A guarded heart, p.18
A Guarded Heart, page 18
“You knew her before?” asked Mr. Warwick. “She never said anything.”
Edmund ran a hand through his hair, the events of the day pressing on him. “I don’t suppose she would have. I didn’t leave her with the best impression.” His mind had begun racing, thinking through the implications of Samuel Hayward’s return.
Mr. Warwick stood. “Well, I won’t take any more of your time.”
Edmund turned back to face Mr. Warwick and held up a hand. “No, wait. If her brother is home, isn’t he in danger of being arrested? And what of Miss Hayward? I want to help if I can. There must be something we can do.”
“Yes, I’ve thought the same thing,” agreed Mr. Warwick. “But I couldn’t possibly ask for your assistance. The situation will be messy and dangerous. The consequences for harboring a deserter, one who’s wanted for murder, no less . . . But I can’t leave Eleanor to bear the burden alone. Her
father won’t be of much help. That man—my wife always said Mrs. Hayward never should have—”
“I’m well aware of the risk,” Edmund interrupted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have a friend who lives nearby in Kent. I could go and stay with him, offering my help wherever I can.”
“But Miss Coombs . . . ,” protested Mr. Warwick. “Can you leave when she’s arrived so recently?”
“I know it may not be much, but I must do something. She’ll understand.” Doubtful, but he could hope.
“I’d be glad of your help. It will be difficult for Eleanor to refuse aid from a concerned relative,” said Mr. Warwick. “When can you leave?”
***
Edmund was near the stables, giving instructions to a few servants about tomorrow’s journey, when Marianne found him. “I still don’t understand why you’re going.”
“It’s not something I can speak of.” He turned to go. “We can walk out in the meadow. I’m finished here.”
The evening air was still warm, the haze of dusk descending. They walked across the field, and Edmund stopped at the fence and leaned against it.
Marianne appraised him. “If I’m prying too much, please say so,” she said, moving to stand beside him. “Is it because you didn’t have the opportunity to apologize? Is that why you feel you must go?”
“That is part of it, yes. Though I doubt she’ll hear me out. Last night she made it clear she loathes me and will have nothing to do with me.”
The sun was setting, lighting up Marianne’s curly hair. “I do not claim to know Miss Hayward or her thoughts, but I can tell you from my observation that she does not loathe you,” said Marianne forcefully. “I know she may have been upset last night, but she was hurt. I think her reaction is evidence she very much still desires your good opinion.”
“How I wish that were true. The thought that she might—”
“You wish you were free to pursue her.”
He hung his head. “What I wish is no longer relevant. I need to make amends with Miss Hayward. And as for Miss Coombs, I . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“She’s upset, you know. She spent the entirety of the afternoon up in her rooms after you told her.”
“I know, but it can’t be helped. Once this business is finished I’ll make it up to her.” He paused then turned to face his cousin. “Marianne, please don’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Miss Hayward is in need of a great deal of help, but if anyone found out . . . I cannot emphasize enough the gravity of the situation. Everyone must think I’m going to Kent on business, nothing more.”
Marianne nodded. “Of course.” She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Whatever you do, remember that her heart must be very tender. Proceed cautiously.”
Edmund looked into her eyes, seeing the well of wisdom he had frequently drawn from of late. He nodded. “I must get back. We leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
Chapter 15
Mr. Warwick slept through much of the journey. As the wheels rolled beneath them, Edmund grew introspective. He thought back to the night of the Hayward ball and lived it over and over. Knowing what he knew now, what he had done made him sick to his stomach.
Mrs. Clark’s words had dredged up so many ridiculous doubts. And seeing Eleanor in the arms of another man, Edmund had assumed the worst. He shook his head, his mood grim. Eleanor had every right to be upset with him; it had been his own plaguing self-doubt that had caused him to doubt her. Fearing rejection, Edmund had denied her a chance to explain. He hadn’t been able to bear the thought of hearing that, yet again, he was second, unworthy of the love he so desired. And now he couldn’t bear the thought of what he had done to Eleanor. It had been an unconscious action, but that didn’t lessen the hurt he had caused.
