Chapter Eleven
E tty’s gut twisted in fear as the sound of horses’ hooves drew near, then stopped outside the cottage. By the time the knock came on the door, she was already in the hallway, smoothing down the skirts of her dress for what felt like the twentieth time.
Frances took her hand. “Wait in the parlor, ma’am, and I’ll let your guest in.”
Dear Frances—such a sweet, kind child! And courageous, given that Etty had been unable to stem the tremors in her body from the moment she’d read her father’s letter announcing his intention to visit.
She let the girl usher her into the parlor, then waited, her heart hammering as she heard the knock on the front door, followed by the murmur of voices—Frances’s light tones, together with the familiar rich timbre.
Then the parlor door opened to reveal Frances, her slight frame dwarfed by the man beside her.
A brown leather satchel in his hand, he looked resplendent in a dark-blue jacket and an understated silk-embroidered waistcoat that reeked of prosperity despite its muted colors. He was much the same as when Etty’s had last seen him, though his mane of once-dark hair sported a little more gray. His skin was tanned, most likely from his travels, and the portliness had gone. He looked healthier, happier. And more prosperous.
Clearly Etty’s actions had not completely ruined him, given that his knighthood had now been elevated to a baronetcy.
He stepped toward her, and her senses were overcome by the familiar scent of smoke and spice—the scent that transported her back to a time when she lived her life in blissful ignorance of the world. It was a scent she’d yearned to relive, yet feared it at the same time, for it came hand in hand with the man who wore it.
Etty rose to her feet, fisting her hands to disguise her trembling. Then she dipped into a curtsey. “Papa.”
“Daughter.”
She flinched at his tone. Why must he always sound so disappointed? Would he ever forgive her transgression against her sister, his undoubted favorite?
“Frances, sweetheart, would you mind seeing to the tea?” Etty asked.
The girl bobbed a curtsey. “Yes, Mrs. Ward.” She turned to Etty’s father. “Please, sir, take a seat. I’m sorry I don’t know your name. I only know you’re Mrs. Ward’s father. We’ve been expecting you. Mrs. Ward showed me your letter.”
Etty flinched at the girl’s lack of decorum, steeling herself to defend Frances from her father’s admonishment, but he gave her an indulgent smile.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said. “My name is Sir Leonard.”
Frances’s eyes widened. “Oh! So Gabriel was named after you.”
“Gabriel?”
“Gabriel Leonard, Mrs. Ward’s child.”
He drew in a sharp breath, and Etty flinched at the reference to her son—the child her mother had referred to as “the bastard that sealed our family’s disgrace” before Etty fled London.
“Are you a lord ?” Frances asked.
Papa resumed his attention on the girl and let out a chuckle. Etty’s heart ached at the warmth in his voice—a warmth he’d never bestowed on her.
“I’m afraid not, child,” he said. “I’m only a baronet, and before that, a knight. Unfortunately, not like the knights you read about in storybooks, who ride around the country protecting fair maidens.”
“I can’t read, sir,” Frances said, “but Mrs. Ward is teaching me.”
“ Is she, now?”
Etty flinched as her father turned his gaze on her.
Frances bobbed another curtsey then disappeared. Etty gestured to a chair—the same chair the vicar had occupied days before—and her father approached it. He sat, placing the satchel on a nearby table, then glanced about the parlor.
“This seems a comfortable room,” he said.
“I do what I can, Papa—with Frances’s help.”
He nodded. “She seems very capable for one so young.”
“She’s no younger than the chambermaids we had at home,” Etty said. “If you’re implying I’m taking advantage of a child, perhaps you should look to your own household before judging mine.”
His eyes sparkled and the corner of his mouth creased into a smile—the smile he’d reserved, almost exclusively, for Etty’s sister.
“I’m not here to criticize you, Juliette,” he said.
“Then why are you here?”
He let out a sigh. “Would you believe it if I said I wanted to see how you were?”
“But when we last spoke, you said…”
He raised his hand, and she trailed away, beset by memories of admonishments meted out in his study. The unspoken words clung thickly to the air between them.
