He stopped, and she sensed his hesitance again.
“Honestly, Marcus, I want to hear more about this. I find it—”
“No,” he whispered, then pointed ahead. “It’s that.”
She looked up to see a crowd gathered around the conservatory. Servants and workers, at first glance. But on closer inspection, she spotted Dr. Cheatham among them, along with her aunt, who chose that precise moment to look in their direction, her expression anything but pleased.
13
Eleanor braced herself for a reprimand—for her having been gone all day, and for being with an under gardener, perhaps. Feeling twelve years old again—and resenting it—she accepted Marcus’s assistance down from the horse while considering how to respond.
In the same breath, she reminded herself she was a guest at Belmont. Her aunt’s concern over her whereabouts was understandable . . . and actually warmed her heart, in a way. How long had it been since someone had worried about her instead of the other way around?
“Eleanor, my dear, are you all right?” Her aunt grasped her hands. “When Armstead said you insisted on walking back, I was concerned.”
“Yes, Aunt, I’m fine.” Eleanor briefly tightened her grip. “I apologize if I worried you. I went into town and—”
Aunt Adelicia held up her forefinger. “One moment, please, dear. I want to hear all about your day, but first . . . Mr. Geoffrey, I’m so glad you have returned. I believe your assistance may be required. There’s an issue with a water pipe.”
“A water pipe?” Marcus secured Regal’s reins to a nearby tree. “How might I be of help with that, madam?”
“Workers are here to fix it, but they’ve mentioned something about a structural issue. Would you be willing to take a look at it? The kitchen no longer has water, and I’m expecting sixteen women tomorrow morning for tea! So please, if you’ll simply . . .”
And just like that, they walked away, and Eleanor found herself standing alone. Without reprimand. Without scolding. Without anyone to hear all about her day.
Giving a weary but partly humored sigh, she conceded she was of little to no use in this situation. Much like an under gardener would be. So why had her aunt requested Marcus’s assistance? Then again, she knew. The man exuded confidence. So whether or not he knew anything about the topic at hand—she shook her head—people assumed he did.
She made her way to the mansion, her feet still sore, despite the respite. Almost to the main fountain in the center of the garden, she heard footsteps behind her.
“Eleanor!”
Recognizing the voice, she turned, unexpected anticipation rising inside her. She told herself not to hope, but hope paid her no mind, and when she saw him, she dared imagine that he, too, had felt something similar to what she had on the horseback ride, and was coming to—
“I thought you might need this.” He held up her satchel. “I saw it sitting on the ground back there.”
She looked at the bag, then at him. She’d told herself not to hope. “Thank you, Marcus. That’s very kind of you.” She took the satchel and glanced beyond him. “It would seem you have a job ahead of you yet tonight.”
“It would seem.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it in a boyish, yet alluring, way. Was there anything about this man that wasn’t attractive?
“But I don’t mind,” he continued. “I’ve never been bothered by darkness. Or close spaces.”
She frowned. “Where will you be going?”
“In the tunnel.”
She frowned.
“There are pipes,” he said, “that extend from the water tower throughout the estate, including up to the mansion. The pipes run through the basement of the conservatory. And there’s a tunnel—a short one—that houses the pipes before they branch out.”
With her gaze, she traced a line from the tower uphill. “Can you walk in it?”
“A little ways. Then you have to stoop, then finally crawl. It’s really not . . .” He eyed her. “Wait. Don’t tell me. . . . You like tunnels?”
“No,” she said quickly, then made a face. “I like . . . exploring.”
He smiled and looked away, shaking his head. “Du bist die bezauberndste Frau, die ich kenne.”
Wishing now that she’d taken four years of German instead of only two, Eleanor cleared her throat. “I beg your pardon, but . . . did you just say I’m a surprising woman?”
His smile went slack. “You speak German?”
This response she remembered quite well. “Nur ein wenig.” Only a little.
