Elaine lifted her eyes to the woman, maintaining a calm she did not feel. “Purchased with his business in trade and investments,” Elaine murmured quietly. “Yes, I know all about it. Tertium Park. Named for his place in the family. The third son. Unnecessary, unwanted. I wonder why he did not leave it to any of that family you are so proud of?”
She cut a curious glance at Adam, remaining composed except for that. She saw only defeat in his eyes. “My lady, I thank you for your visit.”
“You are dismissing me?” The woman’s face had turned nearly the shade of her gown.
“No, my lady. I am dismissing myself. I cannot imagine you have much more to say that I wish to hear.” Elaine curtsied, then looked to the still petrified housekeeper. “Mrs. Mayworth, will you attend to me in my parlor? We can finish our discussion there. Mr. Gillensford, do be so kind as to assist your mother when she is ready to take her leave.”
Elaine floated out of the room, hoping the only person who knew of the way her fingers shook and her blood ran cold through her veins was her.
Mrs. Mayworth closed the door behind them, and the instant she did there was shouting on the other side of it. “Adam, what is the meaning of this? Why did you lead me to believe she was an old crone? What—”
The shouting faded away as Elaine moved down the hall and turned into the east wing, Mrs. Mayworth a step behind her. When they were inside the tranquil room, a place where Elaine found peace, Mrs. Mayworth came forward and enveloped Elaine in an embrace.
“I know it isn’t my place,” the woman whispered in Elaine’s ear, “but I must tell you how proud I am, and how magnificent you were.”
Elaine returned the embrace, somewhat unsteadily. No one had held her in such a manner since her father’s passing. “Thank you, Mrs. Mayworth.” Then she shivered. “What will that woman do to me now?”
Mrs. Mayworth moved away and stared directly into Elaine’s eyes. “You just wait and see, mistress. I think she has less power than she believes. Now, I am going to the kitchen to send tea up. Though you do not look it, I would chance to say you have been rattled.”
“Thank you.” Elaine sank into her favorite chair, putting her forehead in her hand. “I should like that.”
“And I will see that Mr. Gillensford knows where you are.” The housekeeper did not wait for further word but swept from the room full of purpose.
Yes. Elaine needed to speak to Adam. Needed to understand whatever it was his mother had alluded to about the will, the inheritance.
Adam arrived shortly after the tea, and she had already prepared a cup the way he liked it. He took it from the table when she nodded to it, then came and sat near her. He did not speak at first. Instead, he stared at her, his expression almost unreadable.
“I thought—but I should have known better,” he said. “I have seen you angry before, I have seen you cry, but I have never witnessed anything like that. I should have expected to find you exactly as you are, calmly sipping your tea.” He seemed somewhat bewildered as he finally took a drink of his own, then winced. “After facing down my mother, I usually wish for something stronger.”
That nearly made her laugh, but she kept in the hysterical sound. Nerves frayed, she barely kept her tone even. “If you need to send for something, you may. I will not be offended.”
He shook his head. “I need my wits about me at present.” Then he dropped the teacup with a clatter upon the table before he leaned forward, expression tight and his eyes strained. “I imagine you have some questions for me.”
Elaine wanted to deny her curiosity, but her heart needed answers. “I should like a few things explained, yes. Though I do not know where to begin.”
* * *
Adam drew in a shaky breath and shoved his hand into his hair. “I owe you the whole truth, Elaine. I will lay it before you and then beg mercy of you, though I have no right to do so.”
There she sat, patiently waiting for him to speak, as regal as a queen and as beautiful as an angel. What would she think of him when all was said at last? Why had he waited so long?
Adam knew why. His singular comforting thought at that moment was that all of his actions had been honorable, due to his decision regarding his role in Miss Chapple’s life. At what point he had committed to his path, he could not be entirely sure. It might have been when he learned there were children involved. Or perhaps when he realized the woman was something of a saint.
Most likely, it was when she handed him her list of questions and he had seen one very near the top, one they never actually discussed. “What does a lady do all day?”
“Adam?” She spoke his Christian name, still trusting him, it would seem, and counting him a friend. “You are frightening me. It cannot be so terrible as that.” But her shaky smile said she knew otherwise.
Adam hated that he had waited. He hadn’t wanted to spare her. He’d wanted to spare himself. He hadn’t wanted to lose her. Not now. “I must confess to you, Elaine, that I am conniving, dishonest, and quite selfish. Coming to know you better, however, has given me the desire to change those things.”
She only appeared more confused. “You are none of those things, Adam.”
“But I am. I must tell you the truth of why I have helped you, but I beg you to understand that my motivations have since changed.” He let out a shaky breath. “My uncle’s will stipulated that I must be of assistance to you if I wished to obtain my portion of the inheritance.”
Elaine’s throat constricted as she swallowed. Her lips parted slightly, her chin came up further. “I am not sure what you mean.”
He continued, attempting to put as much sincerity in his words as he felt. “I thought the house would be mine. I thought nearly everything that belonged to my uncle would come to me, due to my relationship with him when I was younger. I recognize now that I deserve none of it. I am nothing like the man my uncle was or wanted me to be.”
