“First, you called me selfish. I don’t think I am, and I didn’t appreciate it. And now childish. I don’t believe I am that, either. Still, I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“I called you selfish because I was worried you would go to Turvey House and get sick, and I couldn’t bear it. I’m calling you childish because I fear you will get into mischief if left to your own devices here at Angsley Hall. Without me.”
He truly didn’t see her as a responsible adult.
“Without a nanny, you mean?”
“No. I didn’t mean that at all. But I don’t want you climbing trees and searching for something that isn’t there.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked decidedly distraught.
“All signs point to us being on the right path. How do you know it isn’t there?”
“Because I made it all up,” he said softly.
He might as well have shouted the words, for they hit her like a punch to her stomach. They also addled her brain.
Hadn’t he found the mysterious piece of paper in a book?
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then he shook his head. “I made up the idea that William Kidd was ever here in Bedfordshire.”
How terrible of him! She had never taken Grayson for a liar.
“You tricked me? On purpose?” Had he wanted to make a fool of her?
It took a moment for his gaze to meet hers. Then he answered, “Yes.”
“I don’t believe you,” she snapped back. He was obviously saying this to stop her from going any farther without him. “How can you explain the rock and the devil’s seat, and even the skull? You couldn’t have made up a giant boulder.”
“Only the names.” Then he let out a long sigh. “Actually, the names exist, but I applied them to our local places.”
“You are still not making sense. Exist where?”
“In a story,” he confessed. “A Gothic tale by Poe.”
“No!” she protested. “You’re only saying this so I won’t search without you. I’ve climbed many trees, Mr. O’Connor, and had many adventures. I don’t intend to stop when you are not by my side. But you don’t have to destroy this wonderful quest by lying about it.”
“You’re being unreasonable. I’m telling you the truth. I only did it to please you.”
Eleanor had never felt so betrayed or foolish.
“And now you’re being cruel. I have a task to do here completely unrelated to your silly, fantastical game, and you shall not dissuade me from finishing it. I made a promise to someone, and I will keep it.”
His eyes narrowed. “To whom?”
She kept her lips firmly pressed together.
“Is it dangerous?” he demanded.
She threw her hands up in the air. “Of course not!”
“I shall return for you as soon as I can. Maybe even for your birthday.”
“I can climb into the Angsleys’ carriage any time and come by myself. I travelled all the way from Sheffield, for goodness’ sake! I can handle two miles to Turvey!”
She realized she was practically yelling. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she added more calmly, “And I shall write my sister a note explaining everything.”
“Everything?” he snapped at once. “You mean you’ll tell her whatever it is you’re not telling me?”
Again, she clamped her lips closed. What an infuriating man!
“Very well.” He turned on his heel, but he only got a few steps before he turned back to her. “I didn’t intend to hurt or trick you. I only wanted to amuse you with the hunt for pirate treasure.”
She lifted her chin. “As if I’m a child to be entertained. And what you said in the shelter? You think I am too young to know my own mind and feelings, or to understand the world. You’re wrong!”
He nodded. “I only meant…I’m not going to explain myself right here and now. Just don’t be angry with me, Eleanor. It’s too hard to leave without seeing your lovely smile.”
She looked away from him. He was dear to her, and she ardently wished he wasn’t leaving, despite being furious with him.
“Please,” he beseeched.
She gave him the best smile she could.
“A watery version of your usual one, but I’ll take it.”
Even though they were standing in front of his mother’s window, and even though anyone could be watching from the main house or the stables or anywhere, he leaned close and set a kiss upon her lips.
It was over before she realized Grayson’s intent. Then she watched him walk away, broad shoulders rigid and straight.
Blast! Dashing away the sudden tears that welled in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks, she reminded herself she was not a child. Everything would not always go her way. She was a woman with a task to attend to, and he was a man with employment.
