I cried a long time after Jimmy left my room. Not just for Mr. Matthew, either, although the loss weighed heavily on my mind. I cried because life was unpredictable, and sometimes very short, and above all, life was lonely and painful. What was the bloody point of it all? I'd read once in a book of poetry that the meaning of life was to learn to love. At the time, young and hopeful, I'd found the idea romantic. I'd allowed myself to believe that love was possible, even for people like me.
I thought back to the brief weeks of that magical summer with the Duke, the man I had truly believed was the love of my life.
"Oh Thomas, how I love and adore you," he'd whispered so many times to me. "We shall find a way to be together forever."
I believed it all, and the feeling was euphoric. In the Duke's arms, I felt warm, safe and accepted. It was easy to push aside the nagging worry that this couldn't possibly last. I had poured my heart and soul out to my lover in the many letters I sent him after our London season together. And all of it had come crashing down around me in the cruelest of ways.
"One swallow doesn't make a summer." The Duke's words still rang in my mind, nine years later. The old expression meant that good things don't necessarily last, but the crude double meaning behind his words wasn't lost on me. It made me feel ashamed of the intimate moments we'd shared, as though he had viewed me as nothing more than a body to use for his own selfish purposes.
The Duke was long in the past now, and I no longer grieved for the man himself. He was vain, ruthless and selfish. But I still grieved over the sense of loss. What were my chances of ever finding another man to love?
Besides all that, it wasn't just any man that I desired. It was Jimmy. I was completely and utterly besotted with the young man, and all my best efforts to suppress my feelings had proved unsuccessful. God knew I hadn't planned to open up myself to the possibility of heartbreak again. And for awhile, I'd managed to convince myself that it was just physical attraction. But the truth was, I was a romantic at heart, though few had ever seen that side of me. I didn't just desire Jimmy's body – I loved him.
And I would try to be content with our friendship. After all, I'd gone almost my entire life without physical affection. I could continue to manage – but I still worried that Jimmy felt bound by duty and nothing more. Now that he'd offered his friendship, I didn't know how I would bear it if he became aloof and distant again.
I dried my eyes and once again pulled out the now dog-eared letter. I should really get rid of it. What if it fell into the wrong hands? I closed my eyes and was startled a moment later by a knock on the door as Miss O'Brien entered my room.
There was no love lost between the two of us anymore. At one time, I had considered her a friend and ally, but those days were long gone. I kept my distance and made my disdain for her plain. This woman had had no qualms about attempting to ruin my life, and all because I'd tried to teach young Alfred a lesson or two.
I knew I'd been wrong to trick Alfred, but my prank had hardly warranted the level of retaliation that Miss O'Brien had stooped to. She'd hoped to strip me not only of my job, but of the possibility of ever working in England again. Not to mention the utter humiliation and heartbreak over my failed encounter with Jimmy. I had decided to be the better person and to leave Her Ladyship's lady's maid alone, rather than retaliate. But that didn't mean I was prepared to be civil.
"What do you want?" I asked shortly. Her presence in the men's quarters was unexpected, but then again, as a lady's maid she was not subject to the discipline of Mrs. Hughes the way the housemaids were. Besides, strictly speaking, the rule was that the men were forbidden from the women's quarters, not the other way around, even though women rarely ventured this way.
"I have some news that I think you'll be pleased to hear," Miss O'Brien said, coolly appraising my room. I noticed without surprise that she had failed to ask me how I was feeling after having been attacked. Typical.
"Well, go on with it then," I answered, not meeting her eyes. I just wanted her to leave me in peace.
"I'm to travel abroad at last," Miss O'Brien informed me, and her eyes gleamed with triumph. "I've accepted a position as Lady Flintshire's lady's maid, and I'll be accompanying her to India where Lord Flintshire is posted."
"Can't say I'll be sorry to see you go," I answered, with no attempt to hide the dislike in my voice. "Have you told Her Ladyship yet?"
