She did not seem to notice his discomfort. “I was told that I have disappointed them all my life, and that if I were to wed this man, I would finally make them happy. At first, I agreed, for I have always wished to be accepted by them. However, as I thought about my life, I came to the realization that my parents have never loved me. For as long as I can remember, they left me at Scarlett Hall with my cousins while they went off on one adventure or another. Once I became of age, their interest in me changed because they found I could bring them quite a bit of money in exchange for my hand.”
“And what of a dowry? Do not most women have a dowry to gain a husband?”
She shrugged. “They have never mentioned one.” She looked at him, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Do you think that could be why only old men seek my hand?”
The thought of this woman’s pain caused a strange ache in his chest. “I would not know,” he replied. “But I am sorry this has happened to you.”
“I appreciate you saying so,” she said with weak smile. “Aunt Eleanor told me that night when the man asked me to marry him that I was to be confident. That perhaps I could find a man who cared for me. So, I went to Caroline’s party to see if I could find someone who could love me for who I am. It was there that I met you. I had thought you the most handsome man I had ever seen, that you had to be brave and kind.”
Guilt filled Edward and anger set into his jaw. This time, he could not fight the emotions, and he only wished her to stop. “There is no need to say more.”
Once again, she did not hear him, for she continued. “I told my aunt that the other gentleman, Lord Lockwood, did not catch my eye as you did.”
Ire rose in him. “None of that matters,” he barked. “Don Ricardo was nothing more than a charade. Can you not see that?” Would this woman not stay her tongue?
Apparently not, for she persisted. “That night, when I met you at the gate, I thought of your poem. I thought, just for a moment, that I was walking not only to see you, but walking toward my future.”
She looked at him again. Did she not recognize how uncomfortable her words made him? “You have said often that I am naive, and you are right. The happiness for which I wished I will never have. Men either want to use me to fulfill their desires or to fill their pockets. None have asked me what I want in life, nor will they ever. All I seem to attract are bad men. Where are the kind men spoken of in stories?”
Edward slammed a fist on the table. “I am not a bad man!” he said, the chair scraping the floor as he rose. “I am not like those men!”
“I know you are not,” Annabel said in a tiny voice, the liquid in her glass sloshing. “I imagine that it is not your fault that someone wished to abduct me. Oftentimes, people make mistakes in their lives, which is what you have done. Or so I guess.”
How this woman could make his blood boil! “You wish to know about me?”
She nodded and looked up at him with what appeared to be hope. “I do.”
“Then allow me to share something with you.” He did not care that his voice seethed with anger. “Let it be a lesson that can serve you well in life.”
“I will listen.”
Her soft-spoken demeanor only incensed him more, and he gripped the edge of the table to keep from striking her. He forced air into his lungs. He had never spoken of his past with anyone, and the thought of bringing up that which had haunted him all these years drained him. Dropping into the chair, depleted of his rage, he resigned to visiting the past.
“Like you, I once searched for someone to love. To my great joy, I found it, or so I thought. What I learned was that love does not last, even after you believe you have found it.”
Annabel’s eyes widened in shock. “But certainly there are those…”
“Trust me. You are far better off marrying for wealth or status, for the love of which you speak? The desire? It does not exist for anyone, except poets.”
Angry with himself for revealing even as much as he had, he grabbed the half-empty bottle of brandy and filled his glass to the brim. When lightning flashed and lit up the room, what he saw tore at his heart, for it was the face of a woman who had been stripped of all her dreams. Knowing he was the cause of it did not sit well with him.
“If you wish to tell me more of this Juliet, you may.” His hope was to change to a more desirable topic of conversation, for he no longer wished to dwell on his feelings nor torture her with the truth. He did not want to accept that he cared for this young woman and did not wish to see her hurt. What he had to do was keep himself hard, to push away any weakness that would ruin his financial plans.
Rather than take the path he had laid out for her, Annabel gave a resigned sigh and returned her attention to the window. “I would like to watch the storm,” she said, her voice heavy with sadness.
Edward did not wish to be alone with his thoughts. However, given no choice, he, too, turned to stare out into the darkness of the storm, his eyes falling on the melancholy reflection of Annabel.
Chapter Sixteen
It had been more than twenty years since Eleanor walked away from her childhood home of Chatterly Estate, and gray storm clouds filled the sky much like the night she had left. Or rather the night she was thrown out. The estate held that same menacing feeling she remembered, even more so with the lightning flashing behind it.
She shivered. Her earlier memories were happy, the times when her father was alive. Memories of sitting on the front stoop with her sister made her smile. They often did as they waited for their father to return, sometimes to the point of waiting half the day. However, the last years there had been filled with pain.
“Do you wish me to remain here?”
Eleanor started at Forbes’ voice. “Yes. I must face her alone.” She spoke of her mother, a formidable woman with a maliciousness that filled Eleanor with dread despite the fact she, herself, was now a grown woman, a widow in fact.
She had sent word of her arrival, for her mother was a stickler for courtesy. Now to see if her mother would allow her entrance. If Eleanor had not needed the woman’s assistance, she would have never returned.