Squaring her shoulders as he had done, she returned to Mrs. O’Connor, knowing she was going to have to spend time reassuring Grayson’s mother all was well, even though she wasn’t entirely sure of that herself.
He had lied to her for days!
Chapter Sixteen
Eleanor sat in her room before dinner, all the amusement gone from Angsley Hall with the departure of Grayson. She and Mrs. O’Connor had worked well into the afternoon. His mother was motivated and determined. Eleanor was confident she would not only be writing, but be able to read, as well.
To that end, she’d ventured into the nursery to discover what children’s primers might be there. Nanny Wendall let her come away with a chapbook of both capital and lowercase letters, phonics lessons, and phrases. It had a bright green cover and woodcuts of a cock and a horse. Eleanor hoped its simplicity would not offend Mrs. O’Connor.
She also found an older book, Cobwebs to Catch Flies, by the so-called Mrs. Lovechild. She supposed it didn’t matter that it was from the last century. After all, reading and writing hadn’t changed much. Moreover, these books would be easier for Grayson’s mother to practice with than the books from Lord Angsley’s library.
Meanwhile, Eleanor tried to pen letters to Beryl and Maggie and even to her mother and Jenny. Her thoughts kept drifting to her last conversation with Grayson. He professed to have taken something from a Poe story and somehow melded it with their world here in Bedfordshire. At the moment, she had to believe him, although she could only wonder at the extent to which he had gone.
Had he made up the code and the message and even climbed a tree and nailed a skull to it?
Having fruitlessly searched the library for any works by Edgar Allan Poe, she could only determine Grayson had removed any or had known the story by heart. She would find out eventually when she continued on to Turvey House and had a chance to speak with him.
Her letters half written, she went down to dinner, and afterward, sat by a low fire, drinking port and letting Lady Angsley tell her all the news. Not only did her ladyship enjoy a local paper, she also had papers delivered from Town, just as Eleanor’s own mother did.
Though sometimes the London news was a little stale, it normally held her interest. Occasionally, one of her sisters’ husbands was mentioned, and that always delighted her. Tonight, Eleanor tried to pay attention, but her mind kept wandering to the wonderful time high upon the bishop’s hostel and their intimate moment in the shelter by the river. Then, she replayed his surprising confession of duplicity.
It saddened her to think he had lied to her, even if he’d done it with the best of intentions to entertain her. While she’d worked hard to decipher the pirate’s code, Grayson had already known the answer. It irked her to have been made a fool.
And to think how terrible she’d felt even lightly hedging about what she was doing with his mother. Lying was a terrible sin, she’d always believed. If her father had been truthful, her mother would have been prepared for the confusion following his death, the money-grubbing debt collectors, the maelstrom of selling off their townhouse and belongings, and
their flight home to their country cottage in Sheffield.
Thank God for the cottage, or she and her sisters, her mother, and even the few servants they’d kept would all have been homeless.
Obviously, Grayson’s prevarication was not on the same caliber of seriousness. But she didn’t like to think she hadn’t been able to tell the truth from his lies.
After a few hands of écarte with Lady Angsley, unable to focus and losing each time, Eleanor bid her hostess good night.
Tomorrow, she would approach Mrs. O’Connor first thing, knowing she was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise person. They could get as much learning in as Grayson’s mother could handle.
Climbing under her covers, not in the mood for any of the Gothic romances piled beside her bed, Eleanor picked up Mrs. Lovechild’s Cobwebs to Catch Flies. The introduction began with “To my little readers: Do not imagine that, like a great spider, I will give you a hard gripe and infuse venom to blow you up.”
Eleanor laughed out loud. Gracious! That seemed a little scary for being a children’s primer, but it worked to lure her to read more. Thumbing through it, she enjoyed the writer’s cheeky and, at the same time, cheerful tone in the stories, combined with a little menace to keep the children alert and interested. It seemed there was a hint of danger at the fair, and a naughty boy who didn’t listen to his father on the way to school.
