Orlando believed her. Blythe would not lie to him about something so important.
If only he would have found her when he returned to England and asked then. Why had he asked instead of assumed?
Now he was angry, but not at her, at himself, and Mrs. Desmit who was the one who probably tossed the letter instead of giving it to him. Except, she hadn’t expected him to return after Blythe had gone.
Lightning flashed followed by rumbles of thunder. Something hit the side of the house and Blythe jumped.
Chapter Twenty-Five
He never got her letter!
No wonder he seemed rather angry. She would be too if she had returned to find him and all his belongings gone without an explanation.
“I am sorry, Orlando. I had no idea…”
“It is not your fault it was misplaced or likely tossed away when Mrs. Desmit cleaned the room.”
“I should have left it with your sister, where it would have been safe.”
“Isabella left the day after the last battle.”
This surprised Blythe.
“It became too much for her, especially after she learned that Bertram, our youngest brother, had been killed.”
Blythe reached out to him. “I am so sorry. I did not know.”
“There is no reason why you should have.”
He lifted the decanter of brandy and added more to his glass. “I wish you would not have witnessed those horrors, but do not discount your place. In a sea of blood and bodies, you were the light and hope. I had a duty to those men, and I did the best that I could to save them but all the while, I knew what waited. You! The beacon that could sooth the ugliness, and gentle touch that could remind me that there were reasons men go into battle and reasons why men heal the hurt, because the fighting is more than simply in duty to a king, but the life that is precious. A way of life filled with goodness which includes beauty, hopes and dreams for a better future and world. You were waiting and I knew that when I saw you that I would be reminded that it was not all for naught, that England and her people were worth the battles men faced. And when I returned to your room at the inn, finally free and after the blood, sweat and stench had been washed away, needing to see you, touch your hand, or caress your cheek you were gone. In that moment, I was more lost than I had ever been and hurt because I was foolish enough to believe that I had come to matter to you.”
“You did,” she cried. “You always did.”
“You were goodness and light at the end of the darkness and despair, and when I finally reached where I thought you were, you were not there.” He shook his head. “I think I have been angry with you since.”
“You did not seem so when I saw you at the Venetian Breakfast or since.”
“That was likely due to shock since I honestly did not think I would ever see you again.” He pushed his fingers through his wet hair. “I could never forget you, Blythe. In fact, I do not think a day has gone by that I did not wonder what became of you, and all this time you were in London.”
Now that he understood her reasons and that she had bid him goodbye, and that she had asked him to call on her in England, any anger and resentment that had lingered dissipated.
He truly did understand even if he did not agree with what she said.
Yes, she had been sheltered, but the shock of the results of war, becoming a widow and then seeing him as she described, no wonder she had left, and had he just found that blasted letter…
Blythe stood and took her glass to the bar. Then blew out the candles in the room before lifting a lantern.
Maybe she was going to ask him to leave.
“Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Above stairs to my set of rooms. They are more comfortable than this drawing room.”
He did not need to be asked a second time and helped her extinguish all other lights within the lower level of the house. The only room that she did not go into was the kitchens, but he supposed the servants were still in there.
She then climbed the stairs with Orlando following.
