Heaven Sent (41 page)

He sighed and forced himself to think
about love. He hadn’t thought about love as an emotion removed from
Anne and her life and death, for years. If ever. Perhaps he’d never
thought about it.

What was love, anyway? Affection,
certainly. And sexual desire. That was important in a marital
relationship. Aubrey didn’t approve of men who kept mistresses, and
he wouldn’t be one of them; he didn’t care how fashionable such
affairs were in some circles. He liked to keep what was his; and he
didn’t believe in double standards. Besides, he didn’t move in
those exalted social circles, except peripherally, and he didn’t
want to.

But what else was involved in love
besides affection and desire? He thought hard, his hands clasped
behind his back, and his eyes focused on the beautiful grounds of
his home. Shared principles, he supposed. And complementary goals
in life. He imagined he and Callie had those in common. What about
need? Did need play a part in love?

He often felt as though he needed
Callie Prophet, rather like a plant needs water. It bothered him
some to admit it, but he did. If she left, it wouldn’t only be
Becky who was devastated by her absence; Aubrey would be, too. In
truth, if she left, he’d be crushed.

By God, losing Callie would hurt as
much as losing Anne.

The realization stunned him, and he
blinked into the autumn sunshine, almost afraid. He didn’t like
knowing he needed her this much; there was too much that could be
lost when a person began needing another person, and he wasn’t sure
he was up to the perils. He tested his new understanding
cautiously.

He’d been contemplating it for some
time, and had reluctantly come to the conclusion that he really did
love Callie and was almost willing to risk the need, when a soft
knock came at his library door. He turned, saying, “Come
in.”

His heart lit up when he beheld
Callie, smiling at him from the doorway. By God. It really must be
love. He smiled back at her and walked to the door, impelled by,
well, love, he supposed, to touch her. He took her arm and said,
“Come in, come in, Callie. How’s the patient?”

Not very
loverlike
, Aubrey scolded himself. He’d
been much better at this sort of thing with Anne. But Anne had been
a different sort of person. Receptive. Gentle. Callie was more
prickly. She was self-sufficient and didn’t impel a man to pamper
her. With a sigh, he told himself he’d learn how to express himself
with her.

“
She’s much better,” Callie
said, gazing at him with what Aubrey was startled to recognize as
adoration.

Could
she
love
him
? It seemed unlikely, given her
opinion of him when they’d first met.

On the other hand, he vaguely recalled
her saying something about loving him that night they’d made love.
That night now seemed centuries ago. Given the state of his sexual
arousal every time he saw her, he hoped they’d be able to remedy
his deprived state soon.

“
What’s that you have,
darling?” he asked, noticing for the first time that Callie held a
cardboard box that looked as if the lid didn’t fit very well from
the box being overfilled.

“
I need to talk to you about
a few things, Aubrey. Including this.”

She didn’t meet his eyes when she sat.
Faintly puzzled, Aubrey went behind his desk and sat as well. “Oh?
What is it, sweetheart.” The endearments fell from his lips like
the mulberry leaves falling from the tree.

Was be really becoming the besotted
lover? Whereas not long ago—minutes ago, even—the notion would have
brought with it feelings of guilt, now it pleased him. He sensed
Anne’s approval, and began to feel even better.

“
Um . . .” Callie stopped
speaking and swallowed.

Aubrey tilted his head, bemused.
Callie wasn’t generally at a loss for words. “What’s the matter,
Callie? You can tell me.” He hoped his smile conveyed his newly
recognized love.

He was startled at the tormented
expression in her eyes when she finally lifted her head and gazed
at him. “I have a confession to make, Aubrey.”

Good God. “A confession?” What in the
name of heaven could she have to confess to him? Unsettled, but
hoping she was only being dramatic, he tried to tease her. “I hope
you’re not going to confess to murder or anything of that nature,
Callie, because I won’t believe you.”

A smile flickered and died on her
face. “No, I’m not a murderess.”

