. I am sure she returned his feelings."

"I would certainly hope so."

"This is from the same letter," Lydia said, and continued to read, "
Before I met you, I had nothing. You have given me a reason to live, a reason to look forward to the days ahead. And I know, without a doubt, you have made me a better man than I was. You have brightened my life in more ways than you know. You are the solitary star in my moonless sky."

Lydia expelled a dreamy sigh. "Isn't that a lovely sentiment?"

"I suppose."

"You really should read one of your Uncle Henry's poems. They were every bit as passionate as Mr. Worthington's letters."

"Then I would be more than happy to read them."

"Now, as for Mr. Worthington himself..." Lydia folded the letter and returned it to its envelope. "I've been asking around, and apparently... he lives nearby."

"And I would assume Miss Lacey is his wife?"

"That's the thing, dear. I don't think so. According to what I've heard, Noah Worthington is something of a recluse."

"Are you sure it's the same man?"

"Of course. How many Noah Worthingtons could there be?"

"So, what happened between Mr. Worthington and Abigail Lacey?" Valeria was surprised by how stirred she was by the lives of two people she would likely never meet. "They didn't get married after all?"

"I would assume they did not. For what other reason would he be, to this day, an unmarried hermit?" Lost in thought, Lydia tapped her chin with the corner of an envelope. "It is strange to think the author of these letters is still out there. Wouldn't you like to meet him?"

"No!" Valeria's answer came swiftly. "What could we possibly say to him? That we read his private missives?"

"Possibly. And we could ask him what became of Miss Lacey."

"You really want to meet him?" When she saw her aunt's nod, she added, "It's madness, you know."

"I happen to think it's exciting! Meeting Mr. Worthington... my heart trembles at the thought!"

"It sounds like you're a little bit in love with Mr. Worthington."

Before her aunt could protest, they were silenced by the sound of crunching foliage, and a male voice uttering a single word. "
Valeria
."

It was a familiar voice, but it made her jolt. When she turned around, she saw the face of her longtime friend, Harold Rigby. "Harold! Oh my! What are you doing here?!"

When Harold's gaze landed on Lydia, he said, "With your aunt here, I suppose I should call you Miss Woll."

"That's hardly necessary. I am sure Lydia knows our acquaintance is a long and familiar one." Valeria rose from the bench and took a step in Harold's direction. She had known Harold since she was nineteen, and while he had courted her at first, their relationship ultimately ended in friendship. It had been some time since she had seen him, perhaps a year or two. There were a few grays mixed in with his black hair, and he had a few extra lines around his eyes, but other than that, he looked as handsome as ever. "Did you come all the way from London?"

"I came all the way from Bath, actually. The waters were a miracle. Not only did they heal my infection, they helped me clear my head."

"You had an infection?"

"A troublesome tooth. It was inflamed, but now it feels perfectly fine."

"That's good to hear."

"I tried the front door. There was no answer."

"We have no butler," Lydia explained. "Nor a maid, or a servant of any sort. We've only recently made this our home."

"I see. Then I hope you don't mind that I approached you in the garden?"

"I don't mind at all," Valeria said with a smile. "And I'm not entirely sure you can call this a
garden
. Everything is dead out here. This space is in desperate need of a revival."

"It isn't so bad," Harold lied. His eyes lingered on Lydia, then he asked, "Valeria, may I speak to you for a moment?"

"We're speaking right now."

"Privately," Harold insisted. "It won't take long."

"Seeing as you have traveled all the way from Bath, it must be important." Valeria accepted Harold's proffered arm and followed him away from the bench. She could still see her aunt in the distance, unabashedly watching them. "This really is a surprise, you know."

"I had to see you." When Harold turned in her direction, his eyes were locked on hers. "I can't believe you're living all the way up here. Was it really necessary to move so far from London?"

"My aunt wanted to come here," Valeria explained. "And I would follow her anywhere."

"Even if it meant leaving all of your friends?"

"Aunt Lydia is my best friend. I've been with her for the last seven years." With a resolute nod, she repeated, "I would follow her anywhere."

"It's... it's just a shame that you're living so far away." He glanced over Valeria's shoulder and studied the huge, decaying house behind her. "You deserve better than this ramshackle place."

"Living here has proven to be a challenge," Valeria admitted. "There are so many rooms, and most of them are unlivable. But I am trying to make the most of it."

"Valeria..."

"Yes?"

"Valeria." When he uttered her name the second time, Harold reached for her hand. "Do you remember when I said the waters in Bath must have cleared my head?"

"Of course I remember," Valeria chuckled. "You said it sixty seconds ago."

"We have been friends for a very long time."

"We have."

"And I am six and thirty," Harold said. "I am not getting any younger."

"Really?" Valeria cocked her head as she examined him. "I thought you
were
getting younger. Your face looks very taut."

"Valeria, this is no time for jesting. This is a very serious matter!" Harold stared at her mouth, wondering what it would be like to kiss her. As long as they had been acquainted, he wondered why he never tried to kiss her. With her black hair and amber eyes, she was at least passably handsome. And even though she was practically the same age as him, she still looked young enough. The longer he thought about it, the more he knew he was making the right decision. "I'm talking about marriage!"

"Marriage? To whom?"

"Do I really need to say it?" Harold heaved an exasperated sigh. "Surely you know what I'm suggesting?"

"Are you saying...
we
should get married? As in, you and I?!" His meaning was obvious, but she needed to be sure.

"Yes! You should be my wife. We have known each other so long, and I am sure we would get on exceedingly well."

"I... don't know what to say."

"I am not a man of extraordinary wealth," Harold continued, "but I am sure you know I could provide for you."

"What about the young women in London? I know you had many admirers."

"I have no interest in a young wife."

