An Unexpected Bride Read online

  “Have you received any further threats from Mr. Quinton?” The barrister asked, keeping his voice low.

  Eleanor glanced at Henry, but he sat across the table, engaged in a conversation with Edward. He did not notice Mr. Harrison’s question. She clasped her hands together under the table, trying to ignore the sense of dread that the barrister’s question imposed. “No, I have not. I believe he might have given up his efforts to take Arthur.” She had been telling herself he had, if only to cope with her fear.

  “I hope you are right. At any rate, you are well protected with Mr. Beaumont as your husband.”

  She nodded, catching Henry’s eye from across the table. His brow creased with concern, as he likely noticed the worry that had fallen over her own features.

  “You have nothing to worry yourself over, Mrs. Beaumont.” Mr. Harrison smiled, the friendly expression putting her at ease, if only for the moment. She was still unsettled by the worry she had seen in Adam. What was he hiding from her?

  When the entire meal had been served and the apple tart eaten, Eleanor and the other women removed to the parlor while the men stayed back for their port. She found herself clutching at the fabric of her skirts, impatiently waiting for Henry and Adam to return.

  Chapter 14

  The ambiance of the dining room was drastically different without the presence of the women. Henry sipped from his cup, eager to return to Eleanor’s side. She had appeared worried over something, and he wanted to ensure she was well.

  Lord Seaford turned toward Henry, tipping his head to one side with curiosity. “I must admit I do not know the first half of what caused the marriage between yourself and your wife, but I cannot help but suspect a similarity to the circumstances that led me to my wife.” He chuckled. “Besides the fact that my wife did not wish to marry me at all.”

  Henry glanced at Adam. He must have told Lord Seaford at least a small part of the story. “What woman would not wish to marry a marquess?” Henry said, avoiding the question. Eleanor hadn’t wanted to marry him either.

  “Jane most certainly did not,” Lord Seaford said. “I cared for her much more than she cared for me. I still believe it to be true, though she argues to the contrary.” He smiled, and Henry found himself experiencing a pang of envy. Would Eleanor ever feel for him what he felt for her? There was still a barrier between them, one he could neither name nor hope to tear down.

  With Lord Seaford’s laughter, Adam set down his glass, turning to Henry. He had been rather quiet all evening, and still spoke in a low voice. “There is a matter of urgency I must speak with you about.”

  Henry raised his eyebrows. “What is it?”

  “Mr. Quinton sent another letter to my home, addressed to Eleanor. It arrived shortly after she married you. He warned her again to surrender her custody of her son.”

  Dread pooled in Henry’s stomach. He had hoped the man had given up.

  “I knew he would not find her, so I responded to the letter simply stating that she never arrived at our residence, and that she was now remarried. He hinted quite clearly in the letter that he still held her in suspicion for her late husband’s death. I did not wish to worry Eleanor over it, but I thought you should know.”

  Henry’s mind raced. He had always been curious as to what truly happened to Eleanor’s late husband, but he had known the topic to be one that made Eleanor distant. He thought of their conversation, just a few days before. He had told her she had done nothing wrong. A cold sensation settled between his shoulders when he recalled her response.

  You have done nothing wrong.

  Yes, I have.

  He rubbed his forehead, his heart picking up speed. Had Eleanor killed Mr. Quinton? No. He refused to believe it. She was not a murderer. Even if the man had been so cruel as to hurt her, and perhaps he deserved his demise, Henry knew Eleanor could not have deliberately done such a thing. She was too gentle. He knew her character to be more noble than that. Then what had happened?

  Adam lowered his voice even further. “Has…Eleanor told you anything else about that day Mr. Quinton died?”

  Henry shook his head. “I know nothing.”

  Adam traced his finger in a circle on the table, his jaw tight, his features focused in deep thought. “Do you think the elder Mr. Quinton’s accusations carry any truth?”

  Henry’s heart pounded, his mind searching for another explanation. Eleanor had run away from the North in such a hurry, and when she had met Henry on her journey, she had lied about her husband still being alive. Had she been afraid of being caught for a crime? He refused to believe it. “I don’t know.”

