An Unexpected Bride Page 11

  Henry smiled. “Yes, of course. But only if you will sing.”

  “Sing?” Eleanor’s eyes flew open.

  “I hear you each night with Arthur as you help him to fall asleep. I would venture to say your singing is the loveliest sound I have ever heard.”

  “It cannot possibly be.”

  He glanced upward, as if reconsidering it. “Very well. It is second only to the sound of Mr. Fifett’s compliments of my food and the huffed sound Mrs. Morton makes when she is offended.”

  A laugh bubbled out of Eleanor’s chest. Just days ago, the topic of Mrs. Morton had not been even remotely humorous. She put a hand against her stomach, surprised by the uncontrollable laughter that struck her.

  “Now I must amend my statement.” Henry’s smile grew wider. “Your singing is my favorite sound, second only to the sound of your laughter.”

  Eleanor’s cheeks ached as she pressed her smile down to a reasonable size. “I’m sorry. I do not know what came over me.”

  “You must never apologize for laughing and smiling.” He crossed one leg over his knee. “The world needs more of that. It already has plenty of scowls and frowns.” He cast her a sideways smile of his own, setting her heart kicking and pounding all over again.

  “Sometimes there are many reasons to scowl and frown,” Eleanor said.

  Henry studied her, sadness flashing over his face for a moment before a smile overtook it again. “When you have a reason to smile, take advantage of it. I have every reason to smile when I look at you.”

  Eleanor felt her cheeks grow warm, and she looked down.

  “First, you make me smile when you do that.” Henry chuckled.

  “Do what?”

  “Look down at your hands as if they are the most interesting object in the universe.” She had known him to be observant, but not so observant as this. “Or when you lift your chin with inquisition, as if you are offering an unspoken challenge.” He had leaned closer to her.

  Eleanor glanced up at him from under her lashes. “I am quite observant too, you know.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes. You have the most curious stare I have ever seen.”

  “A curious stare?” He raised one eyebrow.

  “Yes, just like that. You are curious as to what the ‘curious stare’ is, yet you are effecting it right now.”

  Henry laughed, resting his back against the bench. “Well, I am curious.”

  “Always. But you do not always ask questions. It is as if you enjoy the process of wondering.” Eleanor turned to face him more fully. “I suspect you ponder over many things in your mind but hesitate to ask questions because you are afraid of causing offense.”

  “There are enough people in the world willing and ready to cause offense. I do not wish to take part in it. I’m certain I have caused offense to more than one person in my life, but never intentionally, and I believe that makes all the difference.”

  “Surely Mrs. Morton was offended by our words last week,” Eleanor said. She threw a guilty glance at Henry, and he laughed.

  “I will cause offense to anyone if it is done to defend your honor. That is the exception.”

  She still could not fully comprehend why he showed such kindness to her and Arthur from the very first moment he met them. She stared at him, trying to decipher the answer in his eyes.

  “Is that the curious stare you accused me of?” He asked, eyeing her with suspicion.

  She looked down, taking no effort to hide her smile. “I was just thinking about what could have made you so kind. You are the most selfless person I have ever met.”

  It was his turn to look down at his hands. Eleanor’s heart skipped with admiration at the humility on his face, as if he were embarrassed by her praise. “My mother taught me from a young age that the best thing you can do to find your own happiness is to help others find theirs. The best way you can succeed is if you first help others succeed. The best way you can shine in society is if you give others the chance to shine first.” He stared at the tree ahead, as if lost in his memories. “My older brother and I have always been very different. My father never paid heed to either of us. Edward did all he could to get his attention, and when he failed, he sought attention elsewhere. My father was not pleased. I took my mother’s advice and spoke to my father often about Edward’s strengths of character, hoping it would endear my father to Edward. I did all I could to help Edward succeed, yet I found no success of my own. Our father did not care for either of us as a father should.”

