The Captain's Letters

by Caylen McQueen

  As she stared at the flock of unfamiliar faces, Amanda wondered if she should retire early. She had very nearly decided to leave when Major Morley suddenly appeared at her side.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Bowden,” he greeted her so politely, it would be impossible to punish him for the time he had ignored her.

  “Good evening,” she returned the pleasantries with a wavering smile. “I must say... it took you a shocking long time to find your way to me! I was feeling sadly neglected.”

  “Neglecting you was never my intention.” Joseph suddenly took her hand and raised it to his lips. Somewhere in Amanda's mind, she wished she had not worn gloves, so she might have felt his lips upon her skin. “My intention was, in fact, to avoid your beau.”

  “You do not care for Mr. Maitland.”

  “I believe he regards me as a rival... and I certainly do not blame him.” Joseph simultaneously smirked and winked. “He knows how you long to dance with the handsomest man in the room.”

  “You, Mr. Morley?”

  “Of course. To what other handsome rogue could I possibly be referring?”

  She knew his words were thick with sarcasm, nevertheless, she shook her head with disbelief. “And does the handsome rogue wish to dance with me?”

  “I am afraid the handsome rogue does not dance. Sadly, he cannot even walk without limping,” Joseph answered with a sigh. “But if I ever decided to dance with my tragically ungainly gait, you would be the first young lady I would ask.”

  “Young lady?” Amanda wrinkled her nose. “Are you mocking me now? I am sure we both know I am hardly young! I am nearly thirty.”

  “You are a young lady,” he corrected her. “I, however, am far from being a handsome rogue. I can hardly believe you did not erupt with laughter as soon as I suggested such a ludicrous thing.”

  “I believe you are handsome, Mr. Morley.” Amanda could feel her cheeks coloring up as she complimented him.

  “I'm not nearly as handsome as you are beautiful, Mrs. Bowden.”

  Her heart fluttered at his words. Amanda wondered why her heart had such a silly reaction to him. She had never reacted like that to any other gentleman—for the longest time, she feared she was immune to flattery. Joseph's compliments, however, made her dizzy.

  “And how is your sister? Has she read the captain's letter yet?”

  “I'm afraid not,” Amanda answered, sighing. “I think, in some way, the idea of reading his letter frightens her.”

  “I hope she overcomes this fear, for I have many more letters to give to her.”

  “You are a good friend to Captain Sedgeford, Major.” Amanda stared into his dark eyes as she spoke. “Or... I suppose I should say you were a good friend to him.”

  “We are friends,” he gently corrected her. “And we shall always be friends. In my mind, death is not the end of friendship. Death is but a test.”

  “Then I hope our friendship is never tested.” When he smiled at her words, Amanda's heart reacted again. Her heart was very nearly raging at the sight of his smile—was she going mad? “Though I have not known you long, the thought of losing you...” A lump formed in Amanda's throat, preventing her from speaking. Her gloved hands fidgeted wildly.

  “It upsets you?” he tried to guess.

  “Indeed. It does.” She forced herself to make eye contact with him, which was difficult, for his eyes were rather piercing. “My daughter adores you. My sister speaks very highly of you. And you have been very patient with me... you have listened to my woes and always responded thoughtfully. You are, as it were, a very invaluable friend to me.”

  “I feel quite the same way, Mrs. Bowden.” He responded with a smile so gentle, her knees shuddered at the sight of it. “And I hope we might continue to be friends.”

  Amanda did not dare to tell him she hoped they could be more than that.

  Chapter Seven

  It was only a small gathering of friends and family: a musicale to lift Marie's spirits. Amanda was the one who arranged it—likely because she was hoping for any excuse to cross paths with Major Morley once more. If not for the slight smile on her sister's lips, Amanda might have regretted her decision to host the musicale. For one, their young cousin's shrill warbling seemed capable of shattering glass. Worst of all, Gregory Maitland's eyes never moved from her. He stared at her so longingly that his singular interest in Amanda could not have been more obvious. She might have appreciated his attention more if he was capable of being subtle.