Despite the pain, Edmund did not spare himself, for he was not one to shy away from the truth. He was ashamed his love for Eleanor had so easily been engulfed by his own insecurities, and though he knew change might be slow and painful and he would have to battle his own inclinations, he vowed it would never happen again. It was a different man, a more humble and self-aware man, who alighted from the carriage in Kent, willing to beg forgiveness and try his best to repair some of the damage he had done.
He and Mr. Warwick had ended their journey in Canterbury. The sight of an unfamiliar carriage driving toward the Haywards’ would be sure to raise a few eyebrows, so Edmund and Mr. Warwick had decided to walk the rest of the way to ensure they aroused no suspicion. It also provided a welcome opportunity to stretch their legs, though Edmund felt much more of a need to hurry than did Mr. Warwick.
During the three-day journey, they had pondered over what to say when they arrived and how they should go about helping Eleanor. And, above all, how it could be done without drawing any unwelcome attention. But little could be determined until they met with her.
As they drew closer to Heathfield, Edmund yearned to see Eleanor and yet feared to. Given their last meeting, he wondered if he would even be given the opportunity to offer his aid or whether she would refuse to see him. His stomach turned, hating the thought of being helpless in the face of Eleanor’s plight, and yet the agony was nothing less than he deserved.
Cresting the hill that led down to the Hayward residence, Edmund spotted a man leaving the house. Despite the distance, he was quite sure it was Eleanor’s father. “I think that is Mr. Hayward. Have you met him before, sir?” Edmund inquired.
Mr. Warwick shook his head. “No, I never have. He kept Mrs. Hayward and their children somewhat isolated from the rest of the family. Despite our numerous invitations, they never came to visit, and we never sensed we would be welcome here.”
They continued down the road, and the closer to the house they went, the more neglected the grounds became. The hedges were overgrown, and the trees badly needed to be pruned.
Drawing closer, Edmund found that the man was indeed Mr. Hayward, though very unlike the self-assured and austere man of Edmund’s memory. His shirttail was partially untucked, and greasy hair grew down over his ears. Even the slump of his shoulders showed the great burden the last three years had heaped upon him. Edmund wondered how Eleanor had borne it.
“Sir,” Edmund called when they had drawn a little closer. The man looked around as if disoriented. A moment later he focused on the two of them as they approached. Mr. Hayward looked at Edmund with a puzzled expression. Edmund extended his hand. “Mr. Hayward, I am not confident you remember me, as several years have passed since our acquaintance. Mr. Edmund Fletcher. And this is Mr. Warwick, husband of your late wife’s cousin.”
“Mr. Fletcher,” he said slowly, his speech impaired by drink. He looked suddenly suspicious. “What are you doing here?”
His abrupt question took Edmund aback. “We are here to call on Miss Hayward. Is she at home?”
“Eleanor is home, yes. She arrived two days past.” His words slurred together.
It pained Edmund to see Mr. Hayward thus degraded, for him to have fallen so far. It pained him for Eleanor’s sake. “She is at home now?” he clarified, for Mr. Hayward did not seem wholly reliable.
“I said she’s at home, didn’t I?” The man seemed frustrated at having to repeat himself. “But she’s with her brother. Won’t leave his side. He’s very ill, you know. He has come home, but he’s very ill.”
“Yes, we had heard,” said Edmund. Mr. Warwick seemed content to let him guide the conversation.
“Samuel has come home, but he’s ill, and we can’t have the doctor,” said Mr. Hayward thickly. “No one must know he’s come back.”
Edmund glanced at Mr. Warwick, his mind going a hundred different directions. The thought struck him that Mr. Hayward could not be trusted to leave the property—not if they wanted to keep Samuel’s presence a secret. The man had divulged it to them without a thought.
