Mabel Crowley: Book One by E.H. Nolan

Author:E.H. Nolan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: war world 2, governess, war world one, romance 1900s, england history romance, england 1900s, wartime love, british drama and romance, saga historical romance, horses romance historical

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Damn that Bessie, Charlie grumbled after she’d left. Couldn’t she tell he wanted nothing to do with her? He’d never stopped loving Mabel, and he wasn’t so lonely that he wanted to forget his troubles with someone inferior to her in every way.

Why couldn’t she leave him alone? He had enough difficulty getting through the day without having to put on a performance for company. Every morning he lay in his bed, debating the necessity to rise and carry on. He reminded himself of his mother and father and the work that needed to be done in the stables. He reminded himself that he was young and had his entire life ahead of him, but that thought only depressed him. What good was it to live forty or fifty more years with a broken heart?

The only motivation that consistently forced Charlie out of his bed in the morning was the possibility of seeing Mabel. She might take the train from Wells and turn up unexpectedly at Archer & Sons to tell Charlie that she forgave him and still loved him. How would it look if she came all that way and found Charlie in bed in the afternoon, wailing about life’s pointlessness?

With that slight and improbable hope in his heart, Charlie mustered the strength to dress himself, eat breakfast, and work diligently with the horses. He couldn’t concentrate; everything reminded him of Mabel. Once reminded, his heart would ache and his eyes would tear up. How could he have been so stupid? Mabel was the greatest girl he would ever know. Why did he let her run away?

Charlie was in such pain but wore a constant mask; in case Mabel could see him, he wanted to look his best. When he heard footsteps, his heart skipped a beat. He felt his palms sweat and he tried in vain to calm his nerves. It was Mabel! She’d come back at last!

“’Ello, Charlie!”

Charlie felt every vertebra in his spine sink into the one below it. He closed his eyes and tried to suppress his tears. It was Bessie Martin; it was always Bessie Martin. In such “accidental” visits, he was compelled to restrain his emotions and disappointments until she’d left him in peace. He wasn’t very pleasant to her, but it took great effort not to lose his temper and order her off his property. She shouldn’t be Bessie, she should be Mabel; but how could he yell at her for a fault of which she knew nothing?

Once free, Charlie would run up to the house—in part because he wanted privacy and in part because he was afraid Bessie would return—and shut himself in his room. He let the tears fall as he relived every glorious memory he’d made with Mabel. On evenings when he felt especially melancholy and in need of additional heart-wrenching torture, he would sit on his bedroom floor and open the cabinet of his nightstand. Charlie kept every memento in the cabinet: the silver horse pin, sheet music of Tell Taylor’s “Down by the Old Mill Stream”, an embroidered handkerchief with “M.

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