The next letter was written in 1879, the very year he’d met her—when she was nearly eleven.
3rd January, 1879
Dearest Grandfather,
Happy New Year to my great love and surrogate father! How I miss my dear, true father, but in your eyes I see his, and that keeps me from becoming too frightened. I often look at your picture and my father’s, whenever I am worried and alone—for I keep both upon my night stand, and I pretend you are nearby. I pray you come to visit me soon, even if Sir William does not wish it.
That horrible man continues to fight with Mother daily. Why does he do that? It seems that he despises her; but if so, why would he marry her? The hall rings with their raised voices nearly hour of the day, yet she eventually yields to his every demand like an obedient, docile sheep. Truly, Grandfather, if this is marriage, then I do not look forward to it at all.
Paul would never behave like that, would he? After all, he will be my husband one day, or so I’m told. I do love him, but it’s strange to think of being his wife. Still, he is quite wonderful and very handsome. My friend Loretta Briarhurst, Lord Parsington’s daughter, told me that she will marry Paul, if I do not. She called him ‘rather dreamy’. I suppose he is. Even though he’s quite busy, my dreamy cousin visited here all of this past week, and he kept me company, playing games and riding through the woods. He even took me on a picnic.
William despises Paul, I think, and I fear—now that Paul is gone—that Trent will be all the more horrible to my mother, and to me. I care nothing for myself, you understand, but I would dry my mother’s tears, if I could. My dear cousin left yesterday, bound for Paris once again. I miss him already.
Mrs. Holloway has taken ill, and our assistant cook, Mrs. Stephens is filling in. I like her dishes very much. Mr. Baxter says I must speak kindly, even if I do not like the food, but I do like it. Mother sleeps most of the time now, and my nanny insists that I not spy upon Sir William. He spends nearly every evening, wandering through the tunnels beneath the hall. Remember, how I discovered them as a girl? I wonder how it is Trent learnt of their existence. Mother may have told him, I suppose. How I wish she would show some backbone with the man!
Oh, there is also this very distressing news. Paul and Mother had words, Grandfather. A terrible argument, and I fear Paul may not come back—ever!—because he was dreadfully angry when he left. He stormed out of the house without even a word of goodbye to me. Please, tell him that I hope he forgives us and will return on my birthday. I would do anything for my darling Paul. Anything.
Much love,
Beth
“Oh, my darling,” Charles said aloud. “I shall rid this world of Trent. For your sake and your mother’s.”
Turning to the next letter, Charles discovered a reference to himself!
23rd July,1879
Dearest Grandfather,
As you know, the fete this year was held three weeks late, and was not the same without Mother. Though, she seldom participated in recent years, her absence was keenly felt by all. The farmers spoke with me, again and again, offering their condolences. They are such gentle souls! I nearly cancelled it, but Paul told me that the villagers look forward to it all year long, so it would be thoughtless of me to do so. My darling cousin remained with me here until a few days ago. With his busy schedule, I thought it quite generous. He is now gone once more. Paul is a kind man, but it is hard to imagine marrying him. Is that wrong of me?
Now that I am eleven, I begin to think ahead to my wedding day, when I shall become Paul’s wife. Do most women marry for love, Grandfather? Mrs. Bellringer, my strict governess, says it is never too soon for a duchess to consider a suitable partner. She does not know that I have been promised to Paul, but may I not choose? Are not partners all about business? I’ve no wish to be part of a business. I wish to be loved, Grandfather. Paul loves me, I know this, but is it silly of me to imagine that someone else might love me, also?
Perhaps a gallant ‘Captain’ with sea-blue eyes and a ready smile? Of course, I do not refer to anyone we know personally—for that gentleman, handsome and kind and wonderful though he is—well, he is already married. In fact, you must forget I mentioned it.
