Page 18 of For The Love Of A Widow

Daniel wished he hadn’t heard those final words. He could not picture Lettie wedding another man.

CHAPTER 8

L ettie wrapped her arms tightly around her midsection as she ran down the hallway. She sped up and turned a corner, then turned yet again when the corridor split in two directions—losing track of her location within the house. The hem of her shapeless gown caught on her slipper, and Lettie tumbled forward before catching herself and righting her balance.

The hall opened into the large kitchen area, Cook and the other staff busy tending the garden beyond the window.

Her stomach rolled, and waves of nausea brought her to a halt.

The aroma of a cooling pie on the open window ledge only served to cause her midsection to cramp further as she doubled over in pain.

She hadn’t eaten much, but what she had managed before her stomach revolted had been delicious. Far more savory and flavorful than any meal she’d had since departing London with Gregory. There had been nights when her hunger had been so overwhelming she’d dreamt of Cook’s pastries, mutton stew, and fresh, roasted vegetables grown in their garden.

Those memories—no matter how pleasant—belonged to a different time, a different Lettie. The woman who could enjoy an afternoon covered in flour and helping bake pies was gone. She’d learned quickly the cruelty waiting in the world outside her gilded cage.

Why, oh why, had she prodded Daniel about their past? He’d been nothing but a gentleman since collecting her at The George, and she’d repaid him with spiteful comments. If he hadn’t been willing to allow her to break their betrothal, her life would have been very different today. It was her parents she was furious with—at least in part—as well as Gregory for getting himself killed and leaving her.

It was possible Lettie would have never learned the harsh realities of the world, never experienced loss, and most certainly would have continued with her fanciful ways and grand ideas for helping others.

In recent years, she’d seen the big picture, gained a deeper understanding of the actualities of life. Feeding one hungry man did not solve anything. Making certain one child had a home was not enough for her. She’d witnessed mass casualties in the Peninsular War and at Waterloo. She’d seen utter devastation firsthand, the same hands that had worked tirelessly on wounded and injured soldiers. Her palms had been coated in blood countless times, and she’d seen other women left with nothing when their men fell on the battlefield.

Her parents and much of society knew nothing of the destruction war caused.

They knew nothing about losing a loved one in such a violent, tragic, senseless way.

They knew nothing of the mental willpower it took to get up each day, knowing you’d see more of the same until you worked in a mechanical state from sunup to sundown, your entire body becoming numb to everything, and your mind so scattered it was hard to concentrate on anything else.

And her mother could speak of nothing but frilly gowns and society engagements.

“Lettie?” Daniel called from the doorway.

Her stomach settled at the sound of his concern, and she turned to face him. “I apologize for my abrupt departure. My years away from London have jeopardized my societal decorum.”

Why did her nerves settle whenever he was near? It made little sense to feel peace around Daniel.

Yes, they’d been close. Yes, they’d been slated to marry their entire lives. Yes, she’d once cherished his friendship. However, he’d changed once their betrothal had become official. He’d turned to debauchery instead of chivalry. As a suitor, he’d been lacking in many ways. He’d suddenly preferred drinking and carousing with other young lords than escorting Lettie to the theater or spending time in the library. In those final months, Daniel had all but pushed her into Gregory’s arms, albeit unknowingly. It was because Daniel hadn’t shown to escort her to an afternoon musicale recital that Lettie had met Gregory in the first place. It was one of several planned outings her betrothed hadn’t bothered to show up for.

She turned away and gazed out the window to where the kitchen servants worked in the garden, in an effort to hide the tear that streaked down her face at the thought of Gregory. They’d never again sit side by side and listen to off-key debutantes sing or share a meal of sparse rations and stale bread.

With one last sigh, she forced her misery down and steeled her back before turning. A smile or even a weak grin was still too much for her.

Daniel jerkily pulled a hand through his tussled hair.

“Thank you for your concern, your grace, but I think I am only fatigued and in need—“

“Stop with the bloody tales, Lettie.” He strode to her, grasping each of her arms just above her elbows. “And I am not Lord Linwood, or ‘your grace,’ it is Daniel. We have known each other since birth. Bloody bollocks, we kissed. Once, long ago. I am not a stranger. I am not some man who knows nothing of you or the hurt you suffer from. I understand grief well, Lettie. What plagues you is far more than exhaustion.”

“How could you—a titled lord with nary a thought to those losing their lives at war—know anything about what I have experienced?” Her harsh words drove him back a step. “While you were safe and well-fed, I was on the front lines. I was tending the wounded. I was starving. I was cold most nights.”

“There is naught I can say but sorry for all you’ve faced.”

She straightened her shoulders and notched her chin. “And I will tell you again, there are no apologies needed. If I had the option to relive the last six years, I would do it again—without thought or hesitation.” Though, she’d be wiser now and not as shocked by the disappearance of her innocence.

“And that is the Lettie I know. A tenacious, strong-willed hellion. A force of nature.” His eyes danced as he took in her attire. “Though, I must agree with your mother, even a war widow should dress in finer garb than an old dust rag.”

Everything about him was genuine, from his encouraging grin to the easy set of his shoulders. Could she trust him?

It was an odd thought to have. They’d known one another their entire lives, but how could she trust a man known for his love of liquor, women, and gambling? He’d willingly given her up, not so much as a single word to convince her to change her mind. Not that Lettie would have believed him or stayed in England. Her mind had been made up by that point.