Chapter 35 #3
I thought being near you was agony, but kissing you absolutely destroyed my composure.
I felt like a selfish, dishonorable cad and could barely face you afterward.
That we were able to remain friends meant everything to me, but the ache and regret never left me.
I watched with great despair as Graham continued to hurt you, and then hated myself when I wished he would never regain his memory.
When he did, I thought it all over. For how could he ever release you after recalling everything?
I knew you would marry, that he would apologize for ending your engagement.
I was sure of it. Then, when I learned he would remain in St. Kitts and still broke your engagement, I could no longer keep my shame to myself.
I confessed to Graham that I’d fallen in love with you, and that I had kissed you.
It was a strange moment, seeing his anger rise and then retreat as he worked through his emotions.
But after he explained his feelings clearly, I no longer felt guilty.
He told me to waste no time in telling you how I feel.
He gave me his blessing. So I immediately began writing this letter.
Now, here is my confession once more. I love you, my dearest, loveliest Elsie. I have always loved you, and I know I always will.
All I ask is that you consider your feelings for me.
When we kissed, I felt for a moment that you longed for me as I longed for you.
But perhaps that was my wishful thinking, and you simply got caught up in the moment.
I will not blame you for that; I know you were in emotional turmoil, and I perhaps took advantage of it. I blame myself entirely.
If, however, you feel more than friendship for me, tell me so at once and I will come to you. There is nothing in this world that could stop me.
Always yours,
Arthur Ashby
I was speechless, thoughtless, breathless.
It astounded me that Arthur Ashby was a man with so much passion to love a woman for five years without any hope of a return.
Such a thought was rather gratifying. Never in my wildest imaginings had it occurred to me that Arthur Ashby had been in love with me even before our journey to St. Kitts.
No wonder he’d kissed me with such desire, if he had been harboring those feelings for so long!
Inducing a passion such as this in a man was what I’d always longed for.
It was what I thought Graham had felt for me, and what I felt for him.
But Mr. Ashby’s feelings were of a different sort entirely than either mine or Graham’s.
This was pure, unadulterated, passionate longing unlike anything I’d ever known.
But what exactly was I feeling? Flattered, surely, and surprised.
Gratitude swelled in my chest. And then butterflies appeared and greeted me with excitement.
I let out a giggle, which startled me so much I covered my mouth.
I knew I cared for Mr. Ashby greatly. I thought of him frequently, so frequently that I’d berated myself for it.
I’d tried to deny that our connection was more than friendship, but how could I, when our kiss had such an effect on me?
After that fleeting moment, I had pushed aside my growing feelings for him.
I’d aspired to become Mrs. Anderson. I’d convinced myself to believe that regardless of anything else, I was entirely devoted to that title.
And yet, how many times had I compared the two of them?
How many times had my mind wandered to the moments I’d been captivated by Mr. Ashby?
How many times did I have to force myself to think of Graham when his friend came to mind?
Even now, diverted as I was to learn of Mr. Ashby’s feelings and knowing that my heart was keen to enjoy it, there remained a guilty pang inside of me when I thought of Graham.
Because in my mind, the love we shared had been something to fight for, something I would never give up on.
I would probably never have given up on it had Graham not done so first. My stubbornness would not allow it.
But Graham had moved on. Considering everything he’d been through and how we’d both changed, regardless of my convictions about true love, I accepted his choice.
Could I give myself the same acceptance and move on as well? I didn’t want to be a hypocrite, for hypocrisy of any kind was abhorrent to me. If I recalled all the times I’d told Melody that Graham was the only man for me…I covered my face with shame. Was I to be so disloyal to my own convictions?
It was ridiculous to lament over being disloyal when Graham and I had parted amicably; I was merely disappointed that true love had not conquered all.
I looked over Mr. Ashby’s letter again. What was true love, anyway?
It certainly seemed like the love Mr. Ashby felt was true.
I could feel the truth of it. His words flowed through my entire body and thrilled me to my core.
Perhaps true love was not eternal, nor was it finite; for love to be true, it didn’t have to be permanent.
The love I shared with Graham had been true, once. Perhaps these feelings I’d been harboring for Mr. Ashby were true as well. Love, though? Did I love Arthur Ashby?
That question would have to be answered during this long, long journey home.