  He turned his gaze to her. “Though I began to doubt my mother’s words, I have never stopped trying to live them. And I have finally seen the truth behind them with you and Arthur. It is my dearest wish for you both to be happy here. Since you have come, I have never been happier.”

  It eased a burden inside of her to hear those words. Henry was happy. He did not care about the disdain of society that she had brought him.

  Deep inside her mind, fear still lay in wait, prepared to strike at any moment. She pushed it away. What would Henry think when he discovered the lie she had been telling? How could he be happy then?

  “I am happy here,” she said, ignoring the gnawing fear in her stomach. “Arthur is happy here too.”

  “I am glad to hear it. I hope I do not still frighten him.”

  “Not at all. I believe you have endeared yourself to him quite well. His trust is not easily won.”

  Henry smiled. “I hope to be a good father to him.”

  Eleanor had no doubt that Henry would be. The hope of her future made her heart soar.

  For the moment she focused on the foreign feeling that spread over her heart, trying to recognize it. She could have sat on that stone bench all day with Henry beside her. The feeling pumped and pounded and grew, reaching to every inch of her skin until she could have no doubt over what it was. Hope. Happiness. Maybe even the possibility of love.

  Chapter 11

  “Have you found yer wife some ladies to converse with yet?” Silas asked after swallowing a swig of water.

  Henry had spent the early morning practicing his fencing with Silas yet again, besting him in each match, fueled by the hope that had begun to burn inside him. He smiled. “No, I tried and failed horribly. Mrs. Morton and her daughters had nothing but disdainful remarks to give. I suppose Eleanor will just have to spend more time with me.” Henry was not at all opposed to such a thing. They had spent most of their days together since that morning in the gardens, and he could easily envision many days just like it. Arthur was growing increasingly comfortable in his company too, and Henry adored the boy.

  He planned to find Eleanor as soon as he finished fencing, in the hopes that they could take the ride they had yet to take.

  “You aren’t falling in love with her are ye?”

  Henry raised his eyebrows at the bold question from his valet but couldn’t help but smile. “What is wrong with falling in love with my own wife?”

  “Well, that didn’t answer my question.” Silas combed a hand through his ginger hair, resting his elbow against the wall.

  Because he liked to irk Silas, Henry held his tongue, keeping the answer to himself. His feelings for Eleanor were altogether confusing, and he didn’t care to explain it all to Silas. He had never imagined that she would have the effect on him that she did, that she would give him so many reasons to smile, or that his heart would stall when she walked into a room. He had been hiding the answer from himself, afraid of acknowledging it.

  Henry had not entered into this marriage with any expectation of love, and neither had Eleanor. It was possible that he would fall in love with her. But what if, in her sight, he remained a simple guardian-figure or a friend? The thought stung, so he pushed it away.

  “Are you not going to tell me?” Silas gasped, pressing his hand to his chest. He waved a finger at Henry. “You needn’t tell me. I already know the answer.”

  Henry bit the inside of his cheek, picking up a towel and exiting the room. Silas
’s laughter followed him down the hall until the door swung shut.

  * * *

  Eleanor had never seen so many books in one place. She had decided to explore the library in more detail, hoping to find stories to read to Arthur. Over the past several days, she and Henry had met in the library with Arthur in the mornings, beginning to teach him the basics of mathematics, reading, and geography.

  Eleanor was learning new things about Henry every day. She had not known that Henry had a desire to travel. He spoke of all that he had learned about India, France, and Africa through his readings. The passage of time came unnoticed when she was with Henry, and Arthur quite enjoyed learning from him. Eleanor learned much from him as well, things she had never been taught in her youth.

  Eleanor had done all she could to teach Arthur when they lived in the North, but her own education had not been as thorough as she would have liked it to be, and without books to teach him from, he grew bored quite easily. She would never grow bored in Henry’s company, and neither would Arthur. When discussing a topic he was passionate about, Henry’s eyes grew wide, his voice deep with conviction. She found herself fascinated by his words.

