Eleanor raised a brow. “How do you think?”
Julia braced herself. “Hermione?”
“Who else?” Eleanor shook her head. “My mother has spoken to me nearly every day since the day she died. We did not part on good terms.” She sighed. “I was angry with her for a very long time. Of course, she was living in France and it’s quite easy to remain angry with someone when you don’t see them and can ignore their letters.” She met Julia’s gaze directly. “But it’s very hard to ignore someone who is dead and is present whether you wish them to be or not.”
“I have noticed,” Julia said faintly. It was one thing to suspect whose voice Eleanor heard, it was quite another to confirm it.
“She can be most persistent.”
“I have noticed that as well.”
“I can’t say I ever forgave her as much as I came to realize her actions had nothing really to do with me.” Eleanor grimaced. “And then I asked her to forgive me.” She shook her head. “But I wasted so much time. Time, my dear, is something you never get back.”
“I suppose not.”
“So, do you intend to be stubborn and justifiably outraged or forgive him and get on with your lives together?”
Julia smiled. “I may well have already forgiven him.”
“But you have not yet told him?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
“Excellent. And you will waste no time in doing so?”
“I intend to tell him when next I see him.”
“See that you do. Forgiveness is a difficult thing, both to seek and bestow, and only grows more difficult with every passing day.” Eleanor shook her head. “But time is precious. One day you think you have all the time in the world to forgive or do whatever it is you wish to do and the next you find there is no time left at all.”
Julia studied the older woman curiously. “What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing you don’t already know.” She smiled and patted Julia’s hand. “You have decided to forgive him. You will do so as soon as possible and that will be the end of it. Or rather the beginning, I think.”
“Eleanor.” Julia paused. She wasn’t entirely sure how to ask this. “Why is Hermione still here? Shouldn’t she be, well, somewhere else?”
“Heaven, you mean?”
“Yes, I suppose. I have been reading her memoirs—do you know about the book of memoirs she wrote before her death?”
She shook her head. “I knew nothing about them until my brother died. She and I agreed that you should have them. That you needed them.”
Julia nodded. “Because I needed the money they would fetch.”
“There was that, of course, but more … It’s difficult to know who you are without knowing those who came before you. It’s also very easy to repeat mistakes of the past if you have no idea what they were.” Eleanor thought for a moment. “The memoirs are only the beginning, of course. You should know this, the history of your family. It’s past time, I think.”
Julia nodded. “Then please, do go on.”
Eleanor drew a deep breath and began “My father died when I was barely a year old and my mother then chose to live her life by her own rules. At first glance it would appear that, in doing so, she wasn’t very good as a mother. But she did love her children.” She paused. “When I lost the man who was arguably the love of my life—”
“My grandfather?”
“No,” she said simply. “He had died several years earlier, and make no mistake, I did indeed love him. However, the love I am speaking of was lost because I was unwilling to forgive something that had nothing to do with me although I did not realize it at the time. And when I did forgive, it was too late. He had married someone else.” She shrugged. “Around that same time your mother met and married your father and I retired to the country. They were indeed made for each other and I did not think my presence in their life was necessary. In that I now see I was wrong. She still needed me and I was too lost in my own misfortune to understand that. It caused a rift between us that never truly healed.” She blew a long breath. “My mother—Hermione—died a few years later and began her visits to me. It seemed better for your mother to believe I was mad than to think I had abandoned her.” Eleanor met her gaze directly. “Which in truth I had.”
“Surely she didn’t think—”
“I don’t know what she thought. I didn’t try to find out.” She shrugged. “I always thought there would be time, you see. Time to be closer and time to know you. She never brought you on those rare visits of hers, protecting you from your mad grandmother, no doubt. But I always had the feeling she and your father were so close there was little room left for a child.”
“They were wonderful. I couldn’t have asked for more caring parents,” Julia said indignantly, even if she had long ago acknowledged, if only to herself, that her role in her parents’ lives was peripheral at best.
“Of course they were.” Eleanor smiled. “And you should pay no attention to anything I say.” She heaved a heartfelt sigh. “I am very old, you know, and my mind is not what it used to be.”
“I doubt that.”
“You were asking why my mother’s spirit still lingers.”
“And you have changed the subject.”
“Indeed I have. A privilege of age, my dear.” She nodded. “Unfortunately, there is no answer. My mother and I have discussed it at length through the years. Initially, we assumed she was here to set things right between us. Once that was accomplished and she remained, we had no idea why. Nor does it really seem to matter although I do think she would like to move on to wherever it is she is going.” She shook her head. “I hate to think she is doomed to wander the earth forever.”
“She does seem to be having a good time of it,” Julia said wryly.
“On the surface, perhaps.” Eleanor shrugged. “It’s most interesting that she has revealed herself to you.”
“She once said something about my needing her.”
“That makes sense, I suppose. I have needed her for all these years and needed as well to make amends for my anger with her. Odd to think I scarcely knew my mother at all until her death.”
