The Forbidden Valentine_Lady Eleanor Hawthorne_Regency Romance Novel

by Isabella Thorne

  Robert snorted, but Father raised a hand, stopping Robert’s snide comment.

  “Eleanor?”

  “We have been corresponding by letter these past weeks.” Eleanor said. “Writing poetry…”

  “Weeks!” Father shouted the argument somehow now aflame again.

  “Poetry!” Grandfather shouted.

  “I never thought to take a strap to one of my daughters until now,” Father said pacing away.

  “How?” Mother interjected.

  Father turned back. “Are your sisters involved,” Father asked. “Have they been complicit in this?”

  “No,” Eleanor lied, not wishing to bring shame down upon any of her sisters. “Only me.” She spoke to Mother’s question. “I met him when the sleigh broke. My sisters knew nothing of the correspondence. Only that…that I mailed letters, to members of the poetry society…”

  Eleanor broke off uncertain of what would be best to say. She was only certain that she had to make them understand. Impossibly, tears choked her throat. “I love him,” she said.

  “HE IS A FIRTHLEY,” Robert slammed his left fist down onto the tabletop. The vase that rested upon it wobbled slightly before crashing to the floor and breaking into pieces. Not a single one of the Hawthorne’s moved to call a servant to collect the shards.

  The room was silent save for Eleanor’s soft sobbing. The accusation hung in the air like a death sentence over them all.

  “She is distraught,” Mother finally said. “I will see her to her room.”

  “Good,” Father said kissing Mother lightly on the forehead.

  “Come, Eleanor” Mother said, but Eleanor did not want her mother with her. She had done nothing to help. Eleanor was not sure what her mother could have done, but the inane way her mother capitulated to her father and grandfather made Eleanor furious just now.

  She pulled away from her mother’s arm and wiped at her tears. They would not decide her fate in her absence. “I am not leaving. This concerns me. I shall stay,” she said. She had to make them see. She had to make them understand.

  “Letters,” Grandfather said, his voice strident. The single word stood in the air, as if he had only now grasped the gravity of what she had done “There are letters?” His nostrils flared with fury. “Proof of your … indiscretions?”

  “I did not,” Eleanor began again, but Grandfather turned to Father and shouted. “I told you the girl was up to something. All that poetry muddles the mind, and now this. I warned you. This is what becomes of romantic notions. Bluestocking or ruin.” The Earl of Thornwood turned upon his granddaughter with a vengeance. “You are no better than Her and her willful ways. Lot of good it did her. Your kind is a bane to our family and the reason our women have been called the Hawthorne harlots.”

  Eleanor gasped. She had never heard her grandfather speak so in her presence.

  “Now you say that man has written proof of your licentiousness? Proof?”

  “You little fool,” Robert breathed.

  “He loves me,” Eleanor shouted back. “And I love him.”

  “Oh Eleanor,” Matthew said softly and she realized she had even lost Matthew’s support in that moment, and her mother sobbed anew.

  The air was heavy with the anger. To say that The Earl and her Father were furious was an understatement. They both stood too angry to even speak the words that sat within their clenched jaws; too ashamed to even look at her when she cried before them. But that was not the worst of it, she realized. Worse was that they all thought she was so simpleminded as to have been fooled. That she had bought into Lord Firthley’s appeal with full abandon. But that was not true. What she and Lord Firthley had was real. She had felt the pull toward him and knew that he had felt the same. Or she wondered, had he been so good a player as to trick her in that as well? Lady Eleanor felt sick to her stomach. That was not the truth. Surely it was not. Lord Firthley loved her. She would not give up hope. She could not.

  “He will come for me. You shall see. He has asked me to marry him. He will not abandon me. He loves me.”

  Her father closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

  “Of all of my daughters, I had highest hopes for you.” He spoke in a deadly calm. “Your beauty should have allowed for a fortunate match, but you disgrace our name by consorting with that blackguard! Go to your room,” he said. “Now. Remain there while we decide what is to be done.”

  “But Father,” Eleanor began.

  “Go!” Father snapped. “You have put your sister’s reputation in jeopardy, your very family.”

  “I…”

  “Get out of my sight.”

