"Mr. Bates,"
Don't be silly, Anna, that's so formal.
"Dear John,"
No.
"My dear, Mr. Bates,"
You're in love with him, of course he's dear to you, but are you dear to him?
"Dear, Mr. Bates,"
I suppose that'll have to do.
"You might think me a bit impertinent. You see, I've never done anything like this before. Sending a man a letter is a bit racy, but I suppose I can be sometimes.
You confuse me, Mr Bates. You're so kind to me. You're so kind to everyone. Perhaps I'm reading into things more than I ought, but sometimes I feel you save a special smile, a special look, just for me. It's like you can read me like a book. Or maybe it's me who's reading too many books and I'm dreaming that we're in one, me pulling you in with me. Most of the time I'm not sure at all because I could just be imagining it and you're just humoring me, a silly girl. But I'm not. Well, silly, sometimes, but I'm not a girl anymore. I'm a woman, and women have feelings too, don't they? Feelings. I know what I want to feel. It's you. I want to feel your arms around me. I imagine often how it would feel: safe and warm.
I watch you, you know. There was one day, it was summer because I can't believe you would do this otherwise, you were sat in the courtyard with a pair of His Lordship's boots, polishing them, and your sleeves were rolled back to your elbows. My heart must've stopped beating for a moment because I know I couldn't move, how could I? I could scarcely breathe.
They were powerful, but they looked safe. I love that about you. I always feel safe when I'm near you, and so I ache to be near you.There's an ache in my chest when I think that we may never be what I hope for us to be. That you might never know how I feel about you. If perchance you share feelings for me, I fear that I would never hear you speak them because you are too noble to do so.
Patience is a virtue, my mother always says. She also says that good things come to those who wait, but I may not be able to wait in telling you how I feel about you as I fear I will burst if I don't.
For now, I suppose I'll have to pray that you speak up soon. If you love me as I love you, why should we waste any more time in silence?
Forever yours,
Anna"
She folded up the page and tucked it into the pages of her diary for safe keeping. She could send it or pass it to him any time she liked, but for the moment she was content to wait and be patient.
Maybe he will declare himself soon.
She tingled at the thought of him pouring out his heart. Alone together on a walk, perhaps, as they often were, lagging behind at their own matched pace, far outstripped by the others.
Wouldn't tomorrow be a lovely day for that?
She giggled to herself as she imagined the scene, the atmosphere. How much lovelier or more romantic could it be than the day of the flower show?