Indeed, there was a touch of Gothic everywhere. When she drifted off to sleep, she had a terrible nightmare about spiders.
As expected, Mrs. O’Connor was a natural. Eleanor thought it was the woman’s attention to tiny stitches during her whole life, but she never wrote an o when an a was needed, and she did not mix up her u’s with her v’s. Her script looked as though she’d been writing for years.
Seated beside Grayson’s mother while she practiced and asked questions, Eleanor finished her letters to her family and her brief note to Maggie. And then she thought better of sending it. It would be more fun to surprise her sister in a day.
She’d had a little surprise of her own that morning. Mrs. O’Connor had not been at home upon Eleanor’s early arrival. Deciding to wait, she’d stood happily drinking in the sights, sounds, and fresh smells of the morning, leaning a little lazily against the granary wall.
Suddenly, she’d seen Grayson’s mother appear as if approaching from the main house, on the very path Eleanor had just traversed.
How strange! Even stranger when Mrs. O’Connor startled at seeing Eleanor and had a decidedly flustered air. They entered the suite of rooms, which were cool and closed up.
Plainly, Mrs. O’Connor had not vacated her home earlier that morning for a quick visit with Cook at Angsley Hall. Eleanor would wager her Wellies Grayson’s mother hadn’t slept there the night before.
Though it was absolutely none of her business, Eleanor’s next thought was of Mr. Stanley. And she took another look at Mrs. O’Connor. She was not old, after all, nor was the butler. In fact, they were both fit and healthy, and of approximately the same age, as near as Eleanor could tell.
Though she couldn’t think of them behaving in the manner she and Grayson had in the library, or in the lean-to—definitely not!—Eleanor could imagine them enjoying a warm and happy companionship.
And, why not?
Hoping to ease any embarrassment Mrs. O’Connor was feeling, Eleanor had remarked on what a wonderful morning it was for a brisk walk and said yes to a cup of tea. Then, they had plunged into their lessons, the first of three sets they would have that day.
By mid-morning, two days later, Mrs. O’Connor looked at Eleanor with tears in her eyes.
“I believe I have learned all I need in order to write to my son.”
Eleanor nodded. “It is inspiring how quickly you have picked this up. I’m sure you can have more paper from the writing desk when this runs out. And Mrs. Wendall said you can return the primers to the nursery at your leisure.”
With a hug and a promise to see her again soon, Eleanor asked her maid to begin packing.
Feeling extremely grown up, she refrained from returning to the bishop’s hostel and did not attempt to climb the tree where she had plainly seen some type of skull high up overhead.
If it was all a farce, then what was the point?
After the short carriage ride, Eleanor arrived to emotional hugs and kisses from Maggie, who glowed, not because she was with child, but because she always radiated a dewy beauty, which was the envy of every woman in London.
Her husband was a handsome, charming man. Eleanor suspected he’d been a bit of a rake before Maggie won him over and tamed him. The earl caught Eleanor up in a hug and twirled her around.
“I’m going to be a father!” John said to her.
“You already are,” she reminded him with a laugh as he set her down.
“Twice blessed,” he said. “And each time will be just as big a blessing. Turvey House has room for twenty children.”
“Twenty?” Maggie shrieked before they all laughed.
“Where is Grayson?” Eleanor asked as it seemed odd he wasn’t there to greet her as well.
When two pairs of eyes widened, she amended, “I mean, Mr. O’Connor, though we are now on a friendly footing and using our given names. Not to shock you,” she finished.
“No,” John said, his expression a little smug. “It doesn’t shock me.”
“Everything surprises me,” Maggie admitted. “Let’s have coffee and a good chin-wag. You can tell me all about your friendly footing and how everyone is faring at Angsley Hall. That young Miss Phoebe is going to be the belle of the ball one day soon.”
It was over coffee Eleanor learned Grayson was not at Turvey House at all.
