A Not-So-Distant Love, page 24
The remainder of the hour flew by as they made it through the short first chapter of the copy of Pride and Prejudice Charlotte had purchased for Clara. When Charlotte had first placed it in her hands, Clara had looked at the book in awe, holding it gently, as if afraid it might break. Her awe had grown into intrigue when Charlotte had explained that the protagonist, Lizzy Bennet, had four sisters.
Clara had only ever known brothers. Five of them.
“But if Mr. Bennet refuses to visit the man with a large fortune, how will one of the daughters meet and marry him as Mrs. Bennet intends?” Clara asked, closing the book with some reluctance.
“The answer to that, I’m afraid, will have to wait.” How Charlotte wished she could meet with Clara and read with her daily. The young woman was hungry for words. For stories.
Seeing her hunger had given Charlotte an idea though. She planned to suggest to Mrs. Borden that someone read aloud to the ladies in the sewing circle. She’d wager those women would love nothing more than to be whisked away into tales and worlds that would distract them during the long hours of their workdays.
“But,” Charlotte whispered, “if you want to read ahead, by all means, do so. You may go at your own pace. Just be sure to bring it next time so we may continue our reading.”
“I will. And I’ll bring your book of letters back too.”
Charlotte looked Clara in the eye, wanting to be clear. “No, no. I made that for you. It is yours to keep.”
Clara sat forward, a smile peeking out. “I was hoping you’d say that. Truth is, I’ve been using it to teach my little brother Jasper.”
“How wonderful! How old is Jasper?”
“He’s ten.” Clara explained that she used the same technique of having each of them share something personal every time she taught him a new letter. “But he says the wildest things. For A he confessed he’d stolen the apple pie that disappeared last year. None of us ever knew what had happened to it. And for I he told me he wished to see an iceberg.”
“I’d very much like to meet Jasper,” Charlotte confessed. “I’d like to meet all your brothers.”
“I don’t know about that.” Clara frowned. “They can be a right handful at times.”
“I have twin cousins that are the definition of a ‘right handful,’” Charlotte said, laughing. “I promise they’d not overwhelm me.”
“Maybe sometime,” her pupil hedged. “Mama is still recoverin’ from her cough, and I’ve got all I can manage.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to pressure you.” Charlotte could only imagine the weight this young woman carried, especially with her mother still ill. She straightened the paper they’d used to write out some of the more difficult words in Pride and Prejudice.
“Clara,” she started. “I know I am your teacher, your tutor.” She thought carefully, wanting to be understood. “But I hope you also consider me a friend, for that is how I think of you.”
Clara looked at Charlotte, her expression cautious, thoughtful. “I do consider you a friend, Miss Charlotte. One I’m not likely to forget. I think of kilts every time I see a K, you know.” She smiled then, and Charlotte felt the warmth of it all the way to her bones.
This was a friendship she’d take with her, even when she returned home. She’d write to Clara, and now that Clara was learning to write, Charlotte would see that she had the necessary supplies to write back.
“Oh, the time! Mrs. MacGregor will give me an earful! I must go.” Handling the book with care, Clara fetched her shawl from the peg and bade Charlotte farewell.
Charlotte finished tidying up, in no hurry since she’d come alone today. Mrs. Magann had woken this morning with a headache and had sent a note to Mrs. Borden, informing the woman of her intended absence this afternoon.
Charlotte had assured Mrs. Magann she didn’t mind taking the carriage and coming into the city alone. And she hadn’t . . . until she’d realized it meant half an hour of time on the ride into town with nothing to do but think.
As it turned out, all she could think about was Alec’s smile. That glorious smile that had turned her upside down and inside out and still wouldn’t let her be. If Alec was smart, he’d find a way to bottle it up and distribute it like the potent medicine it was.
Such foolishness had forced Charlotte into giving herself a stern talking-to. She was well on her way to falling in love, but caution warned of the necessity of holding a portion of herself back. There was a danger in falling fully, especially given her ties to Scotland, her duty to her family.
She’d spent the remainder of the carriage ride this morning scouring over her interactions with Alec, a sense of desolation overtaking her as she realized he’d never given her any material indication that he was willing to pursue a future with her. It had been over a week since the night they’d made popcorn together, and ever since he’d remained carefully guarded.
Yes, there was a strong spark of attraction that hovered between them, and yes, she knew he felt it the same as she did. But he had never given her reason to believe he was willing to act on that spark.
Discontentment carved its way through her as she bade farewell to the ladies in the sewing circle, gathered her cloak, and slipped out the door into the late-September afternoon.
Was she foolish for wanting something so obviously hopeless? Would it be better to sever her affection before she grew even more attached? Her last Season in London had taught her that she couldn’t trust her own judgment.
As she walked down the street to where the carriage waited, Charlotte envisioned the detached way she’d greet Alec the next time they met. “Dr. Galloway,” she’d say without any trace of a smile. No, that seemed too harsh. She’d offer him a cool smile and make a polite observation on . . . the weather. And then she’d return her attention to her hymnal or the river or any other blessed thing that might allow her to pretend he wasn’t constantly occupying her thoughts.