You said that you wished you were anybody’s father but mine.
“I feel nothing but shame for what I said, Juliette,” he said. “I spoke in anger.”
“Is not that when we reveal the truth in our hearts?” Etty asked.
“Were you revealing the truth when you told your sister, in front of a drawing room full of guests, that she was a whore?”
“Oh!”
A sharp cry rang out and Etty glanced up. Frances stood in the doorway, a tea tray teetering in her hold.
Etty leaped to her feet and took the tray. “Oh, Frances, sweetheart!” she cried. “You mustn’t carry so much. Let me take it. Why don’t you take a turn about the garden? I can see to the tea.”
She took the tray and set it on the breakfast table. Frances stared at Etty’s father.
“Forgive me, child,” he said. “I should not have said such a thing in your presence—or at all.” He gestured toward the window. “Your mistress is right. It’s a fine evening for a stroll outside.”
Frances bobbed another curtsey, then fled, closing the door behind her.
Her hands trembling, Etty poured tea into a cup, followed by a splash of milk and two spoonsful of sugar. She stirred the tea, then handed the cup to her father, and he took a sip.
“You remember how I like my tea,” he said. “Not even your mother…” He paused, then took another sip, while Etty poured herself a cup.
She resumed her seat, and silence filled the room, punctuated by the delicate tinkling of the spoon as he continued to stir his tea while looking about the parlor, his gaze falling on the mantel clock.
At length, he resumed his gaze on her. “I’m sorry.”
Etty sipped her tea. “I assure you, Frances has heard much worse, and I doubt she caught your meaning.”
He set his cup aside and leaned forward. Etty’s heart jolted as he took her hand, his warm fingers roughed with toil interlocking with hers.
“No, daughter,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”
“It was my own doing. As you said.”
“You may have been the one to…” He paused, as if searching for a polite turn of phrase.
Go on, Papa—tell me that I tried to ruin my sister out of spite, spread my legs for a lecher, and birthed his bastard. Go on—I dare you.
“It matters not what you did,” he finally said. “What matters is where the true responsibility lies. There is only one person to blame. And that is myself.”
Her hand slipped, and she winced as tea spilled onto her skirts. “Y-you?”
He frowned, a flicker of pain in his eyes. “Yes, my daughter,” he said. “Forgive me.”
He squeezed her hand in a gesture of affection she’d not experienced before.
“You were such a beautiful child, you see, that I believed you had no need of my help,” he said. “We live in a world where beauty and elegance are valued above all else. Your poor sister has always been so painfully shy and awkward, so out of place in Society. You outshone her in beauty and grace almost from the moment you were born— everybody remarked on it. And so I believed Eleanor’s need was greater than yours. And that was my greatest mistake. Her need was not greater—only different.”
He glanced away, and she caught a glistening of moisture in his eyes.
“I failed you, Juliette,” he said. “And for that, I am very sorry.”
“Etty,” she whispered.
He raised his eyebrows. “I beg pardon?”
“Juliette is no more,” Etty said. “I have no wish to be reminded of my past. And”—she glanced toward the door—“Eleanor made many friends here. Friends who would rightly condemn me for what I did, if they knew who I was.”
He patted her hand and smiled. “I understand. Eleanor came here to start again. It’s only right that you be permitted to do the same. I’m no advocate for running from one’s past, but everyone deserves a second chance.”
“Even me?”
He flinched at the sharpness in her tone. “I think perhaps I’m more in need of a second chance.” He blinked, and Etty’s heart ached to see moisture in the eyes of a man she’d believed incapable of emotion. Even when he’d condemned her for her actions, he’d delivered his lecture in his usual toneless manner, as if reading from a legal document.
“Papa…”
He lifted his hand to wipe away a bead of moisture on his cheek. “You see, Eleanor was mine,” he said. “The quiet, serious child who rarely smiled and disliked company. You, on the other hand—bright, vibrant, with a smile for everyone—you were your mother’s.”