  Their fifteen-year-old cousin finished her song—and not soon enough. When Julian Sedgeford took a turn on the pianoforte, Amanda breathed a sigh of relief. He was, at the very least, capable of playing competently.

  As Julian played, Marie whispered to her sister, “Charles' brother...” She briefly closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. “He reminds me very much of my lost love.”

  “You think they resemble one another?” Amanda's eyebrow raised as she studied the man behind the pianoforte. “I do not think they look similar at all. Julian Sedgeford is rather fair.”

  “It is not so much that they resemble each other... it is the mere thought of him,” Marie attempted to explain. “Seeing one brother calls the other into my mind.”

  “I suppose that makes some sense.”

  “Will I be like this forever, Amanda? Will I always be... broken?”

  Amanda felt guilty for whispering throughout Julian's song, but her sister's sorrow mattered more. “Every person is different, Marie. I honestly cannot say for certain.”

  “I believe I might read Charles' letter soon,” Marie said. “The very idea of it pains me... but I am slowly warming to the prospect.”

  “I am proud of you, Marie,” Amanda gave her sister's hand a reassuring squeeze. “Mourning is a slow and painful process. Reading Charles' letter might very well be the next step.”

  “How did you cope with the death of Jacob?”

  Amanda involuntarily shuddered. It had been so long since she had heard anyone utter her late husband's name. “I did not love him as you loved Charles. That's not to say I didn't care for and admire him... I certainly did. But I know how much you missed Charles when he was in France, and I know how much you will always miss him. I cannot possibly compare your period of mourning to my own.”

  Marie thought she saw Julian glance in their direction, and she wondered if their discussion was disrupting his performance. She lowered her voice even more and said, “But I know you were saddened by Joseph's death.”

  “I had Phoebe,” Amanda whispered her reply. “Her precious face was truly invaluable to me. I believe we helped each other through that very difficult time.” Jacob had only been gone for two years, but somehow, it felt as though ages had passed. She felt as if, at long last, she was truly ready to move on.

  When she glanced over at Mr. Maitland and Major Morley, her heartbeat momentarily ceased. Oddly enough, they were sitting together at the opposite side of the room. Once again, she felt silly for assuming the major thought of Gregory as a rival. If they were sitting together, the tension between them must have been something she foolishly imagined.

  Julian Sedgeford finished his song and returned to his chair, and two others took a turn at the pianoforte. In particular, one of Marie's friends had a remarkable talent for singing and playing simultaneously. When the musical portion of the evening eventually concluded, Amanda seized the opportunity she had been waiting for since the beginning of the day. She rushed over to Major Morley—thankfully, Gregory Maitland was no longer near him.

  “Mr. Morley!” Amanda tried to sound cheerful, but not overeager. “I was wondering if you would accept my invitation to the musicale. I was not certain you would enjoy something as trivial as music.”

  “Of course I enjoy music! Is there anyone who does not?” Joseph replied. “I was rather hoping we would hear you sing, Mrs. Bowden.”

  “Me?” The idea of it made her toss back her head and cackle. “I am afraid I have no aptitude for music. Not even a modicum of m
usical talent.”

  “Nevertheless, I would have liked to hear you sing. Or play. Even horrid music can be magnanimously entertaining!”

  “I would not say I am horrid,” Amanda winced as she replied. “Alas, neither am I gifted. And it is not just musical talent I lack. I possess a talent for absolutely nothing.”

  “I am sure you exaggerate.”

  “I fear it is no exaggeration.” Amanda smirked and shrugged, as if indifferent to her lack of skill. “I cannot think of anything I am particularly accomplished in.”

  “You are a good mother. That is more important than anything, is it not?”

  “I am not even sure I am good at that,” she objected. “As of late, Phoebe has been behaving so wickedly!”

  “Phoebe is adorable. I have witnessed her wickedness, but it is really rather harmless.”