  The rest of the table had fallen silent, the gazes of Edward, Lord Hove, Mr. Harrison, and Lord Seaford all fixed on Henry and Adam, apparently sensing the tension of the conversation.

  For the first time all night, Lord Seaford stopped smiling, his eyes settling on Adam with concern. He didn’t pry for information, but simply made a suggestion. “Shall we all rejoin the ladies in the drawing room?”

  Adam stood and Henry followed, stepping out the doorway behind the rest of the men. When they entered the hallway, Lord Seaford patted Adam on the shoulder. “You may discuss your matter in privacy.”

  “Thank you,” Adam said, taking a deep breath.

  They waited for the rest of the party to disperse before returning to the dining room table.

  Adam sat down heavily, running his hand through his dark hair. “I did not want to believe it to be true. I know Mr. Quinton was a terrible man, and after what he did to Eleanor, I might have killed him myself…”

  “Agreed,” Henry muttered.

  “… but how could Eleanor have murdered him?” Adam shook his head. “Still, it seems as though the elder Mr. Quinton’s greatest aim is to secure the child and his property for himself, not to have Eleanor punished for the crime.”

  “We still do not know for certain if a crime was committed,” Henry said. “We must learn the truth from Eleanor.” He needed to find out. He had done all he could to earn her trust, yet she had still been keeping a secret from him. He did not know what more he could do. “I will find a way to speak with her alone tonight,” Henry said. “Perhaps I can convince her to tell me what really happened that day.”

  Adam stared at him for a long moment. “Are you certain she trusts you enough? Perhaps I should do it.”

  “She trusts me,” Henry said, only partially sure of his words. “She will tell me everything, I assure you.”

  Adam nodded resolutely. “Very well.” He stood, his face grim. “Let us make a plan that allows the two of you to leave the drawing room alone so you may speak with her. I would love to sort this out tonight before you return to Worthing. But if it is true what Mr. Quinton has accused her of, and he has a way to prove it, then she will certainly lose Arthur, and we both will lose her.”

  Henry’s heart seized, the pain surprising him. He could not lose Eleanor, no matter what.

  * * *

  Eleanor craned her neck over the women on the sofa beside her as the men returned to the drawing room. For a moment she thought she saw Henry, but it was only his brother. She waited, watching as each man entered the room, but Henry and Adam were not among them. What had delayed them?

  She met Lord Seaford’s eyes, who smiled with reassurance as he took a chair beside his wife. “Your husband and brother will be here shortly.”

  She stared at the door, hoping that shortly meant a matter of seconds. Growing up with Adam, she had learned how to decipher his expressions, and she knew how to judge when he was anxious. Tonight, he was certainly anxious about something. She glanced at Amelia, who sat near the pianoforte, her own gaze fixed on the door as well. She seemed eager to have Adam arrive as well, but she likely knew what it was that was worrying him. Eleanor was left to wonder.

  After several minutes, just when she was tempted to stand up and go in search of them, Henry and Adam entered the room, both their expressions solemn as they looked at her. Her heart thudded. Wha
t had happened?

  Thankfully, the chair to her right had been left empty. Henry crossed the room and took a seat beside her, throwing her a brief smile. She glanced at Adam, who had stopped in front of Lord Seaford, whispering something to him before sitting down nearby. What were they speaking about? Her curiosity heightened. Is this how Henry felt every time he looked at her?

  Lord Seaford smiled when Adam finished his whispering, addressing the room. “Is there anyone that would be willing to venture to the music room upstairs to find my wife’s sheet music? I would love to have you hear her latest piece on the violin. She has been practicing with dedication for weeks.”

  His wife threw him a look of confusion. “Might you send a servant to fetch it? You need not ask one of our guests.”

  To Eleanor’s surprise, Henry stood. “That is not necessary. I will fetch it for you.” He looked down at Eleanor. “Would you accompany me?”