Etty flinched at the mention of the parent who had raged at her, delivering a tirade of admonishments. But her mother’s rage she could weather better than her father’s measured disappointment.
“How is…Mother?”
He patted her hand. “As well as can be expected. Her nerves still plague her, but we do the best we can. And, of course, she has a duchess for a daughter now, which gives her comfort.”
“I daresay she’s now claimed Eleanor as hers , given Eleanor’s greater worth.”
He frowned and let out a sigh.
“Forgive me, Papa,” Etty said. “I did not mean to speak ill of Mother. I’m responsible for her…disappointment.” She shook her head. “I know you’ll never believe me, but I’m sorry for what I did.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he replied. “I should have been firmer, done more to unite you and Eleanor. You’re more alike than you may think, Juliette. I’m only ashamed that I never gave you the chance to discover your similarities rather than emphasize your differences.” His lips curved into a smile. “Eleanor sends her love.”
“Is she well?”
“She’s entering her confinement, otherwise I suspect she’d have asked to come with me. You should write to her. Or you could pay her a visit. I could take you in the carriage.”
Juliette’s gut twisted with shame. “I-I couldn’t, Papa. She must hate me for what I did—and I doubt her husband would let me near her.”
“Your sister is too generous for that. As for Whitcombe, he’s so smitten with Eleanor, he’d do anything she asked. He’s a changed man since he married her. As soon as I returned to London last month, he invited me to dine with him at White’s.”
White’s—the lair where Society’s predators presided. Where…
She shuddered, hating herself for wanting to ask… “Was… he there?”
After a pause, Papa responded. “He’s rarely seen in London. Whitcombe told me he’s married.”
Etty’s heart ached. So, her former friend and rival had secured the prize.
“Juliette, there’s nothing to hope for with regards to Dunton.”
Etty shook her head. “I had no hopes for myself, I assure you, but Arabella deserves a better fate than to be his wife.”
“ Arabella? ” Papa raised his eyebrows. “You think…”
“We may have parted on sour terms,” Etty said, “but she was the only friend I had, shallow though that friendship was. When there are few true friends in the world, I must be grateful for the friends I have.”
True friends—such as the vicar.
Andrew…
The memory of his kiss still lingered—his soft lips, teasing hers open, before his tongue probed gently, tentatively, as if he feared her rejection. An innocent, but all the more desirable, for his gentle touch was not born of design or stratagem—it was not the act of a lecherous rake wanting to prove his prowess by seducing a maiden into ruination. It was the purest act of all—an innocent soul seeking pleasure.
“Dunton hasn’t married Arabella,” Papa said, returning Etty to the present. “He’s married her aunt.”
“Her aunt ?”
“Whitcombe arranged it—it seems as if Dunton disgraced himself by indulging in a little fraud over Lady Arabella’s fortune. He’s now living a quiet life in exile, with hardly any funds and fewer friends, while your friend is now the wife of a gardener.”
“Arabella married a gardener? B-but she has a title!”
Papa grinned. “It’s possible for a lady of rank to marry a commoner, Juliette.”
“Forgive me, Papa, I didn’t mean to impugn Mother’s choice in marrying you.”
“It matters not, my dear,” he said, patting her hand. “Though I daresay Lady Arabella will be more satisfied with her lot than…” He shook his head. “It matters not. Whitcombe tells me they’re very happy together. The man—Baxter, his name is—is redesigning the gardens at Rosecombe, and they’re frequent visitors there. Arabella and Eleanor have become friends—would you credit that? I’m sure she’d like to see you again as much as Eleanor would.”
“I’m glad for Arabella,” Etty said, “but I no longer belong in their world.”
“You’re happy here?”
“As happy as I deserve to be, Papa. And I’m more fortunate than most.”
“Dear daughter!” he said, and Etty’s throat tightened at the affection in his voice. “Perhaps you can find peace by helping those less fortunate—not only by helping others, but by giving yourself a purpose. There is much to be gained from knowing that you’ve changed the world for one individual, even if you cannot change the whole world.”