She repeated the scenario again and tried to convince herself she could execute it when the time came. Deeply embroiled in her thoughts, when she came around the side of the carriage and found Alec standing there, she half-believed he was part of her vivid imaginings.
Yet in her imagination his head had been bare and his profile had been illuminated by firelight. Here and now, standing in the afternoon sun, he wore a hat over his mussed hair and carried his black doctor’s bag, the beginnings of a smile edging up the corners of his lips.
Charlotte thought she’d been prepared to see him again.
She’d been wrong.
He greeted her in that low voice of his, his smile deepening.
Her heart thumped painfully. Another glimpse of that smile and she was liable to develop a heart condition.
“I apologize for startling you. I remembered you’d planned to meet Clara today, and I . . . hoped I might persuade you to take a walk with me.”
“A walk? With me?” Suddenly she was incapable of stringing more than two words together at a time.
He nodded. “With you,” he repeated, bemused.
“I’d like that.” There. Three words in a row.
Alec exchanged a few words with the driver and then offered Charlotte his arm, showing none of the hesitation he’d shown before. She exhaled a shaky breath, bringing her hand to rest in the crook of his arm, enjoying the feel of his muscled forearm beneath her gloved fingers.
So unprepared was Charlotte for this turn of events that she couldn’t formulate a single thought. She allowed Alec to lead her down the street, quiet hanging between them. Occasionally he’d point something out or make an observation, but mostly they walked in companionable silence.
If it could be called silence, with Charlotte’s heart hammering furiously within her chest, with her thoughts racing, wondering what Alec might be thinking and what, if anything, it meant for them to be walking here, arm in arm.
He led her out of the bustle of the city, heading north toward Glen Haven, on the road that lined the Allegheny River. The city thinned, giving way to larger swaths of undeveloped land. Trees dotted the landscape, an occasional fence marked a property line, and the river murmured as it slipped by.
Long minutes had gone by without either one of them speaking, and Charlotte grew certain that if she didn’t say something, she’d burst. She lifted her gaze to the man walking beside her. “Was there something last night that upset you, Alec? Is that why you left?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I needed to . . . think.”
“To think?” she prodded. She ran her free hand over the wooden fence beside them.
Still nothing. A bird swooped overhead, crossing the Allegheny and coming to rest on the opposite bank. Charlotte hissed in a breath at a sudden stinging pain in her middle finger.
Alec stopped as she released his arm. “Sliver?”
She nodded. “I should not have been so careless.” Removing her glove, she could see that a thin shard of wood, not more than a quarter of an inch long, was embedded beneath her skin in the pad of her finger. The skin was already red and beginning to throb. She shook out her hand, trying to ease the pain.
“May I?” He extended his hand, waiting.
She placed her bare hand in his, and he bent over it, tracing his fingers up her palm to her middle finger, exerting the slightest bit of pressure just below the sliver. It was all she could do not to shiver beneath his touch.
“I’ve a pair of tweezers.” Alec released her and knelt and opened his black bag.
Charlotte sagged back against the fence, feeling a bit ridiculous for the fuss she was causing over a simple sliver. Though, when Alec rose and stood beside her, his shoulder brushing hers, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.
He took her hand again. “I’ll need to pinch your finger to make it easier to remove the sliver.”
She nodded, breathing in his scent, a masculine mix of saddle leather and shaving soap.
With his head bent over, the unruly waves of his hair fell forward, and it required the utmost self-discipline not to smooth them back into place. Alec pinched her finger, raising the red, swollen skin. With the tweezers, he grasped one end of the splinter lodged beneath her skin. One quick tug and the sliver was out, pain gone, save for a slight throb in her finger.
He slipped the tweezers into his pocket. “Better?” he asked, voice low.
“Better,” she whispered.
She expected him to release her hand, to step back. He did neither.
His thumb continued to trace over the spot where the sliver had been. She’d never known how much feeling existed in a mere fingertip until this moment. Her breath stilled as his thumb widened its path, following the lines in her palm, leaving a blazing trail in its wake.
This, she realized, was no longer the touch of a doctor examining his patient, but the touch of a man making her feel very much like a woman.
A woman who knew her own heart and was ready to bare it.
Before she could stop herself, before she could think, she took his hands in her own and lifted them to her mouth, pressing her lips to the back of his fingers. “All the way out here I waited for you to say something.” She was breathless. “But I can wait no longer.”
Her gaze remained on the hands that rested in hers. His beautiful doctoring hands. Large and capable, scarred from his years as a blacksmith, steady and certain under crisis.
“Alec, I . . .” Her mind stumbling over what to say, Charlotte allowed her heart to take the lead. “I know what I’m about to say may sound foolish. I’m not blind to the fact that you are still recovering from the loss of your wife.” She swallowed. “I’m a mere visitor here, with permanent ties to Scotland. You have a life here, and a profession you are committed to. I know nothing between us makes sense.”
