Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

G ranville House had lost its luster. Although the moon shone high in the sky, it lent little light to the dilapidated home that looked abandoned. Truly, it felt as though no one had lived in it for at least ten years, possibly longer. James noted the shuttered windows that had held glowing candles only hours before. As he walked up the stone steps, chipped and broken his boot caught, sending him to his hands and knees.

“I suppose once a man loses his wealth and family, the property shows immediate signs,” James said. He made a mental note to fix the steps before heading back to the bridge. There was no reason to allow the land commissioner to take possession of a rundown home. James did have his pride, after all.

Erasmus pursed his lips as he pointed to the house. “This is not your home, James. It fell to disrepair soon after Mr. Bailey passed away.”

“You refer to my father.”

“You never had a father, James. You were never born.”

James pushed past him. “Stop it, Erasmus. I tire of your games.”

Stepping through the door, James noticed the beautiful hallway that had once held ancient vases, expensive paintings, and finely crafted furniture was now empty. It was as though his debt collectors had come early, taking everything not nailed to the floor. Remembering the pocket watch he’d had in his possession, he patted his frock coat.

Erasmus quickened his step, standing in front of James. “You do not have a pocket watch, James.”

“I did not take you for a thief, Erasmus. That watch belonged to my ancestors.”

“You have no ancestors.”

James pushed past the old man as he stepped farther into the house. Cobwebs and dust and broken doors hanging off their hinges were among the many changes in the house, now a shell of the beautiful home he’d once taken so much pride in owning. He had known everything was lost, but this was far too disheartening. He needed that drink, if only to calm his nerves.

Entering the den, he found it empty of the books he’d cherished, the comfortable sofa, and the desk his father had procured from France. Everything was gone, even the brandy and whiskey he’d stashed behind the books on the shelf.

Turning to Erasmus, he tilted his head in resignation. “It looks as though I cannot offer you that drink.”

“You had nothing to offer. Nothing in this home belongs to you.”

James laughed, an ill sound that would have frightened him if he wasn’t lost to all good. “You could not be more right. The crown and my debtors have seized everything. My only regret is not knowing if Eleanor and my mother escaped beforehand.”

“Eleanor is not your intended, and you have no mother.”

James pushed past the so-called heavenly messenger. Staying at Granville House was not an option. He would have to find another place to spend the night. The cottage he had rented to Mr. Crane was now empty. He could spend the night there while awaiting the constable.

Running through the snow-covered fields, James rounded the bend to find the cottage had also fallen into disrepair. “What happened here?”

Erasmus stepped out from around him. “This cottage has been unoccupied for years. There was no need for a personal secretary once Mr. Bailey passed away.”

James pushed past Erasmus, running down the lane to the tenant farms. The homes and farms he’d taken such pride in repairing for his tenants were gone and replaced with a cemetery that extended to the church in the distance.

“When Granville House lost its master, the town purchased this land and chose to extend the cemetery.”

“I was here only yesterday. How could this have happened so soon?”

“You were never here, James.”

“Well, if I was not here, what about Harry? He should have inherited the home.” James ran forward, hoping his eyes were deceiving him, but found the stones were as real up close as they had been from a distance. Kneeling beside the closest one, he brushed the snow away so he could read the name. His voice caught in his throat as he tried to say the words, but it would make this nightmare real if he were to acknowledge his brother’s name was upon the stone.

“Harry Bailey died when he fell into the water while trying to jump over the fissure.”

James ran a hand through his hair. “A falsehood if I have ever heard one. I was there that day. I pulled my brother to safety. He has a wife, and they live in France.”

“Harry tried to swim to safety, but there was no older brother there to protect him.”

“I was there. We grabbed hold of the driftwood until the ship arrived. They pulled us out of the water.”

“The prayer of a young boy whose faith was as pure as his love for his family, that is what saved you and Harry that awful day. But since you were not there, the prayer was never spoken.”

