Chapter 17
D arlene walked down the quiet street toward Eleanor’s house, her steps measured and full of purpose. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the well-manicured lawns of Magnolia Key. As she approached Eleanor’s house, she could see her old friend sitting on the front porch, Winston curled up at her feet.
Eleanor looked up as Darlene climbed the steps, a questioning expression on her face. “Darlene, what brings you by this afternoon?”
She settled into the chair next to Eleanor, taking a moment to pat Winston’s head. The old dog thumped his tail lazily against the wooden porch.
“We need to talk. I’m afraid I have some news that might be… unsettling,” she began, her voice low and careful.
Eleanor’s eyebrows knitted together. “Oh? What’s happened?”
“It’s about Brent and Felicity’s research. They’ve found something. A letter, actually.”
Eleanor’s hand tightened on the arm of her chair. “A letter? What kind of letter?”
“It’s from Prince Lawrence,” she said softly. “To Vera.”
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly, her face paling. When she opened them again, there was a mix of resignation and worry in her eyes. “I see. And what did this letter say?”
She hesitated, then continued, “It seems to confirm that the prince had feelings for Vera. Strong feelings. He... he invited her to leave with him.”
Eleanor nodded slowly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I always feared something like this might surface one day. I’ve always guessed that Vera and Lawrence had an affair from the few remarks I overheard my father say.”
“There’s more,” she added, her voice gentle. “Dale has been doing some digging of his own. He’s made a connection between the pendant that went missing during one of Lawrence’s visits and the one that Tori found in the dressing table at the theater.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “Oh, dear. This is… this is not good. Not good at all.”
She reached out and touched Eleanor’s hand. “I know. I’m worried about what Brent might do with this information. He seems quite determined to uncover every detail about the island’s history.”
Eleanor sighed heavily, her gaze drifting out to the street. “It was all so long ago. I had hoped… well, I suppose it doesn’t matter what I hoped. The past has a way of catching up with us, doesn’t it?”
“It usually does.” She nodded. “I know the whole prince story would add a bit of spark and interest to his writing about the area. I’m not sure what he plans to do with it.”
“He needs to just forget he ever heard about it,” Eleanor stated firmly. “There is no good in dragging Vera’s name through the mud. Or the Whitmore family’s reputation. Surely he can see that.”
“Maybe.” But she wasn’t as certain as her friend. If Brent could find all this out, so could another researcher who was diligent enough. If Brent published his book on the history of the area and left this information out, and someone came along later and published the information, it could look like Brent wasn’t quite the authority he made himself out to be.
“As if it wasn’t enough that Cliff, that fool son of mine, wants to put up a high-rise at the end of the boardwalk and most of the town is furious with him, now this—gossip—might be revealed. Neither should happen.” Eleanor’s eyes flashed with anger.
Her friend might be right, but she wasn’t sure Eleanor would be able to stop either one from happening.
Eleanor sat on her porch long after Darlene left. Her fingers absently tapped the arm of her chair. The rhythm helped her think, to sort through the tangled knot of secrets and half-truths that had been woven around the Whitmore family name. The shadows crept across the lawn, but she hardly noticed the passage of time. Her mind was consumed with all Darlene had shared.
And, of course, there were also the letters found in Jenna’s house. Thank goodness Brent had no idea about them. The correspondence pointed to an affair between Vera and Lawrence, but it was all speculation, wasn’t it? Events from a distant past, buried by time and fading memories.
But the possibility of an affair between Vera and Lawrence was all too real. It was all too much, too close to home. She’d long suspected something had happened between them, but suspicion was far different from proof.
Had Vera had an affair? Had she gone after what she wanted, even if it meant being cast aside by her family? Had she been foolish enough, strong enough, brave enough, to do it anyway?
A pain stabbed at her heart. She herself hadn’t been that strong. Strong enough to choose what she wanted for her life instead of what her family had expected of her.
She shoved those thoughts far away. The problem now was Vera. Had her great-aunt thirsted for a life beyond the confines of their small island? Had her desires led her straight into the arms of a prince? And if so, what had become of their alleged affair?
She sighed heavily, her gaze fixed on a bloom on the magnolia tree. It was all in the past, wasn’t it? Just speculation and gossip from a bygone era. But even as she tried to convince herself of this, a nagging worry persisted. If word got out, if more people started digging…
No. She couldn’t allow that to happen. The Whitmore name had to be protected, no matter the cost. She straightened in her chair, decision made. She would go to Brent herself and convince him to drop this line of inquiry, to leave the past where it belonged.
Rising slowly, she smoothed down her dress and gathered her resolve. She’d lived with secrets for so long. What was one more conversation to ensure they stayed buried?