She raised her eyes, faltering under the strength of his gaze. Her throat was so tight she wasn’t sure she could get the words out, but she refused to walk away from this moment without him knowing the strength of her feelings. “But I love you, Alec.”
In the silence that followed lay an ultimatum. Either she would have to give up her future—impossible!—or he would have to give up his. She choked on the pain of it, for how could she ask that of him when—
“Charlotte.” His voice was the faintest wisp of a Highland breeze as he covered her hand with one of his. He cleared his throat. “I don’t . . .” His brows furrowed. “I’m not certain you know—”
Before he could go any further, she pressed a hand to his mouth, quieting him. “Please,” she begged. “You must believe I know my own heart and mind.” She dropped her hand.
His eyes darted over her, examining every detail of her face. “I do believe you, Charlotte.” His throat bobbed. “Which is why what I’m about to say, what I brought you here intending to say, is so difficult. But to be anything short of honest would be unfair of me.”
The gutted, hollow look on his face made Charlotte’s insides squeeze.
He stepped back. “I am still not whole.” His chest rose and fell. “I am still unsure of love. Unsure of myself.”
Something in her nearly broke hearing him speak so.
He ran a hand through his hair and groaned. “What I’m trying to tell you is I am not a good bet. Loving me isn’t wise. Yet even so . . .” The warmth in his eyes made her heart flutter. “Charlotte, you make me want to believe in possibilities I’d long given up on. Your father isn’t here, but if he were—I’d ask his permission to court you.”
It took several long seconds for his words to sink in. But when they did, her doubts dissipated. Hope swelled so deep in Charlotte’s chest that her lungs could hardly manage to take in air. “I’m well past my majority, Alec,” she said on half a laugh. “You can ask me.”
Her heart delighted at the sight of his smile. “Very well. Do I have permission to court you, Charlotte?” he asked.
“Yes.” The word came out so breathy that she repeated it, just to make certain he’d heard. “Yes.”
He chuckled at her eagerness, but the curve of his smile quickly disappeared. “Will you be patient with me? I don’t wish to rush this.” He rubbed at his beard, his gaze earnest. “I’d like to go slowly. I need to go slowly.”
Charlotte had been desperate to gain some clarity. She’d revealed her heart to this man, fully expecting rejection. But she’d done it all the same, needing to know whether there was any reason for hope.
And he’d just given it to her.
Eyes blurry with tears, she smiled. “Yes, Alec. We can go slow.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Alec had forgotten what happiness felt like. But he remembered it now, here, with Charlotte in front of him. He cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to her temple, lingering there, breathing in her soft floral scent. Contentment, slow and steady, pulsed through his veins.
With everything in him, he wanted to kiss her. To build up the fire she’d kindled back in his cabin on that rainy morning. But he’d promised himself he’d go slowly. And if he kissed her now, it would be all too easy to forget.
Exercising a self-restraint he hadn’t known he possessed, he stepped back. “We’d best get you home before Alice sends out a search party.”
Her answering smile, with its accompanying dimple, was so captivating, so utterly precious, that Alec stared at her for several long seconds, unable to look away. When he finally recovered his wits, he returned the pair of tweezers from his pocket to his black bag, helped Charlotte ease her glove back on, and offered her his arm.
They resumed their walk in the same golden afternoon sun as before. Its rays warmed the crisp air, and the leaves continued to flurry down from the trees lining the road, but now everything was different. The second-guessing and indecision that had plagued Alec all morning were gone. Just a quiet sense of rightness with Charlotte walking beside him.
“Will you tell me about Nellie?” she asked, no longer content with silence.
He startled, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. With Charlotte’s natural curiosity, she likely had a hundred questions ready.
“She’ll always be a part of you, Alec. A part I’d like to know.”
She was right, of course. And if he truly intended to court this woman, openness and honesty were the only way forward. “Where would you like me to begin?”
“At the beginning, of course. Where did you meet?”
“At a ball on the eve of my graduation. She was the daughter of one of my professors, David Hallewell, the head of surgery.”
As soon as he’d answered, she was ready with another question.
“What was your first impression of her?”
Alec angled his head, considering. “She glittered, truly. It was hard to look away from her. It was rare to see her without a crowd of people gathered around her.”
“She sounds lovely.” Charlotte glanced up at him, biting her lip. “It’s all right if you miss her, Alec.”
He paused mid-step. “You don’t understand.” There was a twinge in his chest. “Ours was not a happy marriage. It’s one of the reasons this . . . us . . . is so difficult. What I’m beginning to feel for you is what I should have felt for her.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “You didn’t . . . love her?”
He shook his head and waited for reproach. Disappointment.
Instead, he was met with Charlotte’s characteristic frankness. And another question. “Did she love you?”
He exhaled. “No, Nellie didn’t love me.” The admission pained Alec more than he’d expected. He’d been so weighed down by the guilt of not loving Nellie that he’d never fully acknowledged the hurt of not being loved by her.
And it did hurt, to have been found wanting by the woman who’d committed to spend a lifetime by his side.
