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During my ride back to Stratton Park, I sat listlessly in the back seat of the car, staring at the passing scenery. My ears rang as if they still heard Olivia’s cries from miles away. The pain of seeing her in such a state had torn my heart to shreds. Unexpectedly, the harsh reality of war had arrived upon Olivia’s doorstep, stripping her of happiness and love. The consequences of the conflict could no longer remain a mere abstract out of sight or out of mind. Instead, the hideous truth of its penalties had arrived close to home.
As we approached the estate, I needed someone to talk to who understood. I leaned forward and spoke to the driver. “Take me to the cottage and drop me off. I need to speak to the lieutenant about an urgent matter.”
Our chauffeur glanced at me in the rearview mirror with a raised brow, which I chose to ignore. If Florence discovered my whereabouts, I would deal with her objections upon my return. At that moment, I needed the support of another human being I could trust. The only person I cared to express my painful thoughts to was Stefan.
The car pulled down the dusty road toward the cottage. As we approached and stopped, an anxious anticipation rose in my heart.
“Thank you,” I addressed the driver somberly. “If Lady Russell inquires of my whereabouts, you may tell her I went for a walk upon my return and nothing more.”
“Yes, my lady.” He flashed a cautionary look.
Exiting the car, I closed the door and waited for him to pull down the road before approaching and standing before the entrance. After a brief knock, I heard Stefan’s cane clap on the wooden floor and the familiar shuffle of his walk. As he swung open the barrier, my raw emotions eroded my composure with tears welling in my eyes.
“Lady Grace.” His brows knit together as he scanned my face. “Something is wrong, what is it?”
Perhaps I should have surmised he thought I had received a telegram regarding Benedict’s demise, but I only thought of Olivia’s pain.
“Have you news of your husband?”
“My husband?” My heart pounded in my throat. “No, it is my dear friend Olivia,” my trembling voice countered. “She received a letter from the War Office that...” I could not say the phrase I had read an hour earlier. What did it mean? Had he been blown to pieces by a shell? Had a rifle bullet ripped through his heart? What terror had the poor man endured?
Stefan set both his hands upon my shoulders tenderly. “That he was killed in action.”
My head shook affirmatively, and I felt such anguish for Olivia that my stomach soured. “My poor friend is so grief-stricken,” I replied. “We went out for lunch, and when we returned, a letter had arrived.”
“I’m so very sorry. Come in and sit.” He took my hand in his and led me inside, closing the door behind me. Without protest, I followed him and sat on the couch.
“It was dreadful,” I continued. “I had to read the terrible letter to her myself because she could not bear to read the words.”
“There is no easy way to tell a family of such a loss,” his empathetic voice replied. “Did they have children?”
“No, and perhaps that is for the best,” I said. Having known they had tried for a child beforehand, what would Olivia have done with a young babe and now left a widow? On the other hand, perhaps it would have been comforting to have a part of Thomas she would always see in a child.
“It must frighten you.”
Stefan’s impulsive declaration confused me, and I scowled. “Frighten me? Why should it frighten me?” It took me a minute to correctly ascertain what he meant by the statement. To my shame, I suddenly realized he had been referring to my husband. “You mean Benedict.” I gulped in embarrassment.
At the beginning of the war, I feared that one day we would receive dreadful news of his demise. As I pondered the possibility now while sitting in Stefan’s presence, my fear had withered away to an agreeable acceptance should it happen to me. It was a terrible, thoughtless state of affairs to admit my sorrow would be minimal. It only confirmed my heart had fallen into a state of disenchantment because of my growing regard for Stefan. Admittedly, my affection turned toward him.
“No, I am not frightened,” I responded calmly. “I can accept it should I receive news about Benedict.” My cold tone declared it confidently with conviction.
“Grace.”
My name fell from his lips with a sweetness that caused me to smile, and I took notice of the cautionary glint in his eyes.
“You know why, don’t you, Stefan?”
He bit his lower lip in a worrisome gesture, pulling his gaze away from me. The actions of a gentleman remained poised next to me, but I had to know whether his heart had declared to him otherwise.
My hand extended and clasped his. “Do you care for me?”
Shocked by my question, he jerked at my touch. In his eyes, a deep longing spoke to me as if they expressed the sinful words I wished him to confess. “Tell me,” I prodded him. “If I were your wife, what would you... what would you do?” He paused a bit as if he pondered the effect his words would have upon my heart.
“Then I should kiss you, my sweet Grace, and cherish our every moment together.”
“Kiss me now,” I entreated, squeezing his hand tighter. My heart yearned for him to act upon my plea, but instead, he merely stared at me, refusing my invitation. Naturally, my soul sank at the delay that spoke of his rejection or perhaps caution. Rather than belabor the uncomfortable moment between us, I released his hand and rose to my feet.
“How utterly selfish I am,” I lamented, placing my hands over my face in embarrassment. “My dearest friend has lost her husband, and I entreat you like a risqué woman with no conscience.”
Stefan stood to his feet. “You have no idea how I long to give you what you ask.”
His hands took mine and tenderly pulled them away from my reddened cheeks. Mortified by my behavior, I felt compelled to escape. With a swift jerk, I pulled away and averted his gaze.
“I shall never ask again. Forgive me, Lieutenant.”
