“I love him,” Charlaine whispered, shocked that such a simple truth had eluded her. “I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before. I…”
Caroline brushed a curl behind Charlaine’s ear. “You, too, were afraid, dearest. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other, the way you speak to each other. He’s come to mean the world to you, and it made you afraid.”
Charlaine nodded. “I promised I’d be his friend,” she said, remembering how insistent he had been upon it. “I promised I did not wish for more.” She met Caroline’s gaze. “When we met, he thought I wanted him as a suitor and he said he wasn’t interested.” A dark chuckle rumbled in her throat. “He was very clear about what he wanted…or rather about what he didn’t want.”
“He didn’t know you at the time,” Caroline whispered gently. “He was hurt and afraid of being hurt again, but then he got to know you.” An encouraging smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I think realizing how much you mean to him overwhelmed him as well.”
“What do I do now?” Charlaine asked, completely at a loss. “He left, and I…”
“You write to him,” Caroline replied with vehemence. “Or better yet, go after him. Don’t let him get away.” A wicked twinkle came to her eyes. “Men sometimes need a nudge in the right direction.”
Charlaine chuckled. “Even Pierce?”
“Even Pierce,” Caroline confirmed with a smirk. “If you want Nathanial, then you need to tell him. Be honest. Is that not what you promised him?”
Charlaine sighed. “I also promised him to be his friend and nothing more. It seems one promise I’ll have to break.”
“Be sure to break the right one,” Caroline counseled. “Because you’ll forever regret it if you—”
A knock sounded on the door and, a moment later, Donahue stepped into the drawing room. “Pardon me, my lady,” he greeted Caroline, a warm smile upon his bearded face and a letter in his remaining hand. “One of the maids found this in Mr. Caswell’s chamber.” He glanced at Charlaine.
“Thank you, Donahue,” Caroline said, taking the letter.
The moment Donahue closed the door behind him, she held it out to Charlaine. “Do you know who this is from?” She turned it in her hands. “It looks like he’s opened it.”
Staring at the feminine handwriting, Charlaine drew in a slow breath. “Perhaps this explains why he left.”
“Should we send it after him?” Caroline asked, the same contradicting emotions upon her face Charlaine felt tugging on her heart.
“It would certainly be the right thing to do,” Charlaine replied before her fingers snatched the letter from Caroline’s grasp and pulled out the folded parchment. She knew she ought not. Still, there was that nagging feeling that this letter would answer the uncertainties that were currently assaulting her mind. The only question was: would she like the answers?
My dearest Nathanial,
Long months have passed since you left Boston, since we last spoke. I deeply regret all that happened, all that I did that brought you pain. I, too, feel it for your absence has made me realize something I had forgotten.
You are not only the dearest and truest friend I ever had, but also the man who still holds my heart. I feel awful for allowing myself to be led astray. I assure you it was not you I had grown tired of, but rather the life forced on us by our families. My heart longed for excitement and adventure, but I ought to have sought it with you by my side.
I made a grave mistake, and I know that it is unforgivable. Still, I find I cannot sleep for the thought of your pain keeps me up every night. I need to speak with you. I need to tell you the truth, even if it doesn’t change anything. I know it cannot change what happened, but I need you to know that I still love you and that I never stopped.
Tears fell from Charlaine’s eyes and onto the parchment, blurring the ink. Her heart beat painfully in her chest as she read Abigail’s words, knowing that her hold on Nathanial’s heart was unbroken. He had left not because of their kiss, but because of her.
Because of Abigail.
Because he still loved her…just as she still loved him.
I wanted to tell you in person. However, when I spoke to Mr. Johnson and inquired about your return, I was shocked to hear that you had extended your stay in England. My heart ached with such longing that I knew I could not wait.
I booked passage to England and crossed an ocean to speak with you. I’m at Pembroke Hall, awaiting your return. Please come! Please!
Yours always,
Abigail
As anger and regret surged through her heart, Charlaine’s hand closed over the parchment, crumpling it into a tight little ball. Her instinct was to fling it into the hearth. But to her utter dismay, no flames danced in the grate this time of year.
“What is it?” Caroline inquired, deep concern in her voice.
Charlaine’s hand tightened upon the letter. “You were wrong,” she hissed, unable to stem the tears snaking their way down her cheeks. “He does not love me. He loves her. He always has.” She shook her fist, the damning letter still clutched within. “The moment she calls for him, he runs off without a word!”
“Perhaps you—”
“No!” Charlaine snapped. “I appreciate your concern, but…there is nothing more to say about this. He’s made his choice.” She swallowed. “I’ll have to accept it.” A dark chuckle rumbled in her throat. “After all, I’m his friend, and friends are happy for one another, are they not?” Gritting her teeth, she ran from the room, desperate to be alone.
Not since Peter’s death had Charlaine felt this awful. Her heart hurt, pounding against her ribcage as though it wanted to jump from her chest. If only it would, for it seemed hers was doomed to suffer one loss after another. Where was the hope Peter had promised her would never leave? What could she possibly hope for now?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A Woman Named Abigail
“Welcome back, Mr. Caswell,” Gusford greeted Nathanial upon his return to Pembroke Hall. The balding butler offered a dignified bow and then stepped aside, waiting for Nathanial to step into the great hall, tall and intimidating.
“Thank you, Gusford.” Letting his gaze travel over the curved staircase and the marble columns, Nathanial all but held his breath. His heart thundered in his chest, and he wondered if Pembroke Hall’s butler could see the pulse thudding in his neck. If he could, his expressionless face betrayed not a thought.
Nathanial momentarily closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath. Then he turned back to Gusford. “Miss Abigail Spencer, is she here?”
Was she? A part of Nathanial could not believe it to be true. Was Abigail here in England? Here in his house? Not an ocean away?
Gusford inclined his head ever so slightly. “I believe, at present, Miss Spencer is out in the gardens. Shall I send for her?”
Nathanial shook his head, his gaze unerringly traveling to the corridor that led to the back of the house and from there out onto the terrace. “I’ll find her myself,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible as his feet began to move of their own accord.