His blue eyes danced. “Das wird ein Spaß werden, Miss Braddock.”
She thought fast, working to keep up with him. “Obviously, I know my name. And I think I heard the word for . . . fun?”
“You most certainly did, madam.”
“But what was the rest of it?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” He gestured to her skirt. “But if we go exploring in that tunnel, you might get a little dirty.”
She grinned, wishing she knew the German word for tunnel. “I’ve never minded a little dirt.”
“Ja,” he whispered. “I would have guessed that.” He bowed. “I’d better get back before Mrs. Cheatham comes looking for me.” He turned to go, then stopped, his expression more serious. “I meant to ask you earlier . . . Have you heard from your father? About when he might arrive?”
Eleanor felt her smile fade. “No, I haven’t. But . . . I’m expecting to hear from him soon.”
He held her gaze a little longer than necessary. “Well, I look forward to meeting him when he does.” He inclined his head. “Good night, Eleanor.”
She offered the semblance of a curtsy, wishing she didn’t genuinely like this man as much as she did. “Gute Nacht, Marcus.”
Later that night a knock sounded on Eleanor’s bedroom door.
“Eleanor, dear?” came a soft whisper. “It’s Aunt Adelicia. Are you still awake?”
Eleanor laid aside her book, nudged back the bedcovers, and slipped into her robe as she crossed the shadows. The door creaked as she opened it. “Yes, I was just reading. Please . . .” She stepped back. “Come in. Is everything all right?”
Her aunt entered, carrying a lamp, and gently touched her cheek. “I’m sorry to visit so late, and yes, everything is fine. But you disappeared so quickly after dinner, I wanted to make certain you were all right.”
“Yes, I’m well.” Eleanor gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs by the window and then sat opposite her. “I was simply weary after the long day. Retiring early to read proved to be too much of a temptation.”
Her aunt nodded. “Quiet moments are to be treasured, and seem to come so infrequently these days.” A dark eyebrow shot up. “Especially with all the rigmarole going on down at the water tower.”
“Was the leak easily repaired?”
“Thanks to Mr. Geoffrey! I’m beginning to question whether there’s anything that man can’t do. I’m grateful he’s here.”
Eleanor smiled, having had much the same thought. On both counts.
“But, dear”—her aunt leaned forward—“I truly want to hear about your day, and learn how you’re faring. I do so want you to be happy here with us.”
Having had time to reflect on the events of the day, as well as her aunt’s generous invitation to live at Belmont, Eleanor knew how she wanted to answer that question. “I actually had a wonderful day today, thank you. And I’d love to share the details with you. But first I need to tell you about the building I rented.”
Aunt Adelicia offered a nod, one that was a tad cautious, if Eleanor read her right.
“It does exist. Though you were correct, in a way. The property was not as it had been described in the advertisement. The verbiage the proprietor chose was most definitely colored by personal bias.”
“The seller’s perspective always is, my dear.”
“But I’ve spoken with him about the possibility of my money being returned.”
“And?”
“And he agreed that, if he could rent the building within the three-month time frame, he would refund the prorated portion of my payment.”
“I admire you for broaching that possibility with him, Eleanor. But I would also warn you not to cast your hope in that corner. Chances are good that anyone else seeking to rent that property will demand to see it first”—Eleanor felt a sting, yet couldn’t argue with the truth—“and when they do, I predict they’ll take their money elsewhere.”
“Which is why,” Eleanor quickly added, “I spent a portion of the day interviewing and hiring someone to clean the property.” She decided to forego sharing how she’d spent the better part of her day cleaning the building herself. Aunt Adelicia would neither understand nor appreciate that fact.
Aunt Adelicia’s brow knit, and Eleanor hurried to offer support for her decision.
“My thought was that if the building were cleaner, more presentable, not layered in dust and grime, the chances of it being quickly rented would be greatly enhanced.” Seeing no visible sign of approval in her aunt’s expression, she rushed on, intentionally leaving out the building’s location. “The structure seems quite sound. None of the windows are broken, and it has a large—”
“Eleanor,” her aunt said softly.
