by Amy Harmon
Mary suppressed a gasp with her thin fingers.
“I was about three years old at the time. A neighbor took me in and raised me as her own. At what point your father learned of my mother’s death, I do not know. But the inheritance left to me by our father is small compared to the pain my mother endured.” Jon stared into the gloomy fireplace and presently heard Mary sniffle.
Moments later, she finally spoke. “I’ll have Mr. March show you to your rooms. The solicitor will arrive in the morning. Supper is at eight.”
Jon snapped his head around and looked at his half-sister. Hadn’t she heard a word he’d said? Maybe she would rather keep cobwebs on the past, but he intended to find answers to his questions before leaving England. He left the room and found Mr. March in the hall, apparently waiting to show him the way.
Following Mr. March up the main staircase, Jon once again noticed the plainness of the décor. It was as if his father had been a bachelor all his life—perhaps he had been one in his heart. The hallway was dimly lit. Jon quickened his pace to keep up with the old man. Portraits lined the paneled walls, undoubtedly ancestors dating back several centuries.
“Your room, sir.” Mr. March stopped and opened a door near the end of the corridor.
Jon ducked his head and passed through the doorway. A stately room greeted him, and although musty, it looked clean. The furnishings were dark, the coverlet on the bed a deep blue. Crossing to the large windows, Jon gazed at the backside of the estate. The sprawling lawns were dotted with trees and cut in half by a river.
“Anything else, sir?” Mr. March asked.
Jon shook his head and thanked him.
“Very well. Until supper then.”
After the butler left, Jon started unpacking when a soft knock sounded on the door.
Mary was on the other side, her eyes rimmed in red. She held a book up. “You might be interested in our father’s journal. I found it a short time ago.”
He stared at the brown leather binding, then took it from Mary. “Thank you,” he said in a voice thick with emotion.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered, then turned and walked down the hall.
Left to himself, he moved toward the narrow windows, and opened to the first page and began reading. He’d read his mother’s writings, and now he held his father’s in his hands.
April 15, 1815
I arrived in Norwich yesterday. My father gave me a grand welcome home, but I can see from his complexion that he is very anxious. His health is failing, and he wants me married and settled so he can die in peace.
Lord, how I miss Helena. I should have thrown away all caution and brought her with me. We could have been married as soon as we reached English soil. Then my father wouldn’t have been able to object.
There is already talk of my marrying Shannon Worth. She is the perfect match, they say—wealthy, from a proper family, pleasant to look upon—as if these attributes could guarantee a marriage of love.
Helena, if I could reach across the ocean and pull you toward me, I would.
Jon scanned the next few pages. Most of the writing was similar, telling of how much he missed Helena. Then one entry stopped Jon.
June 1, 1815
Tomorrow I marry Shannon Worth. It is sudden. Father asked me when I intended on proposing. It wasn’t a request, but a command. My inheritance and the future of the Porter family depended on the union, he said. It’s been two months since I’ve seen Helena’s angelic face, and I am beginning to think she was a dream, not real at all.
Shannon is real, even though she doesn’t hold my heart.
As soon as my first son is born, I will burn this journal, and my second son will be forgotten.
The next entries were spaced weeks apart, with less and less mention of Helena. One entry documented the birth of his daughter, Mary.
The light was fading outside, so Jon lit a candle and continued leafing through the journal. Pressed between two pages, he found a letter. He opened the brittle, yellowed paper carefully. It was a letter from his mother. The writing was faded, but familiar. It told of his birth and her hopeful waiting for his return to Maybrook. His father had kept the letter through the years and hadn’t been fearful enough to burn it. Why? Nevertheless, the secret had been well-kept until his death.
Jon leaned back in the chair, gazing through the windows at the descending darkness.
Had Shannon Worth ever known of her husband’s divided heart?
Chapter Twenty-six
Jon entered the dining room at eight and found Mary seated at the table with her husband and two children. They were somber and formal when introduced.
Throughout dinner, Mr. Reine made an attempt at light conversation, but Jon found it superficial and pointless. Jon answered politely, but finally the man fell silent. With the formalities of their first meal over, Mary requested Jon join them in the library.
The children were shuffled off by a maid, and Jon followed his hosts to the library. Once seated, Mary began. “We’re ready to vacate the home upon your request.”
Of course matters had to come to this. “I haven’t finalized my decision, but will do so tomorrow, after meeting with the solicitors.”
“Of course,” she said. “My husband and I have overseen the care of the estate for several years as Father’s health declined and he continually put more and more responsibility upon us. It was our assumption that we would be the permanent caretakers of the place. That is, until the will was read.”
Jon winced at the familiar territory. “No doubt I was left the property out of guilt.”
Mary’s face grew pale, and her husband’s face reddened. “We don’t envy your inheritance, Mr. Porter,” Mr. Reine said.
“Of course you don’t,” Jon said in a careful voice. “The old man must have left you something.”
Mr. and Mrs. Reine glanced at each other.
“Well?” Jon prompted.
“He did leave some property which provides a modest income,” Mary said quietly.
“But not what you feel you deserved, I assume?” Jon asked.
Mary shifted in her seat and looked at her tightly clenched hands.
