Once Beloved (5 page)

“How can we ask her to make such an arduous journey in her condition?” He recognized Mrs. Martin's voice, now tense and shrill.

The Grand-dame would never agree anyway. Daniel knew that much. She was a fixture in the village, determined to live and die there, even in spite of her granddaughters' faults.

“It's such a long journey, Helena, and I'm sure much has changed,” the other Thorton sister said. “It is unwise to put yourself in this situation. Think of your safety.”

He wondered at how Mrs. Martin's sister avoided referring to the animosity throughout Marksby. The younger Thorton had remained in Marksby for a year after her sister's elopement. She must have seen and heard herself just how much Helena Thorton was despised and condemned. Daniel could attest to that too. Helena Thorton had jilted Gordon, after all, a man who'd done her no wrong, a man who had been the most eligible single man in the village, one with the most prospects for success. Daniel had been enraged on his brother's behalf. And that was before the economic consequences of her elopement had been realized.

“You could accompany me, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Martin responded.

“Gran is as dear to me as she is to you, but you know I can't go,” her sister said, sounding on the verge of tears. “The baby needs me. With Mr. Addison away, there is no one—”

“Of course not, Lizzie,” Mrs. Clarke interjected as she made her presence known. “Lena, you shouldn't go either, especially given your recent health.”

“Marissa! When did you arrive?” He couldn't see Mrs. Martin's expression, but he could detect annoyance in the woman's tone. “I am perfectly fine, Marissa. We have discussed this ad nauseum, and I have made my intentions plain. I cannot ignore Gran's entreaty, not after all this time. Do you not understand? For so long, I have despaired of ever being welcomed back into the Thorton home. I need to do this.”

“If you won't listen to any of us, perhaps you will listen to someone who knows your village far better. Mr. Lanfield, if you please.”

The dramatic introduction made him feel a bit ridiculous as he strode into the room, and the matching looks of surprise on the faces of the erstwhile neighbor girls only added to the absurdity. Mrs. Martin stood at a finely carved sideboard on which rested an open valise. Her hair was uncovered and glowed a brilliant chestnut in the afternoon light. Fully conscious and apparently at ease in her own home, she was easier to recognize now. She had the same delicate, expressive features that he knew from childhood. Every emotion showed on her face. And now her concern and anxiety, presumably over her grandmother, were overlaid by sheer embarrassment. The younger Thorton sister was rising from an upholstered chair, looking startled and on the verge of bolting. Her blond hair had darkened mildly, adding to the impression of her as a doe in flight. Her protectiveness hadn't changed, though. She walked over to Mrs. Martin and whispered in her ear. Then she turned and said in a tight voice, “Good afternoon, Mr. Lanfield. I hear I have you to thank for coming to Mrs. Martin's assistance during the family's outing recently. That was kind of you.”

“'Twas no trouble, Miss Elizabeth.” Now what devil prompted him to needle her?

She turned bright red, as Mrs. Clarke interceded. “Oh, dear, that's right. You would have known her as a miss. It has been a long time for you all. She's Mrs. Addison now, has been for some fifteen years now. How her husband would laugh to hear her called a miss these days.”

“Good afternoon, ladies. Please excuse my intrusion,” he said mildly as he removed his cap. “I was in conversation with Mr. Clarke when we encountered his wife. She mentioned your grandmother's poor health and Mrs. Martin's ill-considered plan to visit her childhood village.”

Mrs. Martin's eyes narrowed at his words, and her cheeks flushed a bright pink. She took a single, deliberate step forward, her hands clasped in front of her, and said coldly, “You have caught us unawares, Mr. Lanfield. I have not yet begun entertaining callers since my husband's death. Uncouth as it may sound, we are poorly equipped to offer you hospitality just now.”

An obvious dismissal. What a polite and civilized way to make him feel unwelcome.

