Her name from his lips brought back the memories of their kiss and his embrace. She did not dare do it again in such a public place. Instead, she grasped his hands.
‘Thomas, you have done far more for me than you can imagine.’
He stared a minute, holding her hands in his. ‘You are returning to Scarborough?’
She couldn’t lie. Not to him. ‘If I do, I will let you know. If not I will write to you. You have my word.’
The signal was given to mount the coach and Eleanor took her seat.
As they pulled away, she asked herself why she’d made such a rash promise. It wasn’t simply because she wanted his kisses again. She wanted to know him better.
She was no doubt a foolish, impulsive woman.
By the time she arrived in Whitby, four hours later, she was worn and weary. The walk up the hill to Mr Fortescue’s place of business sapped her last vestiges of strength.
As she opened the door and stepped into the cool of the outer office, Mr Yates, the senior clerk stood and stared.
‘Mrs Petersham, you are here! The heavens be praised!’
It was a welcome she sorely needed. ‘Indeed I am, Mr Yates. Would it be possible to see Mr Fortescue?’
‘Indeed it would, Mrs Petersham. He is most anxious to see you.’
He opened the door to the inner office and, at her name, Mr Fortescue came out, his hands outstretched in greeting.
‘My dear Mrs Petersham, I am so pleased to see you at last. So you received my letter?’
‘Letter?’ Her confusion was etched on her face.
‘I see, well, never mind. You are here and that is all that matters. Come into my office.’
Seated opposite him, she took a deep breath. ‘You sent me a letter?’
‘Indeed I did, several letters. The last just three weeks ago. Since I never heard back, I feared you were taken ill.’
She shook her head, hoping to control her rising anger. ‘No, I have been well but I never received a single letter.’ She let, ‘My father must have intercepted them,’ go unsaid.
It seemed Mr Fortescue understood. ‘Regrettable. Most regrettable. But tell me, if you did not receive my letters, what brought you here?’
‘This.’ She reached into her reticule and handed him Jeremiah’s note.
He read it, shaking his head but smiling. ‘My old friend thought of everything, but where was it that it took you two years to find it?’
‘In my workbox, he left it there with two guineas.’
‘Then I bless his ingenuity and, so I imagine, do you. Now to business. I truly regret any inconvenience but you must understand I was bound to follow your husband’s wishes to the letter.
‘I was to convey the details of his bequest to you –not your parents. He was emphatic on that point. So, when your father came on me, the day before the funeral, I was unable to tell him anything,’ he paused. ‘I fear I angered him but I could do nothing else. I did tell him you should call on me. After your hasty removal to York, I wrote, asking you to come at your convenience. I confess I was torn over what to do, fearing you were ill.’
‘So, am I to understand, my father erred in telling me I was left penniless?’
‘I fear he got that erroneous impression when I told him I could discuss nothing with him.’
‘I cannot tell you how relieved I am.’
‘Quite so, and I regret the delay in informing you of the true situation.’
‘Hardly your fault, Mr Fortescue, if you wrote many times. It is water under the bridge now. How do I stand?’
‘Let me explain.’
For a good fifteen minutes, Eleanor listened, alternating between amazement and astonishment. She had two hundred pounds a year guaranteed for life. In addition, she would receive a percentage of the profits from Jeremiah’s business. ‘Which has continued to prosper under his nephew’s direction,’ Mr Fortescue said.
She had barely grasped the understanding that she could now live comfortably on her own, when he added, that she had the right to live in one of the rental properties now left to Jeremiah’s nephew. ‘Unfortunately all the Whitby properties are let, although some are just summer leases.’
‘I am content to wait until one becomes vacant.’
‘So be it. If I may say it, Mrs Petersham, Mrs Fortescue and I would be most pleased to see you back in Whitby.’
‘I will be happy too and can bide my time until summer is over.’ Although where would she live until then?
He coughed. ‘Tell me, Mrs Petersham, does your father know you are here?’
‘My father believes I went out for an early morning walk.’ Although by now he must have guessed she’d been gone too long for just a stroll.
