Read Online The Silent Love by Diane Davis White - Free Book Online
Authors: Diane Davis White
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the cobbled drive, the wheels of a carriage invaded the air as well. Hannah stretched and looked to her bedside table, hoping to see the vase. It was gone. The wild flowers lay in the small basket by the door, tossed there by an angry hand.
Unaccountably bereft, it were as though he had left her—as he had, in truth—but it was more a feeling that in taking back his gift, he had rejected her, and there would be no other.
Her eyes flew to her dresser, hoping to see the rose, but alas, there was nothing there—only the dust motes stirring in the shaft of sunlight from the open drapes.
.
* * * * *
.
David, instead of leaving the house, went to his father's study where he sat in the darkness, aching with the stupidity of his act. True, he had been angry, but he was over it now and wishing himself back in her bed. Had he stayed and not allowed his arrogance to overthrow good sense, he might have wooed her once more.
She had responded, he knew. She had opened to him like a blossoming flower, and he had hoped, for a brief moment, that they would come together as one. When she had pulled away so abruptly and denied him tenderness, something inside him had gone a bit mad.
Fingering the vase, stuck in his pocket, he wanted to return it, but it was too late, for daylight had filtered into the room and he was afraid to go back. If she were awake, he would be seen and all would be ruined.
In the gray dawn light, he penned a small note to her and pushed it into the vase, hoping that someday she might find it. He would put the vase in the cottage, for he knew his father would come there, and he would keep the vase. David's mother had shown it to him once and told him the story of how it came to be in the cottage.
The Marquis, wanting to give Mary something, had bought her a pearl necklace. She had no place to wear such an expensive bauble. She had returned it to him, explaining that though she loved it, it was not practical and she would prefer something she could keep. He had then brought her this small antique vase, filled with wild flowers from the cottage garden and she had kept the vase in the cottage, for it was where they had loved and lost one another.
A sad little tale.
Deciding he must see his mother before he left, he pulled himself from the chair and went quietly from the room, his noiseless exit going unnoticed by all save the scullery maid.
David stole from the house, creeping across the far side of the manor, treading into the woods, not looking back. His hunched shoulders and bowed head spoke of his pain. Instead of his usual path to the cottage, he took the route to the village and scratched upon his grandfather's door.
The sun was just beginning to light the sky and somewhere a cock crowed, hailing the day. Mary opened the door, looking sad, but not surprised as she let him into the room, motioning him to a chair.
"David you should not be involved in this madness. Already it has cost you dearly." His mother, whose speech and manner were more that of a lady than a smithy's daughter—for the old Marquis had tutored her well—looked at her son, her visage stern and implacable. "This sin of adultery alone will cost you your soul, for it is not of love born, but a bargain made. You must desist."
"But that is just it, mother. I believe I am falling in love with her, and though part of me knows you are right, another part of me longs to go back." He looked at her in helpless pleading, and knowing she understood full well his dilemma, he was comforted to have unburdened himself. He knew as well that his mother would never reveal what he had told her, for she would do ought to harm her grandchild, should there be one.
As she continued to look at him, her face shadowed, her eyes pinning him with the truth of her words, David made his decision final. He would leave. In fact, he would go today. Putting it off might weaken his resolve and in his newfound manhood, he could not afford to weaken.
Kissing his mother
Unaccountably bereft, it were as though he had left her—as he had, in truth—but it was more a feeling that in taking back his gift, he had rejected her, and there would be no other.
Her eyes flew to her dresser, hoping to see the rose, but alas, there was nothing there—only the dust motes stirring in the shaft of sunlight from the open drapes.
.
* * * * *
.
David, instead of leaving the house, went to his father's study where he sat in the darkness, aching with the stupidity of his act. True, he had been angry, but he was over it now and wishing himself back in her bed. Had he stayed and not allowed his arrogance to overthrow good sense, he might have wooed her once more.
She had responded, he knew. She had opened to him like a blossoming flower, and he had hoped, for a brief moment, that they would come together as one. When she had pulled away so abruptly and denied him tenderness, something inside him had gone a bit mad.
Fingering the vase, stuck in his pocket, he wanted to return it, but it was too late, for daylight had filtered into the room and he was afraid to go back. If she were awake, he would be seen and all would be ruined.
In the gray dawn light, he penned a small note to her and pushed it into the vase, hoping that someday she might find it. He would put the vase in the cottage, for he knew his father would come there, and he would keep the vase. David's mother had shown it to him once and told him the story of how it came to be in the cottage.
The Marquis, wanting to give Mary something, had bought her a pearl necklace. She had no place to wear such an expensive bauble. She had returned it to him, explaining that though she loved it, it was not practical and she would prefer something she could keep. He had then brought her this small antique vase, filled with wild flowers from the cottage garden and she had kept the vase in the cottage, for it was where they had loved and lost one another.
A sad little tale.
Deciding he must see his mother before he left, he pulled himself from the chair and went quietly from the room, his noiseless exit going unnoticed by all save the scullery maid.
David stole from the house, creeping across the far side of the manor, treading into the woods, not looking back. His hunched shoulders and bowed head spoke of his pain. Instead of his usual path to the cottage, he took the route to the village and scratched upon his grandfather's door.
The sun was just beginning to light the sky and somewhere a cock crowed, hailing the day. Mary opened the door, looking sad, but not surprised as she let him into the room, motioning him to a chair.
"David you should not be involved in this madness. Already it has cost you dearly." His mother, whose speech and manner were more that of a lady than a smithy's daughter—for the old Marquis had tutored her well—looked at her son, her visage stern and implacable. "This sin of adultery alone will cost you your soul, for it is not of love born, but a bargain made. You must desist."
"But that is just it, mother. I believe I am falling in love with her, and though part of me knows you are right, another part of me longs to go back." He looked at her in helpless pleading, and knowing she understood full well his dilemma, he was comforted to have unburdened himself. He knew as well that his mother would never reveal what he had told her, for she would do ought to harm her grandchild, should there be one.
As she continued to look at him, her face shadowed, her eyes pinning him with the truth of her words, David made his decision final. He would leave. In fact, he would go today. Putting it off might weaken his resolve and in his newfound manhood, he could not afford to weaken.
Kissing his mother
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