by Jane Lark
Robert faced Edward, his expression deadly serious. “I am not joking. I like your wife. I helped you. What more is there to say?”
Edward just looked at him, his grip falling from his brother’s sleeve. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.” The words, his thoughts, slipped from his lips.
“No,” Robert answered with a bitter smile. “Probably not. But perhaps you could try to simply trust me. I didn’t leave father knowing he’d die. And in fact when I left I never had a bloody choice.” Robert’s hands lifted as though he would say more, then fell as he clearly made the decision not to speak. “Still it hardly matters.” Shrugging one shoulder, with an air of tired dismissal Robert turned away.
Edward rose facing Robert’s departing back, a deep sigh lifting his chest. “But when father died you didn’t come back, Rob.” Edward had wanted his brother then and Robert had not come back. Leaving Edward to deal with grief, debt and responsibility alone, throwing him into adult life as a child was thrown into water to learn to swim. He’d needed his brother then. He could never forgive Robert for not coming home when he should.
Robert stopped halfway across the room, turned and looked back, his hard brown-eyed stare narrowing. “I couldn’t,” he answered, before turning away again and shifting back into motion.
“Or rather you wouldn’t,” Edward continued. “I’ve heard the stories of your life abroad. You slept and gambled your way through Europe. That’s hardly the life of a contrite man who mourned his father. You can’t paint it any different now you’re back!”
Robert didn’t stop.
Yet Edward thought he heard words on his brother’s breath as Robert pulled open the door which sounded like, “But perhaps a man who mourned another loss.”
A moment after Robert had gone Jenkins’s knock resounded on the half open door.
“Come,” Edward called, sitting back down to his now cold meal.
“A letter came for you, Lord Edward.” Jenkins spoke as he crossed the room holding forth a single letter balanced on a silver tray.
The imprint in the seal was Pembroke’s.
Edward lifted it from the tray and dismissed Jenkins with a nod of gratitude, before sliding his thumb beneath the seal to open it.
His eyes scanned the brief letter as Jenkins walked away. A simple statement, not a request, but an order, to attend an appointment. So Ellen’s father made his first move.
~
Ellen hugged her sister when they reached the privacy of the sitting room attached to her bedchamber and heard Penny sob. The elder sister again, Ellen pulled away and clasped Penny’s shoulders, meeting her gaze. “You are crying. I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s nothing,” Penny answered with a sniff, wiping at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. “I’m sorry it’s so early but I had to come and see how you are.”
“I’m coping,” Ellen answered, taking Penny’s hand and drawing her to the chintz sofa where they could both sit. Then leaving her sister there, she went to pull the ribbon which rang the servant’s bell.
“It’s awful,” Penny progressed. “Richard told me Lord Gainsborough tried to kill you. I dare not even think how he has treated you in the past.” There was now an edge of anger in her voice and her glassy gaze lifted to Ellen’s, looking for an answer, but Ellen said nothing. She knew Penny had gleaned something of the past, but they’d never spoken of it. Ellen did not want to.
“Richard and I are distraught to know you have been in London all this time. To think what you have endured. If we had only known, Ellen.”
“Do Rebecca and Sylvia know?” Ellen asked, feeling her skin blanch at the prospect.
“No. James and David agreed to tell them the story Edward gave the magistrate. They did not think it would do Rebecca and Sylvia any good to know the truth.”
“But James and David know,” Ellen breathed, her color rising again as she turned to a knock on the door and called Jill in. “Jill, chocolate please, and bread with honey too, I haven’t eaten yet.”
“Yes, my Lady.” The maid bobbed a curtsy to both of them, smiling at Penny, then left, the door clicking shut behind her.
“Julie was in such a state when we left last night, to think it happened at their home.”
“The Forths know too,” Ellen whispered, as she crossed the room and dropped onto the seat beside her sister, mortified by the knowledge. “Oh, Penny, I’m sorry. You will tell her so.”
