Chapter Sixteen
Ghosts flitted among the tall yew trees lining the main drive up to the manor house.
Amelia waved back at Cam and Eleanor one more time before she wheeled her horse around and pranced toward the house, Robyn behind her. The carriage was some distance away, but it passed onto the drive in front of them and followed the circular path that led to the front entrance, and still Cam didn’t stir from his place at the end of the drive.
No one else seemed to notice the ghosts.
Eleanor glanced toward the house and got a vague impression of a three-story manor with neat rows of windows before she turned her attention back to Cam, who continued to sit motionless atop his horse.
Only Cam could see them.
She could hear Amelia’s excited shouts even from this distance, but they were muted, and she couldn’t hear what the child said. She shaded her eyes and looked toward the house again. The commotion on the drive had attracted the attention of someone inside—a woman had emerged from the doorway, kneeled down on the wide stone steps and opened her arms.
Amelia flew into them.
Mary West.
Eleanor looked back at Cam, then rubbed her fingers against the middle of her chest to ease the ache there. This was wrong. Wrong, that he should be left at the end of the drive to stare up at his home as if he didn’t recognize it. As if he were unsure of his welcome.
She didn’t know why her chest ached, or what she was waiting for. She should ride up the drive and join her family. Leave him here to face his ghosts alone. She didn’t owe him any consideration, and judging by the way he’d just snatched his arm away from her, he didn’t want any.
But she didn’t move. “Cam?”
He turned toward, but his face was blank, as if he’d forgotten she was there.
“Shall we go up?” Eleanor nodded toward the house. “The others are waiting.”
He glanced up the drive. His face was pale and set, but her words jarred him from whatever trance he’d been in, and he nudged his horse forward. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
The horses’ hooves made a muffled crunch against the gravel drive as they rode slowly toward the manor house, the air so still, so silent, the sound seemed deafening.
“There you are,” Charlotte called when they neared the entrance. “I thought you’d never come up. I hope you didn’t ride for too long, Eleanor.”
Eleanor shook her head, but didn’t answer. She watched as Cam dismounted and walked toward the woman who stood in the drive, waiting to receive him.
“Aunt Mary.” He kissed her on the cheek.
She smiled and laid a palm against his face, but her expression was melancholy as she gazed up at him. “Camden. Welcome home.”
Some of the color seeped back into his face at her words, and the tight ache in Eleanor’s chest began to ease.
But her relief was short-lived.
“Back here now, are you? I’d have thought you’d have plenty to occupy you at your fancy townhouse in London.”
Eleanor turned to find a tall, grey-haired man standing just outside the door, his lip curled with distaste as he glared at Cam. There may have been a strong resemblance between the two men at one time, but the older man’s handsomeness had long ago succumbed to age and bad temper. His jaw sagged with years of dissatisfaction, but above his hard mouth and reddened nose his watery green eyes were still shrewd. Shrewd, and ruthless.
Reginald West.
Mary West’s spine went stiff and she seemed to shrink down until she was absorbed into the gravel at their feet. Her hand dropped away from Cam’s face and she darted a guilty look behind her. “Reginald—”
“Where’s Julian?” the man snapped, as if his wife hadn’t spoken.
Cam bowed stiffly. “Good afternoon, Uncle Reggie. Julian had business in town. He wasn’t able to accompany us.”
Reginald West grunted. “Business. You didn’t invite him, more likely. Want to keep it all to yourself, don’t you?”
Cam said nothing in reply to that, but turned toward his guests. Robyn had dismounted and now stood by his horse, his face puzzled. Only Ellie was near enough to hear the exchange between Cam and his uncle, but the air around them all buzzed with tension, as if a violent storm were about to crash down on their heads.
The ladies fell silent. Everyone seemed frozen in their places—all but the horses, who shifted their feet nervously. After a moment, Alec reached up to assist the ladies down from the carriage.
The movement loosened Cam’s tongue. “These are my friends from town. Lord and Lady Carlisle, Mrs. Lily and Mr. Robert Sutherland, Lady Eleanor and Lady Charlotte Sutherland. My aunt and uncle, Mary and Reginald West.”
“Sutherland.” No one heard Aunt Mary’s faint exclamation except Eleanor, who was close to Cam, still mounted on Alec’s horse. She turned just in time to see the woman’s face drain of color.
Eleanor’s hands went icy cold. What in the world—
“Sutherland.” Reginald West turned narrowed eyes on Cam. “What are you about, boy?”
Cam closed in on his uncle. He kept his voice low, but Eleanor heard him, and shivered at the menace in his tone. “I’m not a boy anymore, uncle. You’d do well to remember that. Just a bit of hunting,” he added aloud, stepping back. “Has there been any good sport?”
