The Elusive Miss Ellison

by Carolyn Miller

  Now there was a surprise. She suppressed a smile.

  “I imagine you want your share of the inheritance. I assure you, I have no intention—”

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I want nothing, except the chance to know you.”

  Her grandmother sent her a hard look, peering through her quizzing glass until Lavinia wanted to squirm like a child. But she had nothing of which to be ashamed. She only spoke the truth.

  “I do believe you mean it.” She snorted. “If you’re anything like your mother, I suppose you will not be tempted by riches.”

  “I place value in people, not things.”

  Her grandmother gasped.

  “Grandmama?” Lavinia leaned forward as a footman moved to her side.

  Her grandmother waved off the footman, her gaze pinning Lavinia to her seat. “That is what he said.”

  “I beg your pardon. Who?”

  “Your father.” Blackness crossed her face. “When he came and took my Grace away!” She lifted her chin. “He cared for nothing save my Grace. And she cared only for him. Not her own family, her reputation, or her inheritance. The day she left, he stood there, proud as sin, and spoke those very same words to me.”

  Her heart panged at the pain she saw in the older lady’s eyes. “I am sorry this still grieves you.”

  “I don’t want your pity, child!”

  “I am not giving it.” Lord, give me patience and wisdom. “I know how many years it has taken me to forgive those responsible for my mother’s death.”

  “Some things are unforgivable!” Her grandmother’s blue eyes flashed.

  “All things are forgivable, when we realize how much we’ve been forgiven.”

  “Pah! You’re talking just like him now.”

  That thought gave her no small amount of pleasure. She smiled and slowly stood. “Grandmama, I thank you for taking the time to see me. I don’t wish to intrude any further on your time.”

  “What? You’re not leaving.”

  She hesitated. Was that a question or a command?

  Her grandmother turned to the footman. “Go, tell Simpkins to make up the Rose Room. My granddaughter will be staying for a while.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Her grandmother turned back to Lavinia. “You will stay. I need to know this granddaughter of mine who speaks so freely.” She nodded. “You put me in mind of someone.”

  “My mother?”

  Her grandmother allowed herself a thin smile. “Myself.”

  THE NEXT FEW days passed in a blur of wonder. Her grandmother was by turns difficult, impervious, sharp-tongued, but capable of astonishing generosity. The Rose Room had been her mother’s, left untouched since her elopement twenty-five years prior, but in it Lavinia found treasure upon treasure: Mama’s old ball dresses, their giant hoops now ridiculously out of style, but made of the prettiest silks. Drawings Mama had executed of her family, various animals, a sketch of the Salisbury estate—even as a young girl Grace had shown much promise in her ability to capture a likeness, revealing something of the character of the person or object, rather than mere superficialities. An ornately carved box contained a selection of jewelry—no fabulous jewels as Aunt Constance had once hinted—but pretty trinkets that revealed Grace’s elegant taste.

  But the best treasure was the journal, hidden in the folds of an exquisitely rendered quilt, carefully packed in the large wooden chest at the end of the four-poster bed. Lavinia spent hours reading her mother’s thoughts and girlish dreams, gaining more insight into this family of which she knew so little, yet knew so needed God’s love. That prayer was constantly in her heart.

  On the third night, after dinner, her grandmother presented her with a large flat box.

  “I know you most probably have no use for such a thing, but by all rights, it is yours.”

  Lavinia slowly opened the lid and gasped. The diamond and pearl tiara—a perfect complement for the necklace she had left in London—almost took her breath away. She lifted her head and faced her grandmother. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Her grandmother lifted a shoulder. “I was thinking about what you said before. I am not unwilling to let you have what is rightfully yours. Your mother’s things are of no use to me. They are yours.”

  “That is kind of you.” Lavinia slowly placed the headpiece back in its velvet casing, thinking furiously. Was this some kind of test? Was this a chance to show God’s love? “Grandmama, how much are you willing to let go?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Will you forgive my father?”