  “Perhaps. I can only hope that others will see it as such...” She caught her gaze drifting to his scars—and he must have noticed where her eyes had wandered, because his lips dipped into a frown. “W-well, Mr. Morley... as I said, I am very pleased that you came today.”

  “Certainly! Although you would have been even more pleased if I had actually participated. My baritone is incomparable, or so I have been told. I sing like an angel!”

  Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  “No. It is an utter fabrication, I am afraid,” he answered with a chuckle. “I am even more bereft of musical talent than you are.”

  His answer had her shaking her head—and smiling. “Are you always so facetious?”

  “Only on certain days of the week, Mrs. Bowden.” He winked at her. “And only when I am attempting to impress lovely young ladies with my fiendish sense of humor.”

  Her heart nearly seized at his words. Lovely? Impress her? As sarcastic as he was, it was impossible to know if he was serious or if he was toying with her. Either way, Amanda knew she enjoyed his attention far too much for someone she had only spoken to a few times. Her feelings were admittedly spiraling out of control. When she looked at his arms, she imagined them wrapped around her. When she looked at his fingers, she imagined them sifting through her hair. When she looked at his lips--

  “Mrs. Bowden.”

  Amanda felt her shoulders drop when she heard Gregory utter her name. He had suddenly appeared beside her, looking as lovelorn as a lost puppy. “Ah. Mr. Maitland! How... very good to see you,” she lied.

  “Might I have a moment of your time? There is a matter of great importance I would like to discuss with you.” Gregory's eyes narrowed when they met the other gentleman's. “In private, preferably.”

  “Of course.” Though she was compliant, Amanda could feel her fist involuntarily clenching at her side. Her time with Joseph was far too brief—and their encounters were too few. If she allowed herself to be whisked away by Mr. Maitland, she had no idea when she would see Joseph again.

  Nevertheless, she offered her arm to the other man and allowed him to escort her away. “May I take you into the garden?” he asked.

  “Certainly.” Her eyes scanned the crowd—she secretly hoped one of them would save her. When she glanced back at Mr. Morley, his attention was already focused on another young lady. As her other fist clenched, she once again chided herself for feeling foolish affection for a man who clearly was not as invested as she was.

  “I adore flowers,” Mr. Maitland confessed to her as they entered the garden. “I can identify every variety, and my sister has always teased me for it. Apparently, to most, flowers are not a masculine endeavor. But I fail to understand why both genders should not enjoy them, as lovely as they are.”

  “Ah.” Amanda was thoroughly disinterested—and she sounded disinterested. Her thoughts were still fixed on a particular gentleman. “I agree.”

  “What is your favorite flower?” he asked.

  “I have not given it a thought.”

  “Well... think,” Gregory encouraged her with a chuckle. “If you were forced to choose, surely there would be one that would spring to mind?”

  “A rose, perhaps?”

  After hearing her answer, Gregory plucked a yellow rose—from her own garden, no less—and presented it to her. “Here. A rose for you, Amanda. Do mind the thorns.”

  Amanda? She could not remember giving him leave to address her so informally. As soon as she accepted the flower, he seized her other hand and brought it to his lips.

  “Mrs. Bowden...” he began. “You must know how very much I adore you.”

  “I...” She wanted to reply, but she was speechless. She feared their private turn around the garden would end in an unwelcome admonition of love, and it seemed she was correct.

  “You are every thought that passes through my mind,” he went on. “You are everything good in my life. I would love and protect you for the rest of my life, if only you would allow me the honor.”

  “Mr. Maitland, I--”

  “Marry me,” he interrupted her. “Marry me, and make me the happiest man in existence. Marry me, and you shall make all of my dreams come true.”

  “Mr. Maitland, I am not sure that I--”

  Gregory did not give her a chance to reply.

  His lips were suddenly crushed against hers.

