Cry of the Baroness: Secrets of Scarlett Hall Book 9

by Jennifer Monroe

  “Thank you, Mother,” Isabel replied. Then she leaned forward and kissed Eleanor’s forehead.

  When Isabel moved away, Hannah took her place.

  “And my Hannah,” she whispered. “Your passion for knowledge will guide you in the years to come, for you seek to comprehend anything and everything. Never let anyone say you are incapable of learning more and do not fear to share your stories with the world.”

  When Annabel approached, a tear escaped Eleanor’s eye. “My precious Annabel,” she said, “whose beauty and kindness can humble the hardest of hearts. It is a gift that you must always let guide you. Never lose your wonderful outlook on life, for it will see you through any troubles.”

  Tears rolled down Annabel’s face. “I will, Mother,” she said before leaning over to kiss Eleanor’s cheek. “Thank you for everything.”

  Eleanor grimaced as pain coursed through her body when Amelia came to sit beside her, but she pushed it aside as best she could. “There was no distance that could prevent you from finding what you needed,” she said with a weak smile. “Never forget that no obstacle is too great for you to overcome. Your life began harshly, but you persevered and now are stronger because of it.”

  “I am, Auntie,” Amelia said. “I will never forget you.”

  Then it was Rose’s turn to be at her side. “Your mother was my greatest friend and confidante. You are a gift to this world, brought into it by a woman who loved you dearly. It is with that love that you shall see continued happiness.”

  “I know this,” Rose whispered. “And I have and always will consider you a friend.”

  As Rose moved away, Nathaniel took her place. He looked so much like his father with his tall stature and kind eyes that Eleanor nearly wept.

  “And my beloved son,” she whispered as she took his hand and squeezed it. “You are a great man, not because of the wealth or title you possess but because of the love that resides inside you. It is important that you remember that.”

  “I will, Mother,” he said. “I promise.”

  Eleanor smiled as her eyes misted over. There was but one left to whom she wished to speak. “Harmony, come to me.”

  The pain in the girl’s eyes was great, and Eleanor knew her weakened state was not the main cause.

  “My dear daughter-in-law…” she began.

  The door flew open as if a fierce blast of wind had entered the room. A figure moved through the others, and when she removed the scarf that covered her head, gasps filled the room.

  “Juliet,” Eleanor cried, although her voice was a mere whisper, “you came.” Tears flowed as her youngest daughter embraced her.

  “I did come,” she whispered, “for I could not fathom not saying goodbye.”

  Eleanor patted Juliet’s hand. “My sweet Juliet, who filled the hole in my heart. May the fire that burns inside you never fade.”

  Soon, Juliet joined the others, and Eleanor took one last look at each of them. This would be the last time she saw them for what she hoped was a very long time, and if there truly was a heaven, she would see them again. Somehow knowing that gave her peace.

  “Mother needs to rest,” Isabel said, guiding the others toward the door. “As do we if we are to leave tomorrow.” Her voice had a sad note to it.

  “Harmony,” Eleanor called out, “please remain. I would like to speak to you alone.”

  Once her children gave their final goodbyes and kissed her cheek one more time, the room cleared, leaving only Harmony.

  “You are troubled,” Eleanor said as she patted the bed. “Tell me what is bothering you.”

  Harmony sat and turned toward her. “It is nothing,” she replied, the smile she wore clearly forced. “All is well enough.”

  “I am not dead yet, young lady,” Eleanor chastised. “You may tell me. Perhaps I may be able to give you some advice that will help you through whatever you are enduring.”

  “Oh, no, I do not wish to burden you.”

  Rather than responding, she took Harmony by the hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  Harmony sighed resolutely and said, “It is Nathaniel…or rather it is me…our marriage…” She sighed again. “It seems as if everything is falling apart.”

  Eleanor listened as the girl shared her concerns, and memories came to mind. Memories of not so long ago and the decision that had to be made. It was as if every generation was forced to endure terrible circumstances, yet every one of them prevailed.