Valeria winced at his inadvertent jab. "But... do you really care for me, as a husband should care for his wife?"

"I care about you well enough. Perhaps I could even grow to love you." Harold let go of her hand and fidgeted with his cravat. "What do you think, Valeria? Will you make me the happiest man in the world?"

"As tepid as your sentiments were, I highly doubt you will be the happiest man in the world."

"Nevertheless, what do you think?" he asked again.

"I think... I will need time to think."

"Time?!" Harold wrinkled his nose as he uttered the word. "What would you possibly need to think about, Valeria?! At your age, it isn't as if you're likely to get a proposal from anyone else!"

His words were cold, but true. "Well... I have my aunt to consider."

"She could live with us, if it would make you happy. You shouldn't let her keep you from having the life you want. After all, she's quite old. She could die at any moment."

"Harold!" Valeria squealed. "What an awful thing to say!"

"It might sound awful, and it might sound cruel, but I have to make you see reality! Your aunt won't be around forever."

"Harold..." As she uttered his name, Valeria's voice was tinged with exasperation. "I am not saying no, and I am not saying yes." She was leaning toward
no
. "I will give you an answer once I have had some time to think." In the corner of her eye, she could see her aunt sauntering toward them. "It really is terrible, you know... what you said about Aunt Lydia. It kills me to think of losing her."

"My apologies." He started to reach for a tendril of her hair, perhaps to tuck it behind her ear, but he withdrew his hand before it made contact. "When should I return for your answer?"

"A few days, perhaps?"

"Very well." His disappointment was obvious, but she left him no choice. "I suppose I should excuse myself."

"You are more than welcome to stay awhile."

Lydia arrived with a different opinion. "No... let him excuse himself. There is something I need to show you, Valeria."

"Very well." Harold took a step backward and bowed to the ladies. "Good day."

"Good day, Mr. Rigby."

"It was lovely to see you again, Valeria." To her aunt, he added, "And you, Mrs. Langley."

"Yes, yes. I share your feelings and all that." Lydia tried to shoo him away with one of her envelopes. When he was gone, she gasped her niece's name. "Valeria! There is something I need to share with you straightaway!"

"What is it? You look positively panicked!"

"My heart!" Lydia unfolded the letter she held in her hands. "It breaks my heart! I will read it to you..."

The last time I saw you, I was gazing into your warm brown eyes, those eyes I absolutely adored. Your lovely eyes were always so full of life, as were you. When I think that you will never open your eyes again, my heart is torn apart.

I thought we would be together forever: Abigail Lacey and Noah Worthington, the luckiest man on earth. When I heard that you had left this world, I wanted to follow you. If there is any chance I might meet you in the next life, why should I stay here? I know what you would say if you were here. You would not want me to hurt myself, or cause myself pain. However, I cannot think of anything that could possibly compare to the pain of losing you.

When Lydia finished reading, Valeria's eyes were wide. "Oh my! So Miss Lacey..."

"Died," her aunt completed her thought. "She died. And if Mr. Worthington is a recluse, it could only mean one thing."

"And what is that?"

"He was crushed by her death. He lost his will to live!" Lydia's lips trembled as she considered his pain. "You know, it was like that when Henry died. I didn't know if I could go on. If you hadn't been there for me, I might have become a recluse as well!"

"Poor Mr. Worthington."

"Yes. Poor Mr. Worthington." Lydia clasped the letter to her chest and heaved a sigh. "He wrote a letter to his deceased fiance. That might be the saddest thing I have ever heard!"

"It's such a terrible end to their tale." Valeria wanted to discuss Harold's proposal, but it did not seem like an appropriate time, not when her aunt's eyes were filled with tears.

After several seconds of silence, Lydia exclaimed, "I've decided!"

Valeria wrapped an arm around her aunt's shoulders and steered her toward the house. "What have you decided?"

"We are going to meet Noah Worthington!" Lydia declared. "And that's that!"

Chapter Four

They were in a hired carriage bound for Steeridge, the modest estate of Noah Worthington. As they traveled, Lydia failed to hide her excitement. She had been trying to suppress a smile, but it finally conquered her lips. The thought of meeting the late Miss Lacey's beau had stirred her heart.

Valeria wanted to share her aunt's enthusiasm, but her thoughts lingered on Harold. She had yet to mention his proposal to her aunt, mostly because it left something to be desired. As much as she hated to admit it, Mr. Worthington's letters had gotten into her head. After reading his words to Abigail Lacey, Harold's proposal seemed pitiful by comparison. Unfortunately, she feared she had been corrupted by the idea of romance.

"Do you think he will be handsome?" Lydia asked.

"Mr. Worthington?" Valeria's nose puckered at the thought. "Lydia, those letters were written twenty years ago!"

"And?"

She wanted to suggest that Mr. Worthington might be old, but she remembered she was chatting with a woman of one and seventy. Even if he was in his fifties, he might seem young to Lydia. "I... suppose he might be handsome."

"When we were reading his letters, I always imagined a handsome man: Tall, brown hair, roguishly unkempt."

"It sounds like you had quite a strong vision of him. I hope he does not disappoint you."

"Should we mention the letters?"

"I will leave that up to you, Aunt Lydia," Valeria said. "Although, for what it is worth, I cannot imagine he would be too pleased with us for reading his personal letters."

"It is hardly our fault those letters were sitting in our house, just begging to be read!"

"I'm not sure he will see it that way."

When the carriage stopped, Lydia peered out of the window and gasped. "Oh my! Your Uncle Henry would love this!"

As soon as she alighted from the carriage, Valeria understood the reason for her aunt's excitement. Steeridge was a black, gloomy building that might have been an appropriate abode for Dracula. And Henry, according to Lydia, had a flair for the macabre.

"It seems awfully dreary," Valeria observed.