Chapter 7

Foyle lost all track of time. The feel of Caroline's soft mouth moving under his and the touch of her tongue against his was so lovely, so right. Right, the word echoed in his mind, so right.

But this wasn't right. This was another man's wife.

Christopher gently pushed her away, trying to slow his breathing.

"Caroline we must stop," he responded to her whimper of objection, "Someone might see us, and that won't do for your sake."

Caroline's disappointment was evident on her face, but after staring into his eyes and seeing the concern reflected in them, she nodded and turned slightly away from the man she loved. She let her hands slip from his as she stood and looked toward the long branch of weeping wych elm that swept in over the courtyard wall.

Sergeant Foyle glanced tentatively at Caroline, then spoke with an awkwardness he hadn't felt in her presence in many days. "I suppose I should be getting back to the ward…"

"So soon? Couldn't we…" she turned to him as she gathered her thoughts, "Couldn't we just keep sitting for a bit? I promise I won't ravish you." She smiled at him a little sadly, despite her teasing, and his heart bumped. Oh, I really am in a bad situation. But I don't truly mind—odd.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping the last of their tea, each enjoying the sunlight and cherishing the company of the other. Then they quietly talked of inconsequential things; the other men on the ward, the nurses Caroline worked with, whether it would be an early spring. They talked about anything except the love that boiled up between them and what it meant for them and their future.

Eventually the sun sank behind the corner of the building and the once-warm picnic spot grew cold.

"We should go in." Foyle said.

"Yes, we should. But it's been so lovely," Caroline's eyes caught and held Christopher's as she said solemnly, "All of it has been so lovely."

They slowly walked back to the ward in silence until Foyle put his hand on his nurse's arm, stopping her in an empty hallway.

"Caroline, I've had a wonderful day."

"Thank you, Christopher. So have I."

He waited in the hall while Caroline returned the picnic dishes to the dear Mrs Whitney, with their sincere thanks. They went on towards the ward.

Christopher sat down on the bed with a sigh. Tired, and so much to think about.

As Caroline helped him out of his dressing gown, her hand brushed the back of his neck, sending a race of chills down his spine.

As she neatened his blanket he looked up at her with one eyebrow arched and said, "Lancelot and Guinevere—it was an un… an unfulfilled love, wasn't it?"

Caroline blushed and looked away from him. She paused, then met his eyes, her blush undimmed, but with an impish grin. "Only in the children's versions, Christopher. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Caroline," he said softly as he watched her leave.

Foyle reclined on his bed. Caroline had left with a quick wave from the doorway. The tiny gesture sent a tremor through his chest.

After the evening meal, most of the more mobile patients gathered around the piano and sang—on Sundays liturgical music was an unspoken rule. Although Christopher didn't join in, the beauty and peace of it made a pensive backdrop for his thoughts.

What was he doing? He loved Caroline, that fact he did not doubt. And he strongly suspected—no, he knew—that she loved him, too. But the kiss? Their mutual love should go no further. It shouldn't have gone this far.

Everything in Foyle's character and upbringing told him that loving her was wrong. Wrong for him. Wrong for her. Wrong for both of them.

But when he was with her… it seemed as far from wrong as possible. It was wonderful.

Damn the man! Sir Charles Devereaux! Didn't he know what a fine treasure he was squandering?

Foyle had never met Devereaux, but he felt he knew the type. Entitled, arrogant and mean. Someone who would pursue a prize and then when their hard work paid off and they'd won it, wouldn't value it. The prize could never be as good as the pursuit.

Yes, I imagine Charles Devereaux is still enjoying the pursuit.

Poor Caroline!

Christopher knew their love could go no further, but his thoughts wandered to Caroline… to how it would feel if nothing held them back, and their kisses could go on and on, until the two of them were intertwined. A thrill of excitement stirred in him, but also a thrill of apprehension.

Despite his 23 years he had never been intimate with a woman. He was waiting to be married or at least engaged. He had thought that Elizabeth would have been willing once they were engaged, but that hadn't happened.

Other men, even friends of his, took the opportunity with women who were so inclined, but Foyle had always held back. If he had been asked he would have found it difficult to explain his reluctance. He had wants and desires as strong as any young man's, but it had always seemed a thing too momentous to share with just anyone. He wanted to share this with a woman who was as special to him as he was to her.

The pretty, fair-haired woman who had sat in Foyle's lap at the tavern in Loos had been sweet and inviting as she boldly smoothed her delicate little hands inside his tunic and toyed with his hair, and her attentions had warmed and even flattered him, but there was something a bit mercenary, or dutiful on her part, about it all. After buying her a few glasses of wine and struggling in his awkward bit of French to converse with her, he'd called it a night.

The lads didn't have to know that his walk upstairs with Estée had ended at her chamber door.

Christopher sighed raggedly as he pulled up his coverlet with one hand, covering his aching shoulder.

What are we going to do?

Caroline Devereaux was dreading her arrival home, as she knew Charles probably would have returned by this time. Johnson, her driver, was as prompt as ever, and though she often would chat with him on the way to and from Whitefriars, she was quiet this early evening. Good as he was at what he did, he sensed her unease and did not try to engage her in any small talk.

The great front hall with its classical statuary seemed more draughty and sterile than ever. She thought of how charmed she had been, the first time she had seen this elegant yellow manse with its tremendous columns and painting-filled rooms. Now it seemed the opposite of comfort. She would far rather sit in a cosy old schoolroom in a worn window seat, farthest from lonely with her Christopher. That was how she was thinking of him now: Her Christopher. And yet she had no right to consider him hers. Not when she couldn't truly be his.

The housekeeper, Mrs Ramsay, emerged from a side door after turning out the lights of the music room. She looked at Mrs Devereaux in surprise, for the younger woman stood there, still in her VAD uniform and cap, looking quite desolate.

"My Lady? May I get you something?"

Caroline shook herself of the trance she was in and smiled feebly at the kind woman. Then she shook her head slightly as she said, "No. No, thank you, Mrs Ramsay. Has Sir Charles returned yet?"

Her pale blue eyes caught the flicker of distaste in the housekeeper's usually friendly brown ones. Caroline wasn't the only person in the household made uncomfortable by the formidable Charles.

"No, Lady Devereaux, he isn't home. He called earlier to say that he once again has been detained in London."

"Oh, very well, Mrs Ramsay," Caroline replied, relief washing over her. "I'll retire for the night, then. Thank you, and goodnight."

Caroline climbed the stairs, limp with relief that Charles wouldn't be there greeting her with harsh words. But there was something... something in the way Mrs Ramsay had said "once again detained": a distinct note of disapproval. Almost as if the housekeeper knew why Charles hadn't returned home.

Was he at it again? Another woman. No, girl—each successive one seemed to be younger than the last.

Caroline's feelings were a mixture. A sense of release, knowing that Charles was not home. Anger and shame, that he was again flaunting their marriage vows. Embarrassment—everyone knew, it seemed. The servants, of course, but also her and Charles' so-called friends. She'd been ignoring the whispers and sly innuendos since shortly after their return from the wedding trip.

And hope. This gave her new incentive—not that she needed much—to further her relationship with Christopher, without guilt.

Charles, I hope you enjoy whoever-she-is, because now I'm free. I'll not let any supposed duty to you stop me acting on my love for Christopher.

TBC...