Page 128 of A Perilous Passion

How I miss you! Words are not adequate to explain my Feelings, so much stronger, so much more Desperate now that we have been torn from each other’s arms. I would not wish you to feel the Pain I am feeling, though I would hope you love me no less than I do you. Oh, for the sight of your gentle Face, the spark of humor in your eye, the heavenly vision of your hair wafted by the zephyrs of summer.

What of my grim Lyfe here? I have borne the Cold, the Wet, the endless drills, the hefty weight of my weapons, and of the responsibility, which hangs like the sword of Damocles over me, just waiting for me to make a mistake, sending some poor Fellowe to his Death.

I know not how I can bear this much longer. It is not the Lyfe for me, whatever Papa may say. He has sent me a cruel punishment, indeed, for loving you.

How young, how foolish were our Hearts when we planned to elope! My Heart has hardened—not toward you, my most darling Charlotte, but toward myself. I should never have embarked on so foolish a Venture, I should never have risked destroying your Good Name. Although I think my father has greatly overstepped the mark, I do now realize how much I have disappointed him and the rest of my family with such selfish actions.

I resent my Punishment, but begin to hate myself for what I did to deserve it, and this Battle within my soul is tearing me apart. I cannot help but Hope that it will be over soon.

Please spare a moment to think of me, your poor, wretched Justin, lest Fate decree we never meet again. But I still hope otherwise, for what else do I have left to hope for? I care not for what happens in my Lyfe, but I do still care about yours. Tell me you are Well, tell me you are bearing up. And yes, even though it would pain me to hear it, tell me you are Happy.

Yours until my Dying Day,

Justin

Charlotte folded the paper back over and stared sightlessly out the window. Her mind buzzed like a beehive in a thunderstorm. What was she to understand by his words? That he was going to do something drastic? Take his own life, perhaps?

She turned the paper over and over in her hands, waiting for the tears to come, but discovered she felt numb rather than grief-stricken, worried rather than distraught.

Before she had time to question this lack of emotion, a knock on her chamber door had her leaping up and stuffing the letter under the mattress.

“What is it?” she called, her heart thudding painfully.

“Your friends have come for you,” Aunt Flora called back through the elm panels.

“Just one moment.” Hester and Thea, of course, had arrived, eager to discuss the Culverdale ball. Dare she tell them about her letter? They’d have to go somewhere they wouldn’t be overheard.

She rushed down the stairs and steered them right back out the front door. “I need some air,” she declared.

“How whey-faced you are, Charlotte!” said Hester, as they stepped out into the sunshine. “Aren’t you excited about this rout?”

“Of course I am. But I’ve just come from the Scaddens, and feel a bit low.”

“Let’s head for the church, then,” Thea replied. “I can see if my floral display needs watering yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy the dancing,” Hester said, as she took Charlotte’s arm and held her parasol over them both.

“It’s healthful exercise, the best that can be got if you don’t ride,” Thea agreed.

“Aye, indeed, and if you’re the Earl of Beckport, it may be the only exercise you can get,” said Hester with a laugh.

Charlotte frowned.

“I declare, your face is growing longer by the minute, Charlotte. Whatever ails you?” asked Thea.

Hester gave her a searching look, then pronounced, “She’s still missing Justin, I’ll be bound. But it’s been a full six months since he was sent away. Surely, that’s long enough for a heart to mend.”

“It has mended,” Charlotte answered. “But I can’t help worrying about him. He’s not robust enough for the army. You know how prone to colds he is. It’s very damp in Scotland, I hear.”

“But he’s still young,” Thea offered. “He can’t be more than twenty, and fit enough. I’m told anyone can become stronger if they exercise.”

“He’s very slender,” Charlotte said. “Those swords can be heavy.”

“Nonsense!” interjected Hester. “They’re as light as a butter knife. I held one once, a cavalry saber.” She made a feint with an invisible sword by way of demonstration. “If my wrist’s sturdy enough, Justin’s must be.”

“But what if the men under his command mutiny? How would he fare then? He’s not one for giving orders—he’d far rather ask nicely, and that won’t do at all with the rank and file.”

As she said these words, she unconsciously pictured Rafe in Justin’s place, barking orders to his men. They’d scramble to obey him, without a doubt—he’d brook no opposition. He was also the sort of officer who would command respect amongst his troops.