  Eleanor felt the tears of frustration and anger rolling off her face. Her whole body was taut with emotion.

  “Come, Eleanor” Mother said, reaching out to her, but Eleanor pushed away from her Mother’s arms. She did not want her ineffective sympathy.

  All of Eleanor’s pain and anger bubbled up like a storm choking her, and when it broke loose, she ran sobbing from their presence. Eleanor wrenched open the parlor door and fled, slamming the door behind her, closing out all of their prejudice and pretense. She ran up the stairs, shut her bedroom door, threw herself across the bed and let the sobs come. Somehow the most wonderful night of her life had transformed into the worst. With a groan she buried her face in the pillow and wept until she could cry no more. She wondered how she would rise again with her stays poking into her. On the other hand, she was not sure she would ever want to get up. She lay there, beaten; defeated. She reached for her handkerchief.

  It was then Eleanor remembered the small token. David had come back to give it to her. She pulled it from her bodice and struggled to rise to a sitting position. She sat holding it in her hand for a long moment. Then she unwrapped the paper from around the object. She was holding Firthley’s amethyst ring, his grandmother’s; and now, David William Firthley had given it to her.

  ‘Marry me,’ he had said. And she had agreed, so he had given her the ring as a symbol of their pledge. She could not wear it of course. At least she could not wear it on her finger, but perhaps on a chain around her neck. Grace had such a chain and she would be honored to donate it to such a cause.

  ‘The color of your eyes,’ he had said, and Eleanor held the gem up to the candle light. Her gaze fell on the paper which had wrapped it. On the small paper was written a single word in Firthley’s distinctive hand. Forever.

  ~.~

  Chapter Twenty-One

  For Lady Eleanor the following weeks were plagued with latent turmoil. Despite the lack of claim against her, the gentlemen of her family were convinced that their enemies were biding their time to make their strike with a hot iron. What exactly the Hawthorne men thought the Firthleys were planning to do Eleanor did not know, but all agreed it would be devastating to the Hawthornes.

  Lady Eleanor woke each day with a piercing hole in her heart that would not heal. She was confined to her rooms and the still frozen garden. After a full week, of such penance, her mother protested that Eleanor needed to go to some of the soirees and perhaps a musical or she would never find a husband, not that Eleanor wanted a husband save Lord Firthley. As the weather became slightly less inclement she was, through her Mother’s indulgence, given some small modicum of freedom.

  Her guardians were chosen from Grandfather’s staff, to discourage her comradery with them and increased in number from one to three when out of doors. The vigilance with which she was attended was increased. She felt entirely the prisoner. Even time with her sisters was suspect since Father was not convinced they were not party to her carrying on with Lord Firthley.

  With Mother’s urging her father relented and Eleanor’s house arrest was finally lifted, but whenever out of the house she and any of her sisters were shielded by the Captain’s wife, and a footman who kept a rigid eye on Lavinia, who was now also suspect. Another driver trailed behind the ladies with an appearance of nonchalance. To the casual onlooker, Lady Eleanor might be on a regular stroll with her
chaperone and her sisters, but she was not. She was guarded, for her own safety, Lord Hanway said. Yet she felt encaged by their constant presence. It was stifling and oppressive. Eleanor knew she was guilty of course, but her sisters were not. Strangely they were not as bothered by the censure as she was. Lily shrugged and returned to her books. Grace ignored them completely, and Betty struck up a conversation with the footman.

  As the weather began to warm, Lady Eleanor took to walking daily in Hyde Park just to escape the growing tension as her family whispered and plotted like generals in a war. Eleanor had known that the Firthley and the Hawthorne families disliked each other, but she had thought the feud, for the most part, had taken the course of pretending that the other did not exist. Naturally the families would oppose a union between Lord Firthley and herself, but it did not seem so terribly insurmountable to convince the families to allow it eventually. Now that Lady Eleanor had broken open the wound, she learned how deep the bad blood ran.

  Each side had taken concerted action to punish the other for whatever secret wrong had been done. A fortnight passed, with the Hawthornes going through the motions of maintaining their social schedule according to the expectations of the season, but Lady Eleanor felt like a reed drifting on the current, bent to its will; whisked to and fro and never alone.

