The Captain's Letters

by Caylen McQueen

  Edward lowered his voice and confessed, “I care for you Cecily.” He immediately regretted his candor, so he quickly added, “But we mustn't pursue anything beyond friendship. I would be happy to be your friend.”

  “A friendship would be better than nothing!” Cecily exclaimed. “You abandoned me! I was... disappointed. It may be foolish for me to admit it, for I have not known you very long, but I enjoyed your company very much. I missed your charm.”

  “Charm?” He chuckled heartily at the word. “I daresay I am sorely lacking in that.”

  “Not at all!” she objected. “You are very charming, Mr. Rhodes. You're unlike any other man I've met. I feel... drawn to you. Perhaps I am a fool for thinking it, but from the moment I met you, it was as if we had a special connection.” Cecily's heart fluttered as she attempted to explain her feelings. “Your friendship could never be enough for me.”

  “Please...” He held a finger over his lips, silencing her. “You mustn't say such things. I enjoy your company as well. You're a very pretty girl... smart and clever. But the world is full of smart, pretty girls, and I would rather find one nearer to my own age.”

  When he saw tears welling in her eyes, Edward hated himself. How could he be so cruel? He knew Cecily was special, but he could not tell her how he felt. His words were harsh, but necessary. Somehow, the poor girl had set her heart on him. He needed to set her on a different path.

  “Miss Wolfe...” As tears continued to waver in her eyes, he felt like such a villain. “I am sorry. Truly. But I--”

  Without another word, Cecily spun on her heel and hurried away from him. He watched her charge into a sea of suitors, where she quickly selected one for the next dance. As he watched her waltz with yet another gentleman who was not him, Edward wondered if he was the fool. After all, how could anyone but a fool spurn the affection of an enchanting young woman like Cecily Wolfe?

  For half of his life, he had adored Phoebe from afar. As he watched her daughter from across the room, he now found himself adoring her from afar. It was an unexpected turn of events, but how could it be an unwelcome one? If lovely Cecily actually liked him, he was an imbecile for rejecting her. If he was foolish enough to make her sad, he must have been the very devil himself!

  As soon her dance ended, Edward crossed the room and stepped in her path. Cecily tried to look beyond him, to pretend she was not interested—but the tears still lingered in her eyes.

  He was the cause of her tears, and he hated himself for it.

  “Miss Wolfe...” Edward bowed to her. “Please, I've made such a terrible error. Would you give me a chance to correct my mistake?”

  Cecily did not move, nor did she respond to him. She simply stared straight ahead, her gaze unwavering.

  “Might I have the pleasure of your next dance?” he asked.

  “No.” Cecily's answer was as curt as it was cold.

  “No?”

  “I'm afraid not, Mr. Rhodes. I am... not feeling quite the thing.” Cecily sidestepped him and continued in the direction of her aunt. “Farewell.”

  When Edward turned around and watched her go, he felt his spirits deflating. Her demeanor was so icy, it was practically glacial, but he knew he deserved nothing less.

  From the moment I met you, it was as if we had a special connection.

  Edward replayed her words in his head, over and over, torturing himself with them.

  Cecily was not wrong. He felt it too. Their connection was immediate and undeniable.

  And now he had ruined it.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Julian nervously paced the drawing room floor as he awaited Miss Sutton's arrival. He wandered to a bookshelf, walked to a window, peered outside, and finally marched in circles around the room. Knowing what would happen next, he simply could not sit still. He had been dreading this day for so long, and secretly hoped it could be avoided. And yet—deep down, he always knew the truth would eventually come to light.

  He wondered how she would react. Would she hate him? Would a part of her be grateful to him? His stomach anxiously buzzed as he pondered possible scenarios. Though he wanted to think positively, Julian feared the day would not end well.

  But he needed to tell her. After their kiss, Julian decided it was necessary. The letters had been torturing him for years. At long last, Marie would finally know the true identity of their author.