Eleanor closed her mouth, resisting the urge to look away. Imagining what lecture was forthcoming, she almost wished now that she’d pretended to be asleep. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Your decision”—Aunt Adelicia regarded her—“shows excellent judgment.”
Eleanor blinked, not certain she’d heard correctly.
“Far better to spend a little,” her aunt continued, “with the chance of regaining the larger portion, than to certainly lose it all by doing nothing. And if the building doesn’t rent, you haven’t spent that much. And what’s more, you will have left the property better than when you found it. Which is always an admirable goal. Well done, my dear.”
Never in a hundred lifetimes could Eleanor have imagined how good it would feel to have Adelicia Acklen Cheatham’s approval. She thanked her just as another detail popped into her head. “This will likely necessitate my going into town each day, at least for a while. To . . . supervise. Will that present a problem?”
“Not at all. Simply ask Zeke or Eli to arrange a carriage for you. And do be certain to visit the Nashville Women’s League while you’re in town. I spoke with the league’s chair, Mrs. Holbrook, and she said she didn’t think you had been by yet.”
“No, I haven’t. But I will. Very soon.” Especially now that she knew a Mrs. Holbrook was watching for her. “Thank you again, Aunt Adelicia.”
“You’re most welcome. And now . . .” Her aunt reached into the pocket of her dressing gown and pulled out an envelope. “I have one more thing I need to speak with you about this evening.”
Eleanor glanced at the envelope, sensing this was the real reason her aunt had knocked on her door.
“I had planned on telling you about this sometime later, Eleanor, but, I fear—” Aunt Adelicia looked down, fingering the stationery. “Certain events have forced my hand.”
Eleanor’s heart lurched. “Did Dr. Crawford write you? Is it about Papa?”
Her aunt lifted her gaze, her eyes swiftly widening. “No, no, my dear. It’s nothing like that. This isn’t about your father. Well . . .” She lifted a hand. “It’s not directly about him. Although he was the motivation behind the plot, you might say. I think you’re going to be quite pleased, though, once you hear what I’m about to tell you.”
Though doubting that, Eleanor found her curiosity piqued.
“Over a year ago, your father wrote to me requesting that, when the time was right, I lend my assistance in arranging a secure future for you. I’ve already stated to you that I’m committed to doing just that.”
Eleanor stared, not liking the direction their conversation was taking.
“Considering our close family relations and my long-standing affinity for you, dear . . . I most happily agreed to your father’s request. And . . .” Smiling, her aunt reached over and covered her hand. “Within a fortnight, or a month at the most, a very nice gentleman will be calling on you, here, at Belmont. He desires to take you to dinner . . . with the intent of becoming acquainted with you. Much better acquainted.”
Eleanor winced. “Oh, Aunt Adelicia . . . you didn’t.”
“I most certainly did. The gentleman’s name is Lawrence Hockley, and he’s a widower with no children. I’ve known him for the better part of fifteen years and can speak to his character and steadfastness. I knew his wife too, God rest her soul. She was a kind and quiet woman who died during the war. An illness of some sort, as I remember. Lawrence . . . Mr. Hockley, has been in Europe these recent months and wasn’t expecting to return until spring. However, business in the States demands his attention, so”—her aunt’s eyes sparkled in the glow of lamplight—“he’ll be returning soon.”
Eleanor opened her mouth to respond, but words failed her. Unable to remain seated, she came to her feet, and the act loosened the lock on her tongue. She heard herself laugh and instantly knew from her aunt’s expression that laughter was not the desired response.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Adelicia, but . . .” She briefly closed her eyes. “If I were a young woman in my prime, perhaps this would be different.” She stilled. “Does he know about me?”
“Know about you?”
Eleanor firmed her lips. “Does he know my age? Does he know my situation?”