  She nodded, finding it rather strange, as Lady Seaford had, that they were being sent on such an errand. She stood to take Henry’s arm.

  “Ah, thank you,” Lord Seaford said. “It is the piece on the stand beside the violin. You will not miss it.”

  Adam’s eyes followed them as they walked out into the hall. Eleanor glanced up at Henry as the door closed behind them, silence enfolding the empty hallway. “You have never been to Pengrave, have you? Do you even know the location of the music room?” she asked, raising one eyebrow at him.

  Henry shrugged. “I am not entirely certain, but it cannot be very difficult to find.” He seemed more nervous than she had ever seen him. What had he and Adam been discussing? They walked quietly down the hall until they reached the staircase. There was something odd in Henry’s posture, as if he were anticipating something, thinking deeply over words he hadn’t yet spoken. He glanced at her, his eyes heavy, his mouth firm.

  “What is the matter?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity. “You and Adam have been acting rather strangely this evening.”

  He held onto the banister with one hand as they ascended the staircase, and she trailed slightly behind him, studying his posture. Something was definitely wrong.

  He remained silent until they reached the second floor. The level was not as well-lit as the main floor. She could barely make out the features of Henry’s face when he stopped walking, tipping his head down to look at her. “I spoke with Adam in the dining room,” he said, his voice slow and deliberate.

  “What did you speak about?”

  Henry sighed, raking a hand over his hair. She had never seen him so uncollected before. “Adam received another letter from Mr. Quinton.”

  Her heart fell. The hallway seemed to close in around her. “What did the letter say?”

  “I did not read it, but Adam said it was essentially a repetition of the same threats he extended before. But with a greater emphasis on his…accusations.”

  Eleanor could hardly think, hardly breathe. “Did he mention that he knew where I was? That he knew where Arthur was?”

  “No. He seemed to believe that you had taken up residence with your brother in Brighton, but the letter was received weeks ago, so he could have discovered your location by now.” Henry took a step closer, his eyes boring into hers. “Eleanor. I need you to tell me what truly happened the day you left. I need to know what happened to your late husband. It will not take long for Mr. Quinton to take Arthur if he has a way to prove your guilt.”

  Eleanor pressed her hand to her stomach, feeling suddenly ill. She closed her eyes. No. She could not speak of that day. She could not tell Henry the truth. She saw the white curtain, the flash of red, all still vivid—too vivid—in her mind.

  “Eleanor.” Henry’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Please tell me.” He took her hand, and she realized how violently it shook.

  She heard Arthur’s scream, so clearly, almost as if it were happening all over again. Tears leaked from her eyes, spilling down over her cheeks. Henry caught them carefully with his thumb, patiently waiting for her to speak.

  Her eyes opened, meeting his in the dimness. His hand cupped the side of her face, his eyes pleading. How relieving it would be to confide in him, but how devastating it would be if he knew what she had done, if he recognized the danger she put his reputation in—if he decided he no longer wished to care for her and Arthur. He could very well annul the marriage. She couldn’t bear the thought.

  He lifted his free hand to the other side of her face, cradling it, his hands gentle, safe, and strong. “Please tell me.”

  She shook her head, her tears spilling between his fingers. “I cannot tell you.”

  Henry stared down at her, asking, begging something of her that she didn’t understand how to give. There was no uncertainty in truth, but there was too much uncertainty in speaking it in that moment. She had once trusted Mr. Quinton enough to tell him the truth of her dowry, a secret she had been encouraged to keep by her father. Mr. Quinton had used that truth to destroy her. This secret that Henry now demanded of her…what would he do with it? She couldn’t bear the thought of losing her and Arthur’s new home. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Henry and his good opinion forever.

  His voice came again, firmer this time, pleading. “Trust me.”

  “I don’t know how,” she said, the words mingled with a sob.