Reginald West had lost some of his bluster at Cam’s warning. “I—I’ve no idea. I haven’t been out.”
Cam turned toward his guests. “Some luncheon, I think, and then hunting this afternoon? Ladies, we apologize for abandoning you so soon, but perhaps Amelia will show you the gardens later.” He held out his hand to his sister.
Amelia took it with an artless smile. “The rhododendrons are in bloom now, aren’t they, Aunt Mary? Purple ones. There are purple ones in London, too, but they’re not as nice as these. Will you come see them after luncheon, Lady Eleanor?”
Eleanor dismounted and handed her reins to a groom. “Yes, of course. A walk in the garden after luncheon sounds just the thing.”
She soon discovered a walk in the garden instead of luncheon would have been even better. Despite Amelia’s sunny presence, it was a tense affair. Reginald West sat at the head of the table, ate a good deal, drank more, and spoke only to Alec. He seemed somewhat appeased to have an earl at his table, but Alec, who was forced to endure the man’s officious attention, looked less so.
Eleanor picked at her food and sneaked looks at Aunt Mary, who ate little and didn’t say a word, but darted nervous glances between her husband and Cam, cowering whenever she caught her husband’s eye.
“This is the strangest luncheon I’ve ever had,” whispered Charlotte, so softly the words were more like breaths of air. “I can’t choke down a bite.”
Eleanor didn’t show any sign she’d heard her sister, but whispered back, her lips hardly moving. “Pity. The squab is excellent.”
Charlotte let a faint snort escape her at this, but only Eleanor noticed it.
They’d done this often as children. Their father had insisted on utter silence at table, but Ellie and Charlotte, who were always seated at the furthest remove from him, had flouted this command at every meal.
Quietly.
For a moment Ellie could almost imagine they were back at Bellwood, each with one eye on their father and the other on their plates, carrying on near-silent conversations without discernably moving their lips. They fell back into it now as a matter of course, as if by mutual consent. They often had moments like this, pockets of time when they seemed to fall into each’s other’s minds.
Perhaps it was like this for all sisters.
Charlotte lifted her fork and let it hover in front of her mouth. “I don’t mean the food, and you know it very well, Eleanor. What in the world are we doing here? Hunting party, indeed.”
Eleanor raised her napkin and patted daintily at her mouth. “Oh, but we are hunting.”
Charlotte took a sip of her wine. “Are we, indeed?”
Eleanor stuffed a bite of squab into her cheek with her tongue, and under the guise of chewing said, “Camden West knows far too much about me, and I know nothing about him. I need information, and I will have it by the time we leave.”
“Ah. And here I thought you’d given up. I spent the entire ride here choosing your trousseau in my head. Everything was black. Black night rails, even.”
“I can’t imagine why you think I’d give up. Have you ever known me to before?”
Charlotte made a subtle movement with her shoulders Ellie interpreted as a shrug. “No, but you seem rather cozy with Mr. West.”
Eleanor stabbed at her squab with her fork. First she was taken with him, and now she’d cozied up to him, as well? Everyone around her had gone mad. “Cozy like a snake, right before it strikes.”
She glanced from under her lashes at Cam, who was seated several seats away from her, on the other side of the table. He looked as though he’d been bitten already, and the poison had reached his heart.
Eleanor did her best to ignore the way her own heart squeezed in response to the pained look on his face, but her appetite vanished. She laid her fork beside her plate and tried not to think about what it must have been like for him to grow up with Reginald West’s frigid eyes upon him.
“Where do you plan to get all this information you need?”
Charlotte’s words were almost inaudible, but they jolted Eleanor from her reverie.
She couldn’t afford to sympathize with Cam, or worse, imagine how he must have been as a boy, with tousled chestnut hair and sad green eyes—
Charlotte nudged her with a foot under the table. “Eleanor? How will you get the information?”
“The servants, and possibly also from that quarter.” She nodded subtly toward Mary West.
Charlotte flicked her eyes in Mrs. West’s direction without moving her head. “Yes. That might do. Shall I see what I can find out, as well?”
“No. I don’t want to attract Cam’s attention. He’ll notice if we both start questioning the servants. Just keep Delia and Lily occupied while I slip away this afternoon.”
“He is rather inconveniently clever,” Charlotte muttered. “Observant, as well, for even now he looks as if he suspects us of something.”
Eleanor darted a quick look at him. She and Charlotte had perfected their skills with years of practice, and yet here was Camden West, about to catch them out at it. He looked like a green-eyed cat about to slam a paw down on the tail of a fleeing mouse.