Covered in shame, I departed in haste from the cottage, running away from my desperate need for affection. As I sprinted down the lane, I became aware that grief could come in many forms. The heartache I felt about Stefan had crushed any hope we could love one another.
After running until I had lost breath in my lungs, I stopped along the side of the road. In the distance stood the estate, shrouded by the gray clouds lingering above. As I deeply inhaled the air to catch my breath, a raindrop splattered on my left cheek. Lifting my head upward, I watched as small drops dripped one by one on my face, mingling with the tears of regret. My heart ached, thinking I would die never knowing the depth of true love or the passion Olivia had expressed in her joy with Thomas. At that moment, I understood she had lost much more than a husband. She had lost a lover, a companion, and the soul that mingled in harmony with hers.
The rain increased to a full shower, drenching my dress. Uncaring whether I would catch a chill or not, I slowly meandered down the dirt road back into the emptiness of my life.
Upon my return, I ran upstairs to change out of my wet clothing and toweled dry my hair. My emotions had turned cold as the chill and dampness of the fabric that clung to my body. A numbness enshrouded me as I thought of Stefan. His recuperation and eventual return to service would alleviate my pain. Once he departed, no reminder would remain of my unfulfilled desires. It was as it should be because I already had a husband whose responsibilities were to provide me those things.
As I returned downstairs, freshened and ready to face the household, Carter met me in the foyer.
“A post has arrived for you from the baron,” he announced, handing me the envelope.
“Give it to his mother,” I replied, refusing to take it in my hand. No doubt it would have contained nothing of personal interest that I cared to read. Not today.
“It’s addressed to you personally, your ladyship.”
Once again, Carter shoved it my direction, showing the addressee on the envelope. Surprised it only contained my name and not his mother’s, I took it out of curiosity. A slight worry crinkled my brow as I pondered why he had chosen to write me in private.
“Thank you, Carter,” I replied. Wishing for an occasion of privacy, I walked to Benedict’s study, closed the door behind me, and opened the envelope. It had been the first private thought my husband had cared to write me for almost a year. As I read his words, my hand trembled at the onslaught of allegations leaping from the page.
“Mother has written to me about the boarders you have brought into our home. She has expressed her concern that your frequent interaction with Lieutenant Reyer has caused the household staff and other guests to gossip. It appears that your actions have brought humiliation and concern to my mother. Needless to say, I am surprised and disenchanted at your behavior.”
My heart thumped in my chest from anger and mortification as Benedict’s words boldly confronted my conduct. Had it been that obvious to the staff and perhaps the Smits? Did they think I had been carrying on an affair of sorts with Stefan? To my shame, I admittedly wanted to fall into his arms and lose myself. Thankfully, he had more sense than I had and had taken great care not to cross the line. With anxiety, I continued to read.
“My absence no doubt has been difficult for you, of that I am sure. My commanding officer has agreed to a two-week leave, and I shall be returning within the fortnight to put matters in order.”
Benedict scrawled his name at the bottom as if he were angry. It did not appear to be his usual neat penmanship, and the parting words of putting matters in order frightened me. The fact Florence had dared to pen to my husband such a harsh accusation angered me to the core. She had stabbed me in the back, and I would not be silent about her scheme to discredit me. After storming through the estate room by room, I found Florence in the solarium, tending to her foliage.
“How could you be so insensitive as to pen a letter to Benedict with innuendos regarding my behavior with the lieutenant?” I waved the letter in front of her face, seething at the woman who stood before me. Instead of acknowledging my heated arrival and pointed question, she stood ignoring me while she watered the plants. “Well?” I cried, attempting to arouse her from her indifferent stupor. After a few seconds, she turned and glanced at me with a malevolent smirk on her face.
“I know what you’ve been up to,” she spat in anger. “In fact, I’m aware that even an hour ago you were alone with the lieutenant against your better judgment.” She paused while glancing at me suspiciously. “Am I right?”
My shoulders pulled back in a defensive stance. “I had just arrived from visiting Olivia and comforting her after receiving dreadful news that her husband had died in battle.” My lips clasp shut as I attempted to come up with a plausible reason for going to the cottage. Florence responded before I could speak further.
“As I remarked before, not unexpected since he was a mere private and on the front lines.” With cold regard, she turned back and continued her task. Unbeknownst to her, she had given me my excuse.
“That is precisely why I sought out the lieutenant to speak of the matter because I knew your response would be without an ounce of empathy.” I sucked in a breath before spewing out the remainder of my thoughts. “It’s bloody cruel!” My words had incited Florence in return.
“So you took it upon yourself to seek solace from another man while married to my son?” Her eyes grew dark and threatening. “I warned you repeatedly to stay away from the lieutenant.”
“He has been nothing but a friend and a perfect gentleman in my midst. Absolutely nothing untoward has transpired between us.”
“I refuse to discuss it any further with you, Grace. You can explain your actions to Benedict when he comes home on leave.”
“You orchestrated this entire event, didn’t you?”
“I said I’m done speaking of the matter.”
The matter. Yes, it was a matter of sorts, but never would I admit to Florence that my affections tempted me to become a fallen woman. I had concluded while glaring at my mother-in-law that I had a bigger problem to contend with in the future—Benedict’s return.
