Page 25 of The Lonely Hearts Guide (Bountiful Beaus #2)

Ms. Broussard’s Home for Bountiful Beaus. Elliot knew the home by heart, having spent the majority of his first year of life in the luxurious New Orleans mansion. From his bedroom in the Bountiful Beau wing, to the attic’s secret entrance, all the way down to the Creationist’s lair in the basement; Elliot knew every inch of the building. It had been four minutes since Elliot rang the doorbell, even so, no one had answered. It was odd, because Clarence usually greeted visitors within moments of the bell’s chime.

“Something’s wrong,” Elliot whispered. “I can feel it.”

Alexander squeezed his hand, his thumb rubbing against Elliot’s new engagement ring. Alexander purchased it before their trip, and Elliot had been beside himself most of the day. Looking over his shoulder, Alexander motioned toward the glorified armed militia he hired to ensure Elliot’s safety and freedom. There were ten men, each paid a hefty sum Alexander refused to disclose, telling Elliot his survival was worth all the tea in China. Elliot didn’t care for tea, though. He preferred Ms. Twylah’s decaffeinated coffee, brewed with little sticks of cinnamon in the coffee grounds.

Elliot placed the hand not holding Alexander’s against his back and sighed. Nine months pregnant, Elliot was forever exhausted. His achy ankles and a constant sensation of heartburn were relentless, never easing—not even when Elliot was in bed.

The door swung open, and Elliot tore his attention away from Alexander, expecting to see Mother’s butler, Clarence. Instead, Periwinkle Price stood in the doorframe with a smile stretched ear to ear.

“Thank God,” Periwinkle said, sounding relieved. “We’ve been waiting here for ages.” He took a step forward and tapped the tip of Elliot’s nose. “You need to learn how to answer your phone.”

Elliot arched an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

Periwinkle rolled his eyes. “I’ve been calling you for days, Elliot.”

Elliot blushed. “I dropped my phone in the sea. We were walking along the dock, and Alexander was wearing an outfit I thought would look much cuter clinging to every nook and crook, so I shoved him off the dock. I forgot he had my phone in his pocket.”

“I’m still a little annoyed about that,” Alexander said.

Elliot shrugged. “I got to look at your shorts clinging to your backside as we walked home. I have no regrets.” To that, Elliot snorted.

“For goodness’ sake,” Periwinkle groaned. “You’re due any day. If you waited any longer, she might have burst right through your skin.” He took a step back and poked his finger into Elliot’s chest. “I will forgive your inconsideration, because Arthur says you have pregnancy brain, but it’s still terribly rude.” Elliot opened his mouth, but Periwinkle didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Mother is waiting for you.”

Alexander’s eyes widened. “What?”

Periwinkle reared back his head and groaned. “Mother is waiting. My statement couldn’t have been simpler to understand if I tried. Why is everyone behaving as if I’m speaking a foreign language? You’re doing this to goad me, aren’t you? Well, I don’t appreciate—”

“Periwinkle,” Elliot said firmly. He knew Periwinkle was prone to the dramatics, but he seemed to be going out of his way to make the situation even more outlandish than it already was. “Mother fell into the sea. What do you mean, she’s waiting for me?”

“That was an adorable rhyme,” he said before whirling on his heels, motioning them to follow. “I suppose an explanation is in order, but I’ve got big plans for the day, so you’ll have to hear them straight from the source.”

“Who is the ‘source’?” Alexander asked.

“Big plans?” Elliot asked.

Periwinkle led them through the foyer, toward the grand stairway in the center. “The source is Mother,” he answered Alexander. “And my big plans involve cuddling next to Arthur Price and watching the good bears of Care-A-Lot.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Elliot said.

“It’s a cartoon,” Alexander responded.

Periwinkle paused halfway up the stairs and glared over his shoulder at Alexander. “The Care Bears of Care-A-Lot are not cartoons. They are a shining beacon of hope in these trying times. How dare you diminish their role in history?”

