Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

T he library at Granville House was quiet. Far too quiet for his preference, at least in that moment. Silence and solitude allowed for errant thoughts to creep around unbidden, reminding him of the poor decisions James had made in his life. Top of that list, and the current memory playing out in his mind, was the moment he’d ended his courtship with Eleanor.

Memories, he decided, were scars written upon his heart. Some good, some bad, all of them ready to pop into his mind without warning. The book he’d planned to read sat closed upon his lap, the title and author forgotten as he relived every awful word spoken between them. Not a single word was worth remembering, yet none of them had been lost. He would never forget the tears that had fallen from Eleanor’s cheeks. The handkerchief she’d refused to accept.

“There you are. I have searched the house for you.” His mother wound her way around the furniture with Bishop following behind, a silver tray in his hand.

James tilted his head, a questioning glance in Bishop’s direction. He’d known James had taken refuge in the library that morning. Much as he always did, Bishop kept his face stoic as he held out the tray with a pile of letters .

“Mama, you need only inquire of the staff on such occasions. There is no need to send out a search party.”

His mother sat across from him, eyeing him like a woman who had something she wished to speak about but likely knew it would cause a disruption in the day. There was no way of avoiding such conversations. He only hoped it would be less vexing than her prim posture indicated.

“What are you doing in the library? You should be bundling up in wool breeches and winter clothing to join the other young people out at the skating party. I had Bishop dig your skates out of the attic just this morning.”

James accepted the letters, grimacing at Bishop. “How very kind of you to do such a favor for me.”

Bishop nodded his head. “They are by the door, sir. Shall I have the sleigh brought out?”

“I do not believe I will need it.”

Bishop left as quietly as he’d appeared, but to James’s great dismay, his mother stayed perfectly poised upon the sofa. As soon as the door closed, his mother continued speaking. “Whyever not? You are young and this is an opportunity to be near Eleanor.”

James glanced at the inscriptions on each of his letters, his heart pounding in his ears as he recognized the penmanship of his three friends. Each had sent a response with haste, as he’d requested. “A pity you did not have the skates out for Boxing Day. They could have gone in the charity bundles.”

“Tell me why you should not attempt to woo Eleanor.”

“Lord Montefeltro is her intended. It is highly inappropriate for me to even consider stealing her away.” He left out the minor argument they’d had while in church the previous morning. Telling his mother of that folly would not win him any favors.

His mother quirked an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Eleanor is not in love with Lord Montefeltro. She would end her engagement with the proper encouragement.”

“How did you come by this information? Did she discuss it with you?”

“Do not be silly.” His mother smirked. “Eleanor lights up like a glow-worm when she sees you. ”

James scooted forward on the sofa. “Well, if a pretty smile is the only evidence you have, then I shall busy myself with my correspondence.”

Before he reached the doors, his mother caught up to him, pulling on his arm until he stopped walking. He stood facing away from her, waiting for whatever advice she thought necessary. “Happiness is a choice, James. You may spend the rest of your life serving your neighbors and caring for your family, but this misery you tend to relive will never fade unless you forgive yourself for whatever happened. Do not hold on to the pain.”

He patted her hand before opening the door and leaving her behind. Alone in his study, he broke the seal on the first letter. He read Alfred Deane’s letter first.

James,

I have received your letter in good health and hope my response finds you the same. I was quite surprised to read of Miss Dove’s return to Emerald Falls and confess I do not carry many charitable feelings toward her.

Though you defend her with youth and na?veté, I believe you extend to her more mercy than she has earned. Her actions in regard to your previous attachment to one another were not that of a woman of character, and if she is indeed bringing you so low as you have had the goodness to describe, it is likely that maturing years and the experiences of life have not produced in her the good it may have done had she the temperament to allow it.

You ask for my advice, but I feel I can scarce give it. In matters of the heart, I’ve yet to experience anything beyond the mildest flirtation, my position as the earl’s secretary giving me little time for such things. But here is my advice, such as it is. You are best off forgetting the girl altogether. If she is only in Emerald Falls on business, it will soon conclude, and she will be away. If she is there to stay, you must fortify yourself and find the discipline to let bygones be bygones and aim your course of action to greater heights than a woman who has already trifled with your heart. The friendship and loyalty you possess to those you love, of which I have felt the effects these many years, are qualities to hold in the highest esteem. Such is my advice in this, your trying time.

I remain ever yours,

Alfred Deane

This response from at least one of his friends was expected. To have it come from Alfred was no surprise. Alfred was a true friend, one a man could count on for sound advice in any situation. Leaning back in his chair, James considered leaving Eleanor to her own devices. If he did as Alfred suggested, the ache in his chest would fade over time. He might suffer another ten or fifteen years, but what was that to a lifetime of wondering if he had made the right decision?