Eleanor picked up her fork, choked down her squab, and didn’t raise her eyes again until luncheon was over. As soon as Mrs. West rose from the table the gentlemen disappeared, eager to get to their sport while there was still plenty of daylight. All but Reginald West, who disappeared into his study, much to Eleanor’s relief.
Perhaps he’d stay there for the rest of their visit.
“If you ladies would like to see the gardens, Amelia will be happy to take you.” Mary West stroked Amelia’s hair back from her face. “I’ll make sure your rooms are ready for you so you can rest when you’ve returned from your stroll.”
Amelia led the ladies out to the gardens, beaming with pride when they all exclaimed at the delightful riot of colors spread before them. Like the manor house, the gardens were not grand, but so charming, especially the rhododendrons, which bloomed in a wild profusion of every hue of purple imaginable, from the richest plum to the palest lilac.
“They’re set against the green shrubs to show off their color, Lady Eleanor,” Amelia told her. “All different shades of purple. My Aunt Mary says my mother had a flair for color, and that’s why the gardens are so pretty.”
“Did your mother design the gardens, Amelia?” Eleanor asked, surprised.
“Yes. I didn’t ever know her, you know,” Amelia said, drifting into a new topic the way children tend to do. “She died when I was born. Her name was Sarah.”
Eleanor’s throat closed. She took Amelia’s hand. “I’m sorry you didn’t ever know her.”
Amelia gazed up at her, and a shadow of a frown passed across her innocent face. “You look sad, Lady Eleanor, but I wish you wouldn’t be, for there’s no need. I have Denny, you know, and Uncle Julian and Aunt Mary.”
She didn’t mention her uncle Reginald. Both Cam and his sister had a habit of pretending the man didn’t exist.
“You have a beautiful garden, as well,” Lily said. “If you ever feel lonely for your mother, you can come here to remember her.”
“I can’t think of a lovelier memorial to her,” Charlotte added. “Now, didn’t I see a bridge when we came up the drive? It looked as if there were some wildf lowers growing there. Will you show us?”
Amelia, overjoyed to find that such fine ladies appreciated her home, agreed at once. “Yes, if you’re not too tired for a walk. It’s not far.”
Eleanor slipped her hand out of Amelia’s. “You all go on. I think I will retire to my room for a short rest. I might have ridden too far today after all, Charlotte.” She gave her sister a meaningful look.
Charlotte caught on at once. “Oh . . . ah, yes, you do look fatigued, Eleanor. You go rest, and we’ll find you a bit later.”
“All right.” Amelia looked disappointed to lose her favorite, but she brightened when Charlotte took her hand. “What sorts of wildflowers grow in Hertfordshire, then?”
“Oh, all kinds. Poppies, and butterfly bush . . .” Amelia’s voice grew faint as she and the other ladies drifted in the direction of the bridge.
Eleanor watched them go, then hurried back to the house. She found Mary West at the bottom of the main staircase, talking to one of the maids.
Mrs. West turned to Eleanor with a wan smile. “Your room is ready, Lady Eleanor. Winnie will show you up.”
The maid curtsied.
Eleanor held out her hand to Mrs. West. “You’re very kind. I do hope we’ve not inconvenienced you too much with our visit.”
Mary West looked surprised, but after a brief hesitation she took Eleanor’s hand. “This is Camden’s home. He’s welcome to bring whomever he wishes, whenever he wishes.”
Not everyone welcomes him.
Eleanor blinked, surprised to find the words on the tip of her tongue. Did she think to champion Camden West now?
What foolishness.
She bit the words back, wondering at her vehemence. Mary West didn’t deserve her ire, and she didn’t want to alienate Cam’s aunt when the woman could prove to be an invaluable source of information.
Still . . . she’d try her luck with Winnie first. The maid was less likely than Mrs. West to tell Cam Eleanor was asking questions.
She turned a dazzling smile on Winnie. “I’m ready.”
Winnie led her upstairs and showed her to a comfortable bedchamber on the third floor that overlooked the gardens. “Here you are, my lady. Shall I open the window? There’s often a nice breeze in the afternoon.”
Eleanor untied the ribbons under her chin and laid her bonnet on the bed. “By all means. Have you been at Lindenhurst long, Winnie?”
Winnie tugged on the window, which opened with a protesting creak. “Oh yes, my lady. Since I was a wee young thing.”
Ah. Perfect. “Indeed. So you must have been here when Amelia was born.”
Winnie smiled. “Aye. I was at that, and such a sweet little babe she was. Hardly ever cried, that one.”
“Amelia came to live here when Mr. West went to India, didn’t she?”
