"I don't really know, whether he holds a grudge against my father or not" Joan replied looking up at him "but I can tell for sure that he doesn't hate him."
Hugh frowned "don't you ever ask him about his feelings?"
"If he will meet me, then shall I ask him" Joan's mouth twisted into a wry smile.
"Doesn't he ever come to meet you'll?" Hugh asked.
"Thrice a week. That's all" Joan answered curtly.
"I can't imagine that. If I don't see my family, even on a single day, my heart slams in my chest with disappointment" Hugh said and smiled.
"It reels in your blood- family love" Joan said and flashed a bright smile.
"Maybe" Hugh said, returning the gesture.
"I know it's not appropriate to ask.....but.....er....how did your father die?" Joan asked.
Hugh stopped breathing.
It had been years.
Probably, it had been memories.
No. Years.
And yes, sadness.
And yes, a soul engraved with bereavement.
Plus, all that.
All that work, and all that responsibilities.
Hugh coughed "heart-stroke."
"Were you too broken?" Joan asked.
Hugh looked to her, into the depths of her eyes, and felt like screaming 'My world was broken'.
But instead, nodded. Too weary too speak.
"And was there too much work?" Joan asked.
"Too much. An amount that weighed like nemesis. I would cry at times- it was Impossible. I was way too young to handle all that work. Plus, I had to make sure my family was fine and all. Then came debts. And other men, and other men.........who would claim their money.....It was...it was....all too much" Hugh said.
"Oh" Joan muttered.
"I was at a loss of happiness" Hugh told.
And then with a blinding intensity, Joan asked that one question, which Hugh never allowed himself to even think about-
"Did you ever love your father?"
YOU ARE READING
The Woman Of My Dreams ✔
RomanceSet in 1825, in London, during the regency era. Joan Winset, our heroine, is considered the town's nosiest woman. Her gossips are so popular that they are almost considered amusing. But can the innocent talks of her hurt someone so terribly that...