  Chapter Eight

  Amanda pulled away as soon as she felt his mouth on hers. Though she was tempted to box his ears, she was determined to react as a proper lady should—even though his conduct was far from gentlemanly. “Mr. Maitland!” she gasped. She took several steps backward, lest he make an attempt to kiss her again. “What on earth are you doing?”

  “I was overcome by the moment. But Amanda...” When he tried to reach for her hand, she swiftly pulled away from him. “Amanda, I could not possibly admire you more, and no man could even admire you as I do.”

  “That is a rather... disheartening thing to declare.”

  “For what reason would it dishearten you? You need no other man's love. You need me. I would protect you from the world and love you above all others. If you agree to be my wife, I--”

  She interrupted. “I cannot.”

  Gregory looked as though a fist had been plowed into his stomach. Even his eyelashes fluttered at her words. “Pardon?”

  “I cannot marry you. I am very sorry, but I do not love you, Mr. Maitland.” She could not have stated her feelings more plainly than that. She did not want to hurt him, but he needed to know it was a hopeless endeavor. “The last time I married, I did not marry for love... and though I did care for my husband, there were days when I was miserable. If I choose to marry again, I would not want to walk down a similar path. I would only marry a man I truly loved!”

  “Perhaps you could...” He briefly sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked so pitiful and lovelorn, she felt a bit guilty. “Perhaps you could grow to love me?”

  “I do not mean to discourage or hurt you, Mr. Maitland... but I don't believe that could happen.”

  “Why are you so certain? Am I truly so... unlovable?”

  “Certainly not!” she exclaimed. “But I do believe a rather large part of my heart belongs to... another gentleman.”

  “Ah. I see.” His shoulders dipped, and he heaved a tremendous sigh. “Whoever my rival is, he is a very lucky man, and I wish him well.”

  “He does not return my feelings,” Amanda said. “At least... I do not believe he does.”

  “Then he is a fool.” After another deep sigh, Gregory turned away from her and said, “Have a pleasant evening, Mrs. Bowden. I hope the rest of the night treats you well.”

  Unfortunately, the night did not treat her well. After Gregory left, Amanda returned to the drawing room in the hope that she could converse with Major Morley once more. He was, after all, one of the reasons why she hosted the musicale. She had desperately wanted to see him again.

  But he was already gone.

  * * *

  Marie stared at the letter in her hand for several seconds before finally cracking its seal. It was the moment
she had been dreading since the day she learned her fiance would never return.

  My Dearest Marie,

  She stared at the first words for what felt like an eternity. Her stomach ached, her hands trembled, and her palms were moist with perspiration. She had to summon a tremendous amount of willpower to continue to read.

  If you are reading this letter, I am almost certainly no longer on this earth. I suffered grave wounds in a recent battle, the likes of which I will not describe, for I would not want you to be sad for me. As I hover between life and death, my only thoughts are of you. With the last of my strength, I will write this letter, and many more, to prove my love for you. In this small way, with these letters, a piece of me might stay with you for the rest of your life, even if I am gone.

  Never doubt that you were my joy. When we were together, every day I would wake up and feel fortunate that you had chosen me. Every day, I would wake up and feel extraordinarily lucky, only because you were mine. Your heart is such a precious thing, I know not why you decided to bequeath it to me. Your love was, without doubt, my life's greatest treasure. Even when I was gone, not a day went by when I did not think of you. You were never far from my mind.

  I was never a wealthy man, but with you in my life, I believed I was the richest man in the entire world. Every minute of your company was worth my weight in gold. Every smile was priceless, every kiss was an unforgettable memory. I wish I could fly to your side on this night, to kiss you again and again, to make you happy one last time. It hurts my heart to know I shall never make you happy again. As death descends, I know I shall only make you sad.

  If you love me even half as much as I love you, I know the days ahead of you shall be a struggle. I wish I could be at your side, to help you through it. If life does not end after death, and if the dead can visit the living, I shall be at your side always. I will protect you in any way that I can, as I intended to do when I was living.