Page 34 of For The Love Of A Widow

It was likely a blessing she was at least conscious of her defects.

She pulled the door to her dressing closet toward her, cutting off the sight of her massive bedchamber and bringing herself to face the mirror that hung on the inside of the door. The small amount of light given off from the single candle was magnified with the mirror’s help, illuminating Lettie.

She gazed upon herself for the first time in many years—without her youthful trappings disguising her, without the mask of war garb hiding her weak shoulders, without the filth of the battlefield and blood of the surgical tent holding at bay her trembling, thin body.

Here, in the home of her past, she could not run from the woman she’d become.

Even if Gregory hadn’t perished and they’d returned to London as a wedded couple, she still would feel out of place. The nightmares would have still come. She had no doubt.

Lettie turned to the side, noting her trim waist and high cheekbones with hollowed face below. No veil would hide the empty vastness of her eyes.

Astoundingly, she didn’t want to keep hidden her deepest musings, her hurt, and her despair.

She lifted her chin. How could she ever hope to overcome it if her future was a carefully crafted lie to protect those around her? She could not expect anyone to accept her at present.

“Lettie?” The hinges on her bedchamber door squeaked, and boot steps sounded in her private space. “Are you within, my lady?”

Daniel.

She’d promised to freshen up and join them for the evening meal. It was best he learn now that all Lettie’s future held was disappointment after disappointment. If he chose to renew their childhood friendship or continue on her parent’s foolhardy mission to see them wed, then it was something he’d need to gain comfort with.

Broken promises.

Shattered longings.

And miserable disappointment.

“I am here,” Lettie sighed, reaching forward and running her finger down the glass, tracing the face she no longer recognized as her own. Loss etched every line. Sorrow hung heavy in her brow. Even her once plump lips were little more than a frown.

His steps moved toward her small sanctuary, and Lettie pushed the door open, revealing herself, candlelight at her back.

“Your mother was going to come fetch you, but I offered assistance. She does enjoy entertaining—” His words halted when she stepped from the closet; her stare focused on the floor. “My apologies. I was unaware you were changing gowns, though I must say you’ve selected a superb choice.”

Lettie brought her eyes to his, startled to see nothing but gentleness in his soft expression. “I will not be re-joining the party.”

“I expected as much, though it is a loss to everyone below not to witness your stunning beauty in that dress.” She expected his eyes to travel from her face to her toes, only pausing to take in her gaping bodice; however, his eyes never left hers, making Lettie wonder if he could see past her emptiness—and more acutely, wondering what he saw there. “I was against this dinner. It is far too soon, and I should have worked harder to discourage them.”

“It was not your place,” Lettie sighed. They were barely friends—she and Daniel—their past betrothal notwithstanding, no matter how much he tried to prove otherwise. “None of this is your fault.”

“Mayhap not, yet, I endeavor to show you that I value our long friendship despite the rough trials we’ve faced.” He pulled the bench out from her dressing table and sat. When had he turned into the pure white knight, and she the black domino?

“Why are you trying so hard to prove something?” Lettie crossed her arms to cover her less than properly gowned bosom. “You owe me nothing…less than nothing, in fact. If it is not a mistress you seek, then what? My dowry?”

She’d heard her father declare Lettie’s funds his when they wed. They were so certain of the fact, they’d all but given Daniel a banknote in good faith.

He chuckled as if she’d said the most hilarious thing he’d heard in ages. Sobering, his brow rose. “Certainly you remember your parents did away with your dowry when you chose to marry a man they did not approve of.”

“I was aware of that fact every day of the last six years.” She’d only had the clothes on her back and the items assigned to her as the wife of a soldier. Nothing more. Not that it was Lord and Lady Percival’s fault. Lettie had insisted on leaving with nothing, only her damned principles intact. “The compromise was not a total hardship. I was with the man I loved.” She paused, swallowing a sob. “I still love him.”

“That fact is not in dispute,” Daniel consented. “I assure you, you are the expert in matters of the heart.”

She ignored his remark. “However, we both know if I were to tuck tail and give in to my parents’ demands to reenter society and wed—namely, you—my dowry would be reinstated, and likely tripled.”

“My wealth matches, if not significantly surpasses, that of the Percival and Essex titles combined.” The corner of his mouth cocked in a mocking grin. “Do you have any other arguments to prove my intentions dishonorable?”

She’d barely had any argument to start with. The need to make her his mistress hadn’t rung true. If Daniel had meant to compromise her, he’d had many chances before she wed Gregory and fled England, but he had never acted anything but the gentleman. Why continue a close association with her father if he meant to defile her honor? Besides, that explanation lent no credence as to why he’d volunteered to be her nursemaid during this travesty of a dinner party.

She threw her arms wide. “I give up, Daniel. I do not understand why you seek to befriend a woman who jilted you and returned to London little more than a shell of who she once was. I am in love with a man who is gone. A piece of my heart was left on that battlefield—the rest buried with Gregory. I am a penniless widow with little drive to go on…”