Page 51 of Dalliances & Devotion (The Truitts 2)

David stared into the darkness as if studying every line on the man’s face would give him the answers he needed. “But your new wife?”

Armstrong smiled a full smile that glowed brighter than the moon. The older man reclined a bit more. “Yes. We are suited. And everything is much better. There are still troublesome nights, but she’ll come and sit with me and make me feel as if it’s all right, as if I’m not weak.” He placed a hand over his mouth. “And I owe Amalia for that as well. Without her finding a way for me to breathe, for me to learn to manage my days and nights, I’d never have gotten here, never built this life. I wish somehow I could give her what she needs as well.”

Armstrong’s lip tipped. He wagged his pointer finger at David. “But she’ll give everything to the man who can. No matter what happened with me or the oth

er fellow. Because if anyone knows how to love...” He tented his fingers and placed them under his chin, his eyes boring into David.

A million wishes swirled in David’s mind as he stared back, chief among them was the chance to do it all again, this time right. “Did you love her at all?” he asked Armstrong.

“Like a friend, or a sister even.” The major rubbed his thinning hairline. “And I admire her. Very much.”

“Did she love you?” He blurted out the words because he had to know. He shouldn’t need to, shouldn’t pry and he shouldn’t be wishing and hoping for a particular answer, a confirmation.

“I’m sure a part of her very much wanted to, despite everything, despite how it started. But no, we were always honest with each other. We could never really be husband and wife.” Armstrong tucked his hands behind his head. “I always suspected...”

“What?” David’s heart lurched into his throat, a million terrible possibilities flitting through his mind.

“Now, she never committed adultery or sought the company of another man, despite our arrangement and despite how lonely she was out here, but I always wondered...” Armstrong frowned.

“What?” David ground his teeth to keep from shouting the question.

“There were times that she seemed somewhere far away. I’d wondered if she lost someone in the war, besides her brother. I even asked Thad about it, but he said ‘no.’”

“Oh.” David wiped his own brow. The heat again, but something else as well. Foolish hope bubbled within his gut. It couldn’t be about him, it couldn’t.

“Anyway, we should get some sleep. You have a long day tomorrow. Good night, Mr. Zisskind.” The man nodded and settled himself back down on his couch. He blew out the candle.

“Good night,” David whispered in the darkness, unease and guilt gnawing at every one of his organs. And worse, the flicker of hope that would not die.

Chapter Seventeen

The second worst thing about being back in the Armstrong house—the first being the interruption of her evening—was that June Armstrong’s lady’s maid, not David, dressed her. Poorly. Even when she wasn’t with child, it was clear that the current Mrs. Armstrong did not wear anything nearly as complex as she did. David was much more skilled. She was even starting to miss Meg.

Amalia scanned the still dark sky as she used her good hand to fiddle with her brooch. Not her most presentable, though it was better than her hair and cosmetics. She hadn’t even dared line her eyes. At least the train to Hunterdon was short. She wouldn’t really be able to undo the damage until they were back on the main track instead of this offshoot.

Her fingers itched with need to fix, to right, to make her look like she was supposed to. Like nothing was amiss. Like she hadn’t had a mirror held up to her face and could no longer ignore all she’d done, and worse, all she’d now give anything to undo.

She tested her right palm with her thumb and winced. Still sore. And aching like her nerves. Despite the small respite she had with David in the hotel, they were back to reality today. The letter writer, the train, the deadline, and her inevitable confrontation with her parents. Amalia pinched her temples.

Better get downstairs. Time to leave.

When she descended, Will and Meg were already in the parlor, on the settee. Both their heads swiveled around, as did Elias’s. David was the only one who rose. He moved towards the stairs and handed her a teacup filled with black liquid and a biscuit. “We best be going, but I figured you’d need a little something before we boarded.”

Her hand shaking a bit, she accepted both. “Thank you. That’s very kind.” And it was kind. Much too kind. The man was so attentive and charming. If only she could find a way... No, don’t even entertain that sort of future, Amalia. Too late, far too late.

David stroked his stubble. “It’s nothing. The cook was already setting breakfast and I managed to find some coffee grounds in the back of the pantry.”

Probably from when she and Elias were still married. Hopefully it wouldn’t kill her. Amalia took a long swig. She needed it. The delicious burn...ah... “No, David, thank you very much.”

Her former husband cleared his throat. “My men and I will escort you to the station and see that there’s no trouble getting on the train.”

Too much. She tipped her chin to him. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s nothing.” Elias laid a hand on her shoulder. “Even if we aren’t married, you’re still my people. You saved me, Amalia. You’re as much of a brother in blue as any of your siblings.”

Pressure poured in the back of her eyes, a sorrow mixed with a guilt—for Simon, for the others, and for the generations of her family who compromised too many times, made bargains with other people’s lives. And most of all, for her own helplessness during the entire ordeal. The fact that she stood by and watched and hadn’t managed to find some way to do a lick of good.

What she’d done for Elias afterwards was a pittance. It was the least she could do. Especially as her charity benefited from the bargain.

---