Alexander lifted an apologetic hand in surrender. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

Periwinkle winked at him before turning and skipping up the stairs. “You didn’t. It’s just terribly boring here, so I have to make my own fun.”

He led them down the hall, toward Mother’s office. Pausing outside the door, his hand on the handle, he said, “Mother has big plans.”

Twisting the knob, he flung the door open and rushed into the room. It was just as Elliot remembered from his time at the home. The walls were a dark shade of brown—warm and cozy, the way Mother liked to present herself. Framed photographs of her and her Bountiful Beaus lined the walls. There was a large desk in the center of the room with two chairs in front of it. Mother’s swivel chair was turned toward the window behind them, the back so tall, he couldn’t tell if anyone was seated in it. Elliot waddled over, taking a seat. But Alexander shook his head and sat, then patted his lap.

Elliot narrowed his eyes. “I’m nine months pregnant, and I am as big as a house. I would quite literally crush every bone in your body, and I adore your body far too much to harm it.”

Alexander snorted. “You may be nine months pregnant, but I’m still ten pounds heavier than you. I think I can manage.”

Elliot relented, hoisting himself up from the chair and taking a seat in Alexander’s lap. As usual, the moment he touched down, he felt an overwhelming sense of comfort. It was like coming home after a taxing three-hour shift at Twylah’s Sugarplum Treats, basking in the warmth of their little love nest. With the feeling still strong in his heart, he realized that sense of completion hadn’t come from their actual little cottage. It was down to Alexander Davenport; he was Elliot’s home.

Mother’s chair swiveled in front of them, and Elliot jerked his head up, gasping. For some reason, Honey Peppercorn was seated behind the desk, no longer hidden away behind the desk chair’s unnecessarily high back.

As was the case when last he saw her, Mrs. Peppercorn’s wig was styled into Mother’s signature Marcel wave. She wore an A-framed dress that looked similar to the ones Mother would wear around the mansion. Was she still keeping up the charade?

“Hello, boys,” she said with a cheery smile. “I was hoping you’d pop by for a visit.” She scowled at Alexander. “We’ve been trying to contact you for days, young man.”

“I dropped my phone in the sea,” Elliot said for the second time that day, blinking as confusion settled in. “Why are you here, Mrs. Peppercorn?”

"After you boys left, I realized no one could know about Ms. Broussard’s death. With her gone, there was no one left to man the helm of this ship. So, I continued masquerading as her."

“You’ve been pretending to be her all this time?”

She nodded, looking around the room. "At first, it was at the insistence of the beaus aboard the cruise. The ones who saw her topple into tumultuous waters. They came to me, Elliot. They circled around like little lost boys. ‘Mother,’ they said to me—because I was still wearing the wig, you see—anyway, ‘Mother,’ they said, ‘We need you more than ever.’ So, I soldiered on. As they say, Honey Peppercorn is no quitter—”

“Who is ‘they’?” Elliot asked, but Mrs. Peppercorn ignored the question.

“Along the way, I discovered something most unexpected. You know I’ve always been maternal by nature, baby,” she said, though Elliot knew nothing of the sort. He’d only spent a few days with her, but he didn’t point that out. “These boys needed guidance, love, and a firm hand. It gave me a newfound purpose." Her eyes softened as she looked back at Elliot and Alexander. “I know it might seem strange, but I feel like I've found my true calling.”

“Your calling?”

“Yes, Elliot,” she continued, her eyes shimmering with pride. “When I returned to the mansion in New Orleans, there were bountiful beaus aplenty, all hoping to learn the art of keeping a home. These poor souls had no idea how to maintain a household. They were lost, wandering the halls like chickens with their heads cut off. I took them under my wing and taught them everything they needed to know about cooking and cleaning with a cheerful heart. We had daily sessions where I demonstrated the art of preparing a meal with love, how to scrub a floor until it gleamed, and how to keep the mansion as immaculate as Ms. Broussard would have wanted.”

