Page 24 of My Highland Rogue
“I only got two,” he said. “Only that first one and the one about Sean.”
“I wrote you every year on your birthday and Christmas.” She’d probably been too open in those letters, pouring out her heart, hoping to remind Gordon of what they’d shared for years.
“You never once wrote back.”
“I never got them, Jennifer. I’m sorry.”
He offered her his hand. As if they’d been transported back in time, they began to follow the path to the loch, the same one they’d taken for years. They didn’t speak as they topped the hill.
Moonlight made the surface of the loch appear like molten silver. Farther to the east was a dock and a rowboat they used from time to time. On this side of the loch, however, she’d had a bench built, placing it near a stand of pines overlooking the water.
She took the lead, guiding him to the bench. It was only about three years old, one of her favorite places to come, sit, and remember. Once there, she sat at one end, pulling her skirts to the side. He joined her and still they remained silent, both looking out at the water.
She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, the constriction in her throat nearly choking her. She felt on the verge of tears.
He finally began to speak. “I was only the gardener’s boy, a young man who was occasionally punished for thoughts above his station. How many times did my parents say that to me? I lost count.”
“So you left and stayed away five years. Five years we could have had together.”
He glanced at her. “Where, Jennifer? Where could we have had those years? In London?” He shook his head. “You don’t know what those early years were like. I wouldn’t have subjected you to that.”
“You don’t understand, Gordon. I would have done anything, gone anywhere, just to be with you.”
“And I wouldn’t have asked that of you.”
“So, your type of love has to be perfect? Everything pristine and without flaw? Nothing’s that pretty, Gordon. I would have gone with you. Don’t you understand?”
“How could I have taken you from here? You were an earl’s daughter, an earl’s sister.”
“I was myself, first,” she said, uncaring that the words were too loud, nearly echoing in the silence of the night.
“I was told that I wasn’t good enough for you. Just the gardener’s boy. Not suitable for Lady Jennifer of Adaire Hall.”
She shook her head. “You were Gordon. My Gordon. You were eminently suitable for me.”
“All three of them were at the door, Jennifer. All of them watching as I left. McBain, Harrison, and my own father.”
She stood and moved away from the bench, the one place she’d come when she couldn’t bear the loneliness anymore, when the hurt over his behavior made her cry.
“Jennifer.” He stretched out his hand toward her.
“That didn’t stop you from writing me. You could have written me. You could have said, ‘Jennifer, I’m in London. I’m well. Don’t worry about me.’ Did you never think of me?”
“Every day.”
“You couldn’t have,” she said, shaking her head. “You couldn’t have and never let me know where you were or what you were doing. Five years, Gordon. Five very long years. I didn’t even know if you’d found someone else. If you’d fallen in love or married.”
“Of course I didn’t. I was too busy.”
She looked at him, wishing that the moon hadn’t gone behind a cloud. His face was shrouded in darkness, and she couldn’t read his expression.
“What about you, Jennifer? Why haven’t you married? Do you have a sweetheart somewhere?”
No one but you.
“No, no sweetheart.”
“In all this time you might have met someone. You might have married, Jennifer. Had your own home.”
