When the help arrived to inform him his bath was ready, Clarkson was already stripped and waiting in his robe. He handed the helper the clothes he had slept in, asking for them to be cleaned and for the clothes he'd be wearing into town laid out. Then he went through the adjoining door into his bathroom.
A soak in the hot tub would soothe the longing in him. Afterwards, he would walk into town and drop off his letters. Then he would visit the attorney Cal recommended. The sooner he could have the ranch ready to receive his beloved Kimberly, the sooner he'd be able to make the necessary adjustments to becoming a normal man again, living a perfect life in this imperfect world. The war had seen to that, robbing him of the many milestones he should have achieved in his life.
He entered the war not because he believed what it stood for but for honor. Irrespective of his father's wishes, or claims that Clarkson would be fighting against his brothers, as well as the way of life that should be had for people living in the free world. His father's words had fallen on deaf ears.
All Clarkson could see at the time was the impact change would have on his mother, her ancestry, and that of Kimberly. He had wanted to fight to preserve what the women in his life knew and loved, to honor them with his bravery. Yet all he'd managed to do was get wounded, captured, and disgraced in the bargain. He was no hero...far from it.
Before leaving the house and continuing with his errands, Clarkson stopped by the breakfast parlor to see Rilla. He wanted to apologize for leaving her to dine alone at supper and now breakfast—as well as to inform her of his decision to marry.
He hated that he wasn’t more sociable.
With Cal away most of the time, and Jewel only dropping by on the odd occasion, after the girls went to bed, Rilla was left pretty much on her own. But he expected that would soon end as his mother would be arriving any day now, to help Rilla when the twins arrived.
"Good morning, after receiving your note, I didn't think I would see you this morning. Is everything all right?"
"Everything is perfectly fine. I thought I would have tea with you before I left on my errands. I apologize for not dining with you last night, and thank you for the plate you left in my room." Clarkson poured himself a cup of tea as he spoke.
"Nonsense, I refuse to accept such an apology. You were obviously tired."
"I also wanted to share with you that as soon as I have secured the acquisition of the ranch, I will be sending for Kimberly. I wanted you to be the first to know of my intentions to marry."
"That's splendid news. When will it be?"
"I've yet to send the letters. It was also the matter I shied away from yesterday. I had doubts you see."
"I see, and you no longer harbor those doubts, I take it. What has changed?"
"I slept on it. It was the first proper sleep I've had in years. I woke refreshed and knew right then I could not continue to dishonor myself further by calling off my engagement to Kimberly. When she is the reason for my very existence…I see that now."
"Well, I'm happy to support you with whatever decision you make. Congratulations. Maybe I'll have cook make us something special for supper to celebrate your decisiveness."
"You are very sweet, thank you. Now I must go. I will be back in time for our celebration." Clarkson kissed his sister-in-law's cheek and left the room with a spring in his step. He felt some resemblance to his old self and he liked it.
Chapter 6
Seated in the window box of the townhouse in the middle of Belgravia, Missy stared out of the window at the cloudy sky and busy streets. Many weeks had passed since she’d sent her letter to Clarkson, telling him of the relief she felt that he had made it through the war and her desire to be reunited with him.
Why had he not returned her letter or sent for them to join him? Were his words of love sent merely to titillate, in order to elicit deep emotional longing as a pastime, a distraction, from the pillars of war?
No, Clarkson was not like that. He was an honorable man, and if he hadn't responded, there had to be a good reason. Maybe he wasn't without battle scars. After all had he not spent a fair portion of the war in imprisonment? Her poor beloved Clarkson, how he must have suffered.
"Missy, what are you looking for out there? Come away from that window at once and join us." Kimberly's voice broke through Missy’s thoughts. She sighed as she rose to her feet. Kimberly was the hostess of this late afternoon entertainment for her friends, “the rich and the worthless.” They were playing some sort of kissing parlor game. Which Missy hated, purely because she felt the games Kimberly’s friends played were juvenile and pointless. Missy also knew she was invited into the game so she could pay Kimberly's forfeits for losing. Missy would be glad when this evening was over.
The guests began to depart a little before supper. A few of the male guests tried to linger behind in hopes of an invitation to dine with them. Missy was determined for this not to happen. She'd been duty bound to bestow kisses on their cheeks, one of the scoundrels had even tried to turn so she would catch his lips. Missy had been most insulted.
For Kimberly to have placed her in such a position was beyond despicable. Well, she'd be damned before she broke bread with any of these rogues.
Signaling the help to bring the visitors’ hats and coats, Missy grabbed their belongings as soon as they'd entered the room and thrown the men’s things, now just a jumbled mess, unceremoniously into their waiting hands. She smiled in satisfaction as they began to hand each other their belongings as they were shown out by the staff.
"Missy, that was rude of you."
"No, it wasn’t. What's rude is to get yourself involved in an intellectual game of strategy and cunning, which you know full well you can't win, and have me pay your forfeit."
"It was fun—"
"For you maybe."