  When Marie entered the sitting room, she looked as handsome as ever. She was so lovely, in fact, that he felt his breath sucked from his lungs—or was it his nerves that made it difficult to breathe?

  “Marie...” Julian's voice was somber as he uttered her name.

  “Julian!” She greeted him much more jovially, though he doubted her gaiety would survive the hour. “It is, as always, a pleasure to see you.”

  “Marie...” As he murmured her name again, Julian sank into the settee and clutched his forehead. “The last time I saw you, it was... truly a dream come true,” he told her. “I am embarrassed to confess how long I dreamt of kissing you.”

  “Is that so?” A tiny smile appeared on her lips as she joined him on the settee. “I'm flattered!”

  “I am sure you never thought of me in quite the same way as I... as I think of you.” Julian forgot that he was wearing his hat, so he swept it from his head and laid it beside him. The hat left his hair disheveled, and it became even more chaotic when he nervously tousled it with his hand. “In truth, I have admired you for years. More than you know.”

  “Ah...” Marie was momentarily speechless. After a short pause, she answered, “You are correct. I would not have guessed such a thing.”

  “My brother meant a great deal to you... as he did to me. In all the years of my life, I never had a better friend than him,” Julian said. “Nor have I admired anyone quite as much as I admire you. I would have done anything for Charles... just as I would do anything for you. For your happiness, Miss Sutton, I would attempt to move mountains.”

  “You're too kind, Julian.” Marie glanced down at her lap, at her hands, which were curiously trembling. She was anxious. Marie thought he might propose to her—was she foolish to hope for such a thing? “I care about you as well. I care about you very much, in fact. I have very few friends... and even fewer that I have known as long as you. You are very special to me, Julian. Perhaps...” She sucked her lower lip into her mouth and drew a deep breath. “Perhaps in more ways than you know.”

  “You are so very beautiful.” Julian lightly stroked her hair as he spoke. He wondered if it would be the last time he would be close enough to touch it. Julian wished he had never written the damnable letters. “You are an angel on earth.”

  His compliment made her giggle like a schoolgirl. “Oh... surely not!”

  “No. It's true. I've never known a kinder, lovelier woman. I've seen you put others before yourself throughout your entire life. You watched over Phoebe... and Cecily. It's been years since you've had happiness of your own... and yet, it is tragic. No one deserves happiness more than you.”

  “Oh Julian.” Marie was disbelievingly shaking her head. “Your praise is appreciated, but I am certainly not worthy of it!”

  “You are worthy of all of it, and more,” he said. “And your happiness truly means the world to me... but I fear I might make you unhappy very soon...”

  “What do you mean?” Though his words frightened her, Marie took his hand and held it. For years, she had longed for human contact. More specifically, she now longed for contact with him.

  “The letters you received from Charles...” Julian closed his eyes, for he could not bear to look at her. He could not stand to see her disappointment as he confessed his worst secret. “For many years... I was the one who wrote them.”

  For some time, nothing else was said. Marie was shocked into silence. She kept hearing his words in her head, yet she refused to believe them. “You wrote Charles' letters?”

  “For some years, yes. But not all of them.”

  Marie furiously t
ossed his hand aside. When Julian finally opened his eyes, he saw the rage in hers. “Do explain,” she roared at him. “How many did Charles actually write? How many did you write? And what explanation could you possibly have for doing such a terrible thing?”

  “Charles wrote the first twelve letters, I believe?” Julian sheepishly turned his gaze to the floor. “But I wrote the last... eighteen.”

  “Eighteen?” she shrieked. “Eighteen of Charles' letters were written by you? Eighteen of the letters that gave me joy and hope and a reason to live!” Tears sprang into Marie's eyes as she tried to comprehend it. “How could you be so cruel?”

  “It is because the letters gave you joy that I decided to continue them!” Julian desperately tried to explain. “I always admired you, Marie. I wanted to do something to make you happy, to keep my brother alive for both of us. Perhaps it was foolish, but--”

  “Oh, it was foolish!” she interrupted, laughing maniacally as she spoke. “And it was wicked and amoral and quite possibly depraved!”