“Helena, dear, do be cordial,” Mrs. Clarke admonished before he could respond. Mrs. Martin turned on her, the hardness of her expression conveying far more anger than her words had. Mrs. Clarke continued, “I invited Mr. Lanfield here because you must hear what he has to say about conditions in your village. This is important.”

“What can he possibly say that overrules my grandmother's deathbed request?”

“You don't know that she's on her deathbed. Anyway, only let the man speak. Why don't I go put on some tea? I brought some biscuits for the children, but there should be more than enough for all of us.”

Mrs. Martin pursed her lips but nodded curtly. “Elizabeth, you remember Mr. Lanfield, do you not?”

“Your servant, Mrs. Addison.” He tried his best to keep the disdain from his voice. She bobbed the slightest curtsy without speaking. He steeled himself against the sisters' matching expressions, eyes narrowed, chins lifted, shoulders squared. That these two women, the Thorton sisters of all people, stood poised as if to do battle with him, well, the whole situation was absurd. As if they were the victims and he the transgressor. Ha!

“I've no wish to waste your precious time, ladies.” He tried, really, to keep the disdain from his voice. It wasn't easy. “When Mrs. Clarke made clear that you intend to return to Marksby, Mrs. Martin, and wouldn't be dissuaded, I felt it my duty to enlighten you.”

“Your
duty
? To enlighten
me
? How charming,” Mrs. Martin replied, folding her hands over her chest. If her tone were a pitchfork, he'd be naught but a sieve in just those few stabbing words. The look on her face brought to mind her younger self. More than once, he'd seen that look when someone told her
You can't
or
You mustn't
. But he would say his piece, whether she liked it or no. What the woman chose to do with the knowledge was her business.

“My choice of words aside, ma'am, you need to know that you are not welcome in Marksby. It would be unwise to return. Your sister knows perhaps even better than I what a disaster it'd be for you to show your face there.”

Miss Eliza—Mrs. Addison—gasped. This couldn't be a surprise to her, could it? She blanched and moved close to her sister. When Mrs. Martin looked at her, she whispered, “I'm sorry.”

“Is what he says true, sister? You never said I was utterly unwelcome, only that Mother and Father had turned away from me.”

Mrs. Addison shook her head, her mouth agape, her eyes downcast, but she repeated, “I'm sorry, Helena. It was bad enough that our parents disowned you. There was no reason for me to pour salt in that wound. You had no intentions of returning to the village anyway. It can't still be as bad as it was. It simply can't.” Then the younger Thorton sister looked at him pleadingly.

The tension in the room sharpened as Mrs. Martin turned to him and said slowly, “Perhaps you could elaborate, sir.”

“You mightn't be aware, but your elopement did a great deal of damage to the village.”

“I was sorry to hurt your brother so. It was terrible of me, but it was a personal matter.”

“My brother's feelings are not at issue here. The personal affront, bad as it was, became just one part of a much more severe catastrophe. You must've known that your marriage to Gordon would have combined the Lanfield and Thorton lands.” When she nodded warily, he continued, “What you mayn't have known was that our fathers were on the verge of an agreement with the very railway company your Captain Martin represented. That's why he and his associates were there, you know. The deal would've transformed Marksby. It would've put our little village on the map.”

Mrs. Martin shook her head, her features screwed into a frown. “No, that can't be right.”

Mrs. Clarke and Mrs. Addison rushed to her side, twin columns of calico to bolster her. Neither woman looked surprised by the news or by Mrs. Martin's reaction. A bitter laugh rose in his throat, but he stifled it.

“Aye, Miss Helena,” he said, addressing her deliberately, “what you did couldn't be right. Your whimsical, headstrong decision ruined Marksby's greatest prospects.”

“No, no, no,” she said, shaking her head more vehemently. “Elizabeth, is this true?”

Her sister looked suitably askance as she replied, “Father was furious. You know, he was never one to talk of business matters at home, but I overheard many heated discussions between him and the elder Mr. Lanfield and some of the other village elders. The railway was mentioned, but I couldn't discern the details.”