  “I must find an escape,” she told Lavinia when she visited, but even Missus Hartfield was at a loss.

  She hugged Lady Eleanor and told her to endure. “It cannot continue forever. Be patient.”

  Lady Eleanor’s walks were the sole peace that she was allowed and even those were shepherded by her trio of chaperones and she had no privacy to speak freely even to Missus Hartfield.

  “What of Lord Firthley? Has he not at least contacted you?” Eleanor whispered.

  “He has not,” Lavinia said. “But perhaps he thinks it best at present to keep his own council. You must know your father suspects me of subterfuge.”

  “Not Father. Robert,” Lady Eleanor said bitterly.

  “Hush now,” Missus Hartfield said as their constant chaperones drew near. Both Eleanor and Lavinia knew they would report whatever they overheard to Lord Thornwood who would have no pity. Eleanor knew the only reason Grandfather had only not relegated her to the country, was due to her mother’s influence with Father.

  ~.~

  It was a cool spring day, several weeks before Easter. The rains had ceased and it was unseasonably warm for the time of year, when Eleanor first spied her gentleman across the park. Lord Firthley. She could not mistake his tall stature even at a distance.

  Eleanor’s heart nearly stopped and her feet followed suit.

  “Lady Eleanor,” Missus Hartfield cried. “What ever is the matter?”

  Eleanor realized that she was standing with her hand covering her mouth and her shoulders had begun to tremble beneath her cloak. The Lavinia’s eyes followed Eleanor’s and it took no time for her to deduce the cause of distress.

  “Come, Lady Eleanor,” the footman caught his Lady’s elbow and turned her away from the sight of Lord Firthley.

  The sudden motion had drawn the attention of the gentleman of interest and, at the last moment, Lady Eleanor caught his eye. Her cheeks burned bright and she tucked her chin, shielding her glance at Lord Firthley from the vision of her chaperones.

  She exhaled shakily through quivering lips and cursed the range of emotions that warred inside of her. She was elated to see him, and furious. Why had he not come to her? Eleanor trembled at the sight of him for the pain that he had caused her, as well as the memory of their tentative embrace, their first sweet kiss, and how she had felt carried in his arms. She felt torn in two. She had thought that she was dry of tears, but they now threatened, as all the pain was dredged from what she felt was her soul.

  “Lady Eleanor,” Firthley’s clear voice called out for her notice.

  “How dare he?” muttered the footman.

  Lavinia turned and raised a hand in greeting to the gentleman who was now hurrying across the lawn. Her hand was then covered by the swift moving palm of the footman as he forced her to lower the limb.

  “No, Madam,” he said in a soft, but firm, tone. Two snaps toward the driver had the second man running off to retrieve the coach which was but a moment behind them.

  One heartbreaking look from her companion, followed by the clenched jaw of the footman, had Lady Eleanor being hustled away toward the lane where they were to be collected.

  Lord Firthley seemed to have gotten the message for he no longer raced after her. With a covert glance over her shoulder she witnessed his dejected slouch as he stood along the path staring after her. Eleanor reached the chain around her neck and pulled the ring from its hiding place between her breasts. For just a moment the sun hit the amethyst and it glinted in the sunlight. She could not guess if David saw that she still wore it or not, but she hoped he had.

  ~.~

  Weeks had passed since the Valentine’s Ball and after it was learned that Missus Hartfield had lifted a hand in greeting to a Firthley, the Hawthorne gentlemen were quite cross with her. She was given only the bare minimum of trust. Though, Missus Hartfield’s friendship with Lady Keegain, as well as several other high ranking members of the peerage, and the fact that she had chaperoned so often when Lady Hanway had taken to her bed with headaches kept Lavinia from being ousted entirely.

  “Do not fret,” Lavinia promised as she left. “All will be well.”

  With Lavinia’s absence and her father’s ire, Eleanor was well and truly trapped. She could see of no way she might again meet with Firthley.

  Lady Hanway kept suggesting outings which made Eleanor think perhaps her mother had taken her part, but it was not so. Lady Hanway was simply worried that this whole business would prevent Eleanor finding a match at all. “We already have one bluestocking in the family with Lily,” Mother despaired. “We cannot have another daughter unmarried.”