  “Please, you mustn't feel this way. I only cared about making you happy! I had no malicious intent.”

  “Whether you intended it or not, it was malicious.” Marie leapt from the settee and put distance between them. At that moment, she could not even stand to look at him. “Joseph Morley always delivered the letters. Did he know of this?”

  “Joseph was a friend of Charles'... and also a friend of mine,” Julian answered reluctantly. He had not considered the potential trouble his confession might cause for Joseph. “At first, he was utterly against the idea... but I convinced him to do it. He is not culpable. Only I am to blame for this.”

  “Nevertheless... it hurts to be duped by so many.” A tear escaped Marie's eye, so she turned her back to him before he could see it. “Do you know how many times I read those letters, Julian? Do you know how often I read your letters?”

  “I saw you reading them often.” He heaved a tremendous sigh. “If the letters gave you contentment, if they made you happy, are they truly so wrong?”

  “Of course it is wrong!” Marie shrilled. When she spun in his direction, her eyes were like thunder. “The letters were a trick, they were deception, they were nothing but a sham! I cannot even look at you without feeling anything less than disgusted!”

  Julian groaned into the palm of his hand. Though it hurt to witness her rage, he suspected it would end this way. Perhaps he would have been better off saying nothing? If he had, they might have even had a life together—but at what cost? The lie would continue to destroy him, to eat him alive.

  “I care for you, Miss Sutton...” When he spoke, his voice was nearly a whisper. “I'm afraid I cannot apologize enough.”

  “I loved those letters. I treasured them... and now they are vile to me.” Marie motioned toward the door before crossing her arms over her chest. “What you did was reprehensible, Mr. Sedgeford, and I want you to leave.”

  “Miss Sutton, please...”

  “Leave,” she wailed. “I never want to see you nor hear from you again!”

  As Julian rose to his feet, he felt lethargic, like a man twice his age—which meant he felt ancient, for he was hardly a young man as it was. His entire body ached as he shuffled to the door. Marie's reaction was even worse than he imagined.

  “Miss Sutton, I beg you to reconsider...” he attempted to reason with her again.

  “I will never be able to read Charles' letters again... and you are the reason for it. For that, I shall never forgive you,” she coldly told him. “Farewell, Mr. Sedgeford.”

  Julian hated himself for his honesty.

  Even more so, he hated himself for loving her so deeply.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  When Edward stepped into his drawing room and saw Phoebe waiting on the sofa, he secretly dreaded the moment. If she had traveled so far to speak to him, he doubted the reason would be good.

  “Mrs... Wolfe.” He still struggled with her surname. “How nice. I haven't seen you since the day you forbade me to visit your daughter.”

  His sarcasm made her snort. “I did not forbid it, Edward.”

  “Did you not? From my perspective, that's certainly what it appeared to be.” He sat across from her and studied her face. She looked apprehensive—he tried to guess what that might mean, but came to no reasonable conclusion. “Do you want refreshments?”

  “No. This is not a social call.”

  “Oh? Then what is your reason for coming?” he asked. “Surely you did not come simply to gaze at my face.”

  “As pleasant as your face is... no.” Phoebe shook her head. “I'm here on behalf of my daughter.”

  “Ah. Are you here to remind me to keep my distance? We spoke at the ball, but I assure you, it did not go well.”

  “I'm not asking you keep your distance, Edward. Quite the opposite.” She tried to smile at him, but his sour expression persisted. Phoebe did not blame him if he was angry with her. What she said to him was truly beyond the pale. “I have come to ask if you would speak to Cecily. She has been so miserable, as of late. I have never seen her look so sullen!”

  “And you think my company could be the cure for her melancholy?” Edward sat back and folded his arms. “That seems unlikely.”

