Love Letters
Sandra E. Sinclair
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Preview Book 4 - Chapter 1
About the Author
Also by Sandra E. Sinclair
Copyright
Chapter 1
“I swear, Rilla, were I not totally in love and devoted to my dear sweet Thomas, I’d fall head over heels for your dashing brother-in-law Clarkson. Even his name sounds broody and mysterious.”
“Enough, Jewel, you’re with child. You shouldn’t be entertaining such lascivious thoughts.”
“As are you, dear friend. But you don’t have to imagine being with one of the Dalton boys...you have Cal.” Jewel raised a hand to silence whatever response Rilla was about to utter. “You can debase me all you like. But I’m not blind nor am I without desires. Thomas is the love of my life and I acknowledge this wholeheartedly. That doesn’t exclude me from finding your brothers-in-law, each and every one of them, vibrant and titillating. I fear my poor Thomas pales in comparison. I almost wish we weren’t friends because of it.”
“It pains me to hear you say you would rather we not be friends.”
“Oh, hush now! Rilla Dalton, you take me at my words and use them against me, when you know I meant no such thing. Of course, I want us to remain friends. I merely speak of the forbiddenness of your brothers-in-law. It makes for an exciting experience, and if I can’t share these thoughts with the one most closest to me, who can I share them with?”
“I’m sorry, Jewel. I think the twins are making me a little more serious than I would like to be.”
“See, even that makes me jealous. I carry one baby while you carry two. Yet you continue to remain as beautiful as ever. While I suspect I can be compared to that wretched Mrs. Woolum—round and plump and ready to burst.”
Rilla laughed. “I declare you are too hard on yourself, when you know the only likeness you share with Mrs. Woolum is the American roses she procures every Tuesday at the farmers market.”
“You flatter me with your kind words. Ah, if that were all but true.”
“They are true. You are indeed as beautiful now, the same as always.”
Jewel shifted on her seat. “Let us speak on a less depressing topic. My beauty, or lack of it, bores me.”
“Excuse me, ladies, I wonder if I can take a moment of your time.”
“Ah, the elusive Mr. Dalton, you are indeed a most welcome distraction. Do you mind awfully if I call you Clarkson?”
“As you wish, Mrs. Archibald.”
“Please, call me Jewel. Are we not friends? Besides, every time I hear the words Mrs. Archibald, I search the room for my blessed mother-in-law.”
“Please, Clarkson, do join us. Should I pour you a beverage?” Rilla asked.
Clarkson hesitated with his hand stuck to the door handle. He should have made his presence known much sooner or knocked before entering. But when he heard his name outside the door, he’d been paralyzed, unable to move, neither forward nor back. Instead, he’d eavesdropped on a very private conversation between two unsuspecting women, outside of his sister-in-law’s private den, and felt ashamed.
It was the rustling of Mrs. Jewel’s taffeta which spurred him forward. His sister-in-law seemed to favor the less bulky attire of some of the European women he’d come into contact with. Jewel’s crackling movement was his reason for braving the barrier between them and opening the door, along with the fear that Mrs. Jewel would openly reveal anymore of her desires in respect to his person.
“No. Please Rilla, my dear sister, remain seated. I’m not such an invalid that I cannot pour my own glass. My troubles are of the mind, not of the limbs. I’m very capable. I owe you and Cal so much. I will not be accused of having my brother’s pregnant wife wait on me.”
“If it pleases you, Clarkson, do help yourself.”
“Thank you. I think I will.”
Clarkson stepped further into the room and approached the table hosting the pitcher of lemonade. He poured himself a glass and took a seat opposite the two women.
“I really hate to impose like this, but in the absence of Cal, I have no other sounding board. I wouldn’t have interrupted your visit with Mrs. Jewel—”
“Jewel, is more than enough.”
“I’m sorry, with Jewel, if it wasn’t a matter that could not wait.”
“What is it?” Rilla asked.
“I was out in the garden and I heard some of the workers talking about a ranch, not ten miles from here, which is up for sale. I think I’ve outstayed my welcome, which has been an appreciable length of imposition on you and my brother. As time is of the essence, I feel I must venture out on my own. The owner is looking for a quick sale, and I’m at a loss if I should make an offer or not.”
“Do you know anything about ranching?” Jewel asked.
“Well, no. But I’ve made the necessary inquiries and the ranch comes fully equipped with employees and a housekeeper.”
“Is this what you want?” Rilla asked.
“Quite honestly, I don’t know what I want. With the war being over, I feel less than useless.” Not that he felt entirely useful during the war, with his untimely capture and luxurious imprisonment, while being fearfully protected by his father’s brother, Uncle Marcellus. “I fear I shall not be returning to Charleston, as I will no longer feel comfortable there, considering my capture and the circumstances surrounding said capture. I have done nothing I can be proud of and would feel a fraud were they to offer me a hero’s welcome. I can never go home again.”
“Then I think you should do it,” Jewel said. “It will be a new start...a clean slate, so to speak.”