Thunder rumbled as Eleanor approached the front door, echoing the discontent that existed inside her. Another memory, one when Eleanor was but six years of age, came to mind. She was running to her father, who scooped her up into his arms.
“There you are,” he said with a wide grin. “I was worried you had run away from me.”
Eleanor laughed as her father kissed her cheek. “I would never leave you, Papa. But you must promise me the same.”
Although she had kept her promise, her father had not, for he died later that year. It was not his fault, of course, for death comes to us all. However, in her young mind, she had been angry at him for many years after.
Shaking her head to clear away the thoughts, Eleanor knocked on the door. It opened to the butler, far older and grayer than he had been when she left.
“Barton,” she said with a smile, “it is good to see you.”
He did not reciprocate the sentiment, nor the smile. “Lady Parker is waiting for you in the drawing room.”
With a nod, Eleanor stepped into the foyer, and a cold draft chilled her to the bone. She doubted the chill came only from the weather outside.
The staircase stared down at her with accusing eyes as she thought of that day so long ago when she left Chatterly Estate. It had been the last time she had walked down those steps, the night when she was forced to leave. How strange, after all this time, after pushing the memories into the recesses of her mind, that she should feel as if she were that young woman of eighteen once again rather than the dowager baroness that she was. And she had yet to speak to her mother.
“This way,” Barton said, his voice drawn.
Eleanor followed the man down the dark damp hallway, the only light coming from the single candle the butler held. No candles flickered in the sconces along the wall or in the holders on the tables.
Barton open
ed the door to the drawing room. “Lady Eleanor Lambert to see you,” he announced before moving aside to allow Eleanor to enter.
The furniture had changed. Gone was the gold fabric, replaced by plush red couches and chairs. The rug from the Orient in the center of the room was the same as she remembered, and expensive vases and ornate carvings displayed the family’s wealth.
Her mother sat with the window behind her, her black dress contrasting with the red fabric of the chair. Eleanor had no love for the woman, nor did she feel any loss at not seeing her for so many years. The woman before her could have been a stranger for all Eleanor felt for her.
A girl no older than sixteen stood behind her, brushing the hair of her mistress, a strange activity for a servant to be doing in the drawing room.
“So, you have returned,” her mother said, her voice cracking and wheezing with age. “I always knew you would return one day.” The old woman chuckled, her fingers adorned with rubies and emeralds and her gnarled hand resting on the handle of a polished cane. The servant girl turned to leave, her head bowed, but Eleanor’s mother snapped, “I did not ask you to stop brushing my hair, girl. Do not stop unless instructed to do so.”
The girl nodded and returned to the brush strokes.
“I thank you for allowing me into your home,” Eleanor said, hoping to break the ice that existed between them. The fact her mother had not invited her to sit did not escape her notice.
Her mother snorted. “It was not out of kindness, I can assure you, but rather to confirm what I have always known.”
Eleanor raised her chin defiantly. “And what was that?”
“That Charles is a drunken fool and you are a far greater fool for marrying him.” She did nothing to conceal an amused smile.
Although the words angered Eleanor, she reminded herself of the purpose of her visit. Any argument with this woman would only result in being forced to leave empty-handed.
“Deny that you are here for help.”
Eleanor stifled a sigh. “I am.”
“I see,” her mother said, clear glee on her features. “And Charles is unable to help you, I presume? Or does this concern something you do not want your husband to know?”
“He has been dead for some years now,” Eleanor said. “I have not turned to anyone else for help in the matter which has brought me here.”
Her mother gave a scornful laugh. Lightning flashed behind her, and the servant girl eyed the window with fear. “Well, I am sure you do not come for wisdom, so it must be for money. My eyes may be failing me, but I can see this as clear as the nose on my face.”
“What you say is true. I do need money. My…” She chose her words carefully. Her mother would make any excuse to refuse her help. “My daughter has been kidnapped, and the ransom is far greater than I can gather in such a short time.”
Her mother harrumphed. “Perhaps you have committed a great sin and this is your punishment,” she said as if thinking aloud. “Ah, yes, I know what it was. You disobeyed me.”
“I do not believe that my marrying Charles and not the man you chose for me has brought this upon me and my family,” Eleanor said, doing her best to keep the anger from her voice. “In fact, I know it is not.”
A maid entered carrying a tea tray, which she placed on the table.
“You know nothing, Eleanor,” her mother said. “I find delight in your suffering. Any child who disobeys her parents should suffer.”
When the maid turned, Eleanor gasped. Gone was the youthful sixteen-year-old to whom she had once been close, and in her place was a haggard shell of a woman in her late-thirties, one who held her head low and her hands clasped in front of her. What had happened to her sister? “Emmeline? How can this be?”
“Your sister chose the same path as you,” their mother said in a voice that lacked emotion. “She also pushed away the hand of a duke, just as you did, yet she fell into the arms of a man not even titled.” She shot Emmeline a look of disdain. “A man who promised her the world and left her with nothing.”
