Now, she must somehow overcome five years of lies.
She had to tell him the truth. Even if it meant he’d hate her. She couldn’t go on allowing him to believe Violet had continued to write to him while she was married to his brother. The implications of that could be devastating, not just for her, but for Violet and Heath as well. What if Flynn decided to confront Heath with what he thought had happened? Violet had certainly led Flynn on, but as far as Daisy knew, her sister had never actually been unfaithful to Heath in any way since they’d begun courting shortly after Flynn left.
With a shuddering sigh, she scrubbed her hands over her face and tried to control her emotions. She’d always thought of herself as a good person, but her love for Flynn had completely blinded her to what was right or wrong. Those letters from him had become a sort of drug to her. She’d awaited their arrival with bated breath and taken so much care and time with her replies that it had managed to completely fill her empty days.
Flynn had become the center of her world. In time, she’d somehow managed to forget that it was all a lie, that he did not love her, didn’t even know that she wasn’t Violet. At some point, she’d stopped signing Violet’s name, simply ending with words of love and addressing the envelopes withMiss Weatherby. She’d poured her heart and soul into those letters, as had he, and with him so far away, it had become easy to believe that he was writing to her.
Pushing to her feet, she made her way back toward home, wondering what in the world she was going to do to get herself out of this mess. She’d better figure it out quickly because it was bound to come out as soon as he actually had a real conversation with Violet.
* * *
FLYNN WOKE LATE THATnight, the sheets drenched with sweat, the pain in his side radiating through his whole body. Trembling, he reached for the now-cold tea Daisy had left for him. He’d taken a sip or two, but now he realized he should have drunk the whole thing.
Since he’d been injured last month, he’d had many bad nights, but he knew instinctively that this was one of the worst. Which didn’t make a lot of sense, since he’d felt well on the mend before he’d started the exhausting journey home.
Gulping the cold tea, he collapsed back upon his damp pillows, feeling more alone than he’d ever felt in his life, even when he’d been a continent away from home surrounded by death and destruction. Pressing his hand to his wound, he felt immense heat and inflammation. It occurred to him that he could very well die here in this bed. Fevers were dangerous; he’d seen dozens of men die of them in the hospital ship he’d been on just after he’d been wounded.
Gathering his strength, he pushed himself to a sitting position, the need to make his way to the manor clamoring within him. He didn’t want to die here alone. He wanted Violet. He wanted to demand that she talk to him the way she had in her letters and explain why she’d married his brother.
The moment he gained his feet, he swayed precariously, and he careened across the room, bracing himself on the doorframe. He knew he should just turn around and go back to bed but forced himself toward the front door, determined to get some answers.
Once outside, he trained his gaze on the lights of the manor house at the top of the hill, but each step was agonizing, and he knew that he wasn’t going to make it. Unfortunately, the cottage now seemed just as unattainable a goal. Too exhausted to continue, he spied a bench just a few feet in front of him.
Gaining it, he sank wearily onto the hard stone. Even sitting was difficult, so he stretched out, the bench entirely inadequate for his long frame. It didn’t matter. He’d make it work somehow. He’d just rest for a few minutes. Just until he found the strength to go on. Besides, the cold air felt really good on his heated body.
He’d sleep for just a little while...
Chapter Five
Daisy woke early thenext morning, determined to go to the cottage and clear things up with Flynn. After a sleepless night, she’d decided that it would do no good to draw this deception out. Though she was tempted to spend at least one more day with him before she said the words that would make him turn from her in disgust, she knew that would only make it harder for both of them.
If she was to have any chance at all of making things right with him, she could not continue to deceive him. Best to lance the wound, then try to begin the process of healing, rather than continue to let it fester.
Filling a basket with more items to make him comfortable and help him heal from his actual physical wound, along with a beautifully illustrated book about the work of Capability Brown, the famous landscape architect, she headed to see Flynn right after breakfast.
On her way through the garden, she caught sight of something that made her at first pause, then rush forward with her heart pounding in her chest. Flynn lay sprawled across a stone bench, his long limbs hanging over the sides. Something about the way he lay made her certain that he was not simply relaxing.