“I agree with Jewel. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain by such a change of environment. It’s important for a man to exert his independence.”
“Then I shall do it. Thank you, ladies. You have confirmed what I’ve been thinking. I will go and make the necessary arrangements.” Clarkson rose and walked toward the door, his decision made. As he drew closer to the exit, he paused with his hand on the door knob. Another thought struck him. He stopped and turned to face the ladies once more. “Maybe you can help me make up my mind with another more delicate matter. I feel as women, you may better understand my position.”
“Ask away.” Jewel clapped and bobbed in her seat with excitement. “Oh, this is most exciting. I feel like an oracle giving sage advice and enriching the lives of others.”
“Be still, Jewel. Please, Clarkson, take a seat and tell us what you need.”
Clarkson made his way back to the seat he’d vacated, only the journey back seemed much longer than before. He sat and cleared his throat. He rubbed clammy hands along his lap. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Just saying it in his head made him feel like an imbecile. He had a duty to honor a commitment made, regardless of how long ago it was or whether or not times were different then. He may well be a changed man by the war, and his lack of being a part of it, but he had made a promise...one he was duty bound to keep.
He had to choose his words m
ost carefully lest these women see him as a charlatan and lose all respect for him. Then again, they couldn’t lose as much respect for him as he had for himself.
In his own eyes, he was a coward, who had sat out the war in the lap of luxury while his men fought and died bravely. If there was ever a time he wished the family resemblance did not exist, it was when he was found unconscious and lying in a ditch. He was recognized by the Union soldier who’d found him and had taken him directly to his uncle.
“Well, what did you want to ask?” Jewel asked, a note of impatience in her voice.
Beads of sweat poured from Clarkson’s brow. He leaped to his feet. “Perhaps another time. I really should go and see to that purchase.” Clarkson was out the door before the women could respond.
Chapter 2
Orphaned to a life of servitude, Missy picked up the clothes littering the ground, left there by Miss Kimberly. She sighed as she gathered the material and pressed it to her chest. How she longed for a more quiet life. The fast pace of the young Miss Kimberly was an exhausting pastime. Lord only knows what she had in store for her today. It had been non-stop. The parties, the entertaining, go, go, go, every day. Wherever in the world did she find the energy?
Missy wasn't some old fuddy-duddy, far from it—being there was only a few months difference in their ages. However, Missy would swear on a stack of Bibles, Kimberly had every intention of aging her, before their twentieth birthdays respectively.
As she deposited the discarded clothes into the lining basket. Missy chastised herself for her ingratitude. Had it not been for the Montgomerys, she'd have perished, or ended up in a workhouse or worse. What she had to do as Miss Kimberly’s companion wasn't so hard. She could name at least ten people who would change places with her in a heartbeat. Being the companion of an impetuous, flaky and rather immature spoiled little brat wasn't so bad.
Missy could think of a lot worse things she could be doing. Her role was more than just a servant. As Kimberly's own special plaything, she had done well to keep on Miss Kimberly's good side. Her life had been one which had received many privileges, far more than the other servants and slaves in the Montgomery household.
In Charleston, she had been schooled alongside Miss Kimberly, shared the adjoining room next to hers and been given the old dolls, toys, and clothes Miss Kimberly no longer desired. Some of them her mistress had never touched, or worn.
Missy looked, spoke, and acted the part of a lady, trained in all the etiquettes of the upper-class. As she walked toward the bed to wake her mistress, she glanced over at the picture frame beside the bed.
If she were asked, she’d say she had one regret on the path her life had taken. Although she'd never tell. It was a secret longing, she'd take to her grave.
"Rise and shine Miss Kimberly. Your bath awaits."
"Oh do go away Missy. How many times must I tell you to stop calling me Miss Kimberly?"
"I have no recollection. I believe I stopped counting at one thousand. I also recall telling you I'd stop calling you Miss Kimberly when you start calling me Melissa."
"Oh fiddle-de-dee, Missy suits you so much better."
"Maybe when we were children. You have everyone calling me Missy, so much so I barely remember my true name."
Kimberly jumped out of bed and out of her night things, and left them in a pool at her feet. She tapped Missy on the nose. "That’s because the whole world agrees with me. Missy suits you best, and Missy you will be until the end of time."
Without thinking, Missy bent to retrieve the discarded clothing, walked over to the basket, and dropped it in beside the ball gown.
"Missy, come scrub my back."
"That's what the loofah is for."
"I know but I never feel clean unless you do it."
"You mean you're never satisfied unless you can find some mundane task for me to do."
"I should discharge you. You fight me on everything."
"Not everything."
"I swear, Mama and Papa, gave you to me as a form of punishment. Yet I cannot recall the transgression to warrant such penalty."
"You speak the words gnawing in my heart." Missy laughed, removing the loofah from Kimberly's hand.
"I swear, Missy, one day you'll wake up and find yourself begging in the streets."
"Is that a promise?"
