Page 32 of For The Love Of A Widow

Buttomcoup, Alsoup, and Haunton each moved to assist their wives with standing and offered their arms, following the butler from the room, leaving Daniel and Lettie alone.

He offered his arm, and she stood, resting her hand at his elbow.

“I am sorry about what happened at the modiste’s.” It was no more than a sigh. He’d never been adept at apologizing for his actions, though, admittedly, he owed her further explanation. Acknowledging his shortcomings after all these years and losing her a second time would be more damaging than the first time.

Her chin notched upward. “Did you know about this?”

If he admitted that he did, she’d be livid, but lying wasn’t an option either. Their time together had been rocky enough without him further angering her with deception. “I received an invitation the day I saw you outside your father’s study. With a note from the duchess. I know you are cross with me—“

“Then why did you come?” She turned accusing eyes on him. “This entire gathering is a farce. I am not the woman I was six years ago. I will never be that woman again. I have seen too much, experienced more than any woman should. Inviting my past to confront me, their happiness and joy on display, will do nothing but push me further away from them—and my parents.”

Lady Haunton poked her head back into the room. “Are you coming, Lettie?”

“Yes. I will be there momentarily. I need to freshen up a bit.” She turned to Daniel after Lady Haunton had disappeared. “Go and join the others. I need a moment alone if you don’t mind.”

He started to argue, to tell her he’d wait with her until she was ready to join everyone, but she held up a finger, silencing any protest. “Please.” Her voice cracked and tears glistened in her eyes.

She didn’t want him to see her cry. That was something Daniel understood well.

“Very well, but if you do not arrive presently, I will come looking for you,” he warned.

CHAPTER 14

L ettie only exhaled when she closed the door to her bedchambers, blocking out the laughter and conversation drifting up from below. Everyone was having a marvelous time and entirely unaware of her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Something was wrong with her—something that had come about since witnessing all she had on the battlefield. She’d never be as she was before. It was no longer within her capacity to enjoy a gathering or sit down to a meal with others.

Every mention of family, children, home—normalcy—triggered a deep-seated response within her she was unable to control. Her lungs froze, her heart pulsed erratically, and words failed her. After years of flintlocks, muskets, cannons sounding at close distances, men shouting orders outside her medical tent, and the cries of agony as soldiers littered every available spot, the nonsense and coquettish chatter of the women certainly shouldn’t have sent her into a panic. But it had. And Lettie feared it was her newfound reality.

And with each day that passed, her mind became more and more jumbled—the pieces of a complex puzzled which were fated never to fit together.

Polite society was no place for her. Her disposition and state of mind were far too unpredictable. She was doomed to embarrass her family—and disgrace herself.

A single candle stood lit on her washstand, her bed turned down for the night, and a pristine white nightshift laid across her rose-colored eyelet bedspread.

She’d spent years surrounded by activity: soldiers, cannon fire, musket rounds, and wagon wheels.

Years had passed without a single moment of silence.

Now, it seemed the only place that could bring her calm was somewhere free of others.

Deafening silence.

She didn’t think she’d be able to enjoy a still, quiet room again; however, neither did she delight in a salon full of inane idle chatter—fashion, travel, and then talk of family and children. All the things she’d never be capable of.

But quiet and isolation did not stop the churning of her mind. The endless nights reliving Gregory’s final moments. Even her trip through the plum trees with Daniel several days ago had only given her a momentary reprieve, a glimpse at peace.

It was too much. She’d rather spend unending days tending to brave, injured soldiers than an hour surrounded by the ton. There had been nothing but heartache, loss, and carnage during her time away from London. Though at least with her hands occupied, her mind did not wander to things she could not speak of to anyone who hadn’t witnessed the horrors firsthand. They would not understand.

Her time in the salon with the women had proven this.

She’d once counted the ladies as her closest friends, but the years and her circumstances had driven a solid wedge between them.

Her only saving grace was Daniel, which galled her.

One moment, he was the man she’d longed for him to be during their betrothal; and the next, he retreated behind a wall she could not climb over.

Days had passed, but she continued to be irate with him. Annoyed he so obviously kept something from her. But he had witnessed her shortcomings firsthand, heard all of her tawdry tales of war, and had woken her from one of her worst nightmares. Even with all that, he hadn’t abandoned her to deal with the women alone. He’d even made certain she knew he still came by Carrolton House, though she’d demanded he stay away.

She’d opened up to him, yet he didn’t value her enough to do the same.