  Her grandmother’s eyes narrowed. “After what he stole from me?”

  Lavinia pressed her lips together. God, give me wisdom … She said slowly, “Grace chose to go. My father did not steal her.”

  “He did! With all his promises and dreams!”

  “Promises of what? Papa only ever dreamed of helping others, of being a godly influence in this world. He is a man of honor who keeps his word, not a scoundrel. He has never made rash promises.”

  Her heart wrenched as an image of the earl flickered into her mind. He too was trustworthy, someone willing to help the unfortunate. She swallowed.

  “But I don’t understand.” Her grandmother’s eyes sheened. “Why would she want to leave all this?” She waved a hand at the ornately furnished room.

  Lavinia reached to hold her grandmother’s thin, bony hand. “Because she loved someone more than all this.”

  Her grandmother glanced down at her lap.

  “I think it’s a family tradition, is it not?” Lavinia murmured.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “Did your parents approve of your choice?”

  The older lady’s jaw slackened. “You are a most impertinent young miss.”

  “Who loves you.” As she spoke, warmth cascaded from her heart to her grandparent.

  The duchess stared at her a long moment before her face finally creased into a smile. “Oh, but you’re like Grace. She could charm her way out of anything with a smile.”

  Almost anything.

  “Oh, but I miss her.” Her grandmother’s eyes filled once more.

  Lavinia’s throat clogged with emotion. “I miss her, too.” And she gently wrapped her grandmother in a hug.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON Lavinia and her grandmother were enjoying tea in the sitting room, a necessary interlude, as Lavinia’s earlier prowess with the piano had once again set her grandmother to reminiscing, verging on tears. But now, after all emotion had been sufficiently blinked away, conversation had moved to the more inconsequential, until the duchess placed her teacup firmly down and eyed Lavinia.

  “So, my dear, is there a young man in your life?”

  Lavinia hedged for time, sipping her tea, whilst desperately stifling thoughts of the earl. “I am not the kind of woman to which young men pay attention.”

  Her grandmother gave an unladylike snort. “You may not act like the typical miss, but I warrant young men don’t mind your appearance.”

  “But I have neither title nor dowry of any significance.”

  “Is this a hint?”

  “No, Grandmama, not at all. It is but the truth.”

  “I will give you your mother’s inheritance.”

  Lavinia shook her head. “That will not be necessary.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I do not want a man to marry me for money.”

  “Spoken just like your mother.” Grandmama snorted again. “You have no use for money?”

  Lavinia swallowed. Money would help a multitude of people: the establishment of a proper village school, assistance for war widows, the London women’s refuge. Should she really ignore its power for good? “There is always need, but …”

  “I gather that you are not the one in need.”

  “No.”

  “Well, your mother’s inheritance should go to someone who lacks greed, I suppose.” The faded blue eyes examin
ed her shrewdly. “I can’t help thinking that you have found someone you admire.”

  Lavinia stilled.

  “So that is the way of it.” Her grandmother laughed, low, throaty. “What is the problem? He’s too poor?”

  “No.”

  “Untitled?”

  “You know those things are not important to me.”

  “His family objects to you?”

  Her lips tightened.

  Grandmama’s eyes flashed. “How dare anyone object to my own granddaughter?”

  She swallowed a smile. Her grandmother had ignored her very existence for how many years?

  “What family? Give me a name. I want to know who dares object to you!”

  “I do not need you or anyone else interfering, Grandmama. Besides, he has not made his intentions clear.”

  “But he has secured your affections. He must have done something to show his regard.”

  She stared at the rich russets and golds in the Axminster carpet. Nicholas had shown his regard in many ways, but he’d never spoken of the future. “His mother despises me.”

  “Who is she?”

  She kept her voice low. “Lady Hawkesbury.”

  Her grandmother gasped. “You cannot be serious!”

  “She has taken me in dislike.”

  “The brother of the man who killed my Grace?” Her face was pale. “It cannot be. It will not be. You cannot marry that man.”