“
I didn’t think so, although
after experiencing your temper a couple of times I couldn’t be
sure.” He grinned, hoping to lighten her mood.

“
No. It’s not that.” She
gulped again and lifted the box.

“
Among other things, it’s
this.”

“
Oh?”

“
Or, rather,
these.”

Aubrey put his elbows on his desk,
steepled his fingers, and propped his chin on them. She was very
nervous. This looked as though it was going to take some time
unless he prompted her. “Go on, Callie. Whatever it is, I’m sure we
can resolve it.”

Maybe she was going to confess to
having had a torrid affair with someone when she was younger;
someone who’d seduced and abandoned her, perhaps. She wouldn’t be
the first young woman to suffer such an indignity, and it would
explain how she’d managed to remain single for so long. She was too
precious to avoid matrimony unless there was a pretty good reason
for it.

Although the thought of Callie
succumbing to the lures of some Lothario made Aubrey wince, he
decided he couldn’t hold such an affair against her. Not if she
truly regretted it. After all, she was an emotional creature, and
if she’d been young . . . Well, he would forgive her; that was
all.

But wait. He frowned, recalling that
she’d been a virgin when he’d deflowered her. Ergo, evidently he’d
been the first Lothario to have taken advantage of her. He frowned,
not liking the scenario his brain had just produced. It had to be
something else.

She lifted her chin in that
characteristic gesture of defiance that used to irk him and now
made him want to laugh out loud. “You know I used to work the
postal route in your neighborhood.”

“
Yes.”

“
Well, I got to know Becky
then.”

“
Yes, I know. You told me,
and so did Becky.”

“
Yes, well, there’s
something I didn’t tell you.”

Uh-oh. Aubrey braced himself, “And
what is that?”

“
You were grieving over your
loss.” As if against her will, her chin lowered. She stared at the
box in her lap. “Becky started writing letters to her mother, your
late wife.”

Aubrey’s gaze narrowed as he tried to
make sense of this tidbit of information. “She . . .
what?”

Callie lifted her chin again and
forged onward. “She started writing letters to her mother. In
heaven.”

“
Good God.”

“
Yes.” Callie nodded. “I
felt sorry for her when she gave me the first letter.”

“
I can see why.” Guilt
entered uninvited and began nibbling at Aubrey’s vitals. “I, ah,
wasn’t very good company for some time after Anne died.”

“
Yes. I know.”

He frowned and opened his mouth to
deny culpable intent, but Callie spoke before he had a
chance.

“
I know you were having a
terrible time, but so was Becky. I felt sorry for her, so I took
her letters home, read them, and answered them.”

“
You answered Becky’s
letters to her mother?” Aubrey gawked at Callie.

“
Yes.” Firmly. As if she
were defending her position. “I couldn’t bear the thought that
Becky, who is the most darling child in the world, would write
letters to the mother she loved and lost and never have them
answered.” She turned mutinous. “It’s not as if she could turn to
you for comfort, after all.”

“
Touché
.” After the first shock had passed, Aubrey began to see some
humor—and a lot of pathos—in the situation. “In truth, you probably
eased her mind a good deal.” He felt benevolent after he said it,
as if he were granting absolution.

“
Yes, well, they did seem to
ease her spirits some.”

“
So. You knew my daughter
quite well before you came to work here as her nanny, I
see.”

Callie nodded and swallowed.
“Yes.”

This didn’t seem so awfully bad. It
pricked Aubrey’s pride some to know his daughter had felt compelled
to turn to a stranger for assistance during a time of great stress
in her life, but he admitted it had been a God-awful time for all
of them. He knew the household staff had suffered, too.

And, he admitted, he guessed he was
glad Becky had found someone in whom to confide—even if she didn’t
know it wasn’t her mother, but Callie, who was reading and
answering her letters. That was a bit . . . Aubrey couldn’t think
of an appropriate word. Underhanded was too harsh. Intrusive,
perhaps. But Callie’s interference had been for a good cause, and
it had helped Becky, and that was the important thing. He
supposed.