“I’ve told him you’re an enormously talented and accomplished young woman who has faced the challenges of life following the war with grace and—”
Eleanor sighed and shook her head. “So the answer to my question would be no.”
Her aunt stilled, and Eleanor knew she’d crossed a line.
“My sincere apologies if I’ve offended you, Aunt Adelicia, but . . . I’m almost thirty years old. I’ve never had a steady beau in my life, much less a gentleman caller who truly desired to become much better acquainted. Only two men have ever approached my father about calling on me, and that was years ago. And their interest only stemmed from my family connections.” To you, Eleanor wanted to add, but didn’t.
“This Mr. Lawrence Hockley, whoever he is, and however kind and . . . noble he may be, has—regardless of the most sincere intentions on your part, I am sure—been grossly misled.”
Her aunt stared, then finally spoke. “Are you quite done, Eleanor?”
Feeling her spine stiffen even as her pride burned, Eleanor nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her aunt sat again and motioned for her to do the same.
“I desire to speak plainly, if I could, Eleanor.”
“That would be appreciated, Aunt Adelicia.”
Again, a look of warning, but less severe this time. “As you stated before, my dear, you have relinquished hopes of ever marrying.”
Hearing the fact spoken aloud was jarring, but Eleanor nodded, matching her aunt’s direct gaze.
“You are an intelligent woman, Eleanor. You’re polished, refined, and so very . . . commonsensible. You conduct yourself with decorum and integrity, and have done so, I might add, since a young age. In light of this, I believe you’ll make an excellent helpmeet for the right man.”
While a part of her was flattered, Eleanor couldn’t help but think of how cold that list of characteristics sounded when viewed in light of matrimony. “Thank you for that, Aunt, but . . .” She gave a humorless laugh. “Men don’t often look for intelligent and commonsensible when looking for a wife. They’re far more interested in diminutive and pretty.”
Judging from her aunt’s slight frown, she’d hit a nerve. And gotten her point across.
“You’re right. Men do not always show the best judgment in that regard. But there are men who are more practical in nature. Mr. Hockley is one such man. And do not judge yourself so meanly, Eleanor. You are a striking woman.”
Finding thi
s entire set of circumstances lending itself more toward the comical than real drama, Eleanor tried to look at the situation practically. If there were such a man out there, as her aunt described, she would be a simpleton not to entertain the possibility of such a match.
And she could scarcely cast such an opportunity aside. However farfetched it seemed.
“Have you forgotten, Aunt, that my father is in an asylum? Even if Mr. Hockley is as practical a man as you claim, as soon as he discovers—”
“He knows about your father.”
Eleanor felt her mouth slip open. “You told him?”
“Lawrence Hockley is a trustworthy man. And understanding. He—”
“That may be, but that secret was not yours to tell!”
“Perhaps not. But in light of the greater good seeking to be accomplished on your behalf, I didn’t feel it right to keep that from him. Dr. Cheatham agreed.”
“Dr. Cheatham is privy to this as well?”
“Yes. He and Lawrence have been friends for years. He would also defy you to find a more upright and steadfast gentleman.”
An ache began to pulse at the base of Eleanor’s neck, and she rested her head in her hands.
“Very few marriages, Eleanor, are rooted in the deepest of loves. However, with time, and taking into account the disposition of the man and woman, affection can grow. It’s a cruel reality, but”—her aunt’s voice changed, grew softer, yet less warm—“life rarely affords the luxury of marrying for love. Especially in our current society. There are scarce few men as it is, much less ones worthy of seeking your hand.”
Eleanor swiftly decided it best to keep her thoughts to herself.
“As I’ve told you before, you are a Braddock and an Acklen, and with those names come a rich heritage that few women in this society can bring to a marriage. I will not see you marry beneath yourself, Eleanor. While we may not be royalty in the purest sense, our family lines are held in great esteem, and we each have an obligation to preserve that legacy as best we can.”
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