‘I see.’ She doubted he did completely, and just as well. ‘Do you wish to return to Scarborough tonight?’
‘I think not.’ Nor any time in the near future.
‘Then we must make arrangements. The mother of our junior clerk runs a respectable lodging house. I will send him to enquire if she can accommodate you.’
When summoned, the lad said, ‘I know she can, sir, unless she’s taken a tenant since breakfast. The family that had the first floor front and back left last week.’
‘Then, run and tell her she has a new tenant. Mrs Petersham will be along presently.’
It was late afternoon before Eleanor was settled in Mrs Broughton’s first-floor front parlour overlooking the sea.
She was tired –exhausted, in truth –but elated. Yesterday her best means of escape seemed to be ruin and social exile. Now she was a woman of independent means, all thanks to Jeremiah. He had provided as generously as he’d promised.
So, her father had misinterpreted Mr Fortescue’s reluctance to discuss her affairs, that she understood, but why had he taken her letters? The only way to know was to ask him and ask him she would. Later.
She had other matters to attend to.
Ringing for ink and sealing wax, she sat down at the small desk and wrote two letters. The first, brief and terse, was to her mother and father, requesting they please send her trunks to Whitby, care of the Black Horse. She added a crown under her seal to cover the costs of haulage.
Maybe they would oblige, if not, she could afford a new wardrobe. Although she dearly hoped they would, at the very least, send her jewelry and the gifts she received from Jeremiah.
The second letter took much longer. She destroyed a great number of pages, dissatisfied as she was by her attempts, but finally it was done.
Dear Mr Holcombe,
I must say how happy I was to encounter you this morning and will never forget the pleasure of your company yesterday evening.
As I mentioned, I do not plan to return to Scarborough any time in the near future, but instead, as you may see from the address, have taken up residence here in Whitby.
Since my situation has changed so completely in the past few hours, I plan to remain here for the next few months. Perhaps longer.
If you have leisure to visit me here, I should be delighted to receive you.
With sincerest best wishes,
Eleanor Petersham.
She hoped he’d come and prayed it would be soon. And if he never came, she had regained happiness and independence and with that she would be more than content.
ISBN: 978 1 472 05484 5
TRULY, MADLY, DEEPLY
A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet © 2014 Adele Parks
A Sensible Proposal © 2014 Anna Jacobs
The Corporate Wife © 2014 Carole Matthews
The Art of Travel © 2014 Elizabeth Buchan
The Rough with the Smooth © 2014 Elizabeth Chadwick
Living the Dream © 2014 Katie Fforde
True Love © 2014 Maureen Lee
Love on Wheels © 2014 Miranda Dickinson
Clarion Call © 2014 Catherine King
Puppy Love © 2014 Chrissie Manby
Third Act © 2014 Fanny Blake
A Real Prince © 2014 Fio
na Harper
The Fundamental Things © 2014 Heidi Rice
Summer ’43 © 2014 India Grey
How To Get a Pill Into A Cat © 2014 Judy Astley
Life of Pies © 2014 Kate Harrison
Head Over Heart © 2014 Louise Allen
The Marriage Bargain © 2014 Nicola Cornick
Shocking Behaviour © 2014 Sue Moorcroft
Feel The Fear © 2014 Alison May
The Eighth Promise © 2014 Jenny Harper
A Night To Remember © 2014 Nikki Moore
The Truth About The Other Guy © 2014 Rhoda Baxter
The Fairytale Way © 2014 Sophie Pembroke
The Charmer © 2014 Jacqui Cooper
Making the Grade © 2014 Cathie Hartigan
Minuet – A Georgian Romance © 2014 Sarah Mallory
Holiday Romance © 2014 Gilli Allan
The Anniversary © 2014 Julie Cohen
Captivating Sacha © 2014 Rosie Dean
The Language of Flowers © 2014 Kate Lord Brown
Bitter Sweet © 2014 Laura E. James
One Night © 2014 Mandy Baggot
Kiss Me, Kill Me © 2014 Anna Louise Lucia
Desperate Measures © 2014 Rosemary Laurey
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