Entwined Read Free

was seductive, and she decided then and there that she would think of herself a Lu.
    * * *
    February 1826
Evernight,
I find myself softening on the subject of marriage toward you. I don’t know why. It must be a temporary form of madness, for I still find you too forward and altogether too pithy. And yet I quite like it. Yes, I must be mad.
Will you think less of me now that I have exposed my weak underbelly? Will it shock you to learn that last night I dreamt of lilacs, and felt the brush of your fingers through my hair? I am stopping now before I say too much.
    —Lu
P.S. I am determined to discover the meaning of that “word” you have sent me. Do not think otherwise!—Even if I still suspect skullduggery at play.
P.P.S. First an iron horse, now a steel flower? You are spoiling me. Or rather your brother spoils me. Perhaps I ought to set my cap to him.
    March 1826
Lovely Lu,
You honor me. I read your note with equal parts joy and dismay. Joy that you found something in me that caused you to change your regard. Dismay that I could not receive your acceptance in person.
Think less of you? You are all I think about. I dream of hair like black satin. Of petal pink lips that do not simper, but move quickly with sharp wit. I could grow to adore such lips.
    —E
P.S. To me, you shall always be Lu. Whatever fate may bring for us, in my heart you shall always be mine.
P.P.S. I would never dare assume you have given up your quest. And stop creating reasons to fail. The word is real, and therefore yours to find. Now, hurry up!
P.P.P.S. Should you throw me over for my brother, he would be the happiest of men. Of that I have no doubt.
    April 1826
Aidan,
May I call you Aidan? It hardly seems fair, you calling me Lu all this time and me remaining so formal. It rained today. I love the rain, have I told you? Which is rather a blessing, given how often it rains here in Scotland. Tomorrow, we go to London so that, in Father’s words, the ton might see Evernight’s bride. I believe you know how very much I detest being treated as cattle.
I’ve only been to London once before, as a young girl. It is horrid there. The air is black and foul and the streets mucky. I cannot breathe in London.
My only recourse is to think of you, wandering the rolling green grass of Ireland. Mayhap one of the reasons I adore you is that you detest the city as much as I do.
    Yours,
    Lu
P.S. Just two more seasons, and we shall be together. Do you long for it as much as I do? Or have you forgotten me already, now that you are of age and frequenting parties and the like?
    May 1826
Dearest Lu,
You have a lifetime to address me as “Aidan.” Call it selfishness on my part—though likely you’ll simply think me rude—but I’d rather you withhold that privilege until we are face to face. For now, would you be so kind as to humor your fiancé and refer to me as E?
    Your devoted, if not slightly eccentric, E.
P.S. Forget you? You are my waking breath, and my sleeping sigh.
    * * *
    Lu turned from the sound of men chatting in the hall. Pray God, her father wouldn’t call her down to entertain. She’d rather eat cook’s eel pie. Cold. Dipping her quill into ink, she applied it to the smooth vellum beneath her hand. From the silence of her room came the scratch of the nib across the page and the ticking of the mantle clock. A veritable menagerie of metal animals now called the mantle home. An elephant, turtle, cat, dog, lion, monkey, even a little ostrich made up the collection. She loved them all.
    What she did not love was waiting. She was abysmal at waiting. The only thing she hated more was being in London, forced to give false smiles to people she did not want to know. Forced to pretend she was something that she was not. Her life was a mirage. Only with Aidan did she feel remotely like her true self.
    And so she did the one thing that gave her happiness. She poured her soul into her letter.
    * * *
    June 1826
Dearest E,
There are days when I hate the letter