“Winston, time for you to go inside. I have an errand to run.” She let the dog slip inside and she turned around. As she made her way down the porch steps, she rehearsed her arguments in her head. It was all conjecture, after all. No self-respecting historian would publish something without concrete proof. And even if Brent had found some evidence, surely he could be made to see reason. The potential harm to living people, to families who had called Magnolia Key home for generations, surely that would give him pause.
He needed to understand the gravity of the situation and the possible consequences of his actions. She would make him see reason, one way or another.
Her steps quickened as she walked toward the Bayside Bed and Breakfast. She had to make Brent understand. The past was the past, and some things were better left undisturbed. As she approached the inn, she took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation ahead. She would do whatever it took to protect her family’s legacy, to keep the secrets of the Whitmore family safely hidden away.
Brent sat on the porch of the Bayside Bed and Breakfast with his files spread out on the table beside him. The gentle breeze rustled the papers, and he absently placed a hand on them to keep them from flying away. He’d been poring over the documents for hours, trying to see if he could find any more information about Prince Lawrence.
As he reached for his glass of iced tea, a movement caught his eye. Miss Eleanor approached the B&B, her strides purposeful and her expression determined. He looked left and right, hoping to see Darlene and hoping Miss Eleanor was coming to see her, even though the woman looked straight at him.
“Mr. Dunn. I’d like a word with you.” She climbed the stairs in front of him.
Nope, it was him. She was here to see him. He straightened in his chair, sensing this wasn’t a casual visit.
He nodded, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. “Of course, Miss Eleanor. Please, have a seat.”
Her eyes darted to the other end of the porch where an older couple sat chatting quietly. She lowered her voice as she settled into the chair. “We need to speak about what you found hidden in the wall here at the B&B.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to broach the subject so directly. He leaned forward, matching her hushed tone. “You mean the letter to Vera?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she gave a curt nod. “Yes, that letter. I understand you and Felicity have been quite… enthusiastic in your research about Prince Lawrence’s time here on Magnolia Key.”
He felt a mix of excitement and unease. On the one hand, Eleanor might be about to provide some valuable information. On the other, her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely pleased with their investigation.
“We’ve been trying to piece together the history,” he explained carefully. “It’s fascinating, really. The idea of having a sister island. The prince’s frequent visits, the connections to the island…”
“Mr. Dunn,” she interrupted, her voice sharp but still quiet. “I’m not here to encourage your curiosity. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
Any chance of learning something more from Miss Eleanor deflated like a spent balloon, replaced by growing disappointment. “I’m not sure I understand, ma’am.”
Her gaze scanned the porch once more before settling back on him. “I know you believe the letter that suggests she had a… ah… relationship with Prince Lawrence.”
Brent nodded, his eyes meeting hers. “It did suggest they were quite close.”
She tapped her finger on the table. “I’m here to ask you to stop digging into this matter.” Her voice was firm, her gaze unwavering. “It’s a private family issue, and I won’t have any scandal attached to our name.”
Brent leaned back in his chair, considering her words. “I understand your concern, Miss Eleanor. But as a historian, I have a responsibility to uncover the truth about the past, especially when it involves such a significant figure as Prince Lawrence.”
“But the past is the past for a reason, Mr. Dunn. Some stories are better left untold, some secrets better kept.”
Brent frowned, his researcher’s instincts bristling at the idea of leaving any stone unturned. “But surely the truth is important? This could be a significant part of Magnolia Key’s history. An interesting part.”
“It’s more than just history,” she said, her voice taking on a hint of steel. “It’s about real people, real lives. There are people who are still here, still affected by what happened all those years ago.”
He sat back in his chair, studying her face. He could see the tension in her features, the way her hands gripped the arms of her chair. This wasn’t just about protecting an old secret. There was something more personal at stake for her.
“Miss Eleanor,” he began carefully, “I understand your concern. But I’m not looking to cause any trouble or pain. I’m just trying to understand the past, including my own family’s connection to this island.”
“But Mr. Dunn, sometimes the past is best left where it is. Not every story needs to be told, not every question needs an answer.”
He sighed, torn between his desire to uncover the full story and his respect for Miss Eleanor’s wishes. “I don’t want to cause any distress for you or your family. But I also believe that history has a way of revealing itself, whether we like it or not.”
She stood abruptly, her forehead creased with disapproval. “I hope you’ll reconsider your stance, Mr. Dunn. For the sake of everyone involved.” With that, she turned and walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
He leaned back in his chair and stared out at the bay. What kind of researcher was he if he just let himself be persuaded to drop a story like this? One that involved a significant historical figure? And if he dropped it from his research and didn’t publish it, what would prevent someone from coming along after him and uncovering the truth? It would look like he hadn’t done a thorough job with his research.
Uneasiness settled over him. It seemed like he had an impossible decision to make.