Loving the Enemy

Prologue

As my (shameful) letter stated, I approached him so that I might have the chance to hear his voice. I had thought the contents of his speech would bear no import, that as long as I had the opportunity to hear him speak, I would be in utter bliss. How wrong I was! I should have paid better mind and not ignore this seemingly little detail. He spoke such harsh words of ridicule that blistered my ears. He didn't speak them in any other company, for I had caught him unawares in the library. Alone. But the words he used...I cannot bear to repeat them. Just know that he finds me irksome and a pest. There I have used at least one of his words. Pest. Oh drat. The letter is now tear-stained.

I will go now and wipe my tears away. I will write again when I am more composed.

Your forlorn friend,

Adelaide

*

25 June 1809

Dearest Beatrice,

He has come! I cannot believe my eyes. Why is he here again? Mama said he might not come although Garrett invited him.

I'm gnashing my teeth in frustration as I write to you. I'm utterly dismayed that my heart still races every time I see him and my palms become a little damp. It is because I'm angry about his rudeness, I suspect. It cannot be because I still nurse some feelings for him. I loathe him! Completely. Absolutely. Wholeheartedly.

More than anything, I utterly hate that he is still so handsome, and that a lock of hair would curl over his forehead every time he looks down at something. He looks to be taller than when I last saw him. Yet, he doesn't look misshapen at all. How that is possible is beyond me. I remember Johnny the stablehand growing many inches as if overnight and he looked to be like Jack's beanstalk. But not Wyndham. He is perfectly proportionate, the hateful boy. I wish he would look like Jack's beanstalk. Then my heart wouldn't beat faster and I would be able to look him haughtily in the eye without flinching.

He would be here for a week.

An entire seven days.

A 168 hours.

An eternity.

I am already counting down the hours till he leaves. Please say you will come every day to play with me. I cannot bear to be left alone with my dark thoughts and exasperation. Or maybe I should have you invite me over and we can walk into the town centre although Mama said it is dangerous. But anywhere is infinitely better than breathing the same air as him.

I await your reply eagerly.

Your anxious friend,

Adelaide

*

1 July 1810

Dearest Beatrice,

Why must Garrett still be friends with that repulsive oaf? I was overjoyed when Mother said he wouldn't be coming in June. Definitely overjoyed. There was no little kernel of disappointment I felt at not being able to see him. Really. Nothing could have made me happier. They had planned for a trip to his family's seaside estate with some of their friends. However, when the trip is to be concluded, they would come here. My joy splintered into a thousand pieces. I secretly hoped he would drown during the trip and I wouldn't have to see him again.

But of course, I would not be so lucky as for that to happen. He entered the doors of our house yesterday evening looking as hale as ever. If anything, he looks taller and even more handsome than last year. I cannot fathom why he is always growing more than me. I have grown taller too. But he still towers over me like a veritable giant. In fact, he is taller than Garrett by a smidgen (well, if I were to be truly honest, by nearly half a head).