  “It is never too late to learn.” Henry tipped his head closer. His thumb traced over the corner of her mouth before brushing over her lower lip. She drew a sharp breath before Henry covered her mouth with his. He kissed her the same way he spoke to her and looked at her—carefully, adoringly. He kissed her with all the gentleness and cautious passion she had expected of him. She had never been kissed like that before. She had never been kissed like she was both fragile and strong, wanted and loved. Her heart felt as though it had both broken and healed within seconds, the soft touch of Henry’s lips causing a tremor within her, an awakening of the feelings she had been hiding from him and from herself.

  He pulled away too soon, pressing his forehead against hers. “I love you, Eleanor.” He met her eyes. “I will love you no matter what.”

  Her legs shook beneath her, her lips burning from Henry’s kiss. She knew he was telling her the truth. He did love her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, urging her to answer his question, to tell him all the truths she too had been hiding. She wanted to tell him how much he meant to her, how much she had come to love him, but she couldn’t find the words. She could not believe that she had once struggled to say thank you. Speaking of love was much more difficult, and speaking of that day she left the North was proving to be the most difficult of all.

  He did not ask the question again, but she saw it in his eyes. He wanted to know what happened the day she and Arthur escaped.

  For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to remember.

  “I told you that Mr. Quinton had no qualms about striking me, or hurting me, but he never hurt Arthur,” she began, taking a deep breath. She swiped at her cheeks, clearing the last of her tears. “Mr. Quinton died the very day we left Brighton.” She took a shaking breath. “And it was my fault. Mr. Quinton had been awake late drinking at the local assembly the night before. Arthur was fascinated by Mr. Quinton’s favorite pocket watch. Arthur sneaked into his room early the next morning, seeing that his father was still asleep, and took the watch.” Eleanor looked away from Henry’s face, afraid to see his reaction.

  “I—I did not see Arthur in time to stop him. He accidentally broke the watch as he was playing with it. I came out to the hallway just as Mr. Quinton discovered Arthur outside his room with the broken watch. He was furious.” She shook her head as a tear escaped. “Furious. I have never seen Arthur so frightened. I had never been so frightened. But then Mr. Quinton returned to his room, and he brought out his pistol.” She swallowed. “He was not in his right mind. He—he aimed it at Arthur and I pushed him.” Her tears began anew. “I—I pushed Mr. Quinton as hard as I could, and he fell back. The stairca
se was behind him, and the pistol fired as he hit the ground. He tumbled down the stairs and I knew,” she sniffed, wiping her cheek, “I knew he was dead. I covered him with a white sheet so Arthur would not see, then I packed our things as quickly as I could and ran. I did not want the elder Mr. Quinton to find us. I did not know what else to do.”

  Henry caught the next tear that fell, and the next, before pulling her into his arms. She rested her head against his chest, both relieved and shocked that he had not pushed her away.

  “You saved Arthur’s life. That is nothing to be ashamed of,” Henry said. “You should have told me sooner.”

  “I am not ashamed. I was just so afraid.” She had no other explanation than that. But she did not want to be afraid any longer. She did not need to be afraid ever again, not with Henry by her side.

  “You did the only thing you could have done,” he whispered into her hair.

  He held her until she stopped shaking, rubbing circles over her back. She would have stayed there forever, but Lord Seaford was likely seconds away from sending someone else to find his music. “Do you think Mr. Quinton will find us?” Eleanor asked, tipping her head up to look at Henry.

  His eyes flashed with uncertainty. “I don’t know.”

  “I cannot seem to forget that day Arthur climbed the tree.” Her voice was just a whisper, and it sent chills running up and down her own spine.

  Henry stared at her for a long moment. “You do not need to worry. There is nothing Mr. Quinton can do to take custody of Arthur. He is helpless. He has no way to prove you were involved in his son’s death. It was accidental. With my brother and Lord Seaford to testify to your character, Mr. Quinton will have no chance with the courts.” He brushed her hair back, giving her a soft smile. “Not to worry.”

  She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax. He was right. She had nothing to worry about.

  They found the music room without any trouble, taking the music from the stand near the violin as Lord Seaford had instructed. They returned to the party, the last of Eleanor’s tears dried. To excuse their extended absence, they claimed that the music room had been much more difficult to find than it actually had been.