“Oh!” she cried. “That’s what Andrew—I mean, Mr. Staines—said.”
“And he’s right, Juliette.” He tilted his head to one side. “Mr. Staines—Eleanor has spoken of him. The vicar, yes? He was kind to her when she lived here. Does he speak of her much? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind your passing on her good wishes.”
Etty withdrew her hand, her cheeks warming. “H-he speaks much of her—and of his anger at the sister who tried to destroy her.”
Papa’s eyes widened. “Then…”
“He doesn’t know who I am, Papa. Nobody does. I’m Mrs. Etty Ward—not Miss Juliette Howard. I have no wish to lose his friendship when he’s the only friend I have.”
“A friendship founded on deception will crumble eventually, daughter,” he replied. “If you are to be truly at peace, then you must accept the truth—and let others accept it also. If they cannot give you their good opinion, then they do not deserve you. But it’s your burden to bear and your confession to make, if you so wish.”
Papa was right. A good opinion founded on deception had little worth.
But would she ever be willing to risk Andrew’s good opinion by revealing the truth of her sins? Not when she valued his friendship more than anything.
Anything except…
As if he’d read her thoughts, a familiar cry came from Gabriel’s chamber upstairs. Etty stood, her cheeks flaming. Her father’s disappointment in her behavior must pale in comparison to his disappointment at being so loudly, and rudely, reminded of the fruits of her ruination.
He rose and caught her hand. “Daughter…”
She flinched, awaiting the sermon.
But it never came. Instead, a pair of solid arms drew her into an embrace. She clung to him, curling her fingers around the lapels of his jacket, inhaling the faint aroma of spices and cigar smoke.
“Papa, I’m…”
“Hush,” he breathed. “There’s nothing to say. Let your silly old papa hold you for a moment. I’ve missed you—my beloved daughter.”
Moisture stung her eyes and she blinked. A tear splashed onto his jacket, disappearing into the fibers. At length, he released her and kissed the top of her head.
“Now,” he said, “there’s one thing I’m very much looking forward to—and that is meeting your boy. Gabriel Leonard , eh?”
“Do you mind?” Etty asked.
“That you named him after me?” A broad grin stretched across his face. “There’s nothing that could make me happier. I only hope I prove to be a better grandfather to Gabriel than I ever was a father to you.” He retrieved the satchel and pulled out an object. “Recognize this?”
It was a toy boat, carved from wood. The sails, fashioned from cotton, were threadbare around the edges, the material yellowing—but given its age, it was in excellent condition. And it had taken pride of place in Etty’s father’s study for as long as she could recall.
“Your boat?”
He held it out and she took it, running her fingertips over the body, the thin grooves carved in the shape to resemble the planks of wood. Her father had never let either of his daughters touch it, much less play with it. She turned it over in her hands, running her fingertips across the inscription on the side.
H.M.S. Howard.
“My father made that for me when I was younger than Gabriel,” he said. “He always said that if a man was capable of making something with his own two hands, then he would never go hungry. A fine man, he was—and I grew up determined one day to have a ship that I could call my own. Poor Father despaired of me when I showed a singular lack of talent for shipbuilding, but he encouraged me to pursue my own business interests, and when I finally commissioned a ship of my own, I named it after him, in his honor—though he didn’t live to see it. But he taught me to work hard, to take care of myself. This ship is a reminder of the man he wanted me to become.”
Etty stared at the toy boat, her eyes misting with tears.
“I didn’t know,” she said. “I-I can’t take this if it means so much to you.”
“Yes, you can,” he said, “precisely because I value it. It serves as a symbol of my father’s—your grandfather’s—determination to make a better life for himself and those he loved. It’s a determination that has passed to you, dearest daughter, and I hope and pray that your son inherits it, and grows up to be as fine a man as my father.”
He pulled her to him and placed a kiss on her forehead.
“And now I think it’s time I met my grandson, don’t you?”
Blinking back tears, Etty nodded, and, arm in arm, they exited the parlor.