“Elizabeth, why?” Mrs. Martin asked plaintively. “Why did you never tell me any of this?”

“It would have served no purpose, Lena. Truly. You were happy here in London. When I arrived, Bartholomew was a babe. You had no intentions of returning. Why trouble you?”

The stunned woman stumbled from the loose embrace of her friend and her sister and slumped into an upholstered chair. He felt a sharp flare of pity for her but quickly snuffed it out. Ignorance of the consequences didn't absolve the sin.

“Our fathers fleetingly considered pairing Miss Elizabeth with my brother immediately after your departure, Mrs. Martin,” he said, flatly. There! That pained confusion on their faces was the least penance these two could provide. “But the damage had already been wrought.” He couldn't—and wouldn't—keep the bitterness out of his voice. “The company decided Marksby was an unsuitable location after all and moved on. Even with the continued possibility of merging our lands, the village was found lacking. That was the sweeping result of your little
personal matter
.”

He could practically see Mrs. Martin turning the news over in her mind, making sense of it, as she grew paler and paler. She looked back and forth between her sister and her friend; whether for confirmation or for absolution, he couldn't tell. It didn't matter. The devastation wrought by her decision couldn't be rectified; there was no pardon to be had. She simply couldn't return.

H
ow could this be? How could she have been kept in the dark for all this time? No, the idea that one girl's choice of husband could harm the entire village was preposterous! Mr. Lanfield had reason to despise her, but Helena would not be dissuaded from honoring Gran's request. Her heart swelled as she recalled the words written in Gran's abnormally wavering script.
Come quickly.
So she would. She'd hoped for so many years that her parents would send that invitation, but they hadn't. Now she had the opportunity she'd longed for, to return to her childhood home and see what was left of her family there.

“I have just the solution, ladies!” Marissa exclaimed in her characteristically abrupt and domineering manner. “You should accompany Mr. Lanfield home to Marksby! It's perfect, as if the Fates conspired for you—” Really! Marissa's ability to take charge of a situation was essential when the Needlework ladies saw an opportunity for social improvement, but this was one of the worst
solutions
she could ever suggest.

“Mr. Lanfield?” Lizzie interrupted with a horrified tone that matched the emotion rising in her throat. “Oh, Marissa, you have no idea how awful that plan would be! Lena simply shouldn't go.”

The man grimaced too. He was no more in favor of that ridiculous idea than any of them were.

“I thought, Mrs. Clarke, that the point of my presence here was to dissuade your friend from her disastrous plan.” He gritted his teeth, almost laughably, and said, “As a gentleman, I could hardly refuse to assist a lady in need, but I can't emphasize too strongly how very poorly your friend's return to Marksby would be received. It would be disastrous.”

Could hardly refuse
. Hmm. As if any force in this world would persuade her to accept assistance from a man whose every word, deed, and look conveyed his hatred and disdain. Unbidden, she felt the fleeting sensation of being cradled in firm warmth, the first sense of security she'd felt in years. Fine, perhaps not every deed. But he hadn't known who she was in that moment. Nothing since then suggested he would offer her the slightest glimmer of warmth, or care one whit for her security. She would make her way to Marksby according to her own devices.

“My dear Marissa,” she began tightly, refusing to address Mr. Lanfield, who had not, in point of fact, offered assistance. This was Marissa's harebrained idea. “Dear, it must be obvious that I cannot impose so much upon Mr. Lanfield. We've just met the man. Our long-ago acquaintance does not justify imposing upon him so greatly.”

“But, my dear stubborn Helena, if you insist upon returning to Marksby, you will need a knowledgeable guide. Mr. Clarke said only yesterday that Mr. Lanfield was highly regarded at the club, and, for goodness's sake, we first met him coming to your aid. Moreover, he is going to your precise destination. It could not be more perfect.”