  “Lord Hawkesbury cannot be held responsible for his brother’s mistakes or his mother’s incivilities any more than any person is responsible for their relations’ less-than-agreeable qualities.”

  “Mistakes?” Her grandmother gasped. “You forget yourself, young lady. No, I will not have it. You will not have anything more to do with that man. I forbid it.”

  She lifted her chin. “I do not wish to be told whom I may or may not marry.”

  “You will lose your inheritance!”

  “How long must you play this game, Grandmama?” She sighed. “You may control some purse strings, but you cannot control me.”

  “Such insolence!”

  Lavinia kept her eyes steady on the older woman. “Grandmama, I am sorry you think me insolent. It is not my intention.” She rose. “I thank you for your hospitality and for Mama’s things, but I must beg your leave. Papa surely pines for me now, and I must be home before Christmas.”

  “If you leave you must never darken the doors of this house again!”

  Her heart softened with compassion. “Is that truly what you wish?”

  Her grandmother’s gaze remained unflinching.

  Lavinia made a small curtsey. “Grandmama, thank you. I am very glad to have met you.” She bent forward and gave the surprised woman a kiss on the cheek. “Goodbye.”

  And with a heavy heart she went upstairs to pack her things.

  Nicholas pounded on the heavy oak door with his fist. During the last few miles of travel, an icy wind had begun, threatening to cut through his coat and tear despair through his soul.

  The door opened to a supercilious footman, whose sneer became less pronounced when he saw his manner of dress and the coat of arms on the travelling coach. “Yes?”

  “I am here to seek an audience with Miss Ellison.”

  “I am afraid that is impossible, sir.”

  “I believe she is here.”

  “Thomas?” A thin voice came from within. “Who is there?”

  “A gentleman, Mrs. Simpkins.”

  The door creaked open wider. A small woman dressed neatly in somber black surveyed him. “What is it you want?

  “Miss Ellison. Is she within?”

  “Who might you be?”

  He fought the irritation at her tone and gritted out, “I am someone who wishes to speak with her. Can you help me or not?”

  She blinked, nodded at Thomas, and gestured to a small room. “Please wait here.”

  After rushing for days on fruitless missions from London to St. Hampton Heath and now here to Salisbury, it seemed like hours before she finally returned and beckoned him to follow.

  His heart danced in anticipation. Lavinia was here! He would speak, he would share, he would convince, he would beg if necessary, but he would not rest until she knew his heart, and—

  “Please enter.” The woman gestured him forward.

  He entered a room that was dark and overstuffed with old furniture. He maneuvered around a nest of tables toward the fireplace, whose hearth was alight with welcome heat. An elderly woman with steely blue eyes and an air of discontent scowled at him. He doffed his hat and bowed, and she acknowledged the courtesy with the slightest inclination of her head.

  “And who might you be?”

  “I am Nicholas, Lord Hawkesbury.”

  “You!” Her eyes widened then grew icy. “What business have you with my granddaughter?”

  “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but it does not concern you.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “You and your family have done enough damage to mine! You must leave Lavinia alone. I will not tolerate insubordination.”

  “Insubordination is a crime dealt with most harshly in the army, but ma’am, I am not under your authority. I see no reason why I should reveal my purposes to you when I have yet to speak to the lady.” He forced his voice to calm. “Now, may I speak to Miss Ellison?”

  “No, you may not.”

  He tensed. He would beat down any servants who might get in his way!

  “I know what you want. You think you will force her to marry you!”

  “How did—”

  “Constance!” She waved a letter. “She might have the sense of a peahen, but she understands what must be made known to me! How dare you presume?”

  He gazed at her evenly. “I love Lavinia.”

  “Love?” She gave a reedy cackle. “Your family doesn’t know the meaning of the word!”

  “But I am trying.”

  “Pah!” She motioned to the footman, as if to ensure his swift removal.

  He breathed past his anger. Lord, help me! “Your Grace, please let me speak with her.”

  “No.”