“How do you know about that?” The memory of that awful moment came back in a rush. Long ago forgotten moments reentered his thoughts as though they had never left, just waiting in the recesses of his mind for the right time. In his mind’s eye, James could see himself as a child, kicking his feet as hard and fast as he could until his strength had left him. The knowledge that he and Harry would die had filled his chest as he’d swallowed a gulp of salty seawater, but as his head had once more broken through the waves, he’d cried out in prayer, a strangled unintelligible sound, with the last bit of breath he’d expected to take.

James turned toward Erasmus. It hadn’t been driftwood they’d held to. It had been Erasmus holding them above the water. As though Erasmus knew the thoughts racing through James’s head, he dipped his head, accepting the unspoken acknowledgement between them.

“Eleanor.” James whispered her name. If this was true, if Erasmus was an angel and this was now his reality, what had happened to Eleanor? If she was living a life of comfort, he would gladly accept this new reality. Of course, the sacrifice of his brother’s life was one he didn’t wish to make. But if Eleanor was happy, content with her engagement to Montefeltro, he would consider this endeavor a success. “Where is she?”

Erasmus shook his head. “I am not allowed to tell you.”

“Please, Erasmus. I must know.”

“You will not like it, James.”

“Tell me. I must see her.”

Erasmus placed a hand on his shoulder. “She is preparing for the Twelfth Night ball at Kenneth Castle.”

James steadied himself against the headstone. “Why would she be at Kenneth Castle?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. There were many reasons she could be at the castle, one of which was the Duke of Rothes was hosting the Epiphany ball. James ran toward the bridge. He crossed over it, and then climbed the hill that separated Granville Estate from the castle. He walked the well-known path to the back of the castle, then stood on the veranda hoping to catch a glimpse of Eleanor as she danced with Montefeltro.

Standing outside the doors that led into the drawing room, James’s shoulders relaxed as he recognized Eleanor’s profile. She stood alone, elegant in a deep red frock, her silky dark brown locks dressed in the latest style.

The doors opened, both at the same time, permitting the Bath chair to be pushed into the room. James turned to Erasmus, “I thought you said I had never been born.”

“You haven’t, James. Rothes’s accident wasn’t your fault. That boy was determined to prove he could outwit his friends. He jumped across the fissure of his own choice.”

James didn’t understand everything about this new existence, but he stood by his earlier convictions. If Eleanor was happy, he wouldn’t complain. Unable to hear the conversation, James looked to Erasmus. “I cannot say it makes me happy to know she has married the duke, but I am relieved to see she was not ruined by a second failed engagement.”

“Perhaps you should take another glance at this little scene.”

Erasmus slowly turned the handle on the door, allowing them to eavesdrop.

Rothes’s scowl matched the rage in his tone. “Your maid reported that you have begun your courses once more.”

“I am afraid she is correct, Your Grace.” Eleanor’s voice shook, even as she stood with her back straight, her shoulders tensing further with each roll of his Bath chair in her direction.

Rothes slammed his cane against the chair, the crack sending a jolt of fear as Eleanor shakily took a step backward. “Your parents claimed our marriage would produce an heir. Have I been duped by their lust for a rise in station? Offered a barren bride for my title and wealth?”

“I am doing my best, Your Grace. Perhaps another month will give us what we both desire.” Eleanor’s hand shook as she reached out to steady herself against the arm of a nearby sofa.

“Mayhap the threat of an annulment will convince you to give me a son.”

“If you think that a wise course of action, I will not argue. All I ask is for my dowry to be settled upon me and a small cottage for my living.”

James stepped toward the open door, ready to intervene on Eleanor’s behalf, but was stalled as she turned away from the duke. Her once soft features, her beautiful hazel eyes, were marred by harsh purple and black bruises tinged with a yellowish hue. Strength and the ability to stand her ground in adversity, traits he’d long associated with Eleanor, had completely disappeared. The elegant, handsome woman he loved was defeated. Frightened and ready to run for safety.

He didn’t have to ask the angel how the bruises had occurred. He knew without explanation that Rothes had beaten Eleanor, by hand or cane, it didn’t matter. The shame of what Rothes had done burned within James’s chest, reminding him that this never would have happened if not for his selfish desire to end his existence. As Rothes lifted his cane, Eleanor flinched. She wrapped her arms around her middle, bracing herself for whatever punishment Rothes would dole out.