“That wasn’t necessary,” Elliot pointed out. “We only needed you to collect our things from our cabin on the ship and return them to us—which you never did. You weren’t meant to come back to New Orleans.”

Mrs. Peppercorn rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, Clarence was ready to blow the lid off this entire operation, so I had to improvise. He was going to call the police, so Rodolfo and I tied him up, then we held him captive until I managed to talk some sense into him.”

“And how did you manage to do that?”

Mischief showed itself in her smile. “By reminding him that without someone here to hold down the fort, the establishment would more than likely be shut down, and all the beaus disposed of. As for the beaus here, they were hesitant. I mean, when Ms. Broussard left for her cruise, she didn’t look nearly as stylish or chic as me, but when I told them I simply had a bit of cosmetic surgery to look like Bette Davis, my personal icon, they rolled with it.”

“You look nothing like Bette Davis,” Elliot pointed out. “I should know; Alexander made us watch All About Eve the other day. I hate to say it, but I believe this situation is strikingly similar to the film.”

“It isn’t, actually, but I’m glad you enjoyed the movie. As I was saying, soon enough, my beaus found joy in their routine, and their spirits lifted. Seeing them take pride in their work and become more confident in their roles made my heart swell with pride.” She looked down at Elliot’s tummy. “But I think of all the beaus currently in this home, I’m proudest of you, sugar.” She stood and grabbed a file folder. “There’s someone you need to meet.”

She led them down the stairs, which Elliot wasn’t terribly happy about, as his legs were still wobbly from his trip up them a few minutes earlier. Once they were in the foyer, she led them through the lounge, past the ballroom, into the library, and then toward the bookshelf on the far end of the hall. With practiced precision, she tugged at a copy of a book called The Right Side of The Rainbow by AnnaLeigh White. Once it was out of its place on the shelf, Mrs. Peppercorn pressed a small, black button. Through the walls, there was the sound of metal scraping against metal as the bookshelf opened. Snapping her fingers three times, she stared back toward the door leading into the library. Sure enough, moments later, Periwinkle appeared. He rushed to her side, beaming brightly.

“Yes, Mum?” he asked. Elliot liked that Periwinkle had found a true mother in Mrs. Peppercorn. At first, during their time on the cruise, Elliot thought he might like Mrs. Peppercorn to claim him as her son as well, but then he got to know Ms. Twylah. Elliot was sure she would allow him to call her Mom, but he didn’t know if he was ready to ask permission yet. Not until the wedding, at least.

“Be a good boy and take this book out back.”

Periwinkle cocked his head to the side. “Why am I taking it outside?”

Mrs. Peppercorn narrowed her eyes at the book as if it was the most offensive thing she’d ever seen. “You remember AnnaLeigh, don’t you?”

Periwinkle nodded. “She writes those books you won’t allow me to read.”

“Books no one should be reading,” she said with a scoff. “The woman wrote absolute filth.” She opened the book, her cheeks sucking in and puffing out, pooling saliva before spitting it directly onto the page. “Straight-for-you isn’t a thing. Make better life choices, AnnaLeigh. Well, she’s dead now, so I don’t think she’ll be making any choices going forward, but you know what I mean.” She handed the book to Elliot. “I want you to take this out back and throw it in the swamp. Hopefully an alligator will eat it.”

Periwinkle nodded once before clutching the book to his chest. He rocked up and down on the balls of his foot. “I’ll do it now.” As he whirled around, he hollered, “Arthur! We’re going to swim with alligators!”

Mrs. Peppercorn shouted, “Oh, no you won’t!” behind him, but he was too busy rushing out of the room to respond.

The mechanical sounds in the wall grew louder, and then the bookshelf retracted and slid into the wall, creating a doorway and revealing a flight of stairs leading down. Elliot knew where the stairs would take him. He was led there many times during his multiple reprogrammings. While he could remember the visits to Mother’s right-hand man’s workspace, he could never remember what happened after. He didn’t know the layout of the room or what was inside, only the way to get there.