"That's my business, isn't it?" Miss O'Brien's voice was equally hard.
"Seems a poor time to be bailing on Her Ladyship, what with her son-in-law not even in his grave," I shot back.
"I've put my time in here and I'm finished," Miss O'Brien said. "Her Ladyship has served my purpose, but all that's through."
Unfeeling to the end, was Miss O'Brien. I had nothing else to say so I remained quiet, having forgotten that the letter still lay in my lap. I love you, Mr. Barrow. –J.
"Received a letter, then?" Miss O'Brien's keen eyes had noticed the piece of paper and she was moving closer to have a look.
"I should think you of all people would recognize this particular letter," I replied, my voice tight with rage. "It was this, your letter, slipped under my door, which finally convinced me your lies about Jimmy were actually true. I must say, you disguised your handwriting remarkably well."
I was beyond embarrassment. Let Miss O'Brien laugh at me for being a sentimental fool – for keeping a love letter that was a piece of forged trickery. She was leaving, and good riddance. She could laugh all she wanted. But to my astonishment, she did not laugh. Instead, her face showed genuine surprise and confusion as she reached for the letter and read its contents.
"I don't know what you're playing at, Thomas, but this is not my doing," my former friend said.
"Well, Alfred's, then," I responded.
"It isn't Alfred's handwriting either," Miss O'Brien said slowly. She looked thoughtful.
"Well, whose, then?" I demanded. "No one else would be this cruel. I know you were behind this somehow."
"Maybe your little footman friend fancies you after all," Miss O'Brien replied with a smirk.
That was enough for me. "Get out," I spat. "I don't have to sit here and take this from you. Haven't you done enough already to ruin my life?"
"Well, excuse me for breathing," Miss O'Brien said airily as she made her way to the door. I said nothing as she departed.
Alone once again, my head spun in confusion. Could I possibly trust Miss O'Brien? Had she really not written the letter? She was probably trying to trick me again and I wasn't about to be gullible enough to fall for that twice. But who HAD written it, then? Not Jimmy, obviously. Try as I might to sort this out, nothing made sense. And I couldn't erase my memory of the genuine confusion on Miss O'Brien's face when she saw the letter. She was a good liar, but my instinct told me that she really had had nothing to do with it.
I knew in my head that the handwriting couldn't possibly be Jimmy's, but my heart wouldn't give up hoping. I knew I would have no peace until I found out the truth, so I devised a plan.
Later that night, Jimmy popped in with a deck of cards. My heart leaped at the sight of him, and while he dealt the cards I drank I his presence eagerly. I still wasn't used to having him sit so close, and the memory of his impulsive hug earlier in the day made me ache with desire.
His physical closeness was almost too much for me to bear, but I wouldn't have traded his company for the world. After a few games, I could see that he was growing tired, and I made my move. Earlier in the day, I had sealed an envelope, and now I handed it to Jimmy.
"Before you go, would you mind addressing this letter for me?" I asked casually. "That cut on my hand makes it bloody near impossible to write. I wrote it before the fair but never got around to getting it ready to post."
"Of course," Jimmy answered and carefully wrote down the address I dictated to him. "Shall I bring it down to add to tomorrow morning's post?"
"I've just remembered I was supposed to enclose a newspaper clipping," I answered quickly. "Never mind about it now; just hand it back to me and I'll see to it tomorrow."
I was sure Jimmy would sense something was amiss, but he gave no indication that he thought I was acting strangely.
"Well, I'm off to bed, then," he said. "Good night, Mr. Barrow."
"Good night, Jimmy," I responded, eagerly retrieving the old letter from underneath my pillow the second he had left, so that I could compare it with the address Jimmy had just written. My heart began to pound and my mouth fell open in sheer amazement as I held the two documents side by side. The handwriting was identical.
A/N: Please don't lose patience if you're looking for things to heat up! It's coming! Thanks for reading!