She gave the slightest of nods. “What did he leave to you?”
Ah. She needed to understand his motivations. “All of his investments. Stock holdings. Certificates. The business aspect of his income.”
“Based on what I have seen thus far, your uncle was an excellent businessman.” There was nothing about her words, her tone, or look to suggest she was angry. Why did she not shout at him for misrepresenting himself? “You have already done so much for me. I am certain you will obtain your inheritance.” Had her voice shaken during the end of her speech?
“You have every right to be angry with me,” he reassured her, voice lowered. “But I beg of you to believe me. Coming to know you, I have changed. All I want now is to be a better man. To be worthy of you—your friendship.” He wanted to say more, to confess to greater feelings, but given all his mother had said of marriage, how could Elaine ever believe him? What could he do to prove himself?
Elaine squeezed her eyes shut. “And your mother, what she said. Was it your plan all along to-to gain my trust? Pretend to be of help, plant the idea of a marriage of convenience in my mind, then bring it up again if conditions proved favorable?” Elaine wrapped her arms about her middle, as though holding herself together.
The sight made his heart ache, and he fell upon his knees in front of her, though she did not look at him. “No. I swear I would never do such a thing to you. Every word I have ever spoken, everything I have done, it has been with the sincerest intent to help you. On my honor, Elaine, I never wanted to hurt you.” She would not believe him. He did not deserve to be believed.
But he had to try.
“What does the will say you must do to obtain what your uncle left you, exactly?” she asked, voice a whisper and her face turned away from him, as though she could not bear the sight of him. His heart cracked in half.
“I read it over many times. All it says, in regard to the heiress, is that I am ‘to act as her guide in matters financial and social.’ For one year.”
“How good to know you have a reprieve.” She choked on the last word, but when
he reached for her hand she stood and walked away from him, to the window. “I know now why you were so helpful. I also know that you will continue to be helpful, as you have more at stake than my feelings.”
That cut deeply. More deeply than she could know. “You think I only continue to aid you for the inheritance?”
“What else am I to think?” she asked, turning slowly to look at him, half the room and an assortment of furniture between them. “That you actually liked me enough to befriend me? Or perhaps I am to think you truly care for the children.” Tears slid from her eyes, glistening in the light.
“Elaine, please listen. I do not want—”
“Oh, stop. Stop, stop, stop.” She covered her ears and paced away from him, anger in every footstep, then she lowered her hands and curled them into fists. “I cannot—please, do not use my name. You cannot understand how much it hurts.” She covered her mouth with one hand as a sob escaped her.
“I have only ever wanted to help you. To be your friend.”
She stared at him with a helpless, wounded expression. “One cannot be friends with someone who only wishes to use the relationship to further their own gain. That is not a friendship, Mr. Gillensford.”
“I know that now. I did not tell you of my true motives soon enough. I wish you could understand my perspective.”
“What is your perspective? What possible reason did you have to hide your part in the inheritance from me?” Though the tears remained upon her cheeks, her voice held desperation, perhaps even hope. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
He stared at her, more afraid than he had ever been in his life. If he told her of his feelings, of his growing attachment to her now, she would never believe him. And he wouldn’t blame her. Yet he had to tell her as much as he could. He had to win back her trust, and that monumental task began at that moment.
“At first, I thought you would have known exactly what the will said. Tuttle-Kirk read it aloud to my family. When I became aware you were not informed, I kept it to myself. I needed to come to know you. Despite my uncle’s wishes, I could not possibly know if you had somehow manipulated him into his extraordinary kindness. Have you ever heard of someone in your position being left such a bequest by anyone to whom they were unrelated?”
She held up her hand to stop his explanation. “You did not reveal your part in the will because you did not trust me?” she asked, incredulously. “But—”
“That did not last long,” he hurried to say, taking a step toward her. “Your honesty, your goodness, it became apparent quickly. At first, I saw no need to tell you, but then I began to fear what you would say, how you would feel, when you learned why I had come to help you find your way. I feared losing your regard. Your trust.”
Elaine said nothing. She only stared at him, the obvious consequences of his tardy explanation between them.
“I was wrong,” he told her, daring another step in her direction. “Horribly, awfully, miserably wrong. Please. I beg you to consider my apology, to forgive my stupidity.”
He saw her swallow, the movement seemingly requiring a great deal of effort. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. “You should go.”
His heart crumbled into a thousand jagged pieces. It was no less than he deserved. “I understand,” he said, and he did. “I am—I hope, with time—”
“Mr. Gillensford,” she said, her eyes wide and full of pain, and betrayal. “I need time to think. As you said. To consider what all of this means. But the children, they expect—tomorrow, you need not take us to church if you do not wish—”
For the barest moment, Adam dared to hope all had not been lost. “Philippa would never forgive me if we did not accompany you to church.” His words came out in a desperate rush.
Elaine nodded once and then turned away from him. “Tomorrow, then.”
What more did he dare say? Nothing. Except he could not simply walk away. “Miss Chapple?” She did not turn or acknowledge him. “I will spend the rest of my days earning back your trust. Your friendship means more to me than any inheritance ever could.” Then he withdrew, out the door, and out of the house completely.