James’s ire rose, the need to protect the woman he loved overpowering all rational thought. Bursting through the doors, James placed himself between Rothes and Eleanor, allowing the cane to fall upon his back and shoulders.

“Eleanor, my love.” James tried to pull her out to the cold winter night with him, but he was a stranger. She fought against him, fought to stay with the man she’d married in this reality, but James would not allow it. “Come with me, dearest. You do not have to stay in this wretched castle any longer.”

Rothes’s cane struck his back once more. “She is my wife, thief. I suggest you leave now, before I send for the constable.”

“Get away from her.” James’s hand caught the cane as it came down for another blow. He yanked it away from Rothes, throwing it at the glass doors where Erasmus and he had stood moments before.

Years of practice boxing turned his hand instinctively into a fist, and he took a swing, colliding with Rothes’s chin. Thankfully, the first blow caused Rothes to stop yelling for his servant to find his cane. Instead, he sat in shocked silence as he rubbed the spot where James had hit.

Unfortunately, as soon as James turned back to Eleanor, she screamed and then swooned, landing on the sofa. He could carry her away from this place, which was his only desire in that moment. He’d bested the duke, and now he would save his love.

James leaned down to take her in his arms, but he was suddenly thrown forward as Rothes lunged out of the chair, throwing himself onto James. Years of pent-up anger escaped as James tried to jab his elbow into Rothes’s gut. James was certain he could win, even as Rothes’s teeth ripped skin away from James’s hand. James pushed the duke off, stood, and considered himself victor until one of the footmen entered the fight with a pistol.

With the first shot aimed at him, James scrambled to his feet and ran out the door back into the cold night, barely escaping before the second shot sounded behind him. He ran down the same path he’d taken earlier that evening until he was standing on the same cobblestone bridge where he had decided his life was not worth living .

If this was truly an answer to his earlier prayer, then God must still be listening, for he would not bring such havoc into James’s life and then leave him in a lurch. Leaning against the exact same spot as before, James cried out. “Please, God, forgive my hasty request. I want to live again. Please, allow me to live once more.”

Peppermint. He could smell peppermint, which made little sense since nothing else had permeated the darkness shrouding his dreamless sleep. Visions of Eleanor’s face, much like a sketch in a book, broke through the darkness, pulling him closer to the surface, and then just as he thought he would sink back down, he heard a voice.

“James, come back to me.” Eleanor’s voice pierced through the darkness. He wanted to reach out and hold her, but waking seemed awfully difficult. His brain was trying to find the light, but his eyelids wouldn’t comply, stuck in a dark paralysis he couldn’t break through.

There were so many things he wanted to say to Eleanor. He wanted to know she was well and no longer in the clutches of the Duke of Rothes. He wanted to kiss every bruise from her face and promise she would never suffer at the hands of an abuser again, yet even that fear couldn’t pull him out of the endless sleep. Blast! It was rather annoying to want something so greatly, yet not have the strength to achieve it.

The soft bed beneath him, the pillows under his head, the warmth, the constant crackling of the fire—all of this told him he was no longer out in the elements lying on the bridge in the snow. No, he was in a bed once more, and not just any bed. He was certain from the sounds, the intruding smell of bergamot that almost overtook the peppermint lingering nearby, he had somehow returned to Granville House.

As he fought his way to the surface, James heard faceless voices chatting in low whispers. The state of the library. The letter he’d penned to Harry. The overwhelming debt. Mr. Crane. Those were just a few of the things he’d overheard, piecing together in his muddled thoughts that his secret was no longer his alone. Whoever was sitting in that room with him was aware of his financial crisis .

A wave of peppermint, much stronger this time, mingled with a slow intake of breath, and then a kiss upon his forehead forced him to fight to the surface. If Eleanor was there, he needed to wake. No matter the consequences of his financial failures, he wouldn’t let her go.

“Eleanor.” Her name came out like a whisper carried upon the wind. Too soft to be heard over the buzz of conversation.

