| |
James paced back and forth across the sitting room between his bedchamber and Matthews’s. Tonight had been the most pleasant in memory, and not only because he’d kissed a lovely young lady—though that did contribute enormously to his contentment. He smiled, allowing the memory of Miss Breckenridge’s warm lips to fill his mind. He’d enjoyed himself immensely at the Christmas celebration. The gathering of friends had felt more like a family than any he’d experienced in years.
And that only made what he had to do harder.
He rubbed his eyes. Why hadn’t he just told Miss Breckenridge the truth about her father? Over the past days, he’d had countless chances. And yet when the opportunities presented themselves, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
He supposed his intentions were honorable at first. He’d made a promise to the colonel. And he’d intended to obey orders. But his reasoning had changed as he got to know Miss Breckenridge. He’d become protective of the young lady. He’d not wanted to see her hurt. And the truth was definitely going to hurt.
James could make all the excuses he wished, claim that he’d not wanted to upset her, not wanted to ruin her Christmas party, but he knew deep inside that his motivation was much more selfish. He’d wanted the time spent with Miss Breckenridge to be happy, wanted her to smile and to enjoy herself in his company, and he felt ashamed for it.
He took a candle and walked along the inn’s darkened hall toward the ladies’ rooms. He must do it. There was no getting around it. And he’d put it off long enough. Miss Breckenridge deserved to know. He couldn’t allow her to go into this blind. She needed to be prepared.
Seeing the light still glowed under her door, he knocked softly.
Miss Breckenridge opened the door, just a crack. “Captain!” She smiled happily, but seeing his face, the cheerful expression faded and her brows drew together. “Is something wrong? What has happened?”
“I need to speak to you.”
“Now?” she asked, her eyes widening in worry. “Can it not wait for the morning?”
“It can’t.”
“One moment.” She closed the door, and he heard rustling beyond. When she reopened, she held a wrap around herself, clutched in front of her breastbone with one hand. Her hair was loose and hung down over her shoulders in shiny waves. Around her face, a few locks were wrapped in curling papers.
She looked charming and naive. And so vulnerable. The rum punch felt sour in James’s stomach. How could he do this to her?
Miss Breckenridge motioned to the small table in the room. Atop it were an inkpot, quill, and her Christmas book. He must have caught her as she was working. “Would you care to sit? I was just finishing my entry about tonight’s party. Father will be happy to hear about it, I think.”
He winced as he took a seat across from her.
“Miss Breckenridge.” He let out a breath. “Your father did not stay in London for military duties.”
She tipped her head, confused.
“He is a patient at the hospital in Chelsea.”
Her face went pale. “What do you mean? He sent a letter from Calais just a few weeks ago. He wasn’t injured. He . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Colonel Breckenridge suffered an attack of apoplexy on the boat from France. His mental capacity is extremely limited.”
She put a hand over her mouth. “What do you mean, limited?” She whispered the words, her breath coming in quick bursts between her fingers.
“There are times when he is aware, and he recognizes people and speaks intelligently as he used to. But a moment later, he will be confused and frightened. He’s wandered off through the streets in his nightclothes. And his memory . . . it is faulty. He forgets people he’s known for years.”
“But surely he’ll remember me?”
“I don’t know, Miss Breckenridge.”
She rubbed her forehead. “But why . . . why am I just hearing of this now? Why did nobody tell me?” Her voice shook. “There must be a doctor who . . .”
“Your father didn’t want you to know. He doesn’t want you to see him like this. He insisted. I believe he thinks this is only temporary.”
“Is it temporary?”
“The doctors do not believe so.”
She sat back in the chair, tears spilling over her cheeks and splashing onto her wrap.
“I’m sorry, Miss Breckenridge.” James offered his handkerchief.
She reached for it but stopped, pulling her hand back. Her eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t he want me to come to him? Did he think I would not understand? That I would be repelled to see him in his current state?”
“I believe that is the case,” James said. “He feels humiliated. Embarrassed by his spells of dementia.”
“But he’s my father. Of course I wouldn’t . . .” She focused her teary gaze on James. “And you. Why did you not tell me? We’ve traveled together for three days, and you did not once find the occasion to mention what I would face when I found my father? Did you think it would be better if I were surprised by it?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Breckenridge. Your father gave strict orders that you were not to know the extent of his condition. He—”
“That is hardly an adequate reason.” She stood, folding her arms in front of her. “You kept this from me, listened to me chatter on about Christmas with my father and all of our happy memories . . . and all along, you knew? And you said nothing.” Her voice was getting higher.
“I’m sorry.”
“And you . . . We . . .” Her cheeks flamed red, and he knew she was thinking of their kiss. “You deceived me.”
“I truly thought to protect you.”
She leveled her gaze, her eyes becoming frighteningly serious. “I am a grown woman, sir. I do not need to be told that a journey to London is too dangerous or that I cannot walk along a street at night. I do not need you to wait until you think I am asleep before telling a story about Spain. I do not need you and my father claiming to protect me when in truth, neither of you trusts me.”
She slammed closed the Christmas album and strode toward her sleeping chamber.
“Miss Breckenridge—” James took a step toward her.
She turned, holding up a hand to stop him from speaking. “I am stronger than either of you thinks. And I am weary of being underestimated.” She whirled and went into the room, closing the door quietly.
Based on the anger in her face, James suspected that she’d have liked to slam it but didn’t want to wake Meg.
He let out a heavy breath. That had gone poorly. He knew she’d be worried, expected the tears, even imagined she’d feel betrayed, but her words had cut straight through him. He had underestimated her. Miss Breckenridge was determined and capable, as she’d proven again and again over their short acquaintance. And James had continued to treat her as someone needing to be watched over. The realization made him uncomfortable.
He cleaned off the quill and capped the inkpot.
James wanted to show Miss Breckenridge that he had faith in her, that he trusted her decisions and knew she was strong. But after tonight, he feared she wouldn’t listen to anything he had to say.
***
The next morning, the group met in the inn’s dining room.
When they finished eating, Matthews and Owens went to prepare the carriage, and Miss Riley left to finish packing. Miss Breckenridge remained sitting at the table. She’d been quiet throughout breakfast, and when Miss Riley showed concern, she’d apologized, claiming to be simply tired from the night before. She picked at her food, her gaze unfocused.
Once they were alone, James moved to the chair beside her. “Miss Breckenridge—” he began.
She shook her head, stopping his words. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’m not inclined to conversation this morning.”
Before long, the carriage was ready and the luggage loaded.
Mr. Owens stumbled inside and fell asleep across the bench before they were even underway. Apparently, he’d enjoyed the remainder of the rum punch.
Miss Riley rode inside with Miss Breckenridge, likely at her request, and so James, knowing that he would only make the young lady uncomfortable, climbed up to ride with Matthews on the driver’s bench.
Matthews flicked the reins, and they were off, leaving Stanley behind.
James gave a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes.
“Told her, didn’t you, sir?” Matthews said.
He nodded.
“She didn’t take it well?”
James shook his head.
“Didn’t imagine she would.”
James allowed himself a smile at the reversal in their roles—Matthews carrying the conversation and he the silent one—and spent the remainder of the journey pondering how he could possibly make things right with Miss Breckenridge.