“Sorry?” Penny twisted to her side to face Ellen. “What on earth do you have to be sorry for, it’s hardly your fault?”
“So Edward said.” Ellen’s gaze reached across Penny’s shoulder to look at the blue sky of the bright spring day through the window, the weather so at odds to the climate in the room.
“I cannot believe you would even think it. The person to blame is Papa. How he could have done this?”
“Penny.” Ellen, met her sister’s gaze. “I don’t want to destroy the family.”
In answer Penny captured Ellen’s fingers in her own. “And that you can blame him for too, and do not try to defend him. It is I who attended your funeral, walking, weeping behind an empty coffin to watch it entombed in the mausoleum. I spent a year of my life dressed in black, because of him, for a sister who was alive, who needed my help not my mourning. I cannot, and will not, forgive him, Ellen, and it is through nothing you have done. No one lays any blame or judgement upon you, so please do not place it on yourself. None of us think less of you for how you have been forced to live, Ellen, and that is an end to it.”
Ellen blinked at her sister, closer to her now than she had ever been as a child. She reached to hug her and just held her for a moment, until Penny pulled away, dabbing at her eyes again. “I have not told you yet though,” she said with another sniff. “Father is in town.”
“In London? Has he brought John?”
Penny shook her head, squeezing Ellen’s hand in consolation. “No, I had a letter from Mama this morning, father refused to bring John. She said she would have come without father’s permission but she didn’t like to leave John alone. He hasn’t settled since his return.”
“I want to see him so much, Penny,” Ellen breathed, accepting the comfort of the hand holding hers.
“I know. Richard told Edward if father does not come about, we will help you take him. We know how we would feel if it were one of our girls.” Tears sparkled in her eyes again and she dabbed at them with her handkerchief.
Jill’s gentle tap struck the door. “Come in,” Ellen called, turning to attend to the pot of chocolate Jill carried, directing the young maid to set it down and leave. Ellen poured the sweet smelling, steaming liquid into two cups, handed one to Penny and then held the other. Thoughts of John forced her memories of last night aside.
“Why do you think father has come? Do you think he intends to speak to me?”
“How can we tell with father? Richard thinks he will not bend so easily. He suspects Papa has some plan afoot, but you are not to worry, because whatever happens, you will have John.”
“I’ll have John,” Ellen whispered, wide eyed as she sipped the sweet liquid and its warmth ran down her throat. “I have you back, and Edward. Don’t pinch me Penny, I do not wish to wake from this dream. And yet now I feel guilty for thinking I can be happy again, while Lord Gainsborough’s loss is mourned by his family.”
Penny set down her cup and pressed her hand on Ellen’s shoulder. “It’s no dream. You are here, home with us. You will be happy, we will all settle for nothing less. And I positively forbid you from feeling any guilt.”
“Home has always been where John is,” Ellen sipped from her cup, refusing the threatening tears.
“You will have him back,” Penny’s touch fell away, “one way or another. But for now, to cheer you up, Sylvia and Rebecca wished us to call. I believe they have a visit to Gunter’s planned. They wish to take the girls for ices. You will come?”
Ellen nodded. She loved to see her sisters, but her nie
ces were an even greater joy. They would chase away the shadows of her past, like a summer breeze sweeping away a morning mist. With a restrained smile Ellen set down her cup, to give Penny another brief hug. “I am so glad I have you all back, but no more talk of the things which have happened in between, Penny. I do not want to discuss them. And let father do what he will, I don’t wish to speak of him either.”
“Very well,” Penny whispered, her voice welling with emotion again. “I shan’t, and from now on we shall be above father’s games.”
~
Following in the wake of the Duke of Pembroke’s butler, Edward stepped into the grand library. The Duke’s town villa was a massive, sprawling monster of a property off Regent Street, set back from the road behind a high wrought iron railing. The stately residence dripped with opulence in every perfectly laid stone, every fixture and fitting, with carved ornate mouldings decorating it within and without and shiny gold gilt adorning every room. Despite his determined self-possession the gravity of the property swayed Edward’s confidence. Instantly he was on edge. His own unworthiness of Ellen rubbed at his conviction again as he faced the splendour of the life that had once been, and should still be, hers.