  “And so I am at a loss as to what to do,” Harmony finished.

  The worry on the younger woman’s face pained Eleanor as she considered what advice to give. If she suggested that Harmony do whatever she could to stop Nathaniel, it would only push him further away.

  “Have you read the journals?” she asked.

  “I have,” Harmony replied. “I have read them all, bar yours, of course.” Then she frowned. “The last one, the writings of Lady Juliet Lambert, had several pages missing.”

  Eleanor smiled. “I would not worry over a few missing pages. But tell me, what did you learn from them?”

  Harmony looked down. “It seems that every Lady Lambert met with some sort of struggle or difficult challenge, but she somehow overcame it and was victorious in the end. Yet, some of the choices our predecessors made…” She shook her head.

  Eleanor chuckled. “Yes, they were all met with the most formidable of challenges, and in their own way came to a solution. Some more drastic than others. You will find the right solution for this rift, as you call it, between you and Nathaniel. In that, I have no doubt you will succeed.”

  The girl wiped at her eyes. “Do you truly believe so? Is all not lost between Nathaniel and me?”

  “You and my son share a beautiful love for one another, I can see that as plain as day. Now in the midst of the darkness, it is up to you to uncover that flame so it can shine brightly once again. Men have their own strengths, just as Nathaniel does, but they are not as clever as they believe they are, especially when it comes to cultivating personal relationships. Give them a business challenge and on most occasions they will exceed your expectations. But affairs of the heart? Less likely so.” She chuckled and then motioned to the nightstand. “I want you to take that journal.”

  “Is it yours?” Harmony asked as she picked up the tome.

  “It is. I just ask one favor of you.”

  “Of course,” the girl replied. “What can I do for you? Whatever you ask, I will see it done.”

  “It must be placed with the other journals locked behind the glass in the library. Remember, it is just another volume to the story of Scarlett Hall, or so you must convey to anyone who asks. Inside you will find several folded pages, copies of the ones you mentioned that were missing from the journal that belonged to my mother-in-law.”

  Harmony stared at the book. “So, the pages do exist,” she murmured. Then she looked up. “What do they contain?”

  Eleanor placed a hand on that of Harmony. “Secrets,” she whispered. “I want you to read my entries, for they will help you understand all that I have done for my family.”

  “I will,” Harmony said fervently. “And I will learn from you.”

  Eleanor closed her eyes as another wave of pain tore through her body. Indeed, her time was drawing near, but she had one more thing to share with the woman who would take her place.

  “Scarlett Hall has stood for more than a hundred and fifty years, and during that time, there have been those from far and wide who have sought to destroy it.”

  “I am beginning to understand that now,” Harmony said, her hand resting on the journal cover. “When you first told me that, I must admit that I did not truly understand, not well enough. Yet now that I have read the writings of those who came before me, and what I have witnessed between two brothers, I have no doubt there are many who seek to harm this magnificent home and those who reside within its walls.”

  Eleanor drew in a breath, and she closed her eyes as her lungs burned. “You will find in t
he days ahead that you must do whatever necessary to protect your husband and the children that will come. Now, I wish to tell you a secret only one save myself knows. I wrote it in my journal only a few weeks ago, but I would like to tell you the story myself now if you will allow me.”

  “What is this secret you wish to reveal?” Harmony asked, her voice shaking. “And whom does it concern?”

  Opening her eyes, Eleanor gazed at her daughter-in-law as the memories filled her mind, memories that brought about more pain than that which wracked her body. “It concerns the death of my husband, the death of Charles Lambert.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Scarlett Hall 1802

  Lady Eleanor Lambert glanced out the window of the study onto the gardens in which the children usually spent the majority of their time but now stood empty. They had journeyed to the home of their uncle Silas, brother to Charles, to visit Annabel – or so Eleanor had said as the excuse to send them elsewhere. The servants were also away, as they were every Tuesday since Eleanor had taken over the position of Baroness Lambert, for she appreciated the solitude and quiet of the empty halls. It was her one day when she could complete whatever tasks about which she preferred no one knew. Or the one day she could go into hiding and not worry about being disturbed.

