Chapter Three #3
He gave her hands a light squeeze. “I am not suggesting any of this is fair to you. Were I in Andrew’s situation, I would have found a way to reach you. It was cruel of him to leave you in doubt. Perhaps he asked his father to say something to you, or left a letter for him to deliver to you.”
“His father has always been cold to me. But I cannot believe he would refuse to convey a message to me or purposely keep a letter hidden from me, especially if it was one that would end our betrothal.”
“These are just suggestions. Frankly, all of them are troubling. Were I in Andrew’s shoes, I would have married you before going off to war. But that is me, and this is what I did before going off to fight. I wed Jessica because I wanted her to have the protection of my name.”
“Well, Andrew was only the second son and did not believe he would ever inherit his father’s title. I wish I had pressed for our marrying, but it is too late to reflect on it now, when there’s nothing to be done about it. This is my fault.”
“Why are you assigning blame to anyone, especially yourself?”
“I could have insisted on our marrying, but his family was overbearing and I thought living under their roof and his father’s rules would not be pleasant for me.
Too confining. My own family life was quite comfortable.
My father was ridiculously softhearted and would let me get away with anything,” she said with a laugh.
“Not that I was rebellious, but I saw no reason to give up the freedom I had in my own home. I see now that it was a mistake.”
“Did Andrew ask to marry you before he shipped off?”
She remained silent a long moment, trying to recall their conversations before he departed England. “He did not care one way or the other.”
“I see.”
She sensed disapproval in his curt words. “What does that mean?”
“It means nothing at all. I’ve told you, my choices were different. That’s all.”
“But what you are really thinking is that, in hindsight, our decision to wait until his return proved disastrously wrong.”
“No, Gwen… I seem to be calling you that. Do you mind the familiarity? We have become friends, have we not?”
She nodded.
“Please call me James, for I hope we shall remain good friends even if you do not appreciate what I am about to tell you.” He cleared his throat and continued.
“You cannot know what that different future would have held for you. Would it have been easier for you to be locked in this purgatory as his wife instead of merely his betrothed? In truth, I am fairly certain it would have been far worse. This same not knowing, and yet living under his father’s thumb.
No control over your assets or your style of life.
Perhaps it is to your advantage that neither of you felt the pressing need to wed. ”
“No pressing need? Are you suggesting we did not care enough for each other?” She pulled her hands out of his grasp. “You are wrong. Ours was a love match.”
“But was it? If that were so, why did neither of you feel the urgency to marry? And then he disappears without a word to you?”
She tipped her chin up again, feeling so hurt and quite defensive. “How dare you!”
“Gwen, I am not your enemy.”
Tears once again formed in her eyes, but she stubbornly quelled them. “Is this how friends speak to each other?”
“Yes, out of caring. Will you spend your entire life waiting for him?”
“Is it so unusual? This often happens in arranged marriages, royal alliances, among gentry, commoners. It is no small thing to break a promise. The Duke of Wellington and his wife remained bound to each other for years before their marriage took place.”
“And it did not turn out well,” he pointed out.
“This is something you must consider quite seriously. If he is alive, why has there been no contact? Why hasn’t his father looked for him?
What is Andrew doing? Is he working for the Crown?
Does he have amnesia? Who knows? My point is, are you going to keep yourself trapped like this? ”
She did not know how to respond because this was exactly what she was, trapped in the past, in a childhood love that had blossomed in adulthood, and hating her situation that was slowly dragging her down and enveloping her like quicksand.
“Oh, Gwen.”
She heard the unmistakable anguish in Milbury’s voice and knew he meant well, but nothing seemed capable of stopping her slow descent into futility.
Was she holding on to hope while Andrew had moved on and made a new life for himself? Had he married?
Her restraint completely crumbled and the sobs just poured out of her.
Milbury drew her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the unsuitability of it—and so did she, because she needed to be swallowed in his arms just now, needed to be held and protected.
Needed to be assured.
“I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. I had no right to say these things to you.”
But he had every right, because she had opened herself up to him and appreciated his honesty, no matter how harsh it felt to face the truth she had spent so many years denying.
What if Andrew no longer loved her?
Had he ever loved her?