My Sweet Folly Read Online Free Page B

must have been, to develop such a passion for a man who was no more than ink upon paper.
    It was best, the way he had done it. She did not doubt that. Folie knew herself; she had longed to write him, to maintain a connection, to remain friends. And yet at the same time she had known how impossible it must be—that she could not keep her heart out of it.
    So she had not written. Only thought of him every day of the past four years, until he was a habit, a smile and a gentle stroke of the blue cashmere shawl when she rose, a little prayer for him each night.
    Only a few months after his last letter, Mssrs. Hawkridge and James had informed her that the father had passed away, and Lieutenant Robert Cambourne, being next named in the will, was now her stepdaughter’s guardian. But nothing had changed, no letter had come to her from him, and Folie had ceased watching for the post.
    At least, she had ceased hoping. She had thought that she would watch for the rest of her life.
    But now...
    Now he asked her to come to him. Commanded it. By his letter, she thought his character must be much the same, but she was not so sure of her own. In the years after Charles’ death, her heart had toughened in some places and grown softer in others. She and Melinda had become friends, and friendship had grown into a deep love.
    Melinda was her priority now. Folie could remember the silent, frozen battles from her stepdaughter’s childhood, but she could no longer feel them. Somewhere along the way the two women had thawed to one another—there was nothing in Folie’s life more important than that Melinda should make an excellent marriage, a happy marriage. And Folie would settle somewhere close by, but not too close by, perfectly comfortable on Charles’ modest pension, and there would be children to spoil and perhaps if she were fortunate some entertaining females to gossip with, and...
    And she was commanded to meet him. To go to his home, to see his wife. A wave of despair washed over her. She did not want to meet him. She wanted him to stay forever as he had been in her memory, a perfect knight. Her knight, hers alone.
    Her throat closed too quickly as she swallowed another sip of tea. She wrinkled her nose. With a deep unsteady breath, she folded the letter, slipped it into her apron, and stood up to wash her cup.
     

     
    “Mama, this is perfectly absurd!” Melinda exclaimed, standing between her trunk and valise on the front stoop. An early morning fog obscured most of the village street. “I will not go alone!”
    “Sally will do as a companion for the journey. The letters say you will be there before dark,” Folie said, bending down to check the leather buckle on the valise. “I really do not feel well enough to travel, and once you’ve arrived, Mrs. Cambourne will be a proper chaperon.”
    “If you don’t feel well, then all the more reason I should remain here with you!” Melinda turned to Sally, pulling back the stylish gray hood of her cloak. “You must go for Dr. Martin directly.”
    “No, no!” Folie said. “It’s not as bad as that. Just a touch of the headache.”
    Melinda looked at her suspiciously. “Certainly your eyes are quite puffy and dull,” she said. “You look as if you’ve been weeping all night.”
    “Thank you so much,” Folie said. “I feel as if I have been packing all night!”
    “Well, I did not insist upon it! This is entirely silly. It’s no wonder you feel unwell, staying up till all hours. I simply do not see why there is this great rush—”
    ‘“There, that will be the postchaise,’’ Folie said, straightening up at the sound of hooves and a creaking jingle that carried through the fog.
    Down the street, a handsome carriage materialized, the horses moving at a slow walk jwhile the postboy, mounted on the leader, peered about at the houses. There were even two footmen up behind, a most luxurious touch. Folie lifted her hand and called out to them.
    “I am not going,”