  Today her concern was for her husband, for he had been in a bad humor all week and had chosen Eleanor on which to focus his rage. Granted, all husbands and wives quarreled at one time or another, but as she brought to mind their most recent disagreement, she bit back a sob.

  A glance in the mirror reminded her of the true reason they had sent away the children. Dark purple and green bruises covered her face, and she could do nothing to hide them as she had so many in the past. She had begged him on such occasions that he strike her where the bruises would not be visible.

  “For the sake of the innocence of our children,” she had said, sobbing as he struck her again.

  There was, of course, no remorse on his part for the beatings and the words he hurled at her, leaving both her body and mind battered and torn. Their marriage had been loveless for far too long for him to care. In fact, her heart had retired many years ago.

  For the sake of her children, however, she played the happy wife, always joining them in conversation whenever it pertained to their father.

  At times, Eleanor felt nothing but disgust as she referred to her husband as a gentleman, for he certainly was nothing of the sort. She had given up counting the number of affairs of which she was aware. He spent too much time away, sometimes simply days and other times months, claiming he was doing business with one associate or another. But she knew better. So long as the children were safe and near her, however, it no longer mattered if he had a hundred women across the country whose beds he warmed.

  Sighing, she looked toward the horizon. The sun would not set for at least two more hours, yet the summer hours were long and sleep called to her.

  Leaving the study, she made her way to wish Charles a good night, a custom her husband had insisted upon since the first day she had arrived at Scarlett Hall. He had been in the drawing room with his guest, a Lord Harold Pentworth, a baron approaching the age of sixty, and she hoped the other man had already left for the night.

  Eleanor never cared for Lord Pentworth, whose eyes seemed to linger longer than was appropriate on any woman who was in his presence. At least he only called twice a year.

  As she drew near the drawing room, a thin streak of light fell on the hallway floor through the unlatched door. She lifted a hand to knock but then paused when she heard her husband speak.

  “I believe I shall retire to bed soon, Pentworth,” he said stifling a yawn. “The hour grows late, and I have an early meeting tomorrow. So, what is it about my daughter you wish to discuss?”

  Eleanor frowned. Had one of her children acted up in some way? No, that was not possible, for they were not even here.

  The older man cleared his throat, an irritating habit he had whenever he meant to speak. “Well, Lambert, I find myself growing lonely in my old age,” he said in a gravelly voice. “The place beside me in my bed lies empty and I lack the company I so desire.”

  Charles laughed. “So, you wish to marry my daughter?” he asked.

  Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. She could not imagine Charles handing over his flesh and blood to this man. Her relief disappeared, however, with his next words.

  “What do you offer?”

  “My estate near Manchester,” Lord Pentworth replied. “I will also throw in the horses stabled there to make my offer more enticing.”

  “You value my daughter that much?” Charles asked. “That estate is worth quite a pretty penny.”

  “Of course,” Lord Pentworth said. “I find Juliet a beautiful girl and will do whatever I can to have her as my bride.”

  Eleanor pulled back her hand and placed it on her roiling stomach. Juliet was only fifteen! Why would a man of such advanced years wish to marry a child?

  Please, reject his offer, she urged silently.

  “Juliet is my favorite daughter,” Charles mused. “I have seen the way men look at her, and I have no doubt she will marry well once she makes her debut into society. However, your offer is quite generous, indeed. Yes, I believe I will accept your Manchester estate — and the horses, as well.”

  Eleanor covered her mouth to keep from screaming. How could he make such an agreement?

