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Juliet woke to the sound of Charlotte whimpering for her breakfast. She opened her eyes, stretching lazily and blinking against the bright sunshine that streamed through the windows. A chaffinch was singing just outside, and a breeze pushed at the dingy old curtains that had been left in the dower house by the previous occupant. Yawning, she reached for the man in whose arms she had just spent the night.
The bed was empty. She turned over.
"Gareth?"
No answer. She sat up.
"Gareth?" she called again.
Nothing but Charlotte's increasingly impatient whimpers.
Rubbing her eyes, she swung her legs from the bed. A small shelf clock was on the mantle, and she gasped as she saw the time. It was almost half past nine! She had never slept so late before!
But then, she thought, blushing, she had never spent the night in a man's arms before, either. Her time with Charles had been brief and intense, consisting of stolen moments behind her stepfather's woodshed or clandestine meetings with her dashing British officer dressed as a civilian farmer so as not to arouse suspicion. But she had never spent a night with him. Had never lain her head atop his chest and fallen asleep while he stroked her hair and told her stories about his childhood, never dreamed in the protective circle of his embrace, never laughed until the tears rolled helplessly down her cheeks — as she had done last night when Gareth had told her what he and the Den of Debauchery members had done to a certain statue back in Ravenscombe ...
She laughed just thinking about it. Purple parts, indeed!
She was still giggling as she crawled out of bed and stretched. It was then that she saw the note propped on the table beside the bed:
Dearest Juliet,
I have gone off to begin my work for Snelling; I do not know what time I will be home, but it may be late. Please do not wait up for me if this should be the case.
With love and kisses,
Gareth
P.S. I miss you already. More love and kisses.
Happiness flooded her heart and she cradled the note to her breast for a long moment, filled with a strange longing, an inner peace. I miss you already.
She touched the note to her lips. I miss you too.
Charlotte's cries were getting louder, more demanding. Carefully setting the note back on the table, Juliet crossed to the wooden cradle that stood near the hearth and lifted her daughter out. Gareth, bless him, had gone into Abingdon the night before and found the cradle, trading it for a fencing lesson that he promised to give the baker's son later in the week.
"What's the matter there, little girl? Are you hungry?"
Hungry wasn't the word for it. Charlotte all but grabbed for Juliet's breast. As the baby suckled, the blood rushed to Juliet's cheeks. All she could think of was her husband's erotic kisses on this very same breast just last night. All she could think of was the searing joy she had found in his embrace. Oh, how she wished he was there, instead of off working for Snelling. It would have been nice to wake up in each other's arms on their first real morning together.
As she sat there nursing the baby, her gaze fell upon the bedside table. There, the miniature of Charles lay beneath her kerchief, the ribbon on which she'd restrung it peeping out and just catching the morning sunlight. Thoughtfully, Juliet reached out and picked it up. She felt no urge to put it on. Instead, she simply let the tiny painting lay in her palm as she stared into the face of the man who now seemed to belong to another lifetime.
"Charles ... How much younger I was when I knew you," she whispered to his painted likeness. She looked down at it, trying to find the right words. "I was an impressionable girl and you, a god on a mighty charger, resplendent in officer's dress, all glitter and gold. I was so enamored of you — but I know now that we would never have been happy together. We were too much alike — both too serious, too practical, too … cautious, perhaps. You were right for me then, and I shall never, ever forget you — but it's your brother who's right for me now."
She swallowed, hard.
"I hope you don't mind what I have done," she added, as she gazed down into those blue, blue eyes. "But I know you wouldn't have wanted me to be unhappy."
There was no answer, of course. And she had not expected one. The answer, as she well knew, was in her heart.