Much love and many kisses,
Elizabeth
8th April, 1881
Dearest Grandfather,
Today, I am thirteen years old, and I find myself getting taller if you can believe it! Baxter still towers over me, of course, but Mrs. Bellringer marked my height a full inch higher than last year. I hope to grow very tall one day, so that my future husband will not need to bend down just to kiss me. I’m sure you’re laughing at this just now—and I can certainly picture you—but I am completely serious.
My kind and brilliant friend, the Captain (Mr. St. Clair, of course) who is now a Chief Inspector in charge of many policemen, stopped by Aubrey House today to visit Paul. I arrived here last week to celebrate my birthday, and Mr. St. Clair was thoughtful enough to wish me a happy one and even brought a gift. Is that not wonderful? Do you think him handsome, Grandfather? I find him so, but I must never tell him. He is married and beyond… Well, beyond all hoping. I understand that I am to marry Paul, whom I adore, but is it wrong of me to wish upon a star sometimes? Oh, if only it were so easy as merely making a wish! If only fears and wishes might be dispelled or granted as easily as thought!
Do you recall the shadows I used to tell you about? I mentioned them to Paul, and he became very angry with me. Why is that? “You’ve probably imagined it all”, he tells me. I suppose I am but a silly girl to my remarkable cousin. Grandfather, am I only that? A silly girl with fanciful dreams? I read and learn, but sometimes I fear that all such effort is in vain. Paul will always be my dearest friend, though. Without him—and you—I should be all alone in this world.
Paul brought Adele with him this time! She is such a lovely child. I find that if I squeeze her with great hugs, she laughs and laughs. Was I the same at that age? I hope one day to have such a darling child. Perhaps one with sea-blue eyes.
Very well, I shall stop. I remember your warning that such vain imaginings will only lead to disappointment. I shall continue to pray that he is well and happy, though. May I at least do that?
Love,
Beth
She’d written the next letter shortly before leaving for Paris.
5th June, 1884
Dearest Grandfather,
I have seen Superintendent St. Clair this day at Aubrey House, and he is as gallant and kind as ever. He is so handsome—or perhaps, that is too forward of me to write, but this letter is to you, my confident and best friend in all the world, and I am free to say what is in my heart, am I not? Do you recall our private talk last Christmas? Am I being too wistful? Yes, I know. I remember your stern reminder that I am promised to Paul, but is it set in stone? Does the circle require that I do so? It seems to me that my cousin’s attention is often diverted towards other women; after all, I am only sixteen, and Paul is nearly thirty!
Please, do not ever allow my dear cousin to see this letter, for it would break his heart, I think. He grows ever more protective and quite secretive of late—even more than usual, if you can imagine it. Where did my childhood companion go? He refuses even to allow me to walk my own park without him! Why must my cousin and the circle members always hover about me, as if I am a child and unable to make my own decisions? It drives me mad at times!
Forgive my temper. Yes, I love Paul, truly, but may I not write what is in my heart and mind to you—only for your eyes?
If my mother still lived, I suppose I would confide all these schoolgirl thoughts to her, but you have been both father and mother to me all these years, my loving Grandfather, and I truly do need your counsel. Forget all that nonsense about a duchess not marrying a commoner, because I will simply not hear it! Love knows no social class, my dear. I read Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice last year
, and all I could think of is how reversed my own situation is. At least Elizabeth in that lovely story was able to encourage Mr. D’arcy to speak his heart, but how may a peeress speak bold words to the love of her life?
Oh, please, tell me I am not a foolish young woman! Paul says I am at an age where I should spend a few years with Aunt Victoria; therefore, I suppose that will be my fate. The Captain—my Captain—is all I can think of these days. What a fool I am, for he is still legally married, is he not? Though his Amelia now resides in Ireland with another man, the law would tell me that my Captain is still hers. Oh, how it tears at my soul, Grandfather! How could she treat him thusly? It breaks my heart to think of him all alone. Were it within my power, I would bring only sunshine to his life. Sunshine and bright smiles. Were I anything other than a duchess, who must live according to an ancient set of laws, I would have kissed him that day at Paul’s home! Yes! I would!
