Where There is Love: Regency Romance (The Colchester Sisters Book 2) by Charlotte Darcy

Author:Charlotte Darcy [Darcy, Charlotte]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Fair Havens Books
Published: 2019-02-10T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“What is this?” Jane asked as she pulled the sealed letter from the packaging of her fabric later that afternoon. “I had thought the brown paper a little disarranged.” She turned the letter over in her hands and realized that it was addressed to her. “Goodness, it is for me.” She held it out in front of her for her mother and sister to see.

The Colchester women had been unpacking their fabric in the drawing room so as to make use of the best afternoon light.

“What is it?” Verity asked, coming closer as she set her own fabric parcels aside.

“Yes, open it, my dear.” Mrs. Colchester was becoming caught up in it all.

Jane, who had enjoyed her day thus far very well indeed, felt the familiar excitement as she gently broke the wax seal. It was just like the moment she had opened the box of Chelsea buns and her mind was already whirring with possibilities. Was there not something similar in The Romancing of Beatrice? Some note left in Beatrice’s things?

“Oh, it is like the hat box!” Jane cried out as she opened the letter to see what could only be a poem if the layout of the stanza was anything to go by.

“What hat box?” Mrs. Colchester looked at Verity who shrugged expansively.

“In the book. Beatrice receives a poem from Lord Pemberchook which he has hidden in a hat box,” Jane said breathlessly.

“My goodness,” Verity said and drew closer still. “And is it a poem?”

“It is.” Jane looked at her mother and sister with wide eyes.

“Read it, Jane.” Mrs. Colchester said. “Unless it is too personal, of course.” She added in a tone of voice that suggested she would be heartily disappointed not to hear the poem in full.”

“Very well.” Jane began and cleared her throat.

“My heart is full as day turns into night,

So great is my love, so great my plight.

I fear I will not live to see the day

When my beloved’s love is returned my way.

How am I to live with my dismay?”

“Good Lord!” Mrs. Colchester was the first to speak before she gave in to loud and unchecked laughter. “The poor fellow is no poet, is he? It does not read well at all!” She was red-faced with mirth as Jane scowled at her. “Forgive me, Jane, but who on earth rhymes day, way, and dismay? What do you think, Verity?” Mrs. Colchester turned to her youngest daughter for support.

“I cannot say. Really, I have read so little poetry that I am not qualified to comment. But it is rather nice, is it not?” she said with stuttering uncertainty, as if she could not quite believe what she had just heard.

“I think it is beautiful,” Jane said with quiet defiance. “It is the most beautiful poem I have ever read.”

“Are you sure?” Her mother said, biting her lip to keep from laughing again.

“It is not perfect, it is true,” Jane began.

“No, indeed.” Her mother gasped.

“But it’s imperfections make it perfect to me.” She felt teary-eyed with emotion.

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