  The dinner party at Pengrave was just a week away. While she was excited to see Adam, she found that she was not as impatient as she had been when his letter first arrived. She was quite comfortable here in her new home. Her old worries had begun to feel distant and untouchable. It was as if she were growing a pair of wings, set on taking her to new heights, new destinations, and giving her the strength to fly.

  And she owed it all to Henry.

  In her previous experience, a husband was a man to fear, to submit to, to be controlled by. Henry contradicted that in every way. Of all the things he had been teaching her, that was the most important lesson of all.

  She had never thought it possible to fall in love with her husband. The feeling was so new that she didn’t yet know what to call it. The expectation that had been set with their marriage at the beginning was that of a necessary arrangement. She had never expected to care so deeply for Henry. What if Henry did not care for her the way she had begun to care for him? He had told her that he cared for her, and she knew he did, but was it simply as a friend? An associate? At times it seemed that she was just something for him to protect, to watch over. Could his affection run deeper than that?

  It terrified her. She did not enjoy feeling so vulnerable. She had loved Mr. Quinton once, only to discover that his feelings were not the same. Not in the slightest.

  She perused the nearest bookshelf, knowing Arthur to be waiting for her outside. She had left him for just a moment in the gardens. Henry had business to attend to in his study that morning, and she had planned to meet Arthur outside where he would play and explore while she read.

  After selecting a book on botany, Eleanor made her way to the back door and outside into the warm summer air. She pulled her bonnet strings tighter, tipping the brim to better shade her face from the sun. With determined strides, she went straight to the gardens where she had left Arthur near their favorite yellow rose bush. As she rounded the stone path, she found the area deserted.

  “Arthur?” Her heart pounded. “Please do not hide from me.”

  She hurried forward, peering behind the bush. He was not there.

  “Arthur!” she called, checking behind the bench and behind the nearby shrubs. Her pulse quickened and her legs began shaking. Where could he have gone? She had told him to stay by the rose bush until she returned outside, and he never disobeyed her. Could he have gone farther out on the lawn to explore? As uncharacteristic as it seemed, it was certainly still a possibility.

  She carried herself into a run, threading through the gardens and back out to the more open area of the lawn. The stables were on the east side, followed by a copse of trees and a large hill that led to the path into town. She scanned the area, her breath quickening with fear. “Arthur!”

  A faint voice met her ears from the distance. “Mama!”

  “Arthur?” She ran toward the sound, unease settling in her stomach. The tone of Arthur’s voice was one of fear, and she had heard the tears behind it.

  “Mama!” he called again, sobbing. The sound was closer now as she ran across the lawn toward the trees. She glanced around frantically, searching for any sight of him.

  “Arthur, where are you?” She glanced upward when she heard the rustling of leaves. Arthur sat on a branch, far up in a tree, hugging the trunk. Tears streamed down his face, his cheeks splotched with red, his blue eyes round with terror.

  Eleanor pressed her hands against the bark of the trunk. “Arthur! What are you doing up there?” She had never known him to dare something as adventurous as climbing a tree. She had only left him in the gardens for a few short minutes. She noticed the scrapes on his arms. He seemed to have been in a great hurry to climb the tree.

  She measured the distance with her gaze. He was so high up. She couldn’t possibly reach him unless she climbed the tree too.

  “I need you to try to come down,” she said, reaching her arms up as high as she could. “Come down to that branch there.” She pointed at the one just above her arms. “I will lift you down.”

  Arthur shook his head, clinging to the trunk so tightly his arms trembled.

  She stepped back, taking a deep breath. “You must be brave, Arthur. Please try.”

  “No.” He shook his head, fat tears continuing their fall down his cheeks. He sniffed, his words barely comprehensible. “Grandpapa w-will come and get me if I—I don’t stay up here.”

  Eleanor’s stomach contracted with dread. “What?”

