The Quilter's Legacy (16 page)

Suddenly the door burst open and Father strode in, his face a thundercloud. Mother reached for him, but he brushed her aside. “We couldn't find her,” he growled, “and none of the young men are missing.”

Mother groped for his arm. “You were discreet? We cannot have your inquiries stirring up rumors.”

“For God's sake, woman, we are beyond fearing rumors.”

“Abigail's missing?”

Eleanor turned instinctively, but she knew Fred's voice.

“This does not concern you,” said Mother, waving at Fred as if she could shoo him back up the stairs.

Father barked out a bitter laugh. “It is his concern. It was his horse Abigail stole.”

Fred and Eleanor exchanged a look, and she knew they shared the same thought. “Did you inquire at the homes of Abigail's girl-friends?” she asked her father.

Mother clasped her hands together, a new hope appearing in her eyes. “Then you believe her letter was meant to send us searching in the wrong direction? Then perhaps there is no other man. Perhaps all will be well.”

“Mr. Lockwood,” said Fred, “I will need to borrow a horse. I know where we should continue the search.”

The men left too quickly for Eleanor to call Fred back. Regardless of the consequences to the family, Eleanor did not want Fred to assist in Abigail's recapture.

E
leanor half expected Mother to take to her bed, but instead she set herself to the task of keeping the Corvilles ignorant of Abigail's flight. Mother hid the letter and the necklace and instructed Harriet and Eleanor to say that Father, Fred, and Abigail had gone riding to see if Abigail approved of the horse the Bergstroms intended as their wedding gift.

Eleanor remained silent rather than lie, but Mother's explanation was enough to satisfy the Corvilles. After breakfast, Edwin and his father went into the city on business and Mother amused Mrs. Corville in the parlor. Eleanor withdrew to her study, but she was too heartsick to quilt, so she sat in the window seat and watched the front gates. Some time later, Edwin and his father returned from their errand; surely when they found Abigail still gone, they would grow suspicious. The Drury estate was close enough that Father and Fred could have made the round trip twice by then. What could be keeping them?

At last, the front gates swung open and two riders on horseback approached the house. She raced downstairs and out the front door just as Father and Fred dismounted and handed off the reins to a stablehand. Father stormed past Eleanor and into the house without a word, more furious than she had ever seen him.

“Was Abigail with Mr. Drury's daughter?” she asked Fred.

“No. She was with Mr. Drury.”

For a moment Eleanor did not understand, then the shock of it struck her. She placed her hand on her heart and took a deep breath. “Are they married?”

“They will be before the day is out. Your father and I convinced him it would be prudent to do so.”

Eleanor sank down upon the top step. “Oh, Abigail.”

Fred climbed the stairs and sat beside her. “She asked me to give you a message. She begs your forgiveness and hopes you will call on her at her new home when the uproar has settled down.”

Eleanor let out a bleak laugh. “Once again she asks for my forgiveness.”

“She must realize what a scandal she's created. She left you here all alone to deal with the consequences.”

“She and Mr. Drury will have consequences of their own to face.” But at least Abigail would have a home, and the affection of the man she loved, while the Lockwoods would be ruined. “And poor Edwin. She should have told him. Leaving him like this is cruel.”

“I'll tell him.”

“No, Fred.” She placed a hand on his arm to stop him from rising. “It should be someone from the family.”

“I saw your sister at the Drury place often. I should have realized what was happening, but I didn't. Let me at least do this much.”

Wordless, Eleanor nodded. Fred went into the house.

Eleanor hugged her knees to her chest and wondered what to do next. She dreaded going inside and facing the ugly scenes that were sure to unfold. She closed her eyes and wished she, too, could leap on a horse and flee to the side of the man she loved.

There would be no wedding, she suddenly realized, no dance with Fred. And now that Father knew of Fred's deception with Mr. Drury's horse, no Bergstrom would be welcome on Lockwood property—if any property remained to the Lockwoods now that the partnership with the Corvilles would dissolve.

She waited long enough for Fred to deliver the unhappy news before returning inside. The door to her father's study was closed, but she found Mother in the parlor conversing in hushed tones with Harriet. They broke off at Eleanor's entrance. “Sit down,” commanded Mother, her face drawn but determined.

“Did Mr. Bergstrom—”

“Yes, he told Edwin, and somehow he managed to make the circumstances seem less dire than they are.” She sighed and touched her hair. “I suppose I ought to thank him.”

Eleanor frowned and sat down. “I suppose you should.”

“Oh, do be quiet,” snapped Mother. “Today of all days you must try to be pleasant.”

The front bell rang. Harriet leapt up to answer it, and returned to inform them that the dressmaker had arrived.

“She came to finish fitting Abigail's gown.” Eleanor rose. “I'll dismiss her.”

“I told you to sit. Harriet, have the dressmaker wait for us in the conservatory, then fetch Abigail's gown. I will meet you there shortly.”

Harriet nodded and fled from the room.

“Eleanor,” said Mother. “We must have a wedding.”

Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face.

“If Edwin and his parents agree, you will marry him in Abigail's place on Saturday.”

“Even if he does agree, which I sincerely doubt, there will be no wedding because I will never consent to it. Edwin loves Abigail, not me.”

“He is very fond of you.”

“As a sister, and I think of him as a brother.”

“Good marriages have been based upon less.”

Eleanor stared at her mother in disbelief. “It is incomprehensible.”

Mother's voice was acid. “Your father's business is so deeply in debt that without this partnership, we will not survive another year. We will have no home, no means of support.”

“Father will find other work,” said Eleanor, her voice shaking. “I will find work.”

“You? What would you do? Do you think someone would pay you to read books or stitch quilts?”

