The man swallowed hard, then reached inside his coat. “It is for you, my lady, but I was told to give you these three messages first. You should read them in order.” He cleared his throat and glanced at Carden. “In private.”
Eloise took the three folded and sealed letters, which were only addressed with 1, 2, and 3. “Mr. Carden, would you please see that Mr. Saunders has a room prepared for the night?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Saunders began his protest, but she cut him off. “Mr. Saunders, we have had two days of remarkably early snow. It is a pure wonder you are not frozen solid. Who knows what the evening will bring. I suspect I will want to send a response to these.”
“Yes, my lady. I was told to wait for it.”
“Very well. Mr. Carden, please also see that his horse is tended to and that Mr. Saunders receives tea and supper with the servants.”
“Of course.”
“May I use your pantry for a few moments?”
Carden stepped back and ushered her across the hall to his small office. She sat behind his desk and rested the three letters in front of her, face down. The wax seals were blank, rousing her curiosity even more, and she used Carden’s paper knife to crack them open, her hands trembling as she unfolded the first one. Her breath caught as she recognized the handwriting.
Thursday, 20 October 1825
Pentney House, London
Ellie—
We are sending these missives by special messenger because it has come to our attention that previous missives to and from Kent have gone horribly astray. That is to say, Papa has been hiding them.
I have been writing to you, desperate to hear news from your new life, but have heard nothing. I knew you would write if you could, and I became concerned that something untoward had happened to you there in the wilds of Kent, and no one had told me. Papa still refers to my “delicate” health—by which he means the wickedness done to me—seemingly ignoring the fact that I am more angered than ashamed. He has kept me out of Eton until next term, and the day of my return cannot come too soon. Judith has become an unbearable prig since your departure, blaming you, me, and the planet at large for her lack of suitors. My personal explanation that it had more to do with her ability to whine about the smallest inconvenience and having a face like an emaciated sow was not well received.
Eventually, I overheard Papa say something to the countess about your letters, and I prowled his office while he was away until I found the box, which has now been delivered to you. It was filled with your letters as well as mine. I removed yours, of course, and added more of mine and those of Lord Robert and Madame Adrienne, which had been written but not posted, since we had not heard from you.
I have also included a gossip sheet for your amusement. I have circled the item that I know will bring a touch of ironic joy to you.
I suggest you might want to check with your aunt about letters that were posted to you over the past few months. I know dozens have been sent.
Please send a response via Mr. Saunders.
Your loving... Timothy
Eloise leaned back in the chair, a mixture of giddiness and rage swirling through her, a desire to strangle her father—how dare he!—mixed with an elation bordering on dizziness. Her hands continued to shake, fumbling as she unfolded the second note, tears blurring the letters as she saw the greeting.
Thursday, 20 October 1825
The Emporium, London
My dear Mouse—
When Lord Timothy brought word about the fate of your correspondence, I was both relieved and disbelieving of the perfidy of it. It is quite one thing to banish you from the city in a misguided attempt to protect your person and reputation. It is quite another to use subterfuge to prevent contact with those who love you. Someday, I hope to address this with him.
For now, however, much has happened that I know you would find intriguing. Letters in the box explain each in more detail, as I have been eager to keep you apprised of life in London, obviously without knowing the letters had been diverted. Here is my rudimentary summary—
In an attempt to spend less time in the cruel eye of Society, I have been visiting the estate in Maidstone. Your ideas about it are being put into place. Yes, I talked to Nora about the school Bill was supporting. We are expanding and combining.
Two of the boys who were liberated due to the raid came to the emporium, asking for work, which I, of course, provided. I had no idea that one was not, in truth, a child out of the rookeries but the son of a reporter forThe Morning Chronicle. The result is that a story of the help Bill and I have provided to some children—along with the plans for the Maidstone house—found a place in the paper. The Kennet name is now tagged with the pejorative “reform,” which has irritated Father and annoyed some of his Whig compatriots in Parliament.
I, apparently, cannot avoid scandal save a move to some island in the remote south seas. Possibly not then.
Regarding those scandals—in order to spend more time in Maidstone, I have begun transferring management of the emporium over to Ophelia. She is more than competent, already knows both sides of the business well, and is respected by dealers and staff alike. I will not be selling anything. Father circumvented the demands Makendon put in the marriage contracts in other avenues, and the result is that the duke withdrew the contracts and his agreement to my betrothal to his daughter. Yet another scandal, but Father and Mother both assure me that we will weather and recover, as the Kennets always have.
Not so much my face, I’m afraid. The doctor did what he could, but there was a great deal of damage on the left and the cut on the right had become infected before he could stop it. I do not yet set the dogs to howling although small children do stare in horror. Yet I retain a slight hope you will still find it somewhat appealing when we see each other again someday.