“Let’s meet tomorrow evening after dinner,” Jon said.
Mr. and Mrs. Reine stared at Jon, apprehension in their eyes.
* * *
Jon rose early the next morning and walked the misty grounds. Delicate dew clung to the leaves as the sun began to warm the earth. He kept his pace brisk to fend off the morning chill and to prepare his mind for the decisions ahead. Whatever bounty he bestowed on his half-sister and her husband must be a single, final act. He didn’t want this to drag on.
When he entered the massive front doors, Mr. March was waiting for him. “A letter has arrived for you, sir.”
Jon took the letter and saw Apryl’s familiar handwriting. He walked into the library and settled next to the cold hearth. It would be good to hear news from home.
Jonathan,
Although it’s only been two weeks since you left, it seems ages ago that I waved goodbye to you at the New York harbor. Since I don’t know when to expect your return, I thought I’d write this letter explaining recent events. The day after you left, Thomas Beesley visited our home. He explained what had really happened between the two of you. I don’t blame you, Jon, for I know that you only had the best interest of the Robinson family in mind, but I had to agree with Thomas. He laid the details out, and I realized that you had been far too critical of him.
Thomas confessed that he has loved me since our first encounter. In our first encounters, I thought he was teasing, but he began to tell me things that only the most ardent suitor could notice. At first, I was overwhelmed with a man expressing such sincere devotion and undying love, but soon I began to believe him. I couldn’t help but compare him to you. Perhaps it was wrong of me to compare the two of you, but I couldn’t help see what was lacking in our relationship when I compared you to Thomas.
My parents and I ha
d quite a row about my change of mind, but eventually they began to see what I saw in Thomas. It breaks my heart to have to write this to you, but I’ve accepted a proposal of marriage from him.
You might wonder how that is possible, as I am yet engaged to you. But Thomas says you viewed our engagement as a business opportunity, as your inheritance amounts to so little. That knowledge helped me make my decision. I love Thomas, and now I know that what I felt for you was but deep affection and regard.
We have set the date for the first of June, and you will, of course, be an honored guest. I hope we can remain civil and on friendly terms. Perhaps, Jon, one day you’ll find someone you’ll truly love.
Sincerest regards,
Apryl Maughan
Jon let the letter drop onto his lap. Disbelief shot through him—disbelief and disgust for Thomas Beesley. Disgust for the entire Maughan family, who had allowed themselves to be tricked by a greedy man. Thomas didn’t love Apryl any more than… well… any more than Jon himself did. That’s what hurt the most—the fact that Thomas had told Apryl that her engagement to Jon was only a business arrangement, when Thomas was the one obsessed with money.
He opened the letter again and stared at the words until they jumbled together illegibly. Jon stood and began to pace the room. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered under his breath, “if I let Thomas Beesley have Apryl.”
He sank onto a chair. He was thousands of miles away. What could he do? Take the next ship back and arrive in two weeks’ time—after the ring had been chosen and the cake ordered? Pledge his love to Apryl then? Would she change her mind if he did?
A knock sounded at the door. “The solicitors have arrived, sir,” Mr. March said.
“I’ll be down shortly,” Jon replied. He placed the letter in his waistcoat pocket and straightened his collar. It was time to sign the final documents.
Two gentlemen were waiting in the library. They both stood when Jon entered. Extending his hand, Jon greeted them.
“I’m Mr. Rush, and this is Mr. Penchant,” said the taller man.
Jon sat opposite them at the head of the credenza and nodded for them to begin.
Mr. Rush opened his satchel and withdrew a stack of papers. “There are several documents that need to be signed. At the end of today, everything will be transferred to your name.” He proceeded to issue one document at a time, explaining the fundamentals of each.
Jon leaned forward, feeling the sharp corner of the folded letter in his pocket. It made him realize that his fortune would be his alone now, with no bride to share it with. After signing his name on the first document, he blotted the ink dry. His signature was added to the official papers, making him a multi-millionaire in a single morning.
With the paperwork done, Jon poured his guests a drink. They toasted to the successful transaction, and then Mr. Rush and Mr. Penchant were on their way. When Jon bid the men goodbye, he saw Mary hovering at the top of the stairs. He didn’t call her down yet. After the letter from Apryl, his decision about the Reines would be changing.
* * *
At nine that evening, Mary and her husband were seated in the library where Jon had stoked the fire into a roaring blaze. The place was entirely his now, and he wanted it warm.
Jon turned to his expectant audience. “I’ve made a decision on the house.”
Mary and her husband both watched him warily.
“For the time being, I do not plan to reside in England. And I do not plan to sell the estate. Thus, I need to hire an estate manager, someone who can be trusted to look after all of the details.”
Mr. Reine glanced surreptitiously at his wife.
“Perhaps the two of you wish to take on the task.” Jon looked back and forth between them.
Mr. Reine raised his eyebrows. Clearly, he hadn’t expected this development. “Wonderful! What would it entail?”
Jon smiled and folded his hands behind his back. “The offer will be more generous than if I were hiring a stranger. I think even the old man himself would be pleased.” He glanced upward. “You’ll live in the house and care for it as your own. A regular salary will be paid and all estate expenses covered. We’ll go over those details tomorrow. Your children’s educations will also be paid for.”