He returned to the steward’s office, grateful to find it empty, and opened his desk. Inside were legal documents that lacked only a few details for finalization. He had the paperwork drafted weeks ago, without intending to use them for himself. He had thought it wise to keep them nearby, just in case Elaine should change her mind, or a gentleman should win her favor.
Now, he had other plans for the drafted marriage contract. He had to get to Orford and meet with the only solicitor in the village. With hope and a prayer in his thoughts, Adam left his heart behind in Tertium Park. He had to prove himself to Elaine, even if it took years and years.
The first thing he must do, now that she knew the truth, was to lay his heart bare before her.
Chapter 16
Even after Elaine learned of Adam’s place in the will, of the words which tied him to her side for a year of his life, she had not thought him conniving or mercenary. She spent the whole of the afternoon, the evening, and most of the hours of the night thinking on her every conversation with him. Every word exchanged, every glance.
Adam had always treated her respectfully. He had never taken advantage of her, even when she would have allowed it due to her own feelings for him. Never did he steal a kiss, never did he exert pressure upon her to spend funds on inappropriate things. Time after time, Adam offered her encouragement, advice, and his friendship.
Elaine laid in bed, in her large room, staring at the top of the canopy. Her beautiful room, decorated in creams and peach-colored curtains, was gray and blue with nothing but the waning moon to give any light. She slipped from her bed, uncertain of the time, and paced while she thought.
Though Adam may have concealed the whole truth from her, he never acted in any way to make her doubt his sincerity in regard to helping her find her way.
What if she had admitted to her affection for him before she learned the whole truth? Elaine had not dared to entertain that question until that moment. She hardly dared to now. But her heart softened as she considered what she knew of him, of all she had seen him do on her behalf. Adam never would have taken advantage of her feelings. Of that, she was convinced.
As the hours had passed since his full confession, Elaine’s broken heart reached its conclusion long before her head did. She had almost—no. She would not delude herself that way. Elaine had forgiven him. Completely.
And she knew what she must do.
Heart settled on the matter, Elaine climbed back into bed to snatch a few hours of fitful sleep before morning came. Before she lost Adam forever.
She comforted herself with thoughts of the children and the lives ahead of them. William and Nancy held her love, and always would, and she would see to their happiness as joyfully as she always had. They would never know how her heart mourned Adam Gillensford.
When morning finally came, Nancy and William waited impatiently for the Gillensford family carriage to appear. Elaine focused her energies on appearing cheerful for the children, but by the time the phaeton arrived, the top down, she had nearly exhausted herself.
Elaine and the children climbed into the carriage, assisted by one of her footmen, Nancy and Elaine settled on the seat beside Lady Philippa, with Nancy between the grown women, and William sat next to Adam on the other side. Elaine hardly did more than bid both Gillensfords good morning. She avoided even looking at Adam.
The children were unusually quiet, too, peering at Philippa with shy curiosity after the introductions were made.
The silence stretched on, only the creak and thump of the carriage along the road breaking it for quite some time.
Finally, unable to bear the awkward quiet any longer, Elaine spoke. “I am grateful to know you at last, Lady Philippa. Thank you for your visit two days ago.”
The small talk was almost painful. But Philippa continued it with a cheerful grin, as though she did not s
ense the tension in the air. “It was a lovely visit and attending services with you today is equally delightful.”
* * *
Adam nearly groaned aloud, listening to Elaine and Philippa’s attempt at conversation. Elaine’s words were stilted, but his sister did not seem to notice. No one talked to Adam. Not until Nancy ventured a request. “Will you sit next to me during services?” The little girl’s deep brown eyes pulled at his heart.
“Of course, Miss Nancy.” The promise, easily given, was what finally prompted Elaine to look up and meet his eyes directly. What he saw in those swirling, stormy gray depths made him catch his breath. Beautiful sincerity, or gentle sadness? Perhaps a mix of both. The limp smile she had worn since stepping into the carriage faded away and she lowered her eyes again.
How would he ever repair what had happened between them? Though he had taken the first steps, would she recognize his efforts as sincere?
The doubts and worries stayed with him through the rest of the ride, and the vicar’s sermonizing. Nancy snuggled up to his arm, happily sitting beside him in the pew, and swinging her legs quietly while she stared at the windows of the church. Her innocent cheerfulness was somewhat comforting.
William sat on Adam’s other side, mimicking Adam’s posture, and apparently paying rapt attention to the sermon. Good for the lad. He had gone from sullen and quiet to confident and determined. Now, if Adam and Elaine could make certain no one found a reason to reject the children’s newfound place in society, the future would be bright for both Nancy and William.
Yet it was Elaine’s future which concerned him above all.
Philippa, with her wide bonnet, sat between Nancy and Elaine. This made glimpsing Elaine almost impossible, without calling attention to himself. Somewhat grudgingly, Adam settled back and paid attention to the vicar. He would have time to speak to Elaine after church when he surprised her and the children with a trip to the Orfordness lighthouses.
His Unexpected Heiress: Entangled Inheritances Page 18