  “Wonderful,” Lord Pentworth said. “I shall return in one week’s time, perhaps for dinner? The girl can walk with me through the gardens so we may become better acquainted.”

  “Have an agreement drawn up, and you will have your bride,” Charles said. “Come, I shall see you out.”

  With her mouth still covered, Eleanor hurried down the hall and was halfway up the stairs before she stopped to catch her breath and calm her pounding heart. She waited a moment and then turned to walk back down as if she was just coming from somewhere upstairs.

  “Lady Lambert,” Lord Pentworth called up to her, “it is so good to see you.”

  She remained in the shadows, knowing full well how angry Charles would be if Lord Pentworth caught sight of her battered face. “Thank you, my lord,” she said. “I do hope you have a safe and pleasant journey.”

  If Lord Pentworth thought it odd that she did not meet them at the bottom of the stairs, he gave no indication. Charles led the man to the door, bid him a farewell, and returned to the drawing room without so much as a glance in her direction. Eleanor was accustomed to his snubbing, for she was nothing more than a possession as far as he was concerned, much like a vase or a painting meant to add to the décor.

  Rather than following her husband and confronting him about what she had heard — to do so would only send him into another fit of rage, and who knew what he would do to her then? — she stopped at the bottom of the staircase and stared after him.

  The life of her daughter was more important than her safety! She could not sit back and allow him to marry her off to that horrid man!

  Her gaze fell on Forbes, who had remained beside the front door after Lord Pentworth was gone. Did he know what Charles had planned? If so, he gave no inkling. Instead, he dipped his head as Eleanor walked past him and toward the drawing room.

  As she entered the room, she found Charles in front of the liquor decanters, pouring himself a drink. When he noticed her in the doorway, his face soured. “You know I wish to be alone tonight,” he snapped. “Do I not deserve a moment of peace? Plus, look at the state of you! You make me ill.”

  With trembling hands, she closed the door, making every attempt to keep her heart from bursting in her chest. She would not point out that it was he who put her in this state. “I heard what you told Lord Pentworth,” she said, surprised that her voice did not shake. “Regarding Juliet.”

  Charles snorted before taking a large gulp of his brandy. “It is not enough that I must worry about the servants spying on me, but my wife does so, as well.”

&nb
sp; “She cannot marry that man,” Eleanor said with a firmness she did not feel and ignoring his mocking tone.

  “The decision is not yours,” her husband said into his glass. “I will do what is best for my daughter.”

  Anger welled up inside her as she marched over to her husband. How could he speak with such indifference? This was the future of the daughter he claimed to be his favorite!

  “The man is nearly sixty years of age!” she argued. “Juliet has just turned fifteen.” She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “I will not have that man anywhere near my daughter!”

  “I must grow my estate and Pentworth is in need of a wife.” He pushed past her and added, “Now, this discussion is over.”

  Eleanor grabbed him by the arm. “No! It is not over. I will not have his dirty hands touching my Juliet!”

  Too late, she realized she was shouting, and Charles’s face darkened to a deep red. He lowered his glass to a nearby table as if he had all the time in the world and then grabbed her arm so quickly, he could have been a snake striking.

  He pulled her close so her face was mere inches from his. “Like everything in this house,” he growled, “Juliet is my property. I will determine what is best for my daughter, not you.”

  Before she could stop herself, the words she would live to regret tumbled from her lips. “She is not your daughter!”

  Charles’s eyes widened for a moment before becoming mere slits and he grasped her by the throat and pushed her against the wall. “What did you say?” he demanded. “If I am not her father, then who is?”

  Eleanor’s heart raced, for she could not reveal the truth. If he learned that Juliet was actually the child of former servants and that neither hers nor his blood coursed through her body, who knew what he would do? Instead, she lied.

  “Robert Mullins,” she gasped. That was the truth, the former gardener was Juliet’s father, but it was not Eleanor who had given birth to her but rather her lady’s maid, Anne. “The man came to my bed when you were gone.”