Mary’s eyes were shining.
“I expect a quarterly report on all the happenings, expenditures and events surrounding the estate,” Jon continued.
Mr. Reine nodded his head vigorously.
“If I decide to relocate to England, then you’ll be asked to move. So there is some risk involved. But for now, you’ll have a comfortable income and your childhood home in which to raise your children,” he said, looking at Mary.
Tears formed in her eyes. “We’re so grateful for your generosity.”
“I’m not as generous as you think. I expect a well-run estate in return. Also, I will be selling the other property.”
“Of course,” Mr. Reine said.
Mr. and Mrs. Reine stood and came forward to thank him. Jon received Mary’s kiss and her husband’s enthusiastic handshake.
Jon spent the next few weeks riding about the property with Mr. Reine, meeting the surrounding neighbors, and learning about how the estate functioned. With each day that passed, Apryl grew further from his mind. At night he slept fitfully, only to be awakened early in the morning with disturbing dreams about his parents and visions of things that had never happened. He saw his mother traveling on the ship to England, arriving and finding her love married to another woman. In a way, he was repeating his mother’s history—although this time, he was the one who had been rejected.
Mr. Reine offered to take him to visit some of the surrounding towns, then finally to London, where he’d take the ship back to New York. The night before leaving Norwich, Jon fell asleep easily, but his dreams took a different turn.
She stood before him, dressed in a white nightgown. The same one she’d worn the night he found her struggling through the mud. The gown was clean now, falling in soft folds about her body. He reached out to touch her, but she smiled and turned away, her hair cascading down her back, gently swaying in the breeze. She started to run, looking back at him, laughing. He ran after her as she zigzagged through the fields. Where was she heading? He tried to call out, but he had no voice.
The lighthouse loomed ahead. She ran into it and shut the door. He hurried to the door and tried to push it open, but it was stuck. Kicking with all his might, he finally forced the lock. She was lying on the floor, her nightgown spread out from her body, her hair a halo about her face. But something was wrong—she was writhing in pain and clutching her throat—eyes wide and staring.
He ran to her and lifted her head, cradling it.
“Eliza! Eliza!” He tried to yell her name, but no sound came.
Sitting up in bed, Jon wiped the dampness on his forehead. Even after the letter from Apryl, he hadn’t allowed himself to think of Eliza again. She was somewhere in Europe, only a ghost of his past now.
He knew he couldn’t change what had happened to her or what had happened between them, but he could try to forget. Pressing his temples against the throbbing pain, he sighed. Why was Eliza entering his dreams now? It was as if he had really seen her, had really chased her laughing figure, and had really cradled her head in his arms.
Jon crossed his arms over his chest, trying to squeeze away the aching sensation that had formed inside him. He lay back in bed, placing his hands behind his head. The sky outside was still black, and he knew there were many hours until dawn. He would stay awake all night, if only to not fall prey to such dreams again.
Eliza was in his room, standing over him. He wanted to ask why she’d come to Norwich. He couldn’t form the words. She smiled at him and reached for him, saying nothing. He didn’t intend to let her come into his heart, but Apryl wasn’t in the way anymore. Why was he holding back?
He felt her lips on his, and soon she was nestled next to him. It was as if they’d been together their whole lives.
>
Jon opened his eyes. He had allowed himself to fall asleep again. Pulling the covers to his chin, he concentrated on the coolness of the fabric. Eventually, the warmth of his dream faded, and he began to laugh at himself.
He made a sorry, rich bachelor.
“I’m in the lighthouse.”
Jon bolted straight up. “Who’s there?” He looked around.
The room was quiet. No one was in his room. Letting out a sigh, he settled beneath the covers again. Not only was he dreaming about someone he’d probably never see again, he was hearing voices… like Eliza did.
Chapter Twenty-seven
We’re leaving for London tomorrow,” Gina said, entering the room with a bright smile. She carried the paper in her hand. “Father has a bit of business there. I’ve always wanted to see London. We’ll be staying at his cousin’s townhouse, right in the city.
Eliza smiled absently and browsed through the paper for any news that might be of New York.
One item in particular stood out—an announcement for the wedding of Mr. Jonathan Porter to his fiancée Miss Apryl Maughan. The wedding date had been set.
The following day, Eliza stepped out of the carriage at a London townhouse. “It’s not much, but it’s cheerful,” Mrs. Graydon announced.
Eliza and Gina started up the stairs, leaving the driver to bring their baggage. They entered the front hallway together. The wooden floor shone in the sunlight, and the place smelled of lemon. “It’s beautiful,” Eliza said.
“Follow me.” Gina led Eliza up a set of narrow stairs. They entered one of the bedrooms. “It looks like this one’s ours. Two beds and a dresser.”
Eliza crossed the room and peered out the window. Below the bustle of the city street reminded her of New York. With the official wedding announcement of Jonathan Porter to Apryl, Eliza realized that she’d been waiting to hear about it. Now that she had, it brought finality to her thoughts of Jon. It was time to put him completely and utterly in the past.
