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John heaved a sigh. He stopped and tilted his head back, looking at the stars. Sam followed his lead and gazed at the misty sky.
“I was in the hospital for several weeks. There were many soldiers like me. Nobody could differentiate one person from another. I was given someone’s letters by mistake. There was a bulk of them,” he said with a smile in his voice.
“Did you read them?”
“Yes.” He lowered his head and stared ahead. “I was still delirious with fever when I read. I didn’t even notice they weren’t addressed to me. The letters seemed generic at first… They were addressed ‘dear soldier.’”
Sam looked at him sharply. That was what she’d called Ben. But other people probably called their soldiers that, too.
“She signed her name Angel,” he continued and Sam’s mouth fell open.My letters.Lord Ashbury was talking about her letters to Ben. The letters he’d never responded to because he had died without ever having received them.
“That Angel, whoever she is, will never know how close to truth her signature was to me,” John continued, oblivious to her turmoil. “She saved me when I had nothing to look forward to. She described peace and penetrated my heart with her words. Gave me a reason to—” He finally looked at Sam and stopped mid-sentence. Sam’s face was probably ashen.
Sam licked her lips. “Those letters. Did they come from the office of the Secretary at War, by any chance?”
“Yes.” He looked at her intently. “How do you know that?”
“Because I wrote them.”
John’s eyes widened as he tried to make sense of her words. He seemed frozen, paralyzed. Sam couldn’t say anything either.
“Sam?” They both turned as they heard a masculine voice, accompanied by footsteps moving in their direction. “Here you are, I’ve been looking all over for you!”
The tall, dark figure of her brother Richard stepped in front of them. He looked from Sam to Ashbury and back again. “What are you doing here?” he thundered.
“Please, stop yelling, Richard, we were just talking.” Sam slid a discreet look at her companion and was relieved to see that he had composed himself.
Ashbury inclined his head. “Ashbury, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Gage.” Richard sketched a brief bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.” With these words, he took Sam by the arm and steered her back toward the house.
* * *
John stood alone in the empty dark garden, staring at the brother and sister walking away from him. He couldn’t believe what had just transpired. Had it really happened or was it his imagination? It couldn’t be possible that it was a mere coincidence and that someone else had written the letters, addressed them from the Secretary at War’s office, and signed her nameAngel.
He tried to remember everything he’d read about her in her letters and compare it to everything he knew about Miss Samantha. How could he have been such an idiot and not seen it earlier? There was no way he could have known, but he had felt a strange pull toward her since the first day they met. He couldn’t believe it.
Is it really her?The question flew across his mind before he heard a familiar buzzing. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Her letters were the only things that could keep the blasted headaches at bay. Her letter. He reached into his breast pocket and extracted it, smoothing the familiar lines with his fingers. His vision blurred, and the sounds receded into the background.
He knew he had to get out of there as soon as possible. He couldn’t have one of his episodes, not now, not here. John pocketed the letter and hurried through the French doors, across the ballroom, and out of the house. He reached his carriage shortly, hopped inside, and settled in. His head was pounding… or was it his heartbeat? He couldn’t tell anymore. He was alternating between feeling hot and cold. His hands were shaking. He heard the gunshots and could smell the gunpowder, the blood.
“Bloody hell!” Another splitting headache.
He didn’t know how long the journey home took. By the time he scrambled into the house, his headache hadn’t subsided even a little. He came into the hall, somehow handed his valet his jacket, gloves, and hat. He shuffled up the steps into his room and collapsed on his bed.
