Page 12 of On a Midsummer Night
Please let me know if this is amendable to you. I await your reply.
Sincerely,
Andrew Ramsgate
Only his finely honed self-control kept Henry from crushing the letter into a ball. It appeared they were determined to have a face-to-face meeting, although Henry’s original silence on the matter should have been an answer enough for them.
Rather than tossing the letter in the rubbish bin, Henry refolded it neatly along its creases and tucked it in the pocket of his coat. Rising to his feet, he brushed his hands down his thighs and then straightened his cravat tie.
He needed to act and act now to secure his future. That meant securing Miss Lucy Dalton’s hand. She was polite and demure and would make him an adequate bride. She might not set his skin ablaze with want, but such things were luxuries he could no longer entertain.
Prowling to the door, he opened it and called, “Brown, please bring my hat and coat. I’m departing to visit the Daltons.”
Yet Lucy wasn’t home. The butler informed him that she’d gone to the bookstore with her cousin, and while Henry was not keen to see Beth again so soon with his emotions still raw, he had no time to waste.
The shop was located on The Strand, and Henry tipped his hat to several acquaintances as he walked toward the storefront. The popular shopping spot was busy this time of day, and Henry deftly evaded attempts to rope him into conversations he was not at liberty to have.
Eventually, he located the bookstore in question and entered the shop to the tinkling of bells, mumbling a return greeting to the shopkeeper. Sweeping his gaze across the space, Henry advanced down one aisle of books until he heard whispered voices on the other end of the shop. After tucking his hat under his arm, he made his way in that direction until he spied a figure in an aisle to his right. It was Beth.
She had a large book opened in her hands, her lips pressed together in a line as she studied its contents, oblivious to his presence. Her distracted stillness allowed him a moment to take her in. Her ensemble complimented the roses in her cheeks, for she was outfitted in a blush-pink day gown and shawl. She was fetching, but then he had always found her so.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Henry considered what to do. The practical voice in his head instructed him to leave and search for Lucy . . . and yet his feet did not listen and instead brought him a step closer to Beth. She angled her head about at his movement and met his gaze. Her dark eyes flared in surprise and perhaps delight before they abruptly shuttered.
“What are you doing here?” she asked softly, glancing about her. No doubt she was looking for her cousin.
“The butler at Dalton House told me I could find Lucy here,” he said, advancing toward her.
Beth pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. “I believe she’s a few aisles over, perusing the romance and gothic novels.”
Henry nodded but did not move away. After a tense pause, he asked, “What are you looking at?”
She held up the book in her hand. “An art book.”
“Ah yes, your renewed interest in art,” he murmured, stopping next to her. Her familiar light scent washed over him, and Henry clenched his eyes shut for a moment. Wrenching them open, he focused his gaze on the book in her hands. It actually appeared to be a catalogue filled with various card designs one could order and have custom printed. The assortment of designs was colorful, with familial and pastoral sketches in vivid shades. Some depicted a family decorating a Christmas tree, while others were of children sledding down a hill of snow, and another showed ducks floating in a crystal-clear pond surrounded by bullrushes.
“They’re quite lovely.” Henry slid his gaze to her. “Were you thinking of trying to replicate the style?”
“Something like that.” Beth closed the book with a snap and slipped it onto the shelf. “Were you not going to speak with Lucy?”
His throat abruptly went dry, but he nodded.
And still, he did not move. Instead, he advanced a step, all but crowding her against the bookshelf. His mind roared for him to retreat, but his body urged him to move closer still.
Beth stared up at him, her features softening with what could only be described as sadness. “What is it?”
Henry shook his head, unsure of what he was supposed to say. Unsure of what he wanted to say. But he did know what he wanted todo. As if his mind had surrendered control of his body, Henry dipped his head to tuck his face against hers, cheek to cheek. No words fell from his lips. He merely breathed her in, the scent bringing forth all the memories of that kiss they had shared on a midsummer night when life was much simpler than it was now.
“Please don’t force me to remember,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’ve tried so hard to forget.”
“I’ve never been able to.” Henry ran his nose around the shell of her ear. “It’s impossible.”
“Why did you not return for me then?” Beth pushed him back by the shoulders, her mouth twisting in irritation. “You’ve never sought me out once since you kissed me senseless and made me think you were my future.”
“I’m sorry.” Henry dragged a hand down his face. “I–I had no notion of the turmoil that was to come. I had no idea how my father’s death would turn my whole world upside down.”
Beth sighed. “I would have stood by your side and helped you through that time, Henry. We could have built a life together.”
“I would not have wanted you to have that kind of life.” Henry twisted his hat in his hands. “I’ve had to be two steps ahead of scandal ever since, and I would have hated myself if I had dragged your good name into it.”