To think I proudly offered her life as the wife of a paid steward. He scoffed at himself, thrusting his trepidation to the back of his mind as the butler moved aside.
The Duke was sitting behind his desk, and made no move to rise.
“You asked to see me, Your Grace.” Edward forced civility into his voice. If things worked out as they should this man would be in Ellen’s life for the rest of their future, so Edward did not wish to deliberately incite hostility that would hinder her cause or John’s.
“Marlow, I’m glad you decided to come.” The Duke remained seated, sending the butler away with a nod, offering Edward neither a seat nor refreshment. Edward occupied a chair anyway, and sat back in a deliberately relaxed pose, while his eyes met Pembroke’s with an inoffensive but unyielding stare. He was not about to let the bastard bully him the way he had Ellen and John.
“I didn’t realize there was a choice,” Edward responded, his eyebrows lifting, keeping his voice even, solid. “It was worded as a command, as I recall. Still I am pleased to see you in London. I suppose you have come to attend the Wiltshires’ ball on Friday. Have you brought John?”
He received a glare in answer. “I do not intend to reward my daughter’s insubordination with my presence, and my grandson is on my estates where he belongs. I will not be manipulated, Marlow, and I shall tell Wiltshire the same.”
“No?” Edward challenged, unable to help himself from thrusting a slight stab at the man’s oversized ego. “But you are here.”
“I am here to put an end to this nonsense.” The Duke retorted sharply, deploying the same violent stare he’d threatened them with at Farnborough the day he’d taken John. The look had ripped both John’s and Ellen’s confidence to shreds. Edward was not so easily disturbed.
Clearly ignoring his inability to intimidate Edward, the Duke picked up a piece of paper then reached across the desk and set it down before Edward, with a self-congratulating yet distrustful expression. “That,” Pembroke pointed to the paper, “is my final offer.”
Offer? What the hell? Refusing to even look at it, let alone touch the obnoxious article, Edward kept his eyes on Pembroke’s face.
“It is a banker’s draft, Marlow, for twenty thousand. Take it. I am giving you it to disappear, you understand. Use it to take your wife abroad, New England perhaps, where she will no longer be an embarrassment.”
“An embarrassment!” Anger pulsing into his blood, Edward pushed to standing. The man could not even bring himself to use his daughter’s name! God, how can he think I would let him pay me off? “This is not blackmail. All we want is the boy!”
Pembroke leaned back in his chair, visibly surprised by Edward’s anger.
God, Edward felt sick. Pembroke really thought Edward sought money.
Measuring his tone with care, holding back his true ire, Edward spelled out his response bluntly. “Neither myself, nor Ellen, will take it. We will not be bought off. This is not about money, Pembroke.” With that he picked up the single slip of paper and tore it in half, lay one sheet across the other then tore it in half again, before letting it flutter down upon Pembroke’s desk.
“There is one thing, and one thing only, we shall accept, and that is the return of Ellen’s son to her, and,” setting his fingers onto Pembroke’s desk he leaned across it, “to hear you apologize for what you have done to your daughter, Eleanor. And that, Your Grace, is my final and non-negotiable price.”
Saying nothing, Pembroke’s rock-hard gaze denied any response, as he reached for a small bell on his desk and rang it once.
Edward’s temper finally slipping its tight leash, breaking in a rush, he ground out in an aggressive snarl. “If, you had given the blood money Gainsborough blackmailed out of you, to keep her out of the way, to Ellen when she had need of it, and brought her home where she belonged, you would not be in this mess now, would you! How do you sleep at night knowing what you have done to your child, out of stupid bloody-minded arrogance? For-God-sake, she only wed a sixth son instead of a first!”
