Chapter 11 #2
“But what?” she pressed, digging her fingers into the arm of the chair. She felt she was close to something, to a realization of some bigger puzzle that was almost within reach.
“Please, Mr. Boyd. I need to know.” It was the first time in her life she had begged for anything.
“Er…My apologies, Mrs. Hadley, but it’s a sensitive matter and not fit for the ears of well-bred ladies.”
Milly almost smiled at his protectiveness of her even in such a small way, but she needed the truth. “Mr. Boyd, I assure you, I am no fainting violet—please, continue.”
He hesitated but after another pleading look from her he continued.
“The summer that Mr. Watson spent at the Heath, Mr. Hadley had been engaged to a young woman in the village. There was some unpleasantness during that summer, and Mr. Watson left in the fall, just before Mr. Hadley broke off the engagement and returned to London for a time.”
“A young lady in town?” she echoed faintly, her ears ringing. “Would that young lady be Scarlett Brandon?”
The immediate flush in the butler’s cheeks was the only answer she needed.
She had to wonder whether Owen had been telling her the truth. Had Scarlett truly fallen in love with another man? If she had, then why hadn’t she married him? And had that man been Mr. Watson?
“Why did Mr. Watson leave Wesden Heath?” If Jack was the man Scarlett had been in love with, she needed to know why he’d left without marrying her. She knew a man didn’t need a reason to abandon a woman; they did it all the time. But her instincts whispered there was a reason.
“I believe there was some discussion as to whether Mr. Watson believed himself a suitable match. You see, he suffers quite badly from soldier’s heart, due to the war, mistress. He didn’t wish to have a wife endure his melancholy moods.”
“Oh…,” she said, her heart twinging with a ghost of pain.
She couldn’t forget the night Owen had woken up, a cold sweat dewing on his skin, muttering about needing forgiveness. He’d been choking on air and it had frightened her and saddened her. Was what Jack Watson faced somehow worse than that? If so, she might see how a man would hesitate to marry…
“Will that be all, mistress?” Mr. Boyd asked politely.
“Yes, thank you,” she said. When she was alone, she studied the package, then carefully unwrapped it.
It was a first edition of H. Rider Haggard’s Allan Quatermain.
A letter was tucked inside the front cover and she opened the book, instantly enveloped with the aroma of musty pages.
A smell she adored, because it made her think of the library at Pepperwirth Vale.
The letter was from Owen, and as she began to read, she could hear his voice, perhaps because she longed to hear him speak.
Milly,
I hope you’re reading this. I hated the way we parted.
I did not offer you a complete explanation of Mr. Brandon’s comments, nor did I explain the reason for my hasty departure.
I chide myself for both actions. As soon as I am able, I shall explain all of it to you.
I thought to keep such things a secret, perhaps because in truth they are not my secrets to tell.
But I know that truth must exist for us and I cannot keep the truth from you.
There is much that lies between us, more than simply our marriage.
I do not wish to damage what we are building.
Please consider Allan Quatermain a gift, a begging for your forgiveness.
I realize you were forced to leave your own library behind.
If you let me, I shall spend the rest of our lives filling Wesden Heath’s library with every book your heart desires.
I am not the most eloquent man when it comes to speaking from my heart, but I know that the thought of losing you fills me with a heavy ache.
I shall write to you every day while away.
Please, give me a chance to win your trust and to win your heart.
Faithfully yours,
Owen
“Give me a chance to win your heart.” She murmured the words aloud and realized her lips were trembling with a small smile. The man said he was not eloquent in matters of the heart, yet he was wooing her with his words.
She turned her attention again to his gift, stroking the spine of the book before she let herself peek at the first page.
A good book had a way of erasing one’s troubles, dulling one’s ache, and lightening one’s heart.
She wanted to read it straightaway but knew she had something more important to do first.
A few minutes later, she had paper and pen, ready to write Owen back.
Owen,
If you have not realized by now, I am quite stubborn, but not lacking in sensibility.
A few days before, I did not fully understand the situation.
I am better informed now regarding Mr. Brandon and his sister as well as the truth you spoke to me regarding your involvement in the matter of her situation.
Your duty is to care for Mr. Watson. Yes, I know everything.
I was able to glean this information from Mr. Boyd.
Do not be cross with him. He betrayed no confidence.
I shall remain here, with Allan, waiting for you to return.
Please write to me every day as you promised. I shall write back.
Milly paused, then decided to add a quick note about the progress she’d made in the house and closed her letter with Your Milly.
It felt silly, girlish even, but she couldn’t bear to cross it out.
She summoned one of the new footmen and gave him instructions to send it to London at Owen’s hotel and then settled down to supper and reading.
It didn’t erase her longing for him, or the fact that she’d grown fond of the way he’d tease her or challenge her to do or try things she normally wouldn’t.
There was more to it, though. He loved Wesden like she did Pepperwirth Vale.
And seeing him so in love with a place made her feel like a kindred spirit with him.
She nibbled a bite of her bread and tucked the blanket more firmly around her as she opened the novel again.
The night seemed a little less lonely as she felt Owen’s gift transport her to the distant lands of Africa.