“Perhaps-perhaps Abigail and Mr. Drury”

“Absolutely not. We will take nothing from them.” Mother rose and grasped Eleanor by the shoulders. “You must fulfill the obligations your sister abandoned.”

“I cannot marry. You know this. I'm sure Edwin knows.”

“The doctors have been wrong about you before. They thought you would die as a child, and yet here you are, as well and strong as any of us.”

“That is not true.”

“You are healthy enough for Edwin.” Mother squeezed Eleanor's arms painfully. “What would you sacrifice in marrying him? A life alone with your books and your needle? Edwin loves books as much as you, so he will spare you ample time for reading. He will come to accept your patchwork fetish as well. You will have a husband and a home of your own. Don't you want that?”

“Mother—” She did want that; of course she did. But she was not Abigail, and the idea that she could simply step into her sister's place as easily as donning her wedding gown sickened her.

“Think of the alternatives. You may enjoy satisfactory health for years. Do you want to spend them impoverished and hungry?”

Eleanor tore herself away. “It would not come to that. We have friends, relations—”

“You will see how much affection our friends bear us when we are ruined.”

“If I marry, it will be for love.”

“
I
married for love,” said Mother venomously. “And you can see what good it has done me. Never marry for love. Marry for position and security, as your father did. As I should have done. That is the only way you will not be disappointed. That is the only way you will receive exactly what you were promised.”

Eleanor could endure no more. She turned and fled from the room, but before she could reach the stairs, Father exited the drawing room and closed the door behind him.

“The Corvilles have agreed,” he told her. “You are a very fortunate girl.”

Eleanor gaped at him. “How am I fortunate?”

“You have narrowly escaped the shame of spinsterhood. Do you need any other reward for fulfilling your duty to your parents?”

“What of my duty to myself? And what of Mother? For years you have told me it is my obligation as the unmarried daughter to care for her in her infirmity.”

“Your obligations have changed. Once you marry Edwin, we will be able to hire a score of nurses to care for your mother.”

“You are both mad.” Eleanor picked up her skirts and fled to the sanctuary of her study. Once inside, she locked the door and barred it with a chair. She felt faint. She lay on the sofa and buried her face in her hands, anguished. Now she understood the reason behind Abigail's apologies. Abigail must have anticipated how her decision would affect her sister. She had known, and yet she had still run off.

A knock sounded on the door. “Eleanor, it's me.”

“Edwin.” Eleanor rose and opened the door. Edwin stood in the hallway with his hands in his pockets. “Oh, Edwin, I'm so sorry.”

He tried to smile. “Was the prospect of marrying me so horrifying that she had to run off without a word? And for a man twice her age.” He shook his head. “I thought she loved me. She never said so, but I assumed she was just being modest. I found it charming. She agreed to marry me, so I assumed she loved me.”

“Of course you did,” said Eleanor, though she had long known the truth. “Anyone would have.”

He nodded and looked off down the hall. “I suppose.” He cleared his throat. “I do wish her well. I hope she will be happy with the life she has chosen.”

Eleanor's heart went out to him. “That's very generous of you.”

“Generosity is a fine quality in a husband, or so I am told.”

“Then you've spoken to my father.”

He nodded.

“Edwin, surely you don't wish to marry me. I am not my sister.”

“I know that, but I am very fond of you. We have much in common—more, I think, than Abigail and I had. I would be a good and faithful husband, Eleanor. I will provide for you and your family, and when the time comes, I will ensure the stability and growth of the business your father founded.”

“In other words, you want my inheritance, not me. I thought better of you than that.”

“Don't think ill of me for promising to safeguard my wife's fortune. That's all I meant.” He reached for her hands, and with some misgivings, Eleanor allowed him to take them. “I've been nearly a part of your family for years, long enough, if you'll forgive me for saying so, to know there are no other suitors. We are friends now, and I'm confident we will grow to love each other deeply in time.” He caught her eye and smiled. “I've heard that can happen, haven't you?”

Eleanor thought of Mother and shook her head. “How can I simply step into my sister's role as if I were an understudy in a play? Won't you be ashamed to stand with me at the altar before those hundreds of people because the sister you wanted ran off with another man?”

“Far less ashamed than I would be to notify those same hundreds that there will be no wedding at all,” said Edwin. “We both have a duty to our families. It is best for everyone if we marry.”

“I lack your confidence.”

“Then why not rely upon my judgment? We have nothing to lose and a great deal to gain.”

“I usually prefer to rely upon my own judgment,” said Eleanor, knowing they had a great deal to lose. But she could not find words to tell him it was out of the question. He had borne too much humiliation that day. She could decline tomorrow, and perhaps, after the immediate pain of Abigail's flight had lessened, Edwin would see their circumstances more rationally. In the light of a new day, Eleanor's refusal would come as a relief.

“I cannot answer you now,” she said.

“Of course not. You need time to grow accustomed to the idea, to discuss the situation with your parents.”

Eleanor nodded, although she wanted nothing less. Her mother's words still haunted her. Eleanor yearned for a husband, a family, a home of her own—but she did not wish to obtain them under these circumstances. Nor was Edwin the man who had figured in her wistful imaginings.

Still, she had learned to compromise in other difficult situations. All her life, she had been forced to make do with the scraps she was given. She had even managed to piece together some contentment for herself.

“I will give you my answer tomorrow,” she told him.

He nodded and quickly kissed her cheek before releasing her hands and disappearing down the hallway. Eleanor shut the door and leaned back upon it, closing her eyes. She wished she could run to Miss Langley's embrace and pour out all her grief and worry as she had done as a child. If Miss Langley were here to offer advice, she would tell Eleanor to do what was right. But what was right?

A knock on the door startled her out of her reverie. “I told you I would give you my answer tomorrow,” she said.