The door opened. “Your Grace?” The butler entered with three footmen at his rear.
“You have no concerns,” Edward spoke. “I am leaving.” But before he walked from the door he turned back. “I hope you go to hell, Pembroke. And that Ellen never finds out just how low you have stooped.”
Edward shrugged off the footman’s hand as the man tried to grasp Edward’s arm and then he strode out of the door, straightening his morning coat as he crossed the hall, glad to escape her father’s presence. Edward would never be able to forgive Pembroke, even if he did concede to giving them John back.
~
Ellen gripped her reticule tightly, holding it before her at her waist as though it could act as a shield. Her heartbeat was thundering in a ridiculously fast rhythm. She lifted the lion-head knocker and dropped it, then gripped her reticule with both hands again and waited. Was she a fool to have come?
She’d told no-one about her decision, not even Edward. He’d be cross if he knew she was doing this alone—he’d be cross she was doing it all. But she had spent the morning and luncheon with her sisters and nieces, and constantly she’d thought of Penny’s promise to take John. Ellen could not allow her sister to fall foul of her father’s fury.
Ellen had signed her son away. She should get him back.
She’d let Robert and Edward take over last night and Gainsborough was gone. The shock of that incident had receded, but last night had persuaded her she must take control. Edward had given her the courage to do so, but she must stand up and fight this battle herself.
Oh but it was easier said than done.
But I want my son.
The door opened. Ellen had never been to her father’s townhouse as a child, she had always remained in the country with nursemaids and governesses when her mother and father came to town. But still she felt like a child looking up, awed and bewildered by the opulence.
She lifted her chin and stiffened her spine. She was not a child but John was and he needed her. She was going to make her father face her, and look at her, and say her name and she was going to insist he give her John. John was her child.
“Ma’am?”
“Sir…” —I am the Duke’s denounced daughter, tell him I am here— I wish to see the Duke, I am Lady Ellen, the daughter he called dead.
How did she introduce herself? Her heart pounded. “I am Lady Edward. May I speak to the Duke? Is he at home? If he is, please give him this?” Her voice sounded oddly normal. Internally she was in turmoil. Her fingers shook as she passed the man the note she had written when she’d got home from her trip with Penny. It said simply.
Please speak to me, I need you to understand. I wish to explain. Just give me a moment of your time, Papa.
Eleanor.
&nbs
p; Edward had been out at White’s with her brothers-in-law. She’d snatched the opportunity of his absence and followed through with her decision, coming immediately before she had the chance to let doubt take over. Now doubt flooded in.
She had written the note to try and stir her father’s conscience. Somewhere inside him a heart beat. Didn’t it? Surely he must feel something for her. He had been more lenient with her sister’s after she had left, did that not imply there was some humanity in his soul. But now she was not sure.
Would he speak to her? If he refused, what would she do? Her heartbeat was deafening in her ears and she felt faint as she met the butler’s gaze.
He was looking at her with disdain, his nose tipped up as if she smelt bad. Of course she had come without a maid or footman.
No-one knew she was here. She did not want them to know.
Do not look at me like that, not now, that was who I used to be, I do not even know that poisoned, ostracised woman anymore.
Ellen bit her lip and foolishly felt tears flood her eyes.
I just wish this resolved. I just want my son, that is the only reason I am here.
No, no, that was a lie. She was not only here for John. She was here because she needed to break the last barrier between her and acceptance too. She wished to hear her father say he was wrong. If she heard him admit it she could finally believe her own innocence.
She had been jealous of her sisters today—she’d envied them their content, happy lives and she was angry that her father had prevented her from having the same. She did not deserve what he had done to her.
She saw compassion cloud the butler’s eyes. Of course he worked for her father. He would know how the Duke could cut people to the quick.
She wiped her tears away. She had done enough crying since Gainsborough’s death. Now was the time to end all this. She was strong now.
“His Grace is currently dressing to attend the House of Lords Ma’am, I cannot say how long he shall be…”