James fought the heaviness of his eyes. Candlelight nearby allowed him to see Eleanor’s face. She was pale, worry lines creasing the corners of her eyes. Her attention was drawn to the conversation on the other side of his bed, where they were discussing the state of the roads in conjunction with Crane’s escape from Emerald Falls.

Gone were the bruises marring her beautiful features. Eleanor, this version of Eleanor, was his. She wasn’t married to the duke. She wasn’t engaged to the count. She was his intended. Not wanting to drift back to sleep so soon, James looked up to the heavens with a prayer of thanks, and although he couldn’t see anything past the dark blue bed hangings, he could imagine Erasmus watching over him, guarding him, in case he found himself in trouble once more.

“Eleanor.” This time, when he said her name, the hum of conversation abruptly stopped.

Eleanor’s concern slightly lessened as she ran a hand along his hairline, smoothing away errant locks. He didn’t know what to say to her. Did she have knowledge of all that had occurred? If he’d heard correctly, she knew of his financial state. Yet, she still sat next to him, holding his hand. Loving him as no other woman could.

Tears pierced Eleanor’s eyes, running down her pale cheeks. She sucked in a long breath and then very lovingly said, “James Bailey, do not ever try to die on me again.”

As the sun peeked through the curtains, James slowly and carefully pulled himself up, causing his mother and Eleanor to wake. He hadn’t expected to find them resting against the sides of his bed. Both women rushed to his aid, Eleanor helping him with pillows and his mother offering him a glass of water.

“How long have I been abed?”

“Only since last night. We weren’t certain you would fare well,” his mother said. “So we stayed.” She took the glass of water from him when he was finished, setting it back upon the table.

James didn’t feel like he had the strength to stand, but he didn’t want to be lying around when the land commissioner arrived. “Will you ring for my valet? I need to dress.”

Eleanor shook her head. “You are to stay in bed until the physician declares you have returned to full health.”

“There is too much to be done. I must send a letter to Harry explaining my financial situation. Then there are the family heirlooms I must gather to sell in London…” James pressed his hands against the bed, instantly feeling the effects of his illness.

Eleanor pushed him back against the softness of the pillows. “Fretting about money will do little for your health. You’ve had a terrible fever, and the injury to your head requires rest. The surgeon ordered you to stay in bed.”

If they understood the drastic nature of his finances, neither Eleanor, nor his mother would delay these necessary steps. He tried once more to leave the bed but stopped when he heard a knock at the door.

“Enter,” his mother called out.

Bishop entered the room, his silver tray in hand with a small card situated in the middle. “You have a guest, sir. I informed Mr. Kaye that you are ill, but this news did not seem to deter him from a visit.”

Daniel didn’t wait for an introduction. He strolled into the room with the grace of a brass band. “Good heavens, James. You always were an overachiever. Bishop tells me you have a head injury and an infectious disease. If you needed a lie in, you could have simply stayed abed for a few hours.”

James appreciated the lighthearted banter. It did more to lift his spirit than any well-wishes would have done. He could receive those sorts of greetings later. For now, he needed to laugh.

“I will take it under advisement.” He pointed to his mother and then Eleanor. “You remember my mother and Miss Dove. ”

Daniel warmly greeted both women, then accepted a chair near the bed. The somberness everyone seemed to display quickly fell over his friend. “I am more sorry than I can say to hear of your struggles. What has been done to recover your inheritance?”

James had been right in his thinking. Before Bishop had led Daniel up to the bedchamber, he had informed him of everything. To know his friend still cared, even though he was bound for prison, meant the world to him. “I do not think it is possible to recover. Leastwise, not soon enough.”

Eleanor put her hand on James’s arm. “We have an army of men out searching for Mr. Crane. The weather would have stopped his travel. No one, not even a lunatic, would travel in the storm Emerald Falls has seen these last few days.”

James chuckled, then tilted his head toward Daniel as he indicated his friend had traveled quite the distance to be present that morning.

Eleanor gasped, covering her mouth as the paleness in her face suddenly turned bright pink. “Oh, Mr. Kaye, I did not mean to infer you are insane or comparable to a lunatic.”

