William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise by Anne Perry Page B

if I were to forget … but how can I? It would be such a betrayal … even if it were possible!” He wanted reassurance he was right. “What kind of man would I be if I could just go on as if they had never lived … and died like that?”
    “One never forgets,” she agreed, thinking of some of her own memories, men, and women too, who had been fragile and brave and who had died terribly. “But you can’t expect other people to share what they don’t understand.” She straightened the bedclothes unnecessarily. “It is a part of your life, and it always will be … but it isn’t all of it.”
    He looked at her ruefully, acknowledgment in his eyes, but he did not answer.
    She glanced at his bedside table to make sure he had water and a clean glass.
    “Is there anything else you would like?”
    “No,” he said flatly. “No, thank you. Are—are you going to sit with Perdita?”
    She knew what he really meant. She was aware of his deep sense of inadequacy to be the husband, companion and protector that he had promised his wife he would be. Instead he was in need of her strength and help, not only physically but emotionally.
    “Yes,” she said with a smile of assurance. “As soon as I can see you are settled I shall go and find her.”
    He relaxed. At least for tonight he need not worry. “Thank you. Good night, Hester.” Without being aware of it he had used her Christian name.
    “Good night, Gabriel,” she answered from the doorway, then went out and closed the door quietly.
    It was after eleven o’clock, but since she had promised, she made her way downstairs to see if Perdita was still up. Most probably she was not, but she must look.
    However, as soon as she opened the withdrawing room door Perdita sat up from the sofa where she had been curled half asleep. Her hair was tousled and she blinked even in the dim light of the one wall lamp still lit.
    “How is he?” she asked anxiously. “Is he all right?”
    Hester closed the door and walked over to the chair near Perdita and sat down. She looked at the younger woman’s frightened eyes and her soft cheek, marked now where she had lain against the crease in the cushions. She was about twenty-two, but in some ways no more than a child. She had been married at eighteen after a year’s betrothal to a man who was in every way her ideal. She had seen him through the eyes of a girl who expected everything of marriage. It was not only what was required of her, it was her own dream, and Gabriel Sheldon was the perfect husband: handsome, brave, charming, well-bred and with a promising career. And for all that it had been a socially suitable marriage, they had also been in love.
    Now her whole world was in ruins, for no reason she could comprehend, and she was overwhelmed by it.
    “He is settled for the night,” Hester answered. “I think hewill sleep well.” She had no idea whether he would or not, but there was no purpose in saying that to Perdita.
    Perdita frowned. “Are you sure? You were in there a long time….”
    “Oh … I suppose I was. We were just talking. There was nothing wrong, I promise you.”
    Perdita looked unhappy, twisting her hands together in her lap.
    “I never know what to say to him,” she murmured. “I can’t keep asking how he is feeling. He only says he’s all right. And I know he isn’t, but there’s nothing I can do.” She glanced up suddenly. She had very blue eyes, but in this somber light they seemed almost black. “What do you find to say, Miss Latterly?”
    Hester hesitated. She should not answer with the truth. He had not said so, but what Gabriel had told her was implicitly a confidence. It was something neither of them could share with anyone else. As close as she had been to William Monk at times—all the causes they had fought for together, the tragedies they had seen—she would not share her experiences of the battlefield or the siege or the hospital at Scutari with him. But Gabriel