  Lord Hanway sighed. “Perhaps we can host a hunt later in the fall.”

  “Captain Hartfield is still on leave,” Matthew suggested before he returned to Oxford. “Perhaps there are some young men, officers in His Majesty’s navy, who are suitable. They will not have heard the whole tale yet.”

  Father nodded. “Excellent idea, Matthew.”

  In very little time, Eleanor’s father seemed to have somehow found an officer of His Majesty’s navy and was certain he would make her a good husband. He was the son of a viscount, or a baron or some such, as well as a lieutenant. Eleanor could not care less, except that her father was insisting that she give the man a chance. There was no room in her heart for another, only Lord Firthley, but she had no choice in the matter.

  Lord Hanway was adamant. “He will visit. You will be civil. If the gentleman is amenable, he shall court you.” Father said gruffly. “The best remedy for this situation is to have you married.”

  “But Father,” Eleanor began, in an attempt to soften his heart to Lord Firthley’s suit, but her father persisted. She had hoped to put off the rushed engagement, that Father was planning, but Mother was also insistent that Eleanor should at least get back into the rush of the season. Father grunted his approval.

  “I will marry none but Lord Firthley,” Eleanor insisted.

  “You will do as you are told,” Lord Hanway commanded.

  The very mention of Firthley brought out such anger from her father and her brother that Eleanor feared for Lord Firthley’s life and her own sanity. She was only glad her Grandfather was not currently present to relight the tinder box.

  She bit her lip and lapsed into silence. They were at an impasse, but Eleanor knew in her heart who must win that battle.

  Lady Hanway seemed to briefly take her side in the encounter only to say, “If Eleanor cannot be seen, she will never find a husband. Even your lieutenant must at least meet her.”

  “No balls,” Father said. “They are too crowded. Eleanor must meet the gentleman at a place where you can keep attendance upon her.”
<
br />   Mother nodded and agreed and some of the bonds of Eleanor’s captivity were loosened, but Eleanor did not care. Without Lord Firthley she would forever remain imprisoned. Still, Lady Hanway had two other marriageable daughters to concern herself with now that Lavinia had been removed. While Mother was at events with Lily and Grace, Eleanor was to stay in the house. Even the servants looked upon her with distain.

  ~.~

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  One afternoon when Mother and Eleanor’s two sisters were out at a soiree, Eleanor made a discovery. She did not want to go downstairs and meet with the constant censure. So instead, she went upwards and found herself in the old attic storage rooms. She had not been looking for anything in particular at first, but she could not get the thought of the first Firthley and Hawthorne out of her mind, the ones whose actions originated the feud. What had they gone through? How had they survived? It was true that their lives appeared cursed, but they did marry, and for a while, Eleanor thought they must have been happy. She set out to find out if there was any evidence of their love or if all was heartache.

  As she went through the attic, Eleanor remembered some servant saying that the first Lady Eleanora had had a desk. Eleanor needed to find it. It was cold in the upper levels of the manor without the fire lit, but the light was pouring through the windows. Still, she knew the light would not last. She would only have a few hours to search. Eleanor knew what she needed to find, some evidence of that previous Lady Eleanora Hawthorne’s love and constancy. If she could not convince her own family of Firthley’s worth, perhaps she could convince the Firthleys of the Hawthornes constancy.

  Eleanor found the old desk. She had seen the desk a million times when she and her siblings had played up here as children. It was covered in dust. Eleanor studied the piece. It was made from very fashionable mahogany, and had many compartments designed for all instruments crucial to writing, such as quills, ink and parchment. At one time it would have been a glorious desk. Now it was old and beaten. Judging by its wear, Eleanor would have to say the desk must have been made around Lady Eleanora’s time, and she ventured it may contain some information about the start of the feud. If she could understand the matter, perhaps she could refute it. Eleanor brushed the dust off of the furniture with a new found excitement and began checking drawers. Perhaps damp had damaged the desk, she thought as she tried to open a drawer and it stuck. None of the drawers opened easily.