Eleanor thought for a moment. “In the thirty-some years that she has been gone, that she has been with me, I have come to realize while the manner in which she lived her life might have been scandalous and unacceptable in a moral sense to most people, she was a good person.”
“I think so.” Julia nodded. “Her memoirs are very candid and, as far as I can tell, she was always very kind and generous and never deliberately hurt anyone.”
“And deserves to rest in peace.”
“Yes, she does.” Julia paused. “Do you think there is something we can do to help?”
“I wish I knew. If she is here because in some way we need her, I suppose all we can do is allow her to help us. Lord knows, she has saved me from being lonely all these years. Harriet was an excellent companion but even the dearest friendship pales in comparison to the love of family.” Eleanor met her gaze. “But now I have you. Thank you, my dear.”
A lump lodged in Julia’s throat. “I should have insisted you join me years ago.”
“And I shouldn’t have been so stubborn about doing so.”
“Stubbornness”—Julia grinned—“runs in the blood.” She sobered. “You will always have a place with me.”
“Thank you, my dear. That is lovely to hear.” Her green eyes twinkled. “As I am confident I have a few good years left.”
“Many good years.” Julia hesitated. “I am curious about one thing you alluded to. You needn’t answer, of course, and it’s probably presumptuous of me to inquire.”
Eleanor raised a brow. “My, this sounds interesting. I am so glad we no longer discuss the weather. Thanks to my mother, there are scarcely any secrets you have that I am not aware of so it is only fair that you inquire as to mine. Besides, it’s no doubt part of the story and should be told.”
“If you’re sure.”
/> “I am.” She studied her curiously. “Do ask me anything you wish.”
Julia chose her words carefully. “You said you lost the love of your life because your forgiveness was too long in coming.” She paused. “I was wondering …”
“What he did?”
Julia nodded.
“Ah, well that.” She sighed in resignation. “It was a very long time ago and scarcely matters now. And there is probably a lesson to be learned about the timeliness of forgiveness.” Eleanor drew a deep breath and gazed unseeing across the room or the years. “He had never married, was really something of a rake, a most adventurous and scandalous sort. Not at all the type of man I had ever been attracted by. I was a widow, good Lord. I was in my fortieth year and never imagined I would fall in love again. And fall quite hard I might add. I had never felt that way about any man, never imagined the passion and intensity of it. To this day it still lingers in my mind, in my heart perhaps.”
“What happened?”
“Well …” Her voice was matter of fact, as if she’d come to terms with this so long ago it was no longer of any significance. “I discovered, long before he knew me, when he was much younger, he had had a liaison with an older woman of some notoriety.” She met Julia’s gaze and smiled wryly. “The man was Harrison’s father and the woman was my mother.”
The irony did not escape her.
The very thing that had torn her grandmother and Lord Kingsbury apart—his affair with Hermione—was the very thing that had brought Julia and Harrison together. Julia had fallen in love with the son of the man who had broken her grandmother’s heart because he had had an affair with her great-grandmother, whose memoirs had brought she and Harrison together. It was both convoluted and confusing, but one thing was clear, at least to Julia. Regardless of what Hermione’s ultimate purpose might be, or how old Eleanor and Lord Kingsbury now were, it might not be too late for them although Eleanor had expressed no desire in that regard. Indeed, immediately after her shocking revelation she had begged off further discussion, citing her age dictated a need to rest. Julia was beginning to suspect her grandmother used her age to her advantage when she deemed it necessary.
Julia had spent the remainder of the morning writing necessary notes and reassessing her finances. The outlook was somewhat brighter now that she no longer had Eleanor’s expenses to consider. But the need for money had certainly not vanished, simply diminished for the moment. In spite of her declaration to Harrison, she held off writing to Benjamin to tell him of her decision to sell him the memoirs. Even if she were to marry Harrison, which at the moment was not at all a certainty, she had grown independent enough to want her own finances. Still, if they were to have a future together, it would not begin well if she completely ignored his wishes. At the very least, she should discuss it with him before taking any action whatsoever.
But would they have a future together? She’d waited all morning to hear from him and it was already past noon. In spite of her best efforts, she was only paying halfhearted attention to the figures and papers on the desk before her. She had expected, at the very least, a note of some sort by now. Or flowers—even roses. Or an unexpected visit. The fact that he hadn’t contacted her was most disquieting. After all, how could she forgive him if he gave her no opportunity to do so? She couldn’t ignore the thought that perhaps he had no wish to see her. That he had come to his senses and decided their night together was nothing but reckless, ill-considered passion. Or that he had realized the type of woman he had initially planned to wed was still what he wanted. And hadn’t he admitted Julia was not what he wanted in a wife?
Regardless, resolve tightened her jaw; she was not going to allow him to walk out of her life without so much as a by your leave. If he had indeed decided what had passed between them was a mistake, he would have to tell her to her face. She would give him the remainder of today to do so. Tomorrow, she would take matters into her own hands. Odd that she’d had difficulties deciding on the fate of the memoirs but this decision she had no hesitation about whatsoever.