She led them down a small hallway, toward a large industrial-style door. There was a keypad above the handle, and Mrs. Peppercorn typed a long code of numbers before the locks disengaged and the door swung open. She gave the door a proud nod and walked through, into the Creationist’s lair.

There was a single operating table in the center of the room, and large computer screens lined the walls. On each screen were various photographs of Elliot, as well as charts with lines and words Elliot didn’t understand. But there, right in the center of the back wall, was a streaming video that made Elliot’s heart slam in his chest.

On the screen Honey Davenport was curled inside what Elliot imagined was his tummy. He reached down and placed his hand on his stomach and, just as she always did, Honey leaned into the touch, pressing her face against Elliot’s palm.

Elliot slowly walked to the screen with her sleeping face displayed. Behind him, Alexander and Mrs. Peppercorn were speaking, but Elliot couldn’t hear a single word. All he could do was stare at Honey. The way she sucked her thumb. How each time a sharp twinge of heartburn spiked in his chest, she would tug the umbilical cord like she was trying to pull Elliot’s attention back to her. A pair of arms wrapped around Elliot’s waist, pulling him to rest against Alexander as they both took in the sight of their child.

There was the sound of a toilet flushing, then running water from a tap. A few moments later, a door opened, and a man exited the private bathroom, drying his hands on his trousers. He looked to be around fifty years old, and he had wild red curls in his hair. Tragic hair aside, he was a very attractive older man, and Elliot thought he looked like a bit of a father figure. Perhaps he was. If this was the Creationist, he was the one responsible for Elliot’s birth.

Without a word of introduction, the man approached the operating table, patting it with his hand. There was a small rolling stool beside the table, and the man took a seat. He was holding a manilla file folder, and as Elliot stared on, the man shuffled through the papers.

He patted the table again, not looking up. “Elliot. Now, please.”

Elliot shared a glance with Alexander, then with Mrs. Peppercorn, who nodded, smiling warmly.

“Go on, sugar. Hop up there. He’s here to help.”

The man looked up at her, arching an eyebrow. “I’m here because you stormed this home in the dead of night, stole my pet, and threatened to kill him if I didn’t do your bidding.” Though the accusation was harsh, the man sounded bored by the situation entirely.

Mrs. Peppercorn shook her head, scoffing. “Hogwash. You’re here because you care about these boys. You can deny it until you’re blue in the face; I see the way you look at them. They’re your babies, baby. You made them from scratch; there’s going to be an attachment there. Even if I gave you your little pet back, I think we both know you’d still stick around.”

Alexander leaned in, whispering to Elliot, “I don’t understand what’s happening right now.” Elliot shrugged, because he wasn’t too sure, either, but he knew better than to interrupt Mrs. Peppercorn.

“Then why don’t you just give him back?” the Creationist asked.

Mrs. Peppercorn pointed at Elliot. “Call it an insurance policy. Once we’ve got this all sorted, I’ll give you your precious pet. I’m not a monster, for God’s sake. He’s getting along with all the beaus upstairs.”

The Creationist’s hand balled into a fist, his knuckles going white. “You tell them, if they even think of touching him—”

Mrs. Peppercorn lifted her hands. “Enough. Enough of this.” She turned and looked at Elliot. “One of our boys needs us, sugar.”

“One of your boys?” Alexander asked.

“One of my boys,” she agreed, motioning for Elliot to sit on the table. “He’s going to run some tests and figure out when the best time to extract the baby would be.” Once Elliot was seated on the table, Mrs. Peppercorn took his hand. “Would you like to know the sex? I know you said you think it’s a girl, but we could ask him, just to be sure.”

“Of course, it’s a girl,” the Creationist scoffed. “That’s what Mr. Price ordered.”