“I cannot go with him. It would be unseemly.” When Marissa still appeared unmoved, she grasped for more reasons. “Just think, it would be wholly inappropriate for the two of us to travel together. We are not related and . . .” Her breath caught as she saw Mr. Lanfield recoil. She hadn't intended to remind him that they were once intended to be related through marriage. She pressed forward, saying, “And, Mr. Lanfield's wife would strongly object, I'm sure.”

Marissa shot back, “His wife has passed on, God rest her soul. You are both widowed. You are both traveling to the same hometown.”

“Vanessa could go with you,” Elizabeth interjected.

She shot her normally sane sister an
Et tu, Brute?
look and felt a brief sympathy with Mr. Lanfield over his loss. What a sad commonality they shared, one she wouldn't wish upon anyone.

“You know, Lena, how concerned her father and I have been about how her eye strays,” her traitorous sister continued. It was true that they all worried about Vanessa's wild streak. She suspected some boy or other had caught her niece's fancy, and she hoped the girl would make wise decisions. So it made a kind of sense when Elizabeth continued, “This would be a brilliant way to free her from some . . . questionable influences and even show her a bit of life outside of London.”

“She would be a great help,” she admitted, “but she'll hate you for sending her with me.”

“She's a good girl at heart, and she'll do what's right in the name of family.” Elizabeth sounded like all had been decided.

“But she and I shall use public transport. We shall not be beholden to the Lanfields. It would be too much.”

Marissa, damn her eyes, wouldn't listen to reason. “Lena, dear, be sensible. Traveling with Mr. Lanfield would give you protection on the roads and would take you more directly. It would also likely be far less expensive than trains and cabs.”

Mr. Lanfield hadn't spoken in quite some time. She'd almost forgotten his presence, but now he responded sharply. “No man of dignity would accept money in such a situation. But—ah—I'm afraid that my humble cart would serve as poor, uncomfortable transport.”

His forbidding demeanor spoke volumes. He'd been scathingly honest about the consequences of her elopement on the village, and she could only begin to imagine how everyone had fared in the intervening years. He didn't want her company any more than she wanted his. A dual opposition could overcome Marissa's stubbornness.

“You see?” she said to her friend. “Vanessa would be miserable, vocally so, riding in a cart all the way to Marksby. We can't do that to the poor girl. You wouldn't want to make such a trip with her under those conditions, and you know it.”

“I certainly wouldn't, and she's my own child!” Elizabeth added. Helena felt the tide turning. She would go to Marksby. That decision was no longer in doubt. But she would go on her own terms.

Marissa looked at her carefully and then said with uncharacteristic gentleness, “But, Helena, what if you have your spells?”

She had no answer.

“Vanessa would know what to do,” Elizabeth said for her, but her sister's tone was not convincing.

For the first time since his arrival in her home, in the home she'd shared with her husband, the home where she was raising her fine sons, she met Mr. Lanfield's gaze fully. She was certain of one thing. “Mr. Lanfield has explained to us that my return to Marksby would be a mistake. He would not wish to take us there, any more than I would for him to.”

He looked at Mrs. Martin for a long moment, almost rudely long, long enough for her to redden satisfactorily. Such rudeness was nothing compared to the outright animosity she'd encounter in the village. Even now, this foul woman showed no honest remorse for how severely she'd hurt the village that had once called her their own. Here she stood staring at him challengingly. She should see for herself what she'd wrought. How sweet would it be to deliver her, to have her face her acts of betrayal and their consequences? Did the prodigal daughter, once so eager to wallow in city life, have an accurate sense of what would await if she returned to the village?

Only when Mrs. Martin turned away did he realize that her voluble friend Mrs. Clarke was still trying to convince her. “. . . so you wouldn't have to deal with—well, you'd be much safer and you could go without making a hodgepodge of travel arrangements along the way.” Like a wily sheepdog, this Mrs. Clarke was. Then she turned on him and said, “Are you sure you could take her, Mr. Lanfield? It wouldn't affect your business?”