James shook his head as he reread the letter. If he took this advice, he would regret ever having known Eleanor for all his remaining days. Eleanor would marry the Count of Montefeltro and leave Emerald Falls. He would likely never see her again. But he would not escape knowledge of her triumphs. Mrs. Dove would regale the village with happiness at each child Eleanor gave to her husband. Little girls with Eleanor’s ash-brown hair and hazel eyes and sons with her pleasing personality and strength of character. He would be haunted by little cherub faces, never to know if they were the replicas of her progeny.

He placed the letter aside and turned to the next one. Robert’s handwriting stood out due to the formality, lacking any embellishments upon the letters. The seal snapped in half, allowing the page to unfold on its own. He hadn’t expected a long letter from Robert. This friend was a man of few words, but each word was of greatest import. Robert never wasted time on frivolities.

My Dear Friend,

I am sorry to hear of your distress, and even moreso that it is by the hands of a woman for whom you cared so greatly. You seek advice, though I am uncertain of what counsel to give, as my heart has already suffered a similar situation. Because of this, perhaps my only suggestion would be that you seek her out to try and understand her true feelings. It may require some courage, but by petitioning a moment with her, in a respectable setting of course, you may be able to discern if her feelings for you were genuine, or merely a passing fancy. And if her pursuit of this Italian count is at all motivated by a desire for money, then perhaps you are better off without her, regardless of the pain and difficulty in letting her go. A woman obsessed with wealth is not one who should be trusted with a gentleman's heart.

This is all the counsel I can give from my limited experience. Please do send a correspondence when you receive her answer, as I will be concerned for your wellbeing until then, my friend. I do hope your family remains in good health, until I write again.

Yours ever,

Robert Cratchit

James considered the response from Robert. Eleanor was not a fortune hunter, of that he could testify without reserve. Poor Robert was likely considering the situation he had faced in their youth with a young lady of considerable means. Brushing that portion of the letter aside, he knew the advice to speak with Eleanor was well intentioned—a capital idea and one he should have considered himself, if not for the turmoil of being so near her once more.

Lifting the third letter from the pile, James smiled at the messy handwriting of Daniel Kaye. He snapped the wax seal to find words crossed out as he formulated his expert advice. Daniel was a good man, like his other friends. But unlike the others, he was a man who fell in and out of love rather quickly. Therefore, his knowledge upon the subject was greatly anticipated .

To Sir Crossed in Love,

So, the holder of your heart has returned? I cannot say it surprises me. Love cannot be held at bay for long, especially love that is meant to be. Love will always find its way back to you, even if you were quite the dunderhead for letting it go in the first place.

As I said in the past, you must think the best of others. No woman is a pillar of perfection, however pretty her face or amiable her disposition. We are all prone to faults, even you, my good friend. Perhaps especially you, for what other answer is there than to pursue with haste if you still find your feelings as entangled with the lady now as they ever have been.

Just do not make a fool of yourself. I would hate to be required to rescue you like a damsel in distress, much like I did that time you fell into the River Thames at school.

Your friend, D.K.

It was difficult not to laugh as he read Daniel’s missive. The man had no shame, and yet, his advice was exactly what James needed to light a flame under himself. Now, how to do so, he didn’t exactly know. He had Eleanor’s reputation to consider. She was engaged to the count. But first and foremost, he needed to assess her feelings. Robert had mentioned pulling her to the side. Perhaps the skating party was exactly what he needed for a private discussion.

He tucked the letters into the top drawer of his desk and left the den in search of his skates. He searched the front hallway, not finding either the skates or the butler, so he took the stairs down to the servants’ section of the house expecting to find Mr. Bishop in his office. As he exited the stairwell, he came out into a small hallway where Mr. Bishop stood at the end in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Mr. Bishop, do you still have the…” James didn’t finish his statement as the butler turned to him, the skates still hanging from his wrist.

“Yes, sir. I expected you would need them.”

James narrowed his eyes at the man. “You did?”

“Of course, sir. You have never regretted a day out on the ice.”

“Meddlesome butler…” James muttered as he accepted the skates.

Bishop smiled, and his pleasure and acceptance of the statement, as though it were the greatest compliment, made James respect the man even more. Bishop had been the butler of Granville House for as long as James could remember. He was family and an integral part of the estate.

“I’ll be up to assist you with your hat and coat, sir, and I have already informed the stables to have the sleigh brought forward.”

“Thank you, Bishop. I do not know what I would do without you.”

Bishop nodded his head. “Nor do I, sir.”

By the time James had exchanged his regular breeches for the same in wool, the sleigh was at the front door, ready to take him to the pond. He had no idea how he would begin the necessary conversation with Eleanor, but he had to try. If not, he would spend the rest of his life wondering if he could have won her back.