Page 63 of Managing the Major

My Dear Octavia,

Never did I dream I’d ride a horse in Hyde Park again, and to have you there by my side was pure bliss. You alone have inspired me to make these changes; if I were an artist or a musician, you would be my muse—and you are. You make me strive to be a better man at every turn. How can I express my gratitude? There hasn’t been joy in my life for some time, not since that terrible morning at Danubyu. It shattered me into a thousand pieces that I couldn’t put back together until now.

I often think of that day and wonder what I might have done differently, but the answer is nothing. It is not within me to shirk my duty as an officer, nor to ask my men for more than I would give myself. That thought somehow gives me peace.

You fill the seconds of every day,

Alastair

*

Dearest Alastair,

You haven’t told me the details of your time in Burma, nor do I ask that of you. I know you performed with the utmost honor and bravery because that is the man you are. If I have inspired you and brought any joy to your life at all, it is only fitting in light of your sacrifices, and you need not thank me.

The hard times are over, and you deserve happiness—and as much as you can bear to receive, I am happy to give you.

Yours,

Octavia

*

Darling Octavia,

Today seemed interminable; I went about the morning in my usual way, walking first, then spending time at the gymnasium, and after that, I had luncheon with Nerissa and Abigail. They are excited to have Theo Von Berger and his father for dinner again the following evening, but my attention drifted elsewhere. I was lost imagining we might have a private dinner in my home, with you the only guest.

Then, every word you utter, every expression that crosses your face would be mine alone. I would be the only one to see the candlelight flickering across your beautiful shoulders and illuminating the blue-gray of your eyes. Do you know how often I dream of slipping off your gown to see all of you bathed in the soft glow of candles? I want to know your most secret thought, darling…there are a thousand ways I’m aching to show my desire for you…

Instead, I must be satisfied with evenings like tonight. In a ballroom. Seeing you in crowds of people, never alone, just out of reach but always within my grasp.

Yours

Alastair

*

My Dear Alastair,

I hope this letter reaches you before we see each other tonight, because you need to know that my thoughts are exactly the same. Sometimes it’s such agony to be under scrutiny every time we’re together. How carefully I watch myself so that my feelings for you aren’t obvious to others, when all I long to do is throw myself into your arms!

I always thought the flurry of London and a life distracted by the ton was the answer to staving off boredom. Perhaps it’s just growing older, but those things don’t hold the same attraction as they once did. Not that I will ever dismiss a wonderful party, mind you—but a constant string of them does far less for me than a single day in your company. Was I simply afraid of facing myself and what I wanted from life?

I count the hours until we leave for Epsom.

Your Octavia

When Alastair entered Almack’s at ten o’clock that evening, the first thing to catch his eye was the tall figure of Richard standing beside his striking wife. They were deep in conversation with Lady Sally Jersey in the area reserved for patronesses. With his lamentable memory for names, he often confused the seven ‘gatekeepers of Almack’s,’ except for Lady Jersey, who expressed a partiality for him, and Countess Lieven, the wife of the Russian Ambassador.

He hoped Octavia would be close, but neither she nor Lady Amelia were to be found in the crowded rooms. Nerissa, sitting with Sir William and Abigail near the windows, tried to catch his eye, but he merely nodded an acknowledgement, determined to stay close to the door.

Octavia’s last letter had hit him with the force of Thor’s hammer, confound it, and he needed to see her. She said plainly that the flurry of London and life among the ton didn’t mean as much as before. Could that mean she had changed her mind about marriage? Alastair forced himself to temper his fierce leap of encouragement at those words.

His cousin had sent a message saying he would attend tonight, but there was no sign of him either. Alastair did see Lucy Crawford and her husband at the refreshment table. With her strawberry blonde hair and fair complexion, she was still very beautiful, but it meant nothing. No woman would ever compare to Octavia.

There was a stir at the entrance, and his heart thudded in his chest. She was here. Octavia accompanied Lady Amelia, and he wondered why every man in the place wasn’t in love with her. Each time she entered a room, she commanded attention.

Alastair expected her to go to Richard first, but she whispered something to Lady Amelia and walked directly over to him.