I thought being near you was agony, but kissing you absolutely destroyed my composure. I felt like a selfish, dishonorable cad and could barely face you afterward. That we were able to remain friends meant everything to me, but the ache and regret never left me. I watched with great despair as Graham continued to hurt you, and then hated myself when I wished he would never regain his memory. When he did, I thought it all over. For how could he ever release you after recalling everything? I knew you would marry, that he would apologize for ending your engagement. I was sure of it. Then, when I learned he would remain in St. Kitts and still broke your engagement, I could no longer keep my shame to myself. I confessed to Graham that I’d fallen in love with you, and that I had kissed you. It was a strange moment, seeing his anger rise and then retreat as he worked through his emotions. But after he explained his feelings clearly, I no longer felt guilty. He told me to waste no time in telling you how I feel. He gave me his blessing. So I immediately began writing this letter.
Now, here is my confession once more. I love you, my dearest, loveliest Elsie. I have always loved you, and I know I always will.
All I ask is that you consider your feelings for me. When we kissed, I felt for a moment that you longed for meas I longed for you. But perhaps that was my wishful thinking, and you simply got caught up in the moment. I will not blame you for that; I know you were in emotional turmoil, and I perhaps took advantage of it. I blame myself entirely.
If, however, you feel more than friendship for me, tell me so at once and I will come to you. There is nothing in this world that could stop me.
Always yours,
Arthur Ashby
I was speechless, thoughtless, breathless. It astounded me that Arthur Ashby was a man with so much passion to love a woman for five years without any hope of a return. Such a thought was rather gratifying. Never in my wildest imaginings had it occurred to me that Arthur Ashby had been in love with me even before our journey to St. Kitts. No wonder he’d kissed me with such desire, if he had been harboring those feelings for so long!
Inducing a passion such as this in a man was what I’d always longed for. It was what I thought Graham had felt for me, and what I felt for him. But Mr. Ashby’s feelings were of a different sort entirely than either mine or Graham’s. This was pure, unadulterated, passionate longingunlike anything I’d ever known.
But what exactly wasIfeeling? Flattered, surely, and surprised. Gratitude swelled in my chest. And then butterflies appeared and greeted me with excitement. I let out a giggle, which startled me so much I covered my mouth. I knew I cared for Mr. Ashby greatly. I thought of him frequently, so frequently that I’d berated myself for it. I’d tried to deny that our connection was more than friendship, but how could I, when our kiss had such an effect on me? After that fleeting moment, I had pushed aside my growing feelings for him. I’d aspired to become Mrs. Anderson. I’d convinced myself to believe that regardless of anything else, I was entirely devoted to that title.
And yet, how many times had I compared the two of them? How many times had my mind wandered to the moments I’d been captivated by Mr. Ashby? How many times did I have to force myself to think of Graham when his friend came to mind? Even now, diverted as I was to learn of Mr. Ashby’s feelings and knowing that my heart was keen to enjoy it, there remained a guilty pang inside of me when I thought of Graham. Because in my mind, the love we shared had been something to fight for, something I would never give up on. I would probably never have given up on it had Graham not done so first. My stubbornness would not allow it.
But Graham had moved on. Considering everything he’d been through and how we’d both changed, regardless of my convictions about true love, I accepted his choice.
Could I give myself the same acceptance and move on as well? I didn’t want to be a hypocrite, for hypocrisy of any kind was abhorrent to me. If I recalled all the times I’d told Melody that Graham was the only man for me…I covered my face with shame. Was I to be so disloyal to my own convictions?
It was ridiculous to lament over being disloyal when Graham and I had parted amicably; I was merely disappointed that true love had not conquered all. I looked over Mr. Ashby’s letter again. What wastrue love, anyway? It certainly seemed like the love Mr. Ashby felt was true. I could feel the truth of it. His words flowed through my entire body and thrilled me to my core.
Perhaps true love was not eternal, nor was it finite; for love to be true, it didn’t have to be permanent.
The love I shared with Graham had been true, once. Perhaps these feelings I’d been harboring for Mr. Ashby were true as well. Love, though? Did I love Arthur Ashby?
That question would have to be answered during this long, long journey home.
Chapter 36
Dayspassed,andMr.Ashby’s letter was the only thing I wished to read. His confessions and feelings were constantly on my mind, and no matter how many times I read his words, I never tired of them. My own feelings had undergone such a transformation as to receive his confession with more than gratitude or flattery.
After battling through the disappointment regarding how things had ended with Graham, I came to several realizations as I read through my own letters that Graham had returned to me. First, my love for Graham had been real and sweet. Second, his love for me had been genuine. Third, I had romanticized our connection over the three years he was gone. The memories I wrote about were rosy and far too perfect. The naivete with which I wrote those letters became more evident as I reviewed them. I had believed we knew each other deeply and that our time together at Edleroy could sustain us forever. And while he had meant it when he said he loved me and that he wished to marry me, his love was not unchangeable. As he’d admitted, his love for me could not weather storms. And it hadn’t. But neither had mine, not really.
The love I held for Graham had turned to fixation over time. I was entirely obsessed with the idea of marrying Graham Anderson, and with my personality, that meant all of my decisions would be dictated by that one focus. I twisted every emotion to support my conviction ofmarrying Graham. When I felt sad, it was because I missed him. When I felt angry, it was because we weren’t married yet. When I felt lonely, it was because he wasn’t there beside me. Whatever I was going through, I’d blamed it on my constant waiting. Becauseif there was ever a man for me, it was Graham Anderson. It had become an adage, a proverb, something I repeated to myself to calm my spirits. To convince myself I was doing the right thing by waiting for him.
But I’d become a shadow of myself, waiting in that tower for someone who may never return. I began to hate myself. Love shouldn’t do that; it should have given me another reason to love myself.
And the most important epiphany I had: when I felt most like myself, I was falling in love with Arthur Ashby.
I hadn’t realized it at the time. How could I, when my mind was preoccupied by something I’d repeated to myself for over three years? Kissing Arthur had been my heart trying to tell me who I truly loved. I recalled with perfect clarity howIwas the one who’d initiated the kiss. He blamed himself, but it was me who’d pulled him in. It was me who’d gotten lost in that life-changing moment. For it had changed my life, even if the effects were not immediate. It had been a catalyst in preparing my heart to accept Graham’s decision. That kiss had been the reason we parted amicably, the reason I could let go of that all-consuming obsession.
I did love Arthur Ashby. Very dearly. And the moment I admitted that to myself, I sat down to write him a letter.
Dearest Arthur,
There are a hundred ways I could start this letter, and while thanking you seems insufficient, I have to thank you for staying in St. Kitts to allow me time to untangle my heart. I read and reread your letter so many times I fear the words became blurred. But as I pondered upon your feelings, and my own, everything fell into place.
I love you, Arthur Ashby, more than I imagined possible. Your humor, your unfailing belief in me, your expressive face that tells me exactly how you feel at all times, your deeply blue eyes, and even your unique love of bookkeeping all made me fall for you before I even knew it was happening. I believe my fixation with marrying Graham blinded me as to what was going on within my own heart.
You told me that if I loved you, you would come to me. Well, I am asking you to come to me, and much more than that. I wish to marry you. Will you grant me such a favor? Don’t think I am asking you hastily, for I’ve considered my feelings from every angle, and the conclusion I have come to is that I never wish to be parted from you from this day forward. To achieve that aim, I believe marriage may be our only option.
So, finish the work you must do at the mission and come to Edleroy. I cannot wait to see you. If you do not hurry, I am liable to run away and come find you. Waiting and I are not on friendly terms.
Always,