“Lady Winterset.” Daniels appeared at the library door. “You have—”
“Do be so kind as to step out of the way, Daniels.” Veronica’s voice sounded behind the butler. Daniels hesitated but his training won out. He would never stand in the path of a lady, and no man in his right mind would stand in the way of a determined Veronica. He moved aside. Veronica stepped into the room, Portia close at her heels. “Julia, we have the most interesting bit of news.”
“I have the most interesting bit of news, you mean,” Portia said with a triumphant grin then looked around. “Why, I have never been in your library before. It’s not very big, is it?”
“No, it’s not.” Julia rose. “Perhaps we should go into the parlor before I hear this interesting bit of news.”
“There’s no place for both of us to sit in here.” Portia glanced around, leading the way. “You really should get another chair, Julia. Or a larger library.”
“I have no room for another chair and no money for a larger house.”
“Good Lord, darling, that is an ugly lamp,” Veronica murmured on their way out of the room.
A few minutes later they were seated in the parlor. Veronica insisted that Julia ring for tea even though Portia was fairly bursting with excitement to tell her news. Or, more likely because of it.
“Very well,” Julia said at last. “What is it?”
Portia paused in the manner of an actress about to deliver the most important line of the play. “Well, I was at a dinner last night. You know, one of those ones my cousins are continually having in hopes of introducing me—”
“Do get on with it, Portia,” Veronica said impatiently. “If you don’t tell her right this very instant, I will.”
“You do take all the fun out of things.” Portia heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Very well then.” She paused dramatically. “As I—”
“She knows who started the rumors about the memoirs,” Veronica blurted.
Portia’s eyes widened with fury. “Veronica! How could you?”
“I don’t know.” Veronica sank back in her chair and waved her hand helplessly in front of her face. “Something just came over me. You were being so blasted slow.” She glared at the other woman. “You, Portia, could try the patience of a saint.”
“And you are no saint,” she snapped.
Veronica shrugged. “Obviously.”
“Nor am I.” Julia drew a deep breath. “So, Portia, if you would be so kind as to tell me the name of the culprit who began all this, I shall be eternally grateful.”
“Well.” Portia appeared somewhat mollified.
“Now!”
“John Eddington Ellsworth,” Portia said with a smug smile and a flourish of triumph in her voice.
“And isn’t that interesting?” Veronica nodded in a knowing manner.
“Surely you must be mistaken.” Julia stared. “Do you know this for certain?”
“I am as certain as anyone can be about something like this.” Portia shrugged.
“Go on, tell her the rest,” Veronica said.
“Very well. As I started to say before I was interrupted …” She cast Veronica a look of annoyance. “I was at dinner last night, seated next to a very nice gentleman, another candidate, although I will admit this one had a certain amount of potential. The conversation turned to mutual acquaintances and your name came up.”
“And?” Julia held her breath.
“He said he had heard you had written a scandalous book. Of course I denied it and demanded to know where he had heard such a thing.” Portia sighed. “I don’t know why men are always criticizing women for gossiping as they seem to do so very much themselves.”
Julia clenched her teeth. “Get on with it.”
“I am.” Portia huffed. “Anyway, he said he knew it to be the truth because he had heard it directly from Mr. Ellsworth himself. They belong to the same club, you see, and were discussing Mr. Ellsworth’s work.
And Mr. Ellsworth told him personally that he was close to an agreement on collaborating on a book that you had written based on the life of your ancestor as well as your own experiences.”
“I see.” The oddest sense of calm settled over her. Which was probably good since Julia had never before truly wanted to strangle the life out of anyone. And had never before imagined that not only could she do such a thing but she would enjoy it. She was grateful as well that the author wasn’t here this very moment.
Portia and Veronica traded glances.
“We knew you would want to know,” Portia said.
“We also knew you would want to do something about it at once,” Veronica added.
“Oh, I do indeed wish to do something about it.”
“Excellent.” Veronica grinned. “As I took the liberty of sending a note, in your name, to Mr. Ellsworth requesting him to call on you this afternoon. It said you had come to a decision about the memoirs and wished to discuss it with him. He should be here any minute.”
Julia narrowed her eyes. “That is indeed a liberty.”
“Don’t look at me like that, Julia Winterset,” Veronica said. “You need to nip this in the bud before it goes any further and the only sure way to do that is to confront this man immediately. I should think threatening those parts of him that he is no doubt most proud of would be the place to begin.” She leaned forward and met Julia’s gaze. “I knew full well, and Portia agreed—”
“I did indeed.” Portia nodded.
“—that you need to take action immediately and if left to your own devices you would probably ponder the situation and consider what to do next in a sane and rational manner.”
“We don’t think sane and rational is the way to handle this.” Portia shook her head. “We think overt anger and the threat of severe physical violence is called for.” She straightened her shoulders. “And we are prepared to help.”
Julia stared at her friends. “As much as I appreciate your offer, I have no doubt I can handle Mr. Ellsworth without assistance.” She stood. “Now, as he will apparently be here shortly, you should take your leave.”
The Perfect Mistress Page 29