  His eyes closed as ribbons of despair wound tightly around him.

  “I cannot.”

  He opened his eyes. “Cannot?”

  “Miss Ellison has lately quitted the premises.”

  “She’s not here?”

  “No!”

  Frustration snapped his hat through the air. “Thank you.” He bowed stiffly and moved through the cluttered fine furniture of a bygone era, which he was tempted to kick on his way to the door.

  “It will be of no use, you know. She will have nothing to do with you.”

  He turned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “She will have no inheritance. I will cut her out of my will if she continues to hold you in regard.”

  Hope thumped his heart. “She holds me in regard?”

  The duchess’s face appeared pained. “Your family, your mother, your relations have hurt mine excruciatingly. I will not tolerate any alliance between these two households.”

  He dipped his head slightly. “For your pain, I am sorry. For the sins of my family, I beg your forgiveness. But for my feelings toward Lavinia, I can plead no such thing. I love her, I care about her tremendously, and I will do everything in my power to make her happy.” He quirked an eyebrow. “With or without your approval.”

  She gasped. “You are as insolent as she!”

  Trust Lavinia to speak so boldly. “She is a remarkable creature, isn’t she?”

  And with a smile on his lips and in his heart, he made his exit. He now knew exactly where she would be.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  THE HILLS WERE dark, mottled with brown. Leaden clouds told of winter’s arrival, but no snow had fallen this week. Lavinia sat in the seat Papa had carved all those years ago, stroking a pup whose snores sounded more feline than canine. Smoke from a dozen chimneys drifted up from St. Hampton Heath, curling tendrils of white in the cold ai
r. The pungent scent of crushed leaves tugged at her senses, reminding her of her duties, but she ignored them.

  She wrapped the heavy shawl close, enjoying the chance to rest. The past few days had proved punishing. Traveling home from Salisbury was made a little easier by Grandmama’s insistence she use her coach, but stopping to rest the horses every ten miles had made the journey seem interminable.

  But she was home. Papa’s joy had been almost eclipsed by that shown by Aunt Patience—Lady Danver now—when the coach trundled up the drive.

  “Lavinia! We’ve been so worried!”

  Wrapped in her aunt’s hug, she could only reply, “I have been to see Grandmama.”

  Once inside, divested of wraps, and after the coachman and maid were fed and commenced their return journey, she described her past week—though her experiences at the ball were somewhat censored—and heard her aunt’s tale. Aunt Patience and Danver expressed regret at the secretive nature of their wedding, but waiting months until they saw each other again seemed wasteful, especially when they had yearned for each other for years. They would make their home up north in Durham, as his estates demanded immediate attention. This news had pooled loneliness in Lavinia’s heart, but how could she argue with the happiness shining in her aunt’s eyes?

  “But I am sorry if my disappearance upset you, Lavinia.”

  “It did not.”

  “But you are perturbed. I see it in your forehead’s wrinkle. Was it Mother? Was she very dreadful?”

  “Not as dreadful as it appears she was to you.”

  Aunt Patience sighed. “She is a hard woman.”

  “And lonely.”

  “I often thought her manner was driven by fear.” Papa had nodded. “God does not want us to be motivated by fear, but love.”

  Love.

  She studied the small village snuggled in the valley as the thought nestled close. Long hours in the carriage traveling home were spent thinking, feeling, understanding. She realized now that Grandmama’s actions, as manipulative as they seemed, were motivated by fear. And while she might never possess warmth, Grandmama did love her, as evidenced by her generosity in allowing Lavinia to keep Mama’s possessions, which had filled the carriage on the way home.

  Grandmama’s ultimatum had helped her realize something else. Lavinia loved the earl. Loved him. All the qualities she’d ever thought necessary in a man he possessed. Faith. Intelligence. Wit. Compassion. How torturous to think he remained in London surrounded by so much worldly decadence. He was strong and courageous, but would his mother’s machinations result in producing another young lady—one more suitable than Clara? One more acceptable than herself?