“He put everything to rights here, as he always does,” John said. “I don’t know what we would do without him.”
Maggie smiled at her husband. “I suppose you would have to get your hands dirty now and again, my lord.”
“Are you saying I am lazy?” John put an arm around his wife’s shoulders and drew her closer to him on the sofa.
Maggie laughed again. Eleanor had a feeling they spent a great deal of time playfully teasing one another.
“In any case,” John continued, “after Gray finished, he hightailed it to London as he does every so often.”
Eleanor’s dismay was instantaneous, having been certain he would be at Turvey House and having prepared herself to see him again. Her thwarted anticipation, mostly pleasant with a sliver of anxiousness, left her entirely deflated.
“Hadn’t he only just returned from London before I arrived at Angsley Hall?”
“True,” Maggie said. “I was confined to my room and didn’t even get to see him before he went there to tell you not to come.” She glanced at the earl and added, “Because of my ridiculously over-protective husband!”
“Did you send him back to London on Turvey House matters?” Eleanor asked her brother-in-law.
“No. Late yesterday, Gray said he needed to go to London, and though he is my estate manager, he is not my servant. If he wants to go to Town or to Paris, for that matter, I cannot stop him.”
Grayson went away for personal reasons.
Maggie had previously told her he went there for entertainment, but she doubted he’d gone all that way to see a play or an opera. Her instinct told her one thing—Grayson had gone away because of one of his lady friends.
Perhaps his passions had been so inflamed and then so frustrated by their last encounter, he needed to slake them. She’d read how it worked for men. It was not uncommon for their desires to need release, hence the vast numbers of ladies of the night.
“Did he say when he is returning?” she asked.
“Are you well?” Maggie asked her. “You look peaked.”
“I’m fine. Perhaps tired from the journey.”
Her sister laughed. “It was only a couple of miles.”
“True,” Eleanor agreed, “but I stayed up late reading. Do you mind if I go and unpack?”
; “Of course not. I’m simply thrilled you made it for your birthday. I have a sweet treat planned, and Mummy and Jenny both sent cards, which I shall give you tomorrow.”
“How thoughtful,” Eleanor said, but she was disappointed, nonetheless. She wanted to see Grayson, and now, he wouldn’t even be there for her birthday.
The day dawned clear, which meant nothing as clouds could blow up on a moment’s notice, and it might be raining by midday. However, it allowed Eleanor to take her morning walk before breakfast. The grounds of Turvey House were one of her favorite walking places. They had orchards and gardens, paddocks and fields of wildflowers. You could hear the river, still swollen from all the recent storms, rushing and tumbling nearby.
And there was Grayson’s lovely house, larger than a cottage, more polished than a farmhouse, it was a modest brick residence of two stories with plenty of windows. She’d only been inside it once with Maggie and Beryl, when the three of them strolled over there a year earlier to take the estate manager some freshly baked goods in trade for his help fastening a long swing to one of the oaks.
Inside, there were polished wooden floors, painted wainscoting, and thick Persian carpets, stone hearths, and large casual furniture, designed for comfort more than for style. It was the perfect blend of elegance and coziness. She’d particularly liked the herbs drying upside-down from his pantry ceiling, knowing he had placed them there himself since he had no cook.
Her favorite part of his house, however, was not inside it but on top. A captain’s walk, Grayson called the large railed platform atop his roof, or a widow’s watch, depending on who was asked or who was upon it. Instead of looking over an ocean, however, the rooftop platform offered a view of the horizon in every direction and the River Great Ouse weaving across the lush green landscape like a silvery ribbon.
At night, he said he often took a telescope, far larger than the spyglass they’d used at Angsley House, up to the captain’s walk. With it, he would sit for hours looking at the stars. Eleanor had done the same thing many times from her family’s Sheffield cottage back garden, without the benefit of a spyglass.
The Midnight Hour: All-Hallows’ Brides Page 67
