Read Online The Silent Love by Diane Davis White - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diane Davis White
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wraith-like splendor, rising into the morning sky as the sun greedily absorbed the moisture... as he had absorbed her life, her hope, and her dreams.
Hannah was startled that she should have such a thought. The stranger—the silent lover in her bed—had been naught to her she reminded herself sternly. Stubbornly, she lifted her chin and set her shoulders, denying the heartbreak that threatened to overcome her. She would not pine for the gentle stranger. She had rejected his ardent overtures, and he had gone. There was an end to it.
Placing a hand over her flat stomach she prayed that a child had been conceived, for she was a week late with her menses. Sadly, she realized that, if she had a child, she would never know his father, never see the child run to the man.
Her mind's eye pictured a tall dark man coming across the lawn, a small dark-headed boy running to him. The man's arms opened and swooped the laughing child up and away, onto his broad shoulders, the pair of them laughing and companionable. A man and his son.
A single tear slipped down her face, and dropped, unnoticed, onto the hand that pressed against her lips. She drew upon her meager strength and resolved to think upon him no more, for she knew that he would not come back.
She would bear a son and looking upon him, she would at last know the man.
She went to her bed, only to toss and turn, until the dawn light filtered through the heavy drapery.
Hannah came late to the breakfast table, and the Marquis was already there. He looked up at her entry and his eyes, so kind, so knowing, followed her progress across the room. He did not speak for a while, but sat toying with the food on his plate. In silence, they broke their fast, each one thinking of the man who had gone from their lives... neither willing or able to broach the subject that was uppermost in their minds. Finally, the old Marquis cleared his throat and spoke into the silence.
"Hannah... the day appears to be coming on very nicely. Would you like to go for a drive? I think we could both benefit from some fresh air."
"Yes, Milord. That would be very pleasant." She spoke in a tone that conveyed that she cared not where she went, or what she did, but would agree to please him.
"You look a little pale, my child. Are you feeling well?" He looked at her with those kind, sorrowful eyes, and she could not sustain her indifferent posture, and weeping, she rose from her chair and flung herself at his feet, her head resting upon his knees as she sobbed out her heartbreak.
The Marquis placed a gentle hand upon her silky hair in a comforting way, and waited for the storm to pass, his heart aching as well, for the man who had left them. His son. David.
"He has gone." It was a statement, but there was a question in her voice.
"Yes." His brief answer was unsatisfactory, but under the circumstances she could not prod him to tell her more. The stranger was not for her. This was her husband, and she would that she could love him as he deserved. And though he had sanctioned her behavior—indeed, had created the situation—she was guilty of adultery and could not be peaceful with the knowledge.
"I was not told... " she began in a hollow voice. "... I am afraid it was rather a shock." She lifted her head and sniffed back her tears, accepting the handkerchief he proffered, dabbing at her swollen eyes, struggling to get control of herself. She tried to explain away her actions, both to him and to herself. "I was a little hurt that no one had told me he would not come. I... I guess it made me angry."
"You are not angry, Hannah. You are in love." The Marquis spoke gently, his hand stroking her hair, his smile edged with suffering. "It would be impossible not to love the man who has taken your virtue and given you a child. I have known for some time, if you have not, that your feelings were engaged."
When she looked up at him with startled eyes, he went on in a grave voice. "Are you not past due for your monthly
Hannah was startled that she should have such a thought. The stranger—the silent lover in her bed—had been naught to her she reminded herself sternly. Stubbornly, she lifted her chin and set her shoulders, denying the heartbreak that threatened to overcome her. She would not pine for the gentle stranger. She had rejected his ardent overtures, and he had gone. There was an end to it.
Placing a hand over her flat stomach she prayed that a child had been conceived, for she was a week late with her menses. Sadly, she realized that, if she had a child, she would never know his father, never see the child run to the man.
Her mind's eye pictured a tall dark man coming across the lawn, a small dark-headed boy running to him. The man's arms opened and swooped the laughing child up and away, onto his broad shoulders, the pair of them laughing and companionable. A man and his son.
A single tear slipped down her face, and dropped, unnoticed, onto the hand that pressed against her lips. She drew upon her meager strength and resolved to think upon him no more, for she knew that he would not come back.
She would bear a son and looking upon him, she would at last know the man.
She went to her bed, only to toss and turn, until the dawn light filtered through the heavy drapery.
Hannah came late to the breakfast table, and the Marquis was already there. He looked up at her entry and his eyes, so kind, so knowing, followed her progress across the room. He did not speak for a while, but sat toying with the food on his plate. In silence, they broke their fast, each one thinking of the man who had gone from their lives... neither willing or able to broach the subject that was uppermost in their minds. Finally, the old Marquis cleared his throat and spoke into the silence.
"Hannah... the day appears to be coming on very nicely. Would you like to go for a drive? I think we could both benefit from some fresh air."
"Yes, Milord. That would be very pleasant." She spoke in a tone that conveyed that she cared not where she went, or what she did, but would agree to please him.
"You look a little pale, my child. Are you feeling well?" He looked at her with those kind, sorrowful eyes, and she could not sustain her indifferent posture, and weeping, she rose from her chair and flung herself at his feet, her head resting upon his knees as she sobbed out her heartbreak.
The Marquis placed a gentle hand upon her silky hair in a comforting way, and waited for the storm to pass, his heart aching as well, for the man who had left them. His son. David.
"He has gone." It was a statement, but there was a question in her voice.
"Yes." His brief answer was unsatisfactory, but under the circumstances she could not prod him to tell her more. The stranger was not for her. This was her husband, and she would that she could love him as he deserved. And though he had sanctioned her behavior—indeed, had created the situation—she was guilty of adultery and could not be peaceful with the knowledge.
"I was not told... " she began in a hollow voice. "... I am afraid it was rather a shock." She lifted her head and sniffed back her tears, accepting the handkerchief he proffered, dabbing at her swollen eyes, struggling to get control of herself. She tried to explain away her actions, both to him and to herself. "I was a little hurt that no one had told me he would not come. I... I guess it made me angry."
"You are not angry, Hannah. You are in love." The Marquis spoke gently, his hand stroking her hair, his smile edged with suffering. "It would be impossible not to love the man who has taken your virtue and given you a child. I have known for some time, if you have not, that your feelings were engaged."
When she looked up at him with startled eyes, he went on in a grave voice. "Are you not past due for your monthly
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