Daniel, truly a man of good nature, burst into a hearty laugh. “I assure you, Miss Dove, I have been called far worse, and for lesser causes. Although, if Mr. Crane had sufficient determination, he could have escaped this region. But I will wager a penny he is cozily tucked away in a nearby tavern.”

“An army of men?” James asked. It hardly seemed possible they could have gathered enough people to search the surrounding areas.

Eleanor’s eyes brightened. “My father and Lord Montefeltro discovered the details of Mr. Crane’s treachery. That is, after we witnessed the remnants of your search for money in the den and library. They went around town to everyone and requested help. Not a man in town declined to offer assistance. Moreover, you have no need to concern yourself over the land commissioner. The debt has been paid.”

“Paid?” James tried to sit up once more, but this time he stopped in his efforts as he received a firm glare from Eleanor. She was a force, to be sure, but she would be his wife in a few weeks’ time, if he was to be so blessed. Therefore, he resisted the urge to react in anyway other than curiosity. “How could the debt have been paid?”

Eleanor tucked the blankets up around his shoulders. “Do not inquire further, James. A man who has devoted his life to serving others must graciously embrace the moment when that service is repaid in kind, with equal measure and gratitude.”

There were few men in Emerald Falls who could have repaid his debt. The Duke of Rothes, which was the least likely. Mr. Dove and Lord Montefeltro. He didn’t know how to approach the subject with either man, for now he would have to accept Eleanor’s loving chastisement. Even so, he vowed to discover who it was and to ensure he returned the money, if ever he was able. It was a large sum, after all.

His mother stood and walked to the corner of the room, where a pile of letters was neatly stacked on the table. She brought them over and handed them to him. “Well wishes, from the people in this village who love you.”

James took them in hand, slowly looking at each to see the handwriting. He didn’t recognize any of the penmanship, but the most notable feature in common among them was unrefined writing. He looked to his mother, and then Eleanor. “You mean my tenants?”

“You shall have to open the letters to find out.”

Snapping the seal on the first letter, he was surprised to find three sheets of parchment with drawings from the children and a letter wishing him well. Moreover, two pennies landed on the bed, each of them as dear as the widow’s mite.

He picked up the coins and held them out. “These must be returned. They cannot give up so much.”

Daniel reached forward and lifted one of the pennies out of James’s hand. He turned it over in his fingers twice before placing it back down. “A symbol of their love for you. You cannot return the money without causing offense. Miss Dove is correct. You should accept it with gratitude, as they have accepted your service over the years.”

He wanted to argue further but knew it was futile. Instead, he spent the next hour opening letters and accepting each and every offering with the humility in which it had been given. Eleanor, Daniel, and his mother hung the sketches from the children around his bedchamber, brightening the space, since he would be abed at least a few more days .

Once they were all seated again, James looked to his friend. “Will you stay until the wedding?”

Daniel sat back, stretching his legs out as he considered the question. “That was my purpose in coming to Granville House. I never heard back from you on the matter of your heart, and I was curious to discover if you had taken my advice.”

James smiled at Eleanor, but his comment was meant for Daniel. “The advice in that letter was quite possibly the best you have ever given.”

Later that night, as their chaperone nodded off to sleep on the settee in the corner, James held Eleanor’s hand in his. She was curled up on an armchair next to his bed, allowing her the comfort of a soft cushion as she kept vigil. James recounted everything that had occurred, from the moment he’d left Granville House on the late afternoon of Twelfth Night up until he’d awoken in bed. Eleanor listened without comment, taking it in with the grace of a refined lady. When he was finished, James posed the question at the forefront of his thoughts. “Do you think it was all an elaborate dream? Or is Erasmus Brown an angel?”

Eleanor squeezed his hand, the conviction of her words bringing tears to her eyes. “I have already told you that I believe in angles, James Bailey. I believe Erasmus saved you and Harry seventeen years ago when you nearly drowned, and he saved you last night. Our vicar might not agree with me on this, but I believe God is in the details of our lives.”

“I believe the same, my love.”