"Oh, be quiet and scrub harder."
"Do you think we will be returning to the United States now the war is over?"
"I don't know. That will be up to my parents."
"What about your Mr. Dalton?"
"Who...Clarkson?"
"Is there another? Yes, Clarkson, remember him? He's your betrothed and has been for over three years."
"How can I forget him? When you hold him up like a shield every chance you get...to halt my attempts at more interesting pursuits."
"You oughtn't to be seeking alternatives. You’re engaged."
"So you keep reminding me. I can barely remember what Clarkson looks like anymore."
Missy's mouth fell open. Her eyes darted to the picture frame beside her mistress’s bed. Was this woman serious? "Surely, it cannot be too difficult a task to remember the face that greets you every morning and before you go to bed at night?"
Kimberly’s gaze moved from the mirror to wander over the picture frame. "That old thing. I almost forget it's there. I’m sure he no longer looks that way. He's probably all battered and torn by now."
"Miss Kimberly! Smack yourself. How could you even think something so cruel? "
"What else am I to think? The last letter he sent me was three years ago, saying he was imprisoned by the Union States."
"That is not the last letter he sent...that's the last letter you read and answered. I have been reading and returning Mr. Dalton's letters for the past two and half years and have kept you abreast of every last one of them."
"Oh, yes, I remember now. You have, haven't you? Maybe Mr. Dalton would fare better were he betrothed to you." Missy couldn't have agreed more. "I do remember. Some of your responses were very sweet. He must surely have appreciated your gentle caressing hand through the pages of your letters, during his darkest hours. I do wish I were as good a wordsmith as you. Your prose can be truly heart-warming in times of great sorrow."
Missy swallowed her tongue. The subject of Clarkson Dalton was a sensitive one and although she had enjoyed his letters, her responses on behalf of her mistress were heartfelt and genuine. Miss Kimberly would have a seizure, were she privileged to the pages of the letters Missy did not share with her.
She had received much pleasure in writing to Clarkson. Pretending to be Kimberly. She wrote of her undying love and devotion to him. It had been most liberating. She was free to tell him how she really felt without her beloved Clarkson being any the wiser. Her words were from a woman in love, expectant of a fiancée.
Nevertheless, she often wondered, knowing the self centered Kimberly the way he did, why he never once questioned the validity of any of her letters of love. Maybe he read them with the mind of a muddled captive, who was happy to receive any words of comfort, even if he knew the sender was incapable of such feelings.
It had always been this way, even as children Kimberly would leave Clarkson bereft, battered, and bruised by her insults, physical assaults and girly tantrums. Then Missy would go behind Kimberly's back, bandage his wounds and smooth out his ruffled feathers.
Missy couldn't remember a time when she didn't love Clarkson Dalton and prayed for the day she would see his loving gentle face once more.
Kimberly didn't know what she had. But wasn't that the same for all the privileged? They valued nothing unless it came with a price tag attached. Kindness was free, so held little to no value at all. As for love, it was only worth something when the object of their affection was unattainable.
Never was this more noticeable than having to spend copious amounts of time with Kimberly and her so called friends—as they traveled the length and breadth of Europe to wait out the wa
r. Oh how she longed to go home.
"Missy come back to me. Where do you go when you drift off like that? Did you even hear one word of what I said? Well, did you?"
Missy tore her eyes away from Clarkson’s image. She had the exact same photograph secretly tucked under her pillow. "Sorry, I didn't hear you. Not that I suspect it’s anything warranting my attention. I feel almost certain I will regret hearing it."
"Then I think you’re in for a pleasant surprise. What were you thinking about?"
"How cute you were as a child."
"I was very sweet, wasn't I?"
"And you still are. What did you say that I so desperately needed to hear...and didn't?"
"Oh, something my Papa said yesterday when you were off on one of your errands."
"Well, what did your Papa say?"
"It was your speaking of Clarkson, that reminded me. Father said he had word of Clarkson's release from prison. I suspect he’s on his way back to Charleston."
Missy’s heart skipped for joy. "We must write to him and let him know how pleased we are with the news of his release. You can breakfast without me."
Without waiting to be excused, Missy danced from the room.
Chapter 3
Clarkson waited in his room for Miss Jewel’s carriage to take her home. He'd sent a wire to Cal asking for the name of his lawyer to help him conclude his transaction in purchasing the ranch. He decided he would be more at ease speaking to his sister-in-law on her own as Jewel made him uneasy with her staring eyes. It was as if she were trying to pierce through his body armor to uncover his innermost secrets and expose them.
Also, after what he’d heard her say about him, he'd sooner not have to face her any time soon.
He paced the expanse of his bedroom, his finger working the collar on his dress shirt. He'd not had a full night’s sleep in days, years in fact. Every time he closed his eyes, he’d have the same dream over and over and wake with night sweats, afraid to shut his eyes. He deserved everything that happened to him in the dream and a whole lot more.
Love Letters (Unbridled Book 3) Page 1
