Page 46 of A Night of Secret Surrender
She smiled as he came in closer, bringing his warmth with him. She needed to go to sleep, but she couldn’t. Everything here had been too wonderful.
‘I sent you a letter from Paris. Did you receive it?’
She felt him shake his head. ‘Did you send it to Sussex?’
‘No. I sent it to your military school in London.’
‘You knew I had gone there?’
‘Papa said your uncle had told him that you were to attend. I found the address when we were in the city.’
‘It never came. What did you say?’
‘That I was sorry. That I hoped you would be happy. That I was leaving for France with my father.’
‘A goodbye missive, then?’
‘It ended with an endearment. I sent you my love.’
She felt him turn as if he were trying to see her in the darkness.
‘Whilst fleeing with August?’
‘You were always going to be a hero. I knew that even then. Your uncle took me aside one day and told me that you were promised to the young daughter of a friend of the family’s and he was hoping for the union. Your parents had spoken of it years before.’
‘Anna.’
He said her name in a way that was sad, a catch of resignation there, but he was too much of the gentleman ever to explain it further.
‘Word was sent to your grandmother at Langley that you had died alongside your father.’
‘It was Caroline Debussy who wrote the letter. She thought it wise.’
‘Why?’
* * *
When she turned into him he felt her breath against his chest and her fingers tightened around him.
‘Because sometimes people just cannot return to the lives they once lived and it is kinder to give those who wait some closure.’
‘The candles burning each and every day and night for you at Langley did not look much like closure to me.’
‘My grandmother said that I was as wild as my father and as damaged as my mother. We left before the funeral because she did not wish for us to be there. She said that she could never forgive my father because he didn’t love my mother as much as he loved his country.’ She stopped for a moment before she whispered, ‘And perhaps she was right.’
‘Families sometimes tear each other to pieces only out of love.’
‘Before Mama jumped she left a note. She wrote to say that I would follow my father and be damned because of it. She said that there was no hope for my future and she could not be there to watch such a tragedy unfold. She said I was wild and selfish and unrestrained. I think my grandmother felt the same.’
‘And therein lies the devastation of miscommunication.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your grandmother sent investigators after you a number of times. She had given up on your father, but she paid out handsomely for any word of her granddaughter. The trail went cold in the month of July in 1806 when August wrote and said you wanted nothing more to do with your mother’s family. She was desolate.’
Now Celeste turned over so that her back was to him, but he could tell that she was stiff and resistant. Lifting the blanket, he drew his fingers across her shoulders above the flimsy bodice, making circles and letters on her bare skin. He felt the moment she relaxed and was grateful.
‘Love sometimes isn’t what you say, it’s what you do, and Lady Faulkner did do a lot to try and find you again.’
