Four Days in April by Maria Grace

Author:Maria Grace
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: regency romance, classic historical romance, regency historical romance, Jane Austen variation, pride and prejudice variation, short story
Publisher: White Soup Press
Published: 2015-09-08T00:00:00+00:00

HOW HE HATED DISGUISE of every sort, yet the falsehood he told Aunt Catherine was utterly and entirely necessary. If he did not escape the drawing room, he would surely run mad. A brisk walk to the stable to check on his horse, who was most certainly not unwell, would cool his humors and settle his nerves.

He pressed his hand to his pocket. Sharp corners drove into his ribs. Yes, it was still there.

Why did Fitzwilliam send him to her? Had Anne truly waylaid him on his way to assist, or was it some darker plan? What was he about?

Had the lady not sufficiently abused him enough to his face?

Had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner ...

Oh, those words would never leave him. She was right. What sounded so reasonable, so well-considered in the sanctity of his own mind turned cold and unfeeling when spoken aloud.

What a fool he was to give voice to the violence of his feelings.

The evening air filled his lungs, cooling his chest and bracing his resolve. She, it seemed, had done him the courtesy of reading his letter—what else could explain the missive now in his pocket?

The night boasted a full moon, but while enough to light the road, it would not support reading a lady’s hand. He stopped beside one of the torches, flickering and popping beside the lane to the manor. The smell of the heat tickled his nose as he withdrew the letter from his pocket. The light danced across his name, teasing, daring him to open it.

He steeled himself. Surely he had only added to his catalogue of offences by writing to her. Certainly that merited her rebuke.

Even so, he had to read it. If for no other reason than to honor the risk she took in writing to him. A gentleman would.

Still, nothing in her countenance suggested that might be her purpose. Might it be possible ... no, hope was naught but a fool’s errand. It would be sufficient if she no longer impugned his character.

Barely trembling, clumsy fingers cracked the wax seal. Bits of it tumbled into the darkness, disappearing into the shadows.

Be not alarmed, good sir, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension that it will contain a repetition of sentiments we both would prefer to forget.

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