Dear Nigel, it began. He could almost hear her voice, familiar and sweet, calling him by the name she had called him ever since they were children. Your father tells me that you are going out of town for a time. He believes it will be short, and I must add that I wish for the same fortunate happenstance.
I find that I cannot bear to leave the conversation between us as we left it yesterday – there is too much history for it all to end there, in my hall, with such a hopeless viewpoint. Allow me to state firstly that I see the honour in goodness in what you are doing. I see that you are trying to protect me from myself. But allow me to tell you that my life will be misery without you.
There was a break in the page, a thinning of the ink. He could almost imagine her re-dipping her quill before the next paragraph, hovering over the page until her thoughts had collected.
Nigel, I love you. I think I always have, although I’m not sure I was self-conscious enough to admit it. Now that I know my own feelings so well, I cannot lose everything again by turning my back on what is right. Society’s approval means nothing to me, while your approval means everything. I have spoken with my father, and he has offered his blessing.
I know this will be news to you – a shock, perhaps – but I assure you that it is true. He admits that his blessing will not be the same as society’s blessing and that the road ahead of us will still be difficult. But Nigel, I care not. I know not how to convey this openly enough – for me there is only you, and if I cannot have you there will be no other. You want to save me from having a broken life, but I must tell you that my life will only be whole if I am with you. I hope that you will come back to me, that you will feel as I do, that you will accept little Poppy as a part of our lives. In short, I ask you to reconsider your position. I love you. Margaret.
Nigel realised he had tears in his eyes, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. He was thankful that his friend was not alert to the letter or it’s contents so that he might process all he had learned in peace and quiet. Margaret loved him and was willing to give up everything for him.
Her father’s blessing was news to him, and while he understood society would still pose an obstacle to their marriage, it suddenly seemed possible to be with the woman he loved above all others. He felt deliriously hopeful, and everything in him wanted to turn the carriage around and go back to Cornwall to tell her that he had been wrong, that he only wanted to be with her, and that their future belonged with each other.
He contained himself, however, tucking the letter back into the pocket of his coat where it could lie safely against his heart.
When they rolled into London, Nigel’s thoughts had calmed somewhat on the subject. He still yearned to see Margaret, but he was composed enough to keep his emotions from Andrew, who seemed intent on the matter at hand. Both men climbed out of the carriage, straightened their stiff uniforms, and set off up the stairs of the great commissioners’ building so that they might make their proper interview with Nigel’s commanding officer.
The hall where they were to wait was cool and silent. They were the only ones sitting against the far wall, and they watched quietly as various uniformed officers proceeded in a clipped and proper way through the establishment.
“Are you nervous?” Andrew asked at one point.
Nigel smiled. “I am not.” He felt the strangest sense of calm, and could only think of Margaret.
At last, a uniformed foot soldier came and escorted them to the grand office of the general, who was arrayed in his own crisp uniform, presiding over a sparse hall with a single desk in the middle of a long, marble floor. There were tall windows along both walls, and Nigel had the strange sensation as he walked along the length of the room that he was approaching a throne room rather than an office.
“Major Andrew Moorhouse, General,” the foot soldier said with