Page 69 of My Kind of Scoundel

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Sailors stopped talking.

Shady figures froze.

A silence as heavy as a storm cloud descended.

“I—I beg your pardon?” Eleanor’s face turned a deathly shade of pale. “Whose sister? What secret?”

She looked so lost that Theo closed the gap between them and gently touched her back. “Emily will explain.” He beckoned the seamstress to offer some insight and prayed this wasn’t a cruel trick.

Emily wrung her hands and struggled to stand still. “I’m sorry. When I took the job at your shop I didn’t know we were related. The more you told me about your life in Eynsford, the more things slotted into place. I wanted to tell you. But I know how bad it felt when she ran away. I couldn’t put you through that, Miss Darrow.”

Eleanor swayed. She pressed her fingers to her brow. “But my mother died in childbirth. I have borne the guilt all these years.”

“I’m sorry,” Emily repeated. “She told me about you on her deathbed. She told me your name and about your house in Eynsford. That your father Henry was a bitter man. You were a babe in arms when she left.”

Theo slid his arm around Eleanor’s waist, and she saggedagainst him. He would have taken fifty lashes to ease her suffering. He would give everything he owned to make time move forward. For her to wake up months from now, free from pain.

Silent seconds passed. Eleanor did not ask about Ivy. She didn’t flinch when Jack Rogers scrambled to his feet. She turned to Theo, tears trickling down her cheeks, and whispered, “Please take me home.”

Chapter Fifteen

Eleanor walked a mile without uttering a word. Memories of the past flooded her mind, her father’s refusal to attend village fetes and church services, his constant demand for privacy. Was he afraid she would discover the truth? Had he feared she would run away like her mother?

Things might have been different if he’d been honest. It would have explained his behaviour and shown his anger stemmed from shame. He might have mellowed, taken a wife and had more children. The house might have been filled with love, not been as grim as a mausoleum.

She gripped Theo’s arm tightly, her fingers settling over his bicep. He was a pillar of strength. He did not speak or attempt to ease her pain. He instinctively knew she needed time to process what she had learnt.

“Thank you,” she said as they entered New Bridge Street and met the familiar smell of the river and coal smoke. “For not telling me what to think or feel. For not bombarding me with mindless questions.”

He touched her hand and smiled. “The remedy for chaos is peace. When the mind is quiet, a way forward emerges. You need to deal with this in your own way, in your own time.”

“I don’t know if what Emily said is true.” Why would Eleanor’s father play such a cruel trick? To lie, to deceive her for all these years. It beggared belief.

“If it’s not true, then Emily is not the kind person you championed. If it is, I would offer you one piece of advice.”

She looked into his calming blue eyes. “Yes?”

“Focus on what you’ve gained, not what you’ve lost.” He released a deep sigh, one carrying the weight of experience. “Loss ties you to the past. Trust me, there is nothing but misery there.”

Guilt had tied her to the past, too.

Every thought and deed stemmed from seeds sewn years ago.

“Life moves forward with or without you,” he added. “Don’t waste time trying to understand a person’s motives. It brings nothing but heartache. I’ve had to accept that my father was a rotten scoundrel.”

Talk of scoundrels made her think of Jack Rogers.

The man was a leech who lived off the hard work of others.

“Do you think Emily will be safe at home?” She’d heard the shocking revelation half an hour ago but was already thinking like an elder sister. “What did Mr Rogers say when you took him outside?”

Theo’s satisfied grin said the men had exchanged more than words. “He agreed to take her home and play the loving uncle. Should I hear otherwise, he knows I’ll be waiting for him outside the Red Lion on a misty night.”

His confidence was contagious.

He had a way of lifting her spirits.

A means of making everything right.