"Oh, I do hate when you get all testy. Shall we dine? Papa said he had some great news for us earlier. Oh yes, that reminds me." Kimberly dipped into her purse and produced a letter written in Clarkson’s hand. "This came for us today. I’d forgotten to mention it. Better not to open it until after supper. I don't want Papa to know you’re the one who's been writing to Clarkson. He would not be amused at such knowledge."
"Don't worry. I will be as discreet as always." It took every ounce of willpower not to do a wiggle and a gig in the middle of the hallway after slipping Clarkson’s correspondence into her purse. She longed to read it. How could Kimberly have kept this from her for so long? Well, she had it now and she would read it later with her head on her pillow, while staring into his beautiful gray eyes.
Missy smiled as she wondered if he looked at the photograph she'd sent him as often as she gazed at his image. It had been naughty of her to direct Kimberly to look at something and away from the camera just as the photographer had been ready to take the photograph. She couldn't have been more pleased with the result.
Her image was flawless while Kimberly's was a blurred profile. Kimberly had ordered the photographed destroyed. She would keep nothing that made her look less than perfect. Missy had said she would see to its destruction personally, then slipped the image into an envelope and sent it to Clarkson.
For months she’d waited for him to complain about the photograph she'd sent, but he never did. Missy had yet to decide if that was a good or a bad thing.
Kimberly looked toward Missy's purse as she entered the dining room, no doubt checking to see if the post she'd given her was exposed in anyway. As they approached the dining table, they were greeted by Kimberly's father, who stood as they entered. "Are your friends gone?"
"Yes, Papa."
"Good, as I wanted to speak with you girls alone."
Missy gazed over at Mrs. Montgomery, who held her handkerchief over her mouth. Her eyes were red as if she'd been crying. Why would Mrs. M be crying? Missy had only seen Mrs. Montgomery cry once before, when they were leaving for Europe, saying if they lost the war, she would never see her beloved plantation house ever again.
Well, maybe
she was still upset about that, for they most assuredly had lost the war. Life as the Montgomerys had known it in Charleston would never be the same. Even so they had maintained their wealth. Mr. Montgomery, forever the shrewd business man, had transferred his money out of the Confederacy banks as soon as he heard there was an inkling of war.
Missy had heard him say to his friends he was a patriot, but he wasn't a stupid man, he had done the math, and therefore erred on the side of caution, and would do what was best for him and his family. Which was to pack up and leave the moment war was declared. There had been several raised voices that day, but Mr. Montgomery stayed very calm as he loaded his gun and asked his gentleman callers to leave his house and to never return.
"Well, sit down you two. Despite Mrs. Montgomery's disposition, what I have to tell you is good news. Especially for you, Kimberly."
"Good news for me? How splendid. What is it?"
"I have heard from your Mr. Dalton. He has sent for you and Missy to join him in California."
"What?"
Missy was giggling inside. She was sure as her name was Melissa Fleming the look on her face was most definitely the complete opposite to that displayed by Kimberly's.
Initially, she had seen this day as a disaster, not anymore. Now it was the best day ever. She was going home, and for Missy her home was anywhere Clarkson resided, be it California or the Sierra desert—without food, clothes, or shelter, as long as Clarkson was there, too.
"Oh, Kimberly, isn't that just wonderful news."
"I guess so. Will it be like Charleston, you know, before the war?"
"I'm sure it will be," Missy said before Mr. Montgomery could answer. Her smile told him to leave everything to her, she would make it so Kimberly couldn't wait to get there. He smiled his approval.
"Excellent, how soon will we be leaving?"
"The day after tomorrow. It will only be you and Missy going for now. Your mother and I will follow in about a month's time so we can be there for the wedding. I have some business matters to conclude before we depart, which is the reason your mother is so upset. You know she hates to be parted from you."
Missy was struggling to think of a time when they had ever been apart and couldn't recollect a time when it was so. Unless Mr. Montgomery referred to the numerous occasions when they went their separate ways for a few hours in a day to socialize. Surely that couldn't be the times he's referring to? How preposterous would that be? Missy stilled the desire to shake her head as Kimberly ran to her mama and held her close to her bosom.
"Don't worry about me, Mama. Missy will be with me; she's my voice of reason and will certainly keep me out of trouble. I know I can be a little willful sometimes. But Missy allows me to get away with nothing. You and Papa chose well for me. As a companion, she is like a bloodhound, steadfast in her guarding of me from would be pursuers. Not to mention, she can sniff me out in a crowd of a million people. So you see, Mama, I will be fine."
Missy wasn't sure if she was delighted or offended by the backhanded compliment. Either way, she was too happy to care.
Chapter 7
Almost finished with his packing, Clarkson turned to face the door as Cal stepped through it. "You do know we pay people to do that for us?
"I know, but I'd rather do it myself."
"So you really think you're ready to do this?"
"I have to be ready. You and Rilla have been kind, putting me up and helping me work through my problems. But I have to be a man and do for myself. I can't rely on you anymore to fix what ails me. You've always looked out for me Cal, but there are some journeys a man has to take alone and this is one of them. Besides you're only ten miles away. I'll send for you if I need you."
Cal walked around Clarkson and sat on the bed. "Won't you at least wait until Kimberly gets here?"
