by Linda Wright
“Yes Your Grace…”
Strathmore stared at the virgin snow as his precious carriage was carefully driven away. He impulsively raced down the steps and stomped in the snow where there should have been footprints. He stood there staring at the ground until he caught sight of the letter in his hand. Standing in the falling snow he opened it and squinted at the paper. He wasn’t wearing his reading spectacles, but he could just make out the words.
Your Grace,
Whether you want it or not, I’m returning your carriage at my Penny’s request. I hadn’t noticed the feminine interior, but then I haven’t used it. Penny insists you loved your wife and believes the carriage holds special memories for you. I find it hard to believe this blissful contentment ever existing in your chest. It’s strange to think you were once a happy man with your life ahead of you like an unwritten love letter. You must be in agony, but hopefully no longer because of me.
I feel lucky to have faced your wrath. When I wake up and find Penny’s arm draped over my chest I remind myself that I could end up as unlucky as you. I could lose my beloved Penny in childbed or in an accident or to some wretched disease. It makes me cherish every laugh, every kiss. When I find half finished embroidery on the sofa, which irritates me, I tell myself I’d rather know she was leaving a mess then never coming back to pick it up. The stars shine brighter when she gazes at them with me. My coins are more valuable when she holds them. Whatever happens tomorrow, today with Penny in my arms I’m the luckiest man in the world.
P.S.
Penny wishes me to tell you that she’s glad she stabbed you in the leg with her hatpin.
Your Servant,
James Lord Devonshire
Strathmore crumpled the letter in his hands and hurried as fast as his cold legs would carry him to his bedchamber where he muffled his jealous rage into a pillow.
***THE END***