  “Grandpapa will find me.”

  Shivers tingled the back of Eleanor’s neck, and she jerked her gaze behind her. What could have made Arthur afraid of the elder Mr. Quinton on a day like today? “Grandpapa is not here.”

  “Yes, he is.” Arthur removed one arm from the tree to rub his nose. “He saw me in the garden, and I ran away.”

  Eleanor’s heart beat so hard it hurt, pounding against her ribs. Her skin grew cold. It couldn’t be true. Surely Arthur had been imagining it. “Did he follow you to the tree?” she asked. She couldn’t help but make her voice quiet for fear of being overheard by Mr. Quinton. She glanced behind her again. He was not here. He couldn’t be.

  “No.” Arthur took a shaky breath, his sobs subsiding slightly.

  “He was not really here. You must have had a nightmare.” She said it more for herself than for him, trying to calm her racing heart. Still, her gaze darted in every direction. She saw no sign of the elder Mr. Quinton.

  Arthur remained silent, hugging the tree with both arms again.

  “You must try to come down.”

  He shook his head.

  Frustration rose inside her. She couldn’t leave Arthur there while she searched for someone to help them, especially not after he had claimed to have seen Mr. Quinton. As implausible as the statement was, she could not help but fear it. What if it were true? What else could have frightened Arthur enough to hide in a tree?

  She paced in front of the wide trunk, considering her own ability to climb it. Perhaps if she could make it to the branch she had instructed Arthur to step down to, then she could lift him down to it, climb back down herself, then lift him to the ground from there. She was fairly certain of her ability to get to that first branch, and she had worn her lightest morning gown, the skirt full enough to allow for climbing, as well as her sturdy half boots.

  “Very well. I am coming up to help you.”

  She jumped and grabbed hold of the nearest branch, securing her foot on a knot in the trunk. The mottled bark dug into her palms as she pulled herself up, scraping the front of her dress in the process. She balanced on the branch, sitting as if on a side saddle.

  Arthur’s feet dangled just above her.

  She gathered her breath and her balance, tipping her head up to look at him through the leaves. “Come now, Arthur, take hold of my arm and climb down here.” She strugg
led to balance with one arm outstretched above her. Arthur looked down, his brow pinching, shaking his head again.

  “Do not be afraid. I will help you. You can do it.” She reached a little higher, but he still refused to take her hand.

  Exasperation boiled up inside her. What else could she do?

  “What is happening here?” Henry’s voice came from below, part amusement, part concern.

  Eleanor glanced over her shoulder. Henry stood just beneath her branch, staring up at her with a bewildered expression.

  “Arthur climbed up here and I cannot get him down.” She hadn’t meant to sound so frustrated, but she could not help it. Coupled with the dread and fear that Arthur had placed in her with his mention of Mr. Quinton, she couldn’t think clearly.

  Henry walked forward, turning his gaze up to Arthur. “Step down to the branch below you. Your mother will help you onto her lap, and I will lift you down.”

  Arthur’s expression seemed to calm, his arms loosening around the trunk. “But it is too far away.”

  “I think you must be a very strong boy if you climbed up there all by yourself. It should not be so very hard to climb down. That is the easy part.” Henry smiled, clearing the tension in the air with the gentle calmness of his voice. “Do not look at the ground, just look at me, or look at your mother.”

  Arthur looked at the ground anyway.

  His arms tightened around the tree again.

  Henry sighed, reaching his arms up toward Eleanor. Before she knew what he was doing, he had a firm grip on her waist. Realizing he intended to help her down, she gripped his upper arms. He lifted her with little effort, placing her gently on the ground in front of him. His hands lingered on her waist for a brief moment, his face very near to her own. His eyes bore into hers, and she had to look away, her heart leaping from a combination of exhilaration, fear, and sudden longing. Her gaze landed on his smiling lips, which did similar things to her already pounding heart.