“Sir, would you escort us back to Heathfield and inform Miss Hayward we are here to see her?”
Mr. Hayward hesitated for a moment, as if trying to remember why he’d been leaving in the first place. “Very well, then,” he said, turning back the way he’d come.
***
Eleanor sat next to Samuel, watching him sleep. She dared not leave his side, even while he dozed, for a part of her still feared he would disappear, just as he had before. There came a knock at the door, and Mrs. Keyes appeared. “How is he?” she asked.
“About the same, I’m afraid.” Eleanor glanced at her brother, hating the pallor of his skin. But he had eaten a little more today, and an increase in appetite had to be a good sign.
“I hate to disturb you, miss, but your father came in with some visitors who are requesting to see you.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened, her heart beating wildly. What if someone had found out about Samuel? “Who are they?” she asked as calmly as she could. Where could she hide Samuel if it came to that?
“A Mr. Warwick and a Mr. Fletcher.”
Her heart flagged in relief and then sped forward as she realized what Mrs. Keyes had said. In the wake of her return home and Samuel’s reappearance, she’d not once thought of the situation she’d left back in Herefordshire. Her mouth felt dry, full of cotton. “Mr. Fletcher? Are
you sure?”
“Yes, miss. Your father brought both of them in.”
She blew out a breath, thinking. What could they be doing here together? She couldn’t possibly face them right now. But she couldn’t leave them down with her father, either. Just knowing they had seen him was mortifying, especially Edmund, for now he had truly seen the lowliness of her circumstances. Father had been in his cups all day and must have slipped outside while Eleanor had been tending to Samuel.
She took a deep breath, smoothing back her hair and pinching her cheeks. Despite these outward motions, her heart skittered unsteadily. “Mrs. Keyes, will you please stay with Samuel while I see to our visitors?”
***
Edmund waited in his seat in the front parlor, stealing an occasional glance at Mr. Warwick, who seemed much calmer than Edmund felt. Nervous and impatient, he tapped his foot on the rug as he watched the door. When Eleanor entered he was on his feet in an instant. “Miss Hayward,” he said, bowing as Mr. Warwick did the same. She was as beautiful as when he had seen her last, but her eyes were ringed with dark circles, as if she hadn’t slept since arriving home.
Eleanor looked over both her visitors, her expression suggesting their presence was confusing. After a moment she glanced toward her father, who had fallen asleep on the couch and was snoring softly. Her cheeks turned red, and the shame and embarrassment that flickered across her face pained Edmund.
Mr. Warwick stepped forward, reaching forth a hand. “My dearest Eleanor, you had us so worried.”
She took his hand and bowed her head apologetically. “I am sorry if I caused you concern. It was unintentional. As you can see,” she said, motioning toward the couch where her father slept, “my father needs me here.”
Mr. Warwick drew closer. “Of course he does. But I think it may be time to let someone think of what you need.”
She shook her head, and Edmund couldn’t remain silent. “Miss Hayward, please. You’ve handled things by yourself so far, but how much longer can you keep this up? I can imagine our appearance here is unexpected, but we hoped we might be of service to you.”
She stood up taller, straightening her back. “I’ve managed by myself these past three years, without your help or anyone else’s. I fail to see why you feel the need to help me now.”
Edmund felt the air leave his lungs as the force of her accusation struck him. Pain coursed through his chest, the pain of regret, and he wondered how he would ever learn to live with himself after the hurt he had
caused her.
Mr. Warwick looked between the two of them. “Eleanor, I have something to confess,” he said, his voice gentle. “Why don’t we all have
a seat?”
Edmund took a lone seat a little farther away while the other two shared a settee. He almost considered leaving, for he could tell by the stiffness of Eleanor’s posture that his presence had raised her defenses. Only the meager hope of erasing some of her pain kept him where he was.
Eleanor cleared her throat, turning toward Mr. Warwick. “A confession?”