Eleanor stared at her mother. “And she serves you now? I do not understand.”
“You never did.” Her mother leaned forward in her chair, leaving the servant girl with the brush in midair, uncertainty on her face as to whether she should continue brushing or not. “The man wooed your sister to his bedchambers and she became with child.”
She turned her glare on Emmeline. “But he ran from you as soon as he got what he wanted, did he not? You waited for him to come save you from your fate, yet he never came, did he?” She sighed and leaned back in the chair once more. “I gave Emmeline two choices. Leave and fend for herself in a world that would no longer accept her. Or remain here with the product of her sin and serve me as a reminder of what happens when one does not heed her mother’s wishes.”
Their mother reached back and grasped the wrist of the servant girl, making her cry out in pain. “Tell Eleanor who you are!”
“I am the burden of my mother’s selfish desires,” the girl recited, not once taking her eyes from the floor. “The bastard child born out of ignorance.”
“So, my niece works for you, as well?” Eleanor asked, astonished at the depth of her mother’s wrath. “Do you not see how cruel you are? She is a child; she had no hand in Emmeline’s doing!”
“Leave me,” her mother ordered, and Emmeline and her daughter left the room. “I care not the sum you owe, but I shall consider giving you what you need.”
“You will?” Eleanor said, hoping her voice did not expose her suspicions. “This is not another lie?”
The house shook with a clash of thunder. “Hardly,” her mother replied. “Now, down on your knees!”
Eleanor blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I do not speak in a foreign tongue,” her mother snapped.
Eleanor hesitated, but as thoughts of poor Annabel came to mind, she did as her mother bade and knelt.
Her mother rose and hobbled across the room with the aid of her cane. “Josiah was the only one of my children who did as I asked, for he has no evil inside him. His wife, the daughter of a marquess, has increased the family fortune two-fold with their arrangement.”
“Then he married who you wished?”
“Indeed. He was always ready to do my bidding. Now, you, confess that you are the cause of your daughter’s kidnapping. Confess that it was your own lustful desires that spawned wicked children with that Charles rather than accepting the man I chose for you. Do this and I shall give you the money you request.”
Eleanor blinked back tears. Her mother was as cruel as she remembered. No, she was far worse! Her heart tore, for this woman was the only means to see Annabel returned safely. Yet, to admit such things that were untrue was another matter, especially concerning her children, for they were as good as anything she had ever possessed.
“I confess,” Eleanor whispered, “that my father once taught me about the merits of love. I taught it to my children and will continue to do so. You were right, for Charles was not the man I thought he was. I thought the drunken fool would change but he never did.”
This made the older woman smile in victory, but Eleanor ignored her.
“However, none of that matters. My children are a gift, and I confess that I would live through all I have endured ten times again if it meant seeing them safe from harm.”
Her mother cackled as she returned to her chair. “Barton!” she shouted.
Eleanor rose from her kneeling position despite the fact her mother had not given her permission to do so. No longer was she a child to be treated in such a fashion.
The butler entered and bowed.
“The funds I allocated for Eleanor, do you have them?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Give them to her.”
Eleanor watched in shock as the old butler walked up to her and reached into his coat pocket. In his hand he held a single silver coin.
“That is your worth,” her mother said. “Take it, for it is the only t
hing you shall ever receive from me.”
Eleanor forced breath into her lungs. Her heart was heavy, not for her mother and the love that did not exist between them, but for the pain of her sister and niece. For the fate of Annabel.
“No, Mother,” Eleanor replied as a smile crossed her lips. “It is not wise for a lady to take money from the devil.”
Without another word, she turned and left the room, her mother’s wrath resounding behind her. And as she had done all those years ago, she walked out of Chatterly Estate. This time, however, she walked out with her head held high, for she refused to allow this woman power over her any longer.
***
Rain fell and the wind churned as Eleanor closed the door to the years of agony and hurt of her childhood home. As she approached Forbes, who waited by the carriage despite the storm, movement caught her eye. From among the hedges emerged Emmeline, her daughter beside her.
“Eleanor,” her sister cried, and Eleanor embraced her. “I am sorry for what occurred the last time I saw you. I did not know.”
“You were but a child,” Eleanor said. “And now you have one of your own.”
“This is Amelia. Amelia, this is your Aunt Eleanor.” The girl had Eleanor and Emmeline’s blond hair and blue eyes.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Amelia said with a perfect curtsy that surprised Eleanor. “Mother told me about you often.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well,” Eleanor replied. Then she turned to her sister. “You cannot remain here. Come with me. We have more than enough room at Scarlett Hall for both you and your daughter. There is no need to stay. Mother should not be treating you so harshly.”
Emmeline shook her head. “I would like nothing more, but I cannot. There are some strange goings on here at Chatterly Estate…” The door opened and her eyes went wide. “I must go, but I will write. Scarlett Hall, Rumsbury, that is the address I saw on the letter you sent Mother.”
“Yes, that is my home. But please, come with me now. I can keep you safe.”
Emmeline shook her head adamantly. “No. I cannot explain now, but I will at some point.”
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