Elliot jerked his head in Alexander’s direction. “I knew it! I knew she was a girl.” As excited as he was, it felt like he might urinate at any moment. “Honey Davenport, I must insist you ease the pressure you’re placing on my bladder. Please and thank you.”

“Honey Davenport?” Mrs. Peppercorn said, her mouth hanging open. “Is that . . .”

Elliot nodded. “We’ve named her after you. Without your help, I may not have made it onto the boat, and then we never would have found each other.”

Mrs. Peppercorn wiped a tear from her eye. “That’s just about the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” She patted the operating table again. “Come on, then. Let’s meet our little Honey.”

Elliot’s eyes widened. “Now? You’re delivering her now?”

The Creationist was still staring at his charts as he shook his head. “Tomorrow. Right now we’re just going to have a look at her.” He looked up from his chart. “Come on, then.”

Elliot shared a look with Alexander before making his way to the table. Alexander was right behind, and when Elliot tried to hoist himself up, Alexander lifted him from behind and placed him on top.

The Creationist rolled his stool around until he was seated in front of Elliot. “Go ahead and lift your shirt for me.” Kicking his leg against the floor, the Creationist rolled his stool blindly across the room, putting his foot down and stopping the ride when only inches separated himself and a small table. There was a silver tubelike device resting on top; he grabbed it, then turned the stool around, kicked the floor, and rolled toward them, once again stopping inches before impact. It was as if he had every square inch of the room memorized. Considering he’d been Mother’s right-hand man since the beginning, he probably did.

Elliot lifted his shirt to expose his bump. He felt mortified that Mrs. Peppercorn and the Creationist could see his bloated belly, because he truly felt as big as a house. Thankfully, there was no judgment or shame in either of their eyes, though.

As it had before, color faded from Elliot’s skin, creating the familiar window to his womb. The Creationist brought the tubelike device to Elliot’s tummy and clicked a button on the end, causing blue light to pour from the tip. The lights ran up and down through the window, scanning Honey Davenport, top to toes.

“There’s our girl,” the Creationist said, his voice taking almost an affectionate tone. He looked up at Elliot, and for the first time Elliot could remember, he smiled. “She’s beautiful, Elliot.”

Elliot stared down at her, observing the look of peace radiating from her face. She had her eyes closed, the side of her face pressed against Elliot’s belly. “Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, she is.”

The creationist nodded toward Mrs. Peppercorn but kept his eyes on Elliot. “She’s right, you know. You’re all special to me. I’m proud of all my beaus,” he said, moving the device lower on Elliot’s abdomen. “But I think she’s my crowning glory. Broussard and I spent years developing the prototypes for hybrid children.” What little kindness may have been coating his face vanished, his demeanor growing colder by the second. “Years that were almost wasted after you killed your former master. We already had one automaton go rogue and kill his owner, the last thing we need is a media firestorm. We’d be shut down, and all of our hard work would have been for nothing. Thank God Broussard called me and told me to handle things. If word got out—”

“Handle things?” Elliot asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means, while Broussard was on her ill-fated voyage, I was in Dallas, trying to clean up your mess. Do you know how hard it is to stage a crime scene without leaving any evidence behind?” The Creationist's gaze hardened. “When Broussard called me, I knew there was only one way to salvage the situation. I created a lifeless clone of you, Elliot. It was a hack job, at best, but it was believable enough to throw off suspicion."

“I don’t understand. Why would you create a clone of me?”

The Creationist sighed, his shoulders slouching. “Because you needed to die with him. If you didn’t, it would have left our home open to a host of legal woes and criminal investigation. Legally speaking, you’re dead.”

Elliot’s mouth hung open. He hoped it meant what he thought it did. He hoped more than anything it meant his time in hiding could finally come to an end. Elliot didn’t want to leave Sugarplum Island, but he didn’t want to have to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life. He wanted his family, friends, and freedom.

“Am I free?”

The Creationist’s head dipped up and down in a nod. “Yeah, Elliot. You’re free.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak, but The Creationist’s attention turned once again to observe the baby.