“
Well,” he said at last.
“I’m glad you found a way to ease Becky’s mind, Callie. That was a
bad time for all of us.”

“
Oh, I know it, Aubrey!”
Lifting her chin again, she gazed at him earnestly. “And I’d never
have done it if Becky weren’t so young to have suffered such a
wrenching loss. She was so unhappy. I couldn’t stand to let her
wait and wait and wait for answers from her mother. I just
couldn’t.” She brushed tears away.

Aubrey felt vaguely manipulated,
although he knew he shouldn’t. It wasn’t like Callie to stoop to
feminine wiles like tears. She’d sooner knock him over the head
with a brick as cry in front of him. The thought made him grin.
“It’s all right, Callie. I’m glad you answered those letters. They
helped Becky, and that’s the important thing.”

“
Yes, well . . .” Callie
gulped. “There’s more.”

“
Oh?” For some reason,
Aubrey experienced a creeping sense of dread.

“
Um, Aubrey, Becky found
these letters some time ago.” Callie lifted the lid of the box in
her lap and held up a letter with a hand that shook slightly. “She,
ah, had been trying to read them.”

“
Letters? More letters?” All
thoughts of Callie and her letters from Anne vanished instantly.
His gaze sharpened. “What are those? Not answers to the letters she
wrote to her mother in heaven, I presume.”

She licked her lips. “Um, no. They’re
letters you wrote to your wife while she was still
alive.”

For a second Aubrey’s mind went blank.
He didn’t comprehend, although the sensation of slithering dread
intensified. Squinting, he said, “I beg your pardon?”

Callie sucked in a breath Aubrey heard
from where he sat. She stiffened her spine and looked him in the
eye, as if she were gathering her courage like a cloak around her.
“They’re letters you wrote to Anne, Aubrey. Love letters. Becky
found them and read them at night. They made her feel better after
Mrs. Lockhart died, to know that you and her mother had loved each
other, and loved her.”

She seemed to run out of steam. Aubrey
still didn’t understand. “Love letters to Anne? From me?” He and
Anne had been used to writing each other letters, and Aubrey
supposed they might be classified as love letters. He and Anne had
assuredly loved each other. He held out a hand. “May see them,
please?”

“
Of course.” With a jerky
gesture, Callie plopped the box on his desk and shoved it toward
him.

He glanced into the box, open now that
Callie had lifted the lid. Frowning, he said, “Yes, I see. What of
them? I don’t think I wrote anything indelicate in
them.”

She heaved an exasperated breath.
“It’s not that, Aubrey. It’s . . . it’s worse than
that.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Worse than
that? What’s the matter, Callie. Spit it out, please, because I’m
no mind reader.”

“
I read them.”

He blinked at her, uncomprehending.
“You what?”

“
I read them.” She took
another deep breath, “I did more than read them. I kept reading
them. I don’t know why. It was wrong of me.”

All of the good feelings Aubrey had
started to harbor about Callie Prophet suffered a magnificent shock
and began crumbling around the edges.

“
You read my letters to
Anne?” He felt numb.

She nodded, bowed her head, clasped
her hands tightly in her lap, and whispered, “I kept reading them.
They—they’re so beautiful. I don’t know why I read them. I knew I
shouldn’t. It was like a compulsion. It was wrong of me. Very
wrong.”

Numbness fled. A sense of violation
and rage consumed him in a flash.

“
So that’s how you managed
to weasel your way into my daughter’s heart.”

His voice had gone low and cold. He
didn’t feel cold. Inside, flames of fury had started to consume the
remnants of his good feelings for Callie. He felt plundered.
Infringed on. Burgled. “No wonder you knew exactly how to get
around my defenses, Miss Prophet. You knew my most intimate
secrets, didn’t you?”