Though, he might not wish to return that kiss, I would have told him all that stands inside my soul and risked rejection.
I beg you! Please, do not force me to go to Paris! But if you insist, I shall submit, for I love and respect you. It is only my poor heart you break. Only my future that you determine, but promise me that, should you ever see the Chief Inspector, you will not reveal my pitiful confessions to him. I doubt that Mr. St. Clair returns my affections, and I would not embarrass him for all the world! Surely, if he felt as earnestly in love as I, then he would have told me, would he not?
I must let it go. Leave this burden here in England and give myself to the circle’s plans. It drags at my heart, Grandfather, but I shall try to do all you ask of me, for I love you, and I would die rather than hurt or disappoint you.
One last thing, Grandfather mine: A certain someone has been lurking about again. You made me promise to tell you anytime I saw the Shadows, and they have returned. Whilst walking in my garden last night, I saw him—I am certain of it, only this time he did not speak. Perhaps, I imagined it—Paul says I am imaginative, but I think not.
He puzzled me when I was a little girl, but now he truly terrifies me, Grandfather. Why is a mere shadow so very menacing?
All my love,
Elizabeth
The Shadow Man has been following Elizabeth for most of her life, he thought. She called it ‘him’ in this letter. Is it possible a part of her dreaming mind knows more than her waking self can recall?
And finally, there was a letter that, curiously enough, was addressed to him.
12th June, 1884
My Dearest Captain,
I write this letter as a last resort, and it is quite possible that you will never see it. I have instructed my wonderful grandfather (whom you know well, I think, after the many years all of you spent on my mother’s murder case) to post it to you once I am gone. I do this, because I love and respect the duke. I leave it to his discretion whether or not to forward this. Grandfather is the best parent in all the world, and if he believes our match to be right, then he will send it. If not, then… Oh, I dare not think of it!
Tomorrow, my darling Captain, I leave for Paris, where I shall spend the next four years, if not longer, learning to be a proper lady and duchess. Since my mother’s death, there have been very few female influences in my life, except for Mrs. Alcorn at Branham and my somewhat eccentric aunt, Victoria Stuart. It is to my aunt’s château that I go, to linger there until my family approves my return to London. Tory’s Paris address is below my signature, should you ever wish to write. I shall understand completely if you prefer not to do so—oh, but I hope you will!
I shall miss you very much, Captain. I know that, to you, I am probably a very tragic young lady whom you met as a little girl, and if that is how you see me, then I thank you for never showing it. You have always made me feel as though you respect me—and perhaps even like me a little. I am sixteen now, and my life is no longer that of a child. Nor are my thoughts—nor my heart.
I doubt that it made much of an impression you, but when I saw you recently at Paul’s home in London, I longed to tell you all of this. When you walked into his library that day, I thought my heart had stopped—or perhaps that it had started to beat for the first time in my life. I wanted so much to embrace you; prayed you felt the same and perhaps would reach out for my hand, or even more, that you might wish to kiss me. I dared not do any of those things, though, but how I longed to! Paul said it would be inappropriate to ‘throw myself’ at a married gentleman, but you’ve no idea how close I came to doing so.
Yes, I am being foolish, but I can only think of your sea-blue eyes and dashing smile. Oh, how miserable I shall be in Paris, but one word from you would bring me back to England on the first ship! Were it possible, I would fly back, my darling Charles!
I hesitate now to write this, but truly, I—I have come to love you so very, very much.
There I’ve said it! Now, you may put this letter into your desk or burn it, and then return to your very interesting life whilst I retire to the Parisian countryside to improve my French and perfect my watercolouring.
Honestly, though, I do love you with all my heart, Charles. I truly do, and no matter what your feelings towards me, I shall continue to love you for all the days of my life. I pray that I see you again one day, but if that is not meant to be, then I want you to know that you will always have someone out there who prays for you daily and admires you for who you truly are.
I love you, Captain. I am yours today, tomorrow, and always.
