Page 57 of Never Second Guess a Lord
“Then that is that.” Agnus shook her head once. “I will stay and hear no more about it.” She paused a moment. “Though I dare say it would do my heart good if you would at least read the duke’s letters. For me, if no one else.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That sounds suspiciously like a thinly veiled condition.”
“I would never,” Agnus admonished, yet a little gleam lit her eyes. “I just think perhaps it would be good to hear what he had to say. For it was clearly things some part of him wanted you to know.”
The idea of reading another one of his letters was heartbreaking, and she said so. Yet the look in Agnus’ eyes touched her. As did her willingness to stay on a while as it would not be indefinite. Prudence would convince her to go to Donal. She would make a point of it.
“If you give me some time first,” she finally said, biting back more tears. “I will. But make no mistake, it will be for you, and you alone.” Eyes narrowed, she considered her maid. “Might I ask why Mr. Donal was traveling with a box of unread letters from the duke?”
“I do not know, my lady,” Agnus said. “Other than I suspect he wanted you to have them on what was supposed to be such a beautiful night.”
Prudence swallowed hard and managed a weak nod before she rested her head back and closed her eyes once more. She tried not to, but more tears fell. Agnus squeezed her hand and encouraged her to rest her head on her shoulder again.
Thank goodness she did, too, because she spent the night adrift in crushing melancholy. Her deep sadness did not lessen over the next few weeks but seemed to worsen. She rarely ate or left her room. Letters were sent off to Maude and Emma that all was well, but she was capable of little more. Eventually, it seemed Agnus had had enough because she thrust the curtains open to blinding sunlight and placed a beautiful wooden box on her bed with Jacob’s seal on it.
When Prudence shook her head, Agnus planted her hands on her hips. “I believe you made me a promise, my lady.” She rested a cup of steaming tea on her bedside table and gestured at the box. “So either you start reading, or I will read them to you.” One eyebrow crept up. “And I suspect you would rather I not do that.”
She scowled. “You would not dare.”
“I would.” Agnus eyed her sternly. “And will if you do not.”
It appeared she meant business because she sat down in a nearby chair, unwilling to leave. So Prudence could either read the letters or suffer her maid’s hovering presence.
“Fine,” she finally muttered, sitting up against the headboard. “If it means giving me peace and quiet again.”
Agnus nodded once with approval as Prudence pulled the box closer. The idea of seeing Jacob’s handwriting again and hearing his words, even if only on paper, was not as difficult as how she felt when she opened the sizeable box only to find it packed with unsent letters. Like her, he had written so many, seemingly only sending those he deemed most prevalent, and it broke her heart all over again.
Why had they not sent every letter? Had they feared it would be too much? They might drive the other away? Or perhaps it was the opposite, and they might pull them closer together? Either way, she had made Agnus a promise, so she started reading. Unlike their play on medieval times, the oldest ones were mainly more day-to-day in nature.
He envisioned walking her through his castle and telling her about its history. What she might think of his estate. As the letters went on, they became more personal in nature. He wondered what she would say to certain things. What advice she might give him. Questions that had more to do with matters of state. Letters that he could never risk traveling across Scotland and perhaps ending up in another’s hands.
His correspondences had become more personal still as the months had rolled on. He’d envisioned her on his arm at events he hosted. Told her how seeing her across the room when he had to attend to business would make everything more bearable. They would exchange a knowing look and count down the minutes until they were alone again. Until he could hold her in his arms and make love to her.
She wiped away tears as she read letter after letter. Fenwick saw dinner brought up, and Agnus never left her side. As expected, Jacob’s correspondence grew more passionate and intimate. Some recounted the hidden moments they had already shared, where others reflected on conversations they had enjoyed. Heated debates that ultimately landed them in bed.
It was one of the letters toward the end that caught her attention most, though.
One that touched on what she had overheard at MacLauchlin Castle before fleeing.
19 February 1816
My Dearest Prudence,
I fear I have a confession to make. Something I should have told you sooner but was not sure how to voice it. You see, there was a time between you and my late wife that I was on a mission of sorts. One in which I was determined to save others as Elizabeth had saved me. Therefore, you should know there were lasses between you and Elizabeth. Not many. Just a few. I never laid with them nor found love, but I did find friendship and hope they felt the same.
I will tell you all of this when I arrive and apologize deeply for having been too spineless to tell you thus far. You deserve better, and I hope you will forgive me. More than that, I hope you will understand my motives.
All My Love,
Jacob
Prudence lowered the letter and stared at it a moment. This had been right before they first made love. She recalled him speaking of how he had been before Elizabeth. How broken and callous because of his upbringing. How she had freed him from that terrible cage and made him a better person.
She continued on to the next letter.
23 February 1816
My Dearest Heart, Prudence,
