Read Online The Beloved One by Danelle Harmon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Danelle Harmon
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then he caught her scent as she leaned toward him, felt the warmth that surrounded her body a second before her fingertips moved gently over his brow, his temples. Instinctively, he leaned his head into that cool, soothing touch, but caught himself just as his cheek met the palm of her hand. Stiffening, he pulled back — to throbbing pain and a desperate wish to feel that caring touch once more.
A desperate wish that he didn't want to acknowledge.
He heard the sound of a chair being pulled out, a drawer opening, an ink bottle being uncapped, papers being slid about.
"I'm ready," she said. "Are you?"
"Yes." He sighed and let his cheek rest against the threadbare back of the chair. It smelled of old man. Old fabric. Old horsehair. He could fall asleep here, and when this was done, he probably would. "The first is to my commanding officer in Boston," he said wearily. "The second, to my brother Lucien in England. And the third —" Shame sliced through him. Juliet had trusted him to take care of her and her unborn baby, but with that one stupid move in a rocky field near Concord, he had let her down, just as he had let down his family, his men, and everyone else who depended on him. He couldn't take care of her and a baby, now. He couldn't even take care of himself.
Somewhat hoarsely, he finished, "The third is to my fiancée, Juliet."
He closed his eyes and in a detached, resigned voice that revealed none of his anguish and grief, began to dictate.
She proved to be a wonderful letter-taker. Better, even, than Billingshurst. She didn't need him to spell the difficult words. She didn't ask him to repeat himself. And she didn't beg him to slow down, her pen only moving faster and faster to keep up with him. And as he heard his voice droning lifelessly on, and her pen dutifully scratching away, a sense of release, of calm, finally began to overtake him. He was finally setting things in motion. Tomorrow, the letters would be on their way, and his life would begin to look up. Lieutenant Colonel Maddison would send someone to bring him immediately back to Boston. Juliet would be there waiting to care for him. And when Lucien got his letter, neither hell nor high water, rebels nor revolution would keep the duke of Blackheath from coming straight to America to bring him back to England.
Home.
Charles heard himself dictating the final address; then the sound of her rapidly moving pen blurred into nothingness, and nothingness claimed his exhausted brain.
He slept.
And Amy, feeling a heavy sense of wistfulness as she finished the last letter, thinking what a lucky, lucky girl this Juliet Paige was to be affianced to such a worthy man as this, looked at the figure sleeping in her father's chair, his unkempt blond hair falling haphazardly over his brow, his neck at a most uncomfortable angle, and felt something catch in her throat.
He defended me as though I was a real lady. He stood up for me at risk to his own situation. He is brave and selfless and kind, and he actually made me forget who I really am.
Very quietly, she tiptoed across the room, picked up the blanket that lay across the back of the sofa, and returning to the captain, placed it gently over his sleeping body.
And then she left the room, taking care to close the door behind her.
Chapter 5
Captain de Montforte slept through supper. He slept through the Bible reading that followed it. He slept through a squabble between Mildred and Ophelia, through Amy quietly putting a final log on the fire that danced and smoked a few feet away from his stockinged toes, and finally, through a silent procession of family members creeping past him on their way up to bed.
As she passed her father's desk Ophelia, carrying the cat, spied the captain's three letters propped against a candlestick. Swiftly, and when Amy's back was turned, she swept them up and hurried upstairs.
She had them opened and read
A desperate wish that he didn't want to acknowledge.
He heard the sound of a chair being pulled out, a drawer opening, an ink bottle being uncapped, papers being slid about.
"I'm ready," she said. "Are you?"
"Yes." He sighed and let his cheek rest against the threadbare back of the chair. It smelled of old man. Old fabric. Old horsehair. He could fall asleep here, and when this was done, he probably would. "The first is to my commanding officer in Boston," he said wearily. "The second, to my brother Lucien in England. And the third —" Shame sliced through him. Juliet had trusted him to take care of her and her unborn baby, but with that one stupid move in a rocky field near Concord, he had let her down, just as he had let down his family, his men, and everyone else who depended on him. He couldn't take care of her and a baby, now. He couldn't even take care of himself.
Somewhat hoarsely, he finished, "The third is to my fiancée, Juliet."
He closed his eyes and in a detached, resigned voice that revealed none of his anguish and grief, began to dictate.
She proved to be a wonderful letter-taker. Better, even, than Billingshurst. She didn't need him to spell the difficult words. She didn't ask him to repeat himself. And she didn't beg him to slow down, her pen only moving faster and faster to keep up with him. And as he heard his voice droning lifelessly on, and her pen dutifully scratching away, a sense of release, of calm, finally began to overtake him. He was finally setting things in motion. Tomorrow, the letters would be on their way, and his life would begin to look up. Lieutenant Colonel Maddison would send someone to bring him immediately back to Boston. Juliet would be there waiting to care for him. And when Lucien got his letter, neither hell nor high water, rebels nor revolution would keep the duke of Blackheath from coming straight to America to bring him back to England.
Home.
Charles heard himself dictating the final address; then the sound of her rapidly moving pen blurred into nothingness, and nothingness claimed his exhausted brain.
He slept.
And Amy, feeling a heavy sense of wistfulness as she finished the last letter, thinking what a lucky, lucky girl this Juliet Paige was to be affianced to such a worthy man as this, looked at the figure sleeping in her father's chair, his unkempt blond hair falling haphazardly over his brow, his neck at a most uncomfortable angle, and felt something catch in her throat.
He defended me as though I was a real lady. He stood up for me at risk to his own situation. He is brave and selfless and kind, and he actually made me forget who I really am.
Very quietly, she tiptoed across the room, picked up the blanket that lay across the back of the sofa, and returning to the captain, placed it gently over his sleeping body.
And then she left the room, taking care to close the door behind her.
Chapter 5
Captain de Montforte slept through supper. He slept through the Bible reading that followed it. He slept through a squabble between Mildred and Ophelia, through Amy quietly putting a final log on the fire that danced and smoked a few feet away from his stockinged toes, and finally, through a silent procession of family members creeping past him on their way up to bed.
As she passed her father's desk Ophelia, carrying the cat, spied the captain's three letters propped against a candlestick. Swiftly, and when Amy's back was turned, she swept them up and hurried upstairs.
She had them opened and read
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