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Letters.
Miss Helen Crawford had written them to express her adolescent adoration of her brother’s friend, Mr. Benjamin Hargrave. She’d written them to purge her longing, to ease her emotions, so that she would be able to face him without appearing a fool.
She had not written them for him to read.
And yet, he did. Somehow. And worse, he’d shared them with the ton.
Her first Season was ruined. She was mocked, ridiculed, branded a wallflower and left to fade into the background.
Until now. Now she was ready to dazzle them all. To show them what they’d been missing. And then she would reject them all, as they had done to her.
It was going swimmingly. Until someone began to write letters to her.
And if she didn’t stop it, they were going to ruin everything.
Miss Helen Crawford had written them to express her adolescent adoration of her brother’s friend, Mr. Benjamin Hargrave. She’d written them to purge her longing, to ease her emotions, so that she would be able to face him without appearing a fool.
She had not written them for him to read.
And yet, he did. Somehow. And worse, he’d shared them with the ton.
Her first Season was ruined. She was mocked, ridiculed, branded a wallflower and left to fade into the background.
Until now. Now she was ready to dazzle them all. To show them what they’d been missing. And then she would reject them all, as they had done to her.
It was going swimmingly. Until someone began to write letters to her.
And if she didn’t stop it, they were going to ruin everything.
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