Page 64 of Once a Gentleman
Dearest, please miss me, even if only a little. I know you don’t love me as I love you, and perhaps that would be impossible, in any case. But I must believe that you care for me, or I will go mad, too far away to plead my suit and show you with my words and with my body that I worship you, that you are everything to me.
However, I will not be so unfair as to insist that you keep the promise you made me before I sailed, though it all but breaks my heart to say this. You agreed to wait a fortnight for me, not indefinitely. I cannot ask you to remain faithful until I return. I can only beg, most humbly, that you wait as long as you can, and remember that I will be as much yours when I do return as I am now—that is, entirely, and without reservation. I belong to you, body, soul, heart and mind. Though I did not explicitly tell you so, thinking it ought to be understood, I will tell you plainly now: I shall be faithful to you, and shall not have any other so long as you want me.
You won’t be able to write to me, but I will write again as soon and as often as I can. Please don’t forget me, love. Even if you can’t wait for me, remember that I love you always.
Yours ever,
Andrew
Kit read the letter through once, and then twice, and then a dozen times more. Thank God that no one could see him, for he must have looked like the soppiest kind of idiot, stroking his fingers over Andrew’s words, tracing the path of Andrew’s pen, imagining him in some cramped corner of his cabin writing each of them with care.
Andrew could not possibly be lying or deceiving himself about his feelings now. Kit tried to convince himself that their separation, and the fact that Andrew had been at the height of his infatuation when he departed, could account for his continuing passion—or Andrew’s belief in it, anyway.
But it rang hollow.
Andrew might possess many faults, including wishing Kit would be as miserable without him as Andrew apparently was—though Kit was rather too much in love to think that a fault, and instead it made him a little fluttery in his chest, and then rather ashamed of it. But was he a liar, really? Kit thought not. He had done his level best to keep every promise he had made, and he had been rathertooforthcoming with aspects of his life and character that Kit, were he Andrew, would have at least wished to conceal.
And then…Kit recalled Andrew’s saying that he had once thought himself in love. That a separation had put paid to his feelings, and that it had not been the same.
They were separated, and yet Andrew still loved him. And his actions had all supported his pretty words. He had shown nothing but kindness, consideration, and attention since they had resolved their differences. There had been no other men, no influx of drunken revelers, and in fact no drunkenness at all. And Andrew had seemed entirely delighted with the change in his way of life, showing no regret whatsoever.
Kit read the letter again.
And then one more time, simply because a handsome, intelligent, brave man begging to have his love returned was rather irresistible.
Oh, if he were there, how quickly Kit would show it to be very much returned! And Kit ached with it, the longing to reply to Andrew’s letter, at least, to reassure him that he was neither forgotten nor disdained. That Kit would wait for him forever, if necessary.
But that could not be, and so Kit folded the letter up carefully, wrapped it in his clean handkerchief, and slipped it into the inner pocket of his coat. He would attend carefully to Andrew’s business affairs, take possession of his three thousand pounds, and wait more or less (possibly much less) patiently for his lover’s return.
