Chapter Thirty-Three

 

Eleanor stared out the window of the study, her heart never lighter. Her Annabel, dressed in white and holding a white rose, stood beside Lord Edward Wolcott. The gaze they had for one another was much like that which Eleanor had shared with Charles many years ago. However, the two who stood in the garden today had a much brighter future ahead of them, of that Eleanor was certain. She had been blind with what she thought was love back then, but now she recognized it for what it was—a way to leave a home with a mother who cared nothing for her.

Shaking the past from her mind, she smiled. The last of her daughters was married. Now she had only Nathanial to come of age so he, too, could find a bride. And just as her daughters, she wished him to marry for love and not for power or convenience.

“Lady Lambert?”

Eleanor turned to Reverend Creassey, who had been waiting patiently behind her. The fact he had to wait made little different to Eleanor. Let him wait.

“I did as you requested,” the man said. “Does everything meet your approval?”

She glanced down at the documents, which included the marriage license. The vicar had placed an earlier date that would reflect what she had told Lord Agar; for a fee, of course. “Yes, they are perfect, thank you.”

The man chuckled. “My generosity is not paid in thanks, my lady,” he said, his voice as slick as oil. “We had an agreement.”

How she despised this man! However, he could be of use when she needed him. “Yes, we did.” She pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out a small locked box. Reverend Creassey was many things, and nearly all of what he was disgusted her. Yet, she had no choice but to pay the man in order to save Annabel from being forced to marry Lord Agar.

Counting out several notes, she handed them to the vicar, who had the audacity to count them in front of her!

With a nod, he placed them inside his coat pocket. “I married you and Charles,” the man said. “I was there when he took away the very daughter wed today.”

It took every ounce of her being not to throttle the man where he stood. “And you profited through it all,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. “I do find it interesting how your acts are never those to benefit the church. Do you not feel any sense of shame that you do nothing in the name of mercy?”

“My motives have no bearing,” the vicar said with a laugh. “I am the only person who can right the wrongs of those in my flock, the only one who can forgive the deeds of the sinner. Your husband carried out many unscrupulous deeds. I wonder if you are aware of how many he confided in me.”

“Whether I am or am not aware should make no difference to you,” Eleanor said. “And I no longer wish to discuss them, or him for that matter. Now, if you will excuse me, I must speak to my daughter and son-in-law.”

“There is one more thing,” Reverend Creassey said. “Lord Lambert confessed much to me before his death.” The man barked a malevolent laugh. “Do not worry; I would not remain in business if my tongue betrayed those secrets.”

Eleanor closed the box containing the money with a resounding clap. “Then what is it you want? Why bother to mention these secrets if you do not wish to divulge them?”

“I simply want to give you the opportunity to do what your husband often did.” His eyes traveled greedily to the box. “To confess your sins. Your hands are stained, my lady, and for a hefty sum you can be absolved of all you have done.”

Eleanor’s life flashed before her eyes, each scene blending into the next. Some moments were filled with happiness while others were drenched in heartache. A cruel mother who hated her, a husband who lied from the moment they met. Laughter, tears, anguish, joy. Deals made. Secrets kept. Blood spilled.

Yet, all of this was done not for her own benefit but for that of her children. Yes, perhaps one day she would be called to pay the price, the day she closed her eyes and never opened them again. But it did not matter, for as she had told Forbes, when it came to her children, Eleanor would do it all again.

“Sins?” she asked finally, a smile forming on her lips. “No, Ambrose, I have no sins.”