Winnie retrieved Eleanor’s bonnet from the bed and began to brush the dust off it. “That’s right. Mr. Reginald didn’t like it, but Mrs. Mary insisted. Put her foot down, she did. Never seen her do the like before, but she was right to do it.”
“Yes, of course she was. Anyone would have done the same, I’m sure.” Eleanor let just a thread of doubt enter her voice.
A dark look passed over Winnie’s broad face. “Not anyone.”
Eleanor gave a little laugh. “Surely no one at Lindenhurst would refuse a home to a newborn infant, and Amelia their own family, too.”
She waited.
There was a brief pause, then Winnie said, “There’s those that could, depend upon that, my lady.”
“Why Winnie, you say that as if you have someone in mind.” Eleanor slid her gloves off her fingers, looking down at her hands to hide her expression. “But who? Who could be so cruel?”
Winnie frowned. “I don’t like to say, but I’ll tell you this, my lady. It’s not right, closing the door on your own kin.” The last was said with a dark frown and a rather forceful blow to Eleanor’s bonnet.
“I should say not.” She waited, but Winnie didn’t elaborate.
A little nudge, perhaps.
“I think you said before Mr. Reginald West didn’t like it when Amelia came to Lindenhurst. Surely you don’t mean to say he would turn his back on his family?”
Winnie’s frown grew fiercer. “I don’t see why not. He done it before.”
Eleanor’s heart began to pound. “Before? When was that?”
Winnie wrinkled her brow as she thought back through the years. “Way back, before Amelia was born, and Mr. Camden not yet thirteen when Mr. Reginald done it. An awful business, it was.”
“Yes. I imagine it was.”
“Shameful. Poor Mr. Camden still a child, and innocent.” Winnie tutted disapprovingly. “Then poor Mr. Julian, so heartbroken over his cousin. Like brothers, they were. Still are, come to that.”
Eleanor held her breath and kept quiet. So it was true. Reginald West had tossed Cam and his mother out of their home, because of . . . some dreadful business in which Cam had been innocent. But what? She focused all her energy on Winnie to will her into revealing it.
Winnie’s frown faded a little as she thought about Cam and his cousin. “Rascals, of course, the both of them, as boys are. Into everything, but they had good hearts, for all that. Well, of course we hardly ever saw Mr. Julian after Mr. Camden left, always off with his cousin as he was.”
Camden West, a good heart? A damaged heart, perhaps, but then she’d have a damaged heart herself if she’d been tossed out of her home by her own uncle.
Winnie thrust out her chin. “A fit punishment for Mr. Reginald, for no matter what else one might say of him, he always loved Mr. Julian more than anything—too much, maybe, and Mr. Julian hardly even able look at his father after Mr. Reginald told Mr. Camden and his mother to leave.”
Lindenhurst was my home until I was thirteen, and then things changed, and it wasn’t anymore.
Eleanor’s knees began to shake and an odd, hollow feeling lodged in her chest. He’d been so young—a boy. Just a boy, and his own uncle, a man who should have protected him, had instead snatched his childhood home out from underneath him. “But why would they agree to leave? Mr. West couldn’t throw them out of their own house. Could he?”
Foolish question. He could. He had.
Winnie sighed. “Mr. Camden was only a boy, and Mrs. Sarah . . . well, maybe she believed she deserved it, poor lady.”
“Deserved it?” Eleanor cried. No one deserved that. “Dear God. How could she have deserved it?”
She bit her tongue as soon as she heard the urgency in her voice, but it was too late.
Her cry alerted Winnie, and the maid remembered her duty at last. She flushed and didn’t answer the question, saying instead, “Would you listen to me go on? You looked peaked, my lady.”
“Yes,” Eleanor murmured. “I am rather tired.”
Winnie gathered up the bonnet. “I’ll just take this down for a good brushing then, shall I? Please rest, my lady. Someone will come up with tea for you in a few hours.”
Winnie crept guiltily from the room and closed the door behind her.
Eleanor sat on the bed, her hands clenched in her lap.
This is why you came here. To get his secrets.
“Not this,” she whispered to the empty room. “Not this secret.”
She tried to shut her mind to the truth, tried to shy away from it even as her brain calculated numbers. Ages. Years.
Reginald West couldn’t have taken Lindenhurst from Cam and his mother unless Cam’s father hadn’t been here to prevent it.
He hadn’t been here, then. He’d left, or he’d died . . . before Amelia was born.
Years before.
One hot tear slid down her cheek, but Eleanor swiped it angrily away and refused to allow the others to fall.
For pity’s sake. Don’t cry. You just got exactly what you wanted.