Julian clamped his jaw. Thank God his father wasn’t alive to see it. The old man would turn in his grave if he knew his beloved first son wouldn’t live to fulfill his role as the Earl of Swifdon.
Julian stared down at Hunt’s letter.Life is inexplicably unfair. His own words flared in his memory. That is what he’d learned in the war. He’d told Cassie that at the house party, hadn’t he? So damned unfair. It had been unfair that he’d kept Penelope on the hook all these years. It had been unfair of him to develop a deep friendship with a woman knowing he would not be coming home. It had been unfair of him to live, damn it. Yet he had Cassie to thank for that.
He glanced around the study. Never had he felt his father’s presence more than he did in this room today. The study of the Earl of Swifdon, his father’s room, Donald’s room. It was not a place for Julian.
God. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be standing here contemplating the idea that Donald might not be coming home. Julian needed something to keep his mind off things, his fears for his brother and his constant plaguing thoughts of Cassandra Monroe.
He turned toward the door to the study. Perhaps he’d go back to the club, the boxing hall, the— His gaze fell on the second letter that Pengree had given him. It lay on the desk half covered by Hunt’s missive. Julian did a double take. He slowly pulled it out and turned it around to get a good look. It was addressed to him from… Cassandra Monroe. He’d recognize that handwriting anywhere. He ripped open the seal, brought it closer to his face and stared at it, squinting. His brow furrowed. The date was… last July. How in the world—
He rang for Pengree.
The butler arrived moments later.
“Pengree?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“This other letter you gave me?” He held up the letter from Cassie and waved it at the butler.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Where did it come from?”
“The maids found it in the cushions of the sofa here in the study, yesterday.” He motioned toward the piece of furniture in question. “Apparently, it had been wedged between them.”
Julian scrubbed his hand across his forehead. “Thank you, Pengree.”
“My pleasure, my lord.”
The servant left the room and Julian stared at the envelope again. How did a letter from Cassandra with a date from last summer become wedged into the sofa cushions at his brother’s house in London? It made no sense.
Unless…
The night the duchess had come to visit came back to him in a rapid vision, a haze of pictures in his mind. She’d given it to him and she’d said something about it. What? What?
With his free hand, he pressed his fingertips to his temples, as if that would help him to recall.
God. He remembered now.
She’d said she’d hoped it would make a difference. A difference about what?
He glanced down at the opened letter. His gaze scanned the page. The parchment appeared to be… stained with tears? He eagerly began to read.
Dearest Julian,
I’ve just received word that you’re dying. I can hardly force myself to write that word. It’s awful. It’s ugly. And it breaks my heart. Yes, it breaks my heart because you’re my dear friend, my future cousin, but it also breaks my heart for another reason, one you may not have guessed. I was not certain I should write this letter, but Lucy has convinced me it is necessary. And so with a heavy heart, but one that is also full of love, I put my quill to this parchment to tell you something, Julian. To tell you how desperately I love you. Not as a friend loves another friend but as a woman loves a man. I’ve loved you since I was a girl. I know I have. I never told you for the reason that should be quite obvious, that you are meant for Penelope. My cousin is quite dear to me and I would do nothing to hurt either of you, you must believe that. But I cannot allow you to go to your grave, dearest one, without knowing how madly, passionately, desperately I love you. I’ve refused all offers for some mad reason, thinking that I couldn’t marry another man knowing he’ll never fully have my heart, as it has always and will always belong solely to you. I can only hope this letter will reach you before you leave this earth, my love. And that after reading it, you’ll know how much you have been truly loved. I will continue to write to you every day for the rest of my life, dear Julian. Whether it be in this life or the next that you shall read the letters.
Yours forever, with deepest affection,
Cassie
Julian read it twice more, just to make certain it said what he thought it said. Cassie? Loved him? And had since she was a girl? How was that possible? How had he not known? What the hell had Hunt been talking about then when he’d told him Cassie had loved another man?
Still clutching the letter in one hand, he strode over to the sofa and dropped into the seat.
Wait.
It all fell into place in one awful solid moment in Julian’s mind. It slid hard into his consciousness like the loading of a musket. The way Hunt had said it, coughed and looked away. It washim, Julian. If Lucy had known and encouraged Cassie to write the letter to him, then it stood to reason that Lucy had told her husband. Hunt had thought he was keeping Cassie’s secret when he didn’t supply a name.
