Eleanor’s hand tightened on the arm of her chair. “A letter? What kind of letter?”
“It’s from Prince Lawrence,” she said softly. “To Vera.”
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly, her face paling. When she opened them again, there was a mix of resignation and worry in her eyes. “I see. And what did this letter say?”
She hesitated, then continued, “It seems to confirm that the prince had feelings for Vera. Strong feelings. He... he invited her to leave with him.”
Eleanor nodded slowly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I always feared something like this might surface one day. I’ve always guessed that Vera and Lawrence had an affair from the few remarks I overheard my father say.”
“There’s more,” she added, her voice gentle. “Dale has been doing some digging of his own. He’s made a connection between the pendant that went missing during one of Lawrence’s visits and the one that Tori found in the dressing table at the theater.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “Oh, dear. This is… this is not good. Not good at all.”
She reached out and touched Eleanor’s hand. “I know. I’m worried about what Brent might do with this information. He seems quite determined to uncover every detail about the island’s history.”
Eleanor sighed heavily, her gaze drifting out to the street. “It was all so long ago. I had hoped… well, I suppose it doesn’t matter what I hoped. The past has a way of catching up with us, doesn’t it?”
“It usually does.” She nodded. “I know the whole prince story would add a bit of spark and interest to his writing about the area. I’m not sure what he plans to do with it.”
“He needs to just forget he ever heard about it,” Eleanor stated firmly. “There is no good in dragging Vera’s name through the mud. Or the Whitmore family’s reputation. Surely he can see that.”
“Maybe.” But she wasn’t as certain as her friend. If Brent could find all this out, so could another researcher who was diligent enough. If Brent published his book on the history of the area and left this information out, and someone came along later and published the information, it could look like Brent wasn’t quite the authority he made himself out to be.
“As if it wasn’t enough that Cliff, that fool son of mine, wants to put up a high-rise at the end of the boardwalk and most of the town is furious with him, now this—gossip—might be revealed. Neither should happen.” Eleanor’s eyes flashed with anger.
Her friend might be right, but she wasn’t sure Eleanor would be able to stop either one from happening.
Eleanor sat on her porch long after Darlene left. Her fingers absently tapped the arm of her chair. The rhythm helped her think, to sort through the tangled knot of secrets and half-truths that had been woven around the Whitmore family name. The shadows crept across the lawn, but she hardly noticed the passage of time. Her mind was consumed with all Darlene had shared.
And, of course, there were also the letters found in Jenna’s house. Thank goodness Brent had no idea about them. The correspondence pointed to an affair between Vera and Lawrence, but it was all speculation, wasn’t it? Events from a distant past, buried by time and fading memories.
But the possibility of an affair between Vera and Lawrence was all too real. It was all too much, too close to home. She’d long suspected something had happened between them, but suspicion was far different from proof.
Had Vera had an affair? Had she gone after what she wanted, even if it meant being cast aside by her family? Had she been foolish enough, strong enough, brave enough, to do it anyway?
A pain stabbed at her heart. She herself hadn’t been that strong. Strong enough to choose what she wanted for her life instead of what her family had expected of her.
She shoved those thoughts far away. The problem now was Vera. Had her great-aunt thirsted for a life beyond the confines of their small island? Had her desires led her straight into the arms of a prince? And if so, what had become of their alleged affair?
She sighed heavily, her gaze fixed on a bloom on the magnolia tree. It was all in the past, wasn’t it? Just speculation and gossip from a bygone era. But even as she tried to convince herself of this, a nagging worry persisted. If word got out, if more people started digging…
No. She couldn’t allow that to happen. The Whitmore name had to be protected, no matter the cost. She straightened in her chair, decision made. She would go to Brent herself and convince him to drop this line of inquiry, to leave the past where it belonged.
Rising slowly, she smoothed down her dress and gathered her resolve. She’d lived with secrets for so long. What was one more conversation to ensure they stayed buried?
“Winston, time for you to go inside. I have an errand to run.” She let the dog slip inside and she turned around. As she made her way down the porch steps, she rehearsed her arguments in her head. It was all conjecture, after all. No self-respecting historian would publish something without concrete proof. And even if Brent had found some evidence, surely he could be made to see reason. The potential harm to living people, to families who had called Magnolia Key home for generations, surely that would give him pause.
He needed to understand the gravity of the situation and the possible consequences of his actions. She would make him see reason, one way or another.
Her steps quickened as she walked toward the Bayside Bed and Breakfast. She had to make Brent understand. The past was the past, and some things were better left undisturbed. As she approached the inn, she took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation ahead. She would do whatever it took to protect her family’s legacy, to keep the secrets of the Whitmore family safely hidden away.
Brent sat on the porch of the Bayside Bed and Breakfast with his files spread out on the table beside him. The gentle breeze rustled the papers, and he absently placed a hand on them to keep them from flying away. He’d been poring over the documents for hours, trying to see if he could find any more information about Prince Lawrence.
As he reached for his glass of iced tea, a movement caught his eye. Miss Eleanor approached the B&B, her strides purposeful and her expression determined. He looked left and right, hoping to see Darlene and hoping Miss Eleanor was coming to see her, even though the woman looked straight at him.
“Mr. Dunn. I’d like a word with you.” She climbed the stairs in front of him.
Nope, it was him. She was here to see him. He straightened in his chair, sensing this wasn’t a casual visit.