"No, I have to make the house welcoming for her, and I can't do that while I'm living here."
"Well, if I can't change your mind, the least I can do is hitch up the buggy and come with you, stay the night and come back here in the morning."
"What about your wife?"
"It was her idea that I go with you. Ma will be here soon. So it's not like I'll be leaving her alone. Rilla says you told her the night terrors have stopped."
"They have."
"Then you won't mind if I stay over and make sure you're all right then?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Nope, I don't reckon you do."
"That's what I thought."
"You know me too well. I'm going to go meet Ma from the stagecoach. We'll leave once I get back. How's that?"
"Fine. I'll let Rilla know I'll be staying for lunch then. I think I’d like to spend some time with Ma, too. Maybe later on in the week I can bring Ma to the ranch, get her opinion on the best way to decorate the place."
"Don't you have a housekeeper?"
"Yeah, I do, but I'd still like Ma to take a look."
Cal laughed. "Forever the Mommy's boy. Okay, let me know when you want her to come, and I'll arrange her transport."
"Thanks."
Cal was gone and the last thing Clarkson needed to pack were his letters. He'd waited for Cal to leave before putting them in his baggage all but one, which he slipped into his inside pocket.
Clarkson made his way through the house and out the back into the garden. He strode toward one of the cherry trees, ripe with fruit. He picked a few and popped them into his mouth. They were sweet and juicy and reminded him why he'd forgone breakfast and was in the open air. He wanted to reread Kimberly's letter as he had done every day since it had arrived some weeks ago.
It was also the reason for his swift decision to move out of his brother’s house and make a home for him and Kimberly, and Missy he supposed, as an afterthought. He wasn't going to get one without the other.
He removed a kerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands clean. Then removed the post from his pocket and sat on the grass. This latest letter was unlike the others. It warmed his skin and made his heart race with a fire he'd never known. It was so full of passion he almost booked his passage to England and would have done so were he sure of their status. He'd long since sent for them and didn't want to be aboard a ship bound for England while they were arriving in America. He'd have to wait, but this letter would be a constant reminder of what would be coming to him. How did he get so lucky? He had no right to be this happy.
Yet here he was, and it was all because of a love he'd struggled to deny himself because of the guilt he bore. Forgetting the promise he'd made, he was thankful Kimberly had the good sense to remind him.
Although he had sent the letter to her father, asking for his fiancée to be sent to him, he'd continued to harbor doubts as to his worthiness. But the words written on these pages proved he'd done the right thing, made the correct choice, as two minds could not be so aligned were it not to be. They had written their letters on the same day. Who's to say it wasn't at the exact same moment in time?
Clarkson brought the envelope to his nose and breathed in the scent, much stronger than the others. He placed the open letter under his jacket and held it flat against his chest and over his beating heart, laid himself out under the tree and closed his eyes. It was a miracle. He’d been finding it easier to sleep ever since he'd allowed himself to indulge that first night, all these weeks ago, and he had Kimberly to thank for it.
Her love had set him free. Free from the hurt, the guilt, and the war. He was in a place in his mind where he could begin to believe his salvation was because he needed to stay alive so they could be together. Otherwise, why would he have been spared, the only member of his troops to survive the horrendous battle leading to his capture. Wounded not dead, and by his uncle's men, what were the odds of that happening? He had to see it that way or go mad.
Clarkson closed his jacket around the letter and crushed it to him. Was it possible for him to have a life without torment? Surely, it would be foolhardy to rest all of his healing on the love of one woman. A woman
who he hadn't seen in nearly four years, a blurred profile in his wallet and a handful of letters.
Could he rely on Kimberly's love alone for his salvation?
They were no more than children, playing at being adults, when they last saw each other. Him a naive book toting eighteen-year-old, full of love and promise, and her barely sixteen. The person he had sent for was no longer a girl but a woman. He'd read her maturity in every line. Would he be able to live up to her expectations?
He was damaged goods.
Clarkson gave himself a mental shake. What was wrong with him? Why would he rid himself of one cause for mental anguish and replace it with another? He was good enough as he was...he had to be, there was no more to him. The man Kimberly would see when she got off that boat was the man he'd become because of her. And he intended to remain so for as long as she remained the woman in her letters.
"Clarkson, my dear boy. Is this anyway to greet your mother?"
Clarkson's eyes shot open. He bolted upright, folding his letter and placing it back in his pocket. How long had he been out here?
The smell of fresh grass cuttings filled the air, as did the scent of the many flowers in the amazing landscape. Funny he hadn't noticed any of it on the way out. He'd seen the landscape before and smelled the blossoms many times. It just all felt and smelled stronger, and everything looked brighter today.
He'd changed, somehow he’d evolved overnight. The smile carved into his face was real. For the first time in years, he felt his old self again.
He rose and gave his mother a kiss. "Mother, I hadn't expected you so soon. I must have dozed. Forgive me."
"Hush now, there is nothing to forgive. I've only been here a short while. I've seen Rilla, and she is doing just fine. There is no need for me to be fussing over her just yet, and I wanted to see my darling boy before you and Cal went off to your ranch."
Love Letters (Unbridled Book 3) Page 3