Your Beth
Now and Forever
Why was this letter never been posted? he wondered. Did she think better of it—perhaps regret it once she arrived in Paris, or had the duke decided to let time pass in the hope she might outgrow her emotions?
Suddenly, he wanted only to see her, to hold her, to explain why he’d never written or visited—for surely, had he received this letter when written, he would have been on his way to Paris at once, regardless of what English law said at the time!
Shutting the box and ringing the bell for Laurence, the marquess, who had once been a commoner who dreamt of a beautiful peeress, put on his jacket, and with the box under his arm, set out to return to his duchess.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was just after five when Charles Sinclair stepped into the foyer of Queen Anne House, and the entire place was thrown into an uproar, all because of him.
Miss Jenkins, who had begun work as Beth’s secretary the previous morning, was clacking away on her portable typewriter, struggling to finish up a stack of letters for Lady Victoria, but hearing the ruckus in the foyer, the bashful young woman rushed out to help. Charles had barely caught a glimpse of his fiancée and Adele, and he could hear Beth laughing and Della squealing in surprise as an arm reached out for him.
“Sir! Oh, Lord Haimsbury, you are early!” Jenkins exclaimed, tugging at the marquess’s forearm and pulling him into the front drawing room. “Forgive my impertinence, sir,” she continued once Charles stood safely inside the large room, “but we didn’t think you would return until much later.”
Sinclair grinned. “Is that so?” He winked at the secretary and tried to sneak another peek into the expansive foyer. “I shan’t look, really, but if I might just...”
“No, Charles!” his fiancée called out as his face appeared around the door. “You’re not to see us!”
Returning to his hiding place, Charles could hear Adele giggling once again and the pitter-patter of her small feet behind Elizabeth’s as both ladies fled the foyer, where they had been practising their entrance for the wedding ceremony—to the piano accompaniment of Martin Kepelheim.
The drawing room door opened again, and Lady Victoria appeared, her stern black eyes boring into Sinclair’s. “Why are you here?” she bellowed.
Sinclair could not help laughing, his heart was so joyful, but Aunt Victoria’s stern reprimand quickly sobered his mood—though
only a little—as she removed him from Jenkins forthwith.
“Charles, you should have warned us! Beth thought you intended to be away until six. Well, no matter, keep your eyes shut, Nephew, and follow me.”
The happy marquess obeyed, peeking just once, as he followed his domineering but loveable aunt into the yellow morning room where she often spent the day napping. Once he entered, she closed the doors. “There now. Sit down, Charles. I’ve a few words to speak, so you might as well make yourself comfortable.”
“I am all attention, Aunt.”
“Good. Well, then, before I say anything else, I just want to mention how pleased I am that you smile more now. When I first arrived, you and Paul both seemed to wear fixed and permanent scowls, and neither of you was the better for it. With the peace of the past days, Aubrey has actually begun to look like his old self again, and you, my dear sister-son, begin to resemble your handsome father all the more.”
“Thank you, Tory. I’ve seen numerous portraits of both my parents now, and being compared to my father always makes me feel closer to him.”
“I am glad to hear it.” She cleared her throat and continued. “Yes, well, you must think me an odd duck at times, Charles, but I have found my own way in a world of men—not an easy task for a woman with a brain, which is precisely what Elizabeth is, so I want you to assure me that you will not curtail her natural curiosity and courage. I love you dearly, Nephew, but I have noticed in you an unfortunate tendency to overprotect Beth. She is not a hothouse flower. That girl—that woman—has lived through horrors many in your old stomping grounds might consider unbearable. Yes, yes, I know the majority of your citizenry have very little, and probably not a bean sometimes, but I tell you that money is not always the blessing it appears. You follow, I hope?”
He nodded, half his mind listening as Beth and Adele returned to the foyer. He could hear Elizabeth instructing Della on how to turn whilst wearing a very long train, amidst the persistent barking of three dogs.
“You are listening, aren’t you, Charles?”
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