Page 91 of Wicked By Design

The Letter

Fairlight Haven, Fairlight, East Sussex, 14thOctober 1816

Cilly stretched luxuriously in bed and smiled as she saw the curtains were open. Damian always opened the curtains for her so she could see the view as soon as she woke.

Pulling herself upright, she arranged the pillows and smothered a yawn just as the man himself came into the room.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. I thought you would sleep the day away,” he said, carrying in a laden tray from which the decadent scent of hot chocolate drifted.

“Well, if a certain wicked gentleman didn’t keep me awake at all hours of the night, I might be up earlier,” she retorted, accepting the kiss he offered once he’d set the tray down on her lap.

“Is that a complaint?”

Cilly reached for a piece of toast and applied a liberal smear of butter. She looked at him from under her lashes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He laughed, then stiffened at the sound of the door knocker. Before Cilly could say another word, he ran from the room. She could hear his steps thundering down the stairs and the sound of murmured voices.

He’d been like this ever since they’d moved in, leaping like a cat on hot coals every time the post arrived. She’d asked him several times what it was he was waiting for, but he’d refused to tell her. Not yet. He would explain everything. But not yet.

It was very odd, especially as everything else was so very wonderful. Ever since his visit to Reverend Honeywell, who had lent him a fascinating book that had absorbed his interest for hours, he’d seemed lighter. He had told her about their conversation that same night. Not everything, she suspected, but enough to make her understand that the reverend had guided him through the past and helped him see those dreadful events from a different perspective.

Cilly had visited him too, a few days later. She’d not said a word, just hugged him tightly for a long moment and then left the vicarage before she burst into tears.

They had discussed the book the reverend had lent them for days, though reading it had been hard going, but Damian’s mind had been opened to possibility now, and no subject was off limits. They had even visited Doctor Grantham. Damian had said little on the journey home, but the veil of terror that had shrouded his future had lifted high above them, not gone perhaps, but certainly no longer casting a pall over everything.

She felt instinctively that she must leave Damian to his own thoughts in the wake of these conversations, even though she knew how profoundly they had affected him. She kept her own hopes to herself, not wishing for him to feel their burden, and just quietly rejoiced in the changes she saw in him. For it seemed as if a great burden was lifting from his shoulders a little more with each sunrise, as if each day truly was a blessing.

They laughed more and made plans for the future, for the house and the gardens, and to see him so happy and so content with her was everything she could ever have wished for.

Yet the mystery of the post was more than she could bear.

Setting the tray to one side, she slipped from the bed and pulled on her dressing gown, turning just as Damian entered the room. He was white-faced, and almost visibly vibrating with… with something.

“Damian!” she cried, rushing to him. “What is it?”

“It’s the letter I’ve been waiting for,” he said, holding it out to her. Cilly took it from him, noting the foreign postmarks.

“Who is it from?”

He swallowed, his eyes bright with excitement and something that looked like terror. “My Aunt Julia, my mother’s sister.”

“Your… Your mother has a sister?” Cilly stared at him in shock.

Damian nodded, his expression begging forgiveness. “I’ve never met her. I’d forgotten all about her until Honeywell asked me about her family. He told me to write to her, so I did.”

She let out a sigh as everything became clear. “That’s what you’ve been waiting for? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He looked away from her for a long moment before taking her hand in his. His gaze met hers, filled with hope as well as the fear of disappointment. “Because it could change everything, and I… I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Cilly’s breath caught as she understood what he meant. She stared at the letter, her heart thudding as though the thing might explode in her hands.

“Well, you’d best read it, then,” she said, grateful that her voice sounded calmer than she felt.

Damian shook his head. “I… I can’t. You read it.”

He moved to the chair by the fireplace and sat down just as Nichols bustled in.

“Oh, my lady, you’ve not eaten a bite of your breakfast—”