Fenella carried on her duties as unofficial housekeeper to the end. While she mended sheets or planned menus, she crafted stories of her new house.
A few days before they were to leave, she received a letter addressed to her in an unknown hand.
Chloe danced into the house, having returned from the village. “I wonder who it’s from? Do you suppose it’s from Mr. Sloan? Your betrothed?”
“I don’t know why he would write when I’m due in a se’nnight.”
Chloe drew her arm back and stared at the writing. “It says Miss F. Hepworth. Perhaps the initial is miswritten and it’s meant for Edwina? Maybe she ought to open it?”
“You know it’s Fenella’s betrothed,” said Amelia, joining them. “Open it.”
“I’m not going to open it with you three staring at me!”
The sisters stood in the entry. Edwina stored their parasols and shut the closet door.
“Here, Edie. You read it!” Chloe thrust the letter at her oldest sister.
“We all know it’s for Pen.” Edie snatched it away and passed it to the correct sister.
Fenella slipped it into her pocket. She had no intention of reading it in front of an audience. The bell rang for dinner. The subject of the letter dominated the conversation during the meal. Mrs. Hepworth pressed, wanting to know what Mr. Victor Sloan had written.
“I haven’t read it yet! Perhaps it isn’t from Victor.” Someone sniggered at her using his Christian name. “Maybe it’s from his mother?”
“That seems more likely,” said Mr. Hepworth. “Don’t tease,” he admonished her younger sisters without vigor.
“It’s going to be empty with you gone,” said Mervin on her left. She turned to examine her fifteen-year-old brother. So often ready with a quip or generally indignant, he looked sad.
“I’m going to miss you too.” Beneath the cover of the table, he reached out and squeezed her hand. She squeezed it back.
After the meal, she raced upstairs to her room and shut the door, hoping Mimi would give her privacy. She unfolded the letter to find three sheets of paper written on both sides in a tidy hand.
“I like his penmanship.” She gathered courage as she took in and let out a breath. Then, settling back in the worn chair by the window, she began to read.

Dear Fenella,
I wanted to write to you before we met to give you an impression of me. Some might characterize our situation as awkward or even difficult. But it need not be either. Our union will be what we make it. It will be based on our strengths and our weaknesses. What happens when we flounder and how we help each other get through the days we are allotted as man and wife. Let us have confidence that we will find happiness and contentment with each other. I cannot promise you joy. Nor can I ask you to promise me what I most desire. Let us vow to understand that days ebb and flow. We will face difficulties, but we will know peace as well. Let us pledge to face whatever will come, together.

He had underlined the last word. However, it wasn’t a love letter. She swallowed hard. A part of her wanted a love letter, eloquently written with vows of anticipated love. Then a shift occurred inside, and she allowed her pragmatic side to appreciate the sentiments expressed. They would work together and make their union function to the best of their abilities. She had worked to keep the house going. She knew the value of focusing on a task or a goal.
A sense of ease filled her that she had made a strong choice. They shared similar backgrounds, but something else was drawing her and Victor together. Her earlier disappointments fell away as lightness filled her chest. Fenella felt certain their marriage would be successful; together they would achieve more than remaining apart.

Excerpt from Inventing Love

Bedroom Eyes Book 3,
Available June 24, 2025

Preorder Now:

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