Entwined Read Free Page B

yourself content with our union, would you, now and then, pull these dusty old letters out and think of this me? Of the pompous youth and hopeful romantic that I used to be?
    —E
    February 1828
My dear and wonderful E,
Neither of us are what we seem. Not fully. And how can we be anything different? When no one can know the whole of another’s soul. Just as you, I fear our eventual meeting as much as I long for it in my waking dreams. For I am not I know I will not be the woman you imagine.
    —Lu
[Never sent.]

Chapter Two
    Spring 1828
    Eamon sat hunched over his writing desk, his hand clutched so tightly around the quill that it threatened to crack. The blank writing paper before him blurred even as the wind from without howled against the panes.
    He had to write Lu back, had to tell her the truth. “Bollocks,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. Sweat drenched his temples, and he sighed, his heart aching, a lump rising in his throat.
    His fingers were clumsy and uncooperative.
Dearest Lu,
I am—
    Eamon flung the quill, ink splattering against the wall as it hit. I am, what? An impostor of the highest order? My brother never wanted you. He merely wants a dutiful, quiet, ghost of a wife, so you best start preparing yourself.
    He couldn’t do that to Lu. Shite, but he’d already done it. He’d gone too far, revealing his soul to her when he ought to have kept his distance. Shite, shite, shite. He’d ought to have told Aidan to get stuffed from the first. And now his Lu would come here and marry Aidan.
    The pain around the region of his chest grew hollow. Eamon rubbed it, trying to breathe.
    He could offer for her… A miserable laugh broke from him. Offer her what? He was the second son, with little funds. Worse, he was a big, ginger-haired brute. None of the village girls even looked at him when Aidan was near, and very few looked when he wasn’t. And there was the small matter of the fact that his particular talent was not… normal.
    He scowled down at his large, scarred hands. These hands, what they could do was a secret that his family had kept for him since he was just a lad. Unnatural. Yet Eamon coveted that part of himself. While his hands chained him to a life of solitude, they were necessary.
    No, he could not offer for Lu. Likely she’d hate him on principle for deceiving her all these years. And she’d have every right to.
    Whatever may come, Eamon knew he had to convince his brother to call off this wedding.
    Taking a breath, he retrieved his quill and returned to his desk, only to stop when someone knocked on the door.
    Aidan stood on the other side, holding a letter. As always, the sight of a letter sent a bolt of happiness mixed with anxiety shooting through Eamon. However, the handwriting wasn’t Lu’s.
    He took the damp missive. “Just came in?” Eamon usually made it a point to collect the mail.
    “It did.” Aidan glanced at the windows, where the storm still raged. The rider had to have been well paid to come out in such weather. Aidan’s mouth tightened as he looked at the letter. “Well?”
    Aidan hated to admit his weakness, but Eamon was his brother and they had long ago accepted that he’d read for the both of them.
    Frowning, Eamon tore open the letter. And his insides dipped. Bloody. Hell.
    “It’s from Ballyloch’s solicitor. Cholera hit the Moran house. Ballyloch is dead.” His mouth went dry. Lu. “And half his household besides.” His eyes darted over the words desperately. “Luella was the only one spared.” Eamon sagged against the door frame as he said the words. And then he looked up at his brother.
    “She has no one now.” No one but them. But Aidan. Shite. “She’s on her way here.” To marry Aidan.
    The lump within Eamon’s throat grew thicker. He thought he had more time.
    Aidan nodded, a wooden and stilted gesture, his jaw firming up as though facing a firing squad. “Well,” he said, “we knew this day would come. I’d always planned to