  “Actually, Mr. Rhodes, it is very likely,” Phoebe corrected him. “I think her sadness has everything to do with you. One moment, she was extraordinarily happy, and the next moment, I could scarcely rouse her from her bed. She has not eaten in some time... she barely speaks...”

  “And you suspect I am the reason for her sudden sadness? Truly?”

  “I do.” Phoebe answered with a nod. “I believe she might be in love with you. And if that is true, I feel terrible for asking you to stay away from her. You're a good man, Edward Rhodes. My daughter could do far worse.”

  “And your daughter is a lovely girl,” Edward said. “But... love? You really believe she loves me?”

  “I believe so,” Phoebe answered unwaveringly, as if she had no reason to doubt herself. “But I suppose the important question is... how do you feel about her?”

  Edward did not answer. He simply turned to face the window, staring at the sun's rays that slipped through the curtains.

  Did he dare to hope?

  When she realized she would not hear an answer from him, Phoebe spoke again. “Well...” She shifted uncomfortably. “I know I have no right to ask you this, not after what I said you to when we previously spoke, but... please speak to her, Edward.” Phoebe pressed her palms together as she pleaded with him. “It would mean the world to my daughter... and to me.”

  * * *

  Cecily wandered the garden, carefully selecting the very best daisies for her vase. After several days of hating her life, she hoped the flowers would restore some of her missing joy. Though she doubted her heartache could be cured by something as silly as flora, it did not stop her from making the effort. Apart from daisies, she collected lilies, poppies, bluebells, and a single white rose. If nothing else, the flowers would bring some color into her dreary room.

  “Miss Wolfe.”

  Cecily nearly dropped her flowers when she heard a man utter her name. When she turned in the direction of the speaker, her initial reaction was relief—followed by shock. “Mr. Rhodes!” she exclaimed. “Why are you here?”

  “I came to speak to you, of course. Your mother said I might find you in the garden... and here you are.” Edward did not know what to do with his hands as he spoke, so he clasped them behind his back. The girl might have been half his age, but he suspected he was twice as awkward. Though time made him less clumsy, some things did not change with age.

  “My mother actually wanted you to speak to me?” she sounded surprised. “I thought she asked you to shun me.”

  “She did... in a sense.” He wondered if shun was perhaps too harsh a word, but he did not correct her. “I believe she's changed her mind.”

  “And my father?”

  “He still detests me, I'm sure.” Edwar
d chuckled at the thought, but Cecily did not look amused. “But no matter. I now have your mother's support, and that is enough to tip the scales in my favor.”

  “Why did you need the support of anyone, Mr. Rhodes?” the young woman asked him. “If you cared for me, you should let no one deter you.”

  “I am sure you are correct, Miss Wolfe. And I do believe I've been a fool.” He took a few reluctant steps in her direction as he spoke. “Can you forgive me?”

  “For... what, exactly?” He had hurt her. Deeply. She wanted to be certain he knew why an apology was necessary.

  “My behavior at the ball was inexcusable. I said some... terrible things.”

  “Indeed you did,” she agreed. “In your absence, I was forced to dance with the Viscount of Combermere twice. Do you know how horrid that is?”

  “He is quite an intolerable blackguard. I can only imagine.” He took another step forward. “Will you accept my apology, Miss Wolfe?”

  “I cannot imagine why my forgiveness would mean anything to you,” Cecily answered coldly. “After all, there are so many smart, pretty girls... why squander your time with me when you could spend your time with one of them?”

  Edward winced when she used his own words against him. “I'm very sorry. That was truly unforgivable.”

  “I would not say unforgivable...” With her flowers in hand, Cecily headed toward the garden's stone bench. “But do not expect me to forgive you so quickly, Mr. Rhodes.”

  “What do you think I might do to expedite your forgiveness?” Whether he was welcome or not, he joined her on the bench. “I would do anything to win back your favor.”

  When Cecily touched her hair, she remembered that it was in the sloppiest of buns. With a frown, she said, “I must look frightful. I have not slept properly in days.”