This is your opportunity to bow out gracefully. Take it
. But he owed it to the Grand-dame. If she sent for her granddaughters, after all that had passed, he should do whatever he could to see her wish fulfilled. And if Mrs. Martin deemed the situation dire enough to show her face in Marksby, well, he had to be a witness to that. It might prove to be entertaining, much like the lions and gladiators of the ancient Coliseum. “Not at all. My appointments have been fulfilled. I would have remained in Town to explore other opportunities, but I have nothing pressing.”

Mrs. Helena Martin—he couldn't even think of her name without sneering—opened and shut her mouth repeatedly like a caught fish. She had no inkling what awaited her. He would do his duty as an honest man, but she would have to suffer the effects of her desertion as Marksby saw fit.

“May I have a word with the young gentlemen, your sons?” he asked abruptly. He gestured to the Martin boys, who now were huddled in the doorway, clearly eavesdropping and bursting to speak.

Mrs. Martin nodded, hastily wiping her face. Was that wetness upon her cheeks? This was what she wanted—to return to the village and see her grandmother. Even if he and the rest of the room dictated the means, she was still getting her way in the end. When she left the room, he said, “Would you boys like to see my horse?”

“Oh, yes, sir!” Tommy said. Mark only nodded, suspicion in his eyes.

“Talos is a good beast, a strong and hearty one,” he said as they walked outside. “You worry for your mother. You heard that she's going on a trip. You'll miss her, I know. Yet the best way to help her now is to make her journey as easy as you can.”

Mark finally spoke. “The last time our parents went away, our father came back on a stretcher and died without opening his eyes. We never even got to say good-bye to him properly. I should be the one to watch over my mother, to protect her.”

That gave him a moment's pause. He hadn't heard the particulars about Mr. Martin's death. It shocked him to hear the boy speak so emotionally and vividly about its impact. He was a precocious one.

“I swear to you that I'll keep her safe,” he said solemnly. “I shall speak with your mother and her friends about the nature of your mother's spells. Once I've an idea of what symptoms to watch for and what situations to avoid, she'll manage better.”

Tommy nodded dutifully, but Mark, that smart boy, remained unconvinced. “We don't know you. How can we trust you?”

Mrs. Martin might deserve to be condemned for her choices, but he wouldn't violate his own family's honor just because she had.

“You're right. I can only ask you to have faith in my word. Your mother needs help, and your great-grandmother has been very, very kind to me over the years. I'm going home to Marksby. And I owe it to your great-grandmother to keep her kin safe. If your mother chooses this path, can you support her? Can you ease her way just that much?”

“Are you a man of honor, Mr. Lanfield?” Mark asked solemnly, with a seriousness that belied his years.

A quick one, this boy. Getting straight to the heart of the matter. Daniel searched his motivations for a way to answer truthfully.

“I'd say I am, yes, Mr. Martin. I shan't do your mother harm.”

“I entrust my mother to your keeping. If she comes to harm, I shall hold you accountable.” The weight of his words carried the menace of an adult. He would be a formidable man someday.

Realizing the sound it would make and the punishment she would bring upon herself, Vanessa caught the bedroom door she'd been about to slam. As if her parents didn't already think her immature. But really! Banished to the wilds of northern England! With skittish Aunt Helena! It was a wonder her parents didn't turn into papists so they could tuck her away in a nunnery! And what hypocrisy! She knew full well why her parents wanted her to go. But Mama had been only a few years older than Vanessa when she and Papa married. They couldn't continue treating her like a child.

She slipped the kerchief Billy had given her out of her pocket and stroked one of the roses embroidered on it. Hidden by the tall hedge maze at the park, he'd given it to her as a promise of his affection. The roughness of the cloth reminded her of his shirt, warm against her cheek as she clung to him.