“One of the maids found the note your father wrote you. About Samuel.” He paused, taking her hand. “He’s here, isn’t he?”
Her eyes immediately sheened with tears, and her body tensed. “Please tell me no one else knows. It must be kept secret!”
“Miss Hayward,” Edmund said. “We ran into your father outside, and he was . . . very vocal about your situation.” He tried to communicate with his eyes, willing her to understand, but her brow only creased in confusion.
“He told us, without any coaxing, your brother had returned,” clarified Edmund, to help her see the necessity of their aid. “He’s not sober enough to keep it to himself.” He hated that his words were hurting her.
Her gaze darted to her father, and she made a little noise of comprehension. “Oh, I see,” she said finally, her face full of misery. She settled back in her seat, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. The constant strain of worry was clearly wearing on her. “It’s an impossible situation. I don’t know what more I can do.”
Edmund struggled, wanting to help, hoping and praying Eleanor would let them—let him—despite his past ill-treatment of her.
Mr. Warwick took her hand. “Of course you are doing everything you can, Eleanor. I think what Mr. Fletcher is saying is that, if you want to protect your brother, you must find a way to keep your father confined to Heathfield, and preferably away from the servants. That is where we could be of service.”
Her eyes fluttered with the first ounce of hope Edmund had seen since their arrival, and the sight eased some of the heaviness in his chest.
“Mr. Warwick,” she said. “Though it is difficult for me to say, I cannot express how dire my situation is right now and how desperately I need your help. But I fear for you, for the risk it entails. I have nothing to lose. You have your family to think of.”
“You are family,” he answered. “I insist.”
She took a deep breath, looking directly at Edmund. He could almost feel what she would say before she spoke, but he couldn’t look away. “I’m afraid accepting your help is out of the question, Mr. Fletcher. Were it discovered, your implication in this would be much more serious. I regret that even the knowledge you now possess could make you complicit in aiding a criminal. I appreciate your offer and will be forever grateful for the protection you offer my brother through your silence, but I am unable to accept your help.”
Edmund couldn’t blame her, despite the hollowness that filled him. Her bravery astounded him. He worked to keep his face blank, for he would not burden Eleanor with the tumult of his thoughts and emotions. “I understand, Miss Hayward.” Seconds ticked by, and he stood, feeling his time with her running out. “Please let me know if you change your mind.” He wanted to say more but held himself back.
He bowed to Eleanor and Mr. Warwick.
Mr. Warwick gave him a look of sympathy. Though he’d never confided in the man, Edmund had a feeling Mr. Warwick grasped more than he let on. “I’ll stay in touch, Mr. Fletcher, about our business dealings. Please let me know where in the neighborhood you’ll be residing.”
“I will, as soon as I am settled.”
A shadow crossed Eleanor’s face, but she only said, “Good day, Mr. Fletcher.”
He gave her one last searching look before following the housekeeper out. Edmund walked quickly back to the inn, the meeting with Eleanor only making him more determined to help. Anxious to tackle everything he needed to accomplish by the end of the day, he sat at his desk and began composing a letter.
***
Mr. Warwick followed Eleanor to the study, remaining quiet. He seemed hesitant to speak or disrupt her in any way. Instead, he observed, and she guessed, as he looked around the room, that he did not miss much.
As she tended to Samuel, who remained in a fitful sleep, Eleanor’s mind stewed over Edmund’s unexpected appearance. Had Beatrice shown up on her doorstep, Eleanor could not have been more surprised. What could have been his purpose? To ease his guilty conscience? She thought back to their meeting, trying to decipher every word, every expression. Could it be that he regretted the past, perhaps still cared for her? She shut out the thought immediately as Miss Coombs came to mind. Eleanor was surprised the woman had let Edmund out of her sight.
Mr. Warwick blew out a breath, interrupting her thoughts. “He seems to be resting more peacefully now.”
