Page 22 of For The Love Of A Widow

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice still gravelly from her fitful rest. “Besides meeting with Father, that is.”

She’d always known when he was keeping something from her. It was a blessing that she hadn’t honed in on his much bigger secret. “I thought I’d accompany you to the modiste, instead of the duchess. I overheard your mother informing the earl that your appointment was scheduled for this afternoon. I would much enjoy escorting you.”

Her brow rose. “Why?”

“Well, I know how taxing your mother can be, especially when she has her sights set on something,” he said. And Daniel had desperately missed Lettie. He’d gone so far as to make several unnecessary visits to Carrolton Hall over the last week in hopes of gaining a glimpse of her or hearing her voice float down the long corridors. “I offered to escort you, which will give you the freedom to select material and styles you prefer as opposed to those forced upon you.”

She appeared to think over his offer, and Daniel feared she’d decline his escort.

“However, I should probably inform you that the offer has already been made and accepted by the duchess.” He winked.

“I suppose I should thank you.” She stood, the color having returned to her face. She glanced over her shoulder at the tall clock against the wall. “I will collect my cloak and meet you at your carriage.”

As she hurried from the room, the need to pull her close and into a hug filled him. He shook his head to clear the silly notion. She was only retrieving a warm coat, not running off to battle again. In no time, she’d be in his carriage, and they’d be off and away from the prying eyes of her mother.

If he were lucky, Lettie wouldn’t cross paths with her father. Or she’d find out Daniel hadn’t a meeting with the earl at all but had overheard her mother mention a fitting with the modiste at sharply eleven o’clock today on one of his needless social calls disguised as a meeting. It just so happened that he hadn’t any previous engagements to call off in favor of an afternoon with her.

Though, he would have canceled a meeting with the King himself to gain an afternoon in Lettie’s company.

After their embrace on the night of her return, he’d gone home and stared at his decanter of scotch. He couldn’t bring himself to take so much as a sip of the fiery liquid, nor had he sought out a gaming hell or brothel. For the first time in a long time, he knew the consequences of his actions and realized that either choice would result in him hurting Lettie again, even if she never found out.

He’d told her he would never push her into accepting a marriage proposal from him.

And he’d meant every word, even though his promise to his parents nagged at him daily.

Daniel’s respect for Lettie meant more. He would not disappoint her again. Returning to his drunken, rambunctious ways would most certainly disappoint her. And with that in mind, he’d promised himself to give her space and time to adjust to town life—gain her own footing without his constant presence.

Accompanying her to the modiste and offering to be her friend did not make up for all the wrongs in his past, but it was a start.

When he exited the front door of Carrolton Hall, Lettie was already seated in his open-air carriage, her poise returned and a bonnet covering her brown locks. It must be the doing of the duchess because Lettie had never been fond of headgear; but then again, many things had changed in the last six years. Gone was the pile of curls that had always been pinned high atop her crown, and in their place, was a style much more suited to combat life.

“Are you ready, my lady?” He took his seat across from her as she fussed with the string of her handbag. At her nod, Daniel called to his coachman to be off.

They had a bit of a distance to travel, especially with the midday traffic as society made their way about the city on social calls, shopping, and trips to Hyde or Regent’s Park, especially since he had one stop to make before arriving at the seamstress’s shop.

Silence stretched between them.

Daniel watched Lettie.

Lettie kept her stare trained on anything but him, yet not noticing that their carriage did not head for the modiste shop as planned.

While she appeared relaxed and calm now, her mouth had been contorted in a silent scream while she’d slept—before she’d called his name…not her late husband’s name, but Daniel’s. She fought her demons during her sleep, and he’d been there with her. But in what form?

Had he saved her?

Had he been the cause of her pain?

Daniel didn’t know, nor had she been willing to speak of it more in the salon.

At the moment, they were stuck in a carriage, alone, in the middle of slow-moving coaches and men on horseback, affording them ample space and time for a private conversation.

“How often do the nightmares come, Lettie?”

“Every time I close my eyes, even when I’m not asleep,” she confessed but did not look at him.

He hadn’t imagined they plagued her so often. Even his night terrors were absent every few nights when he went so long without rest that he fell into a slumber deeper than death.

“When awake, I can sometimes keep them at bay, but I have no control over my sleeping mind.” She turned, and he noticed the dark circles under her eyes.