An Unexpected Bride Page 7

  Edward’s eyes settled on Henry again, the heaviness returning to them. “Do you realize the level of scrutiny you will be under? Society will wonder why you have rushed into such a marriage with a recent widow, one whose reputation is already far from intact.”

  “I realize that.” Henry said, though his understanding had not entirely bloomed until that moment.

  “Very well,” Edward said with a sigh. “It seems we have a wedding to plan.”

  Chapter 7

  Henry had always imagined his wedding day at the local church, with his friends and family flanking the road as his carriage drove off with his new wife, whom he would have deeply loved. The weather would have been warm and bright, without a single cloud to be seen.

  He was fairly certain this day could not have been more opposite.

  He and Eleanor were married by the local vicar in his brother’s drawing room. After a simple signing of papers and a brief word, they were declared man and wife. They hardly made eye contact. The rain had started while they were inside, and he and Eleanor and her son had to make a run for the waiting carriage.

  Henry had offered to carry Arthur, but Eleanor had been quite insistent against it. Henry also could have never predicted the presence of his wife’s child at his wedding, one who was now his stepson. It was all so very strange.

  When the footman closed the carriage door behind them, Henry wiped the droplets of rain and nervous perspiration from his brow. “Rain seems to follow you wherever you go, Mrs. Quinton. Er—Eleanor.” He glanced at her for approval, embarrassed that he had called her by her previous surname. She was now his wife. He was allowed to use her Christian name now, wasn’t he? She did not seem to be offended by it. They were married after all.

  His head pounded. Married? The idea would take a great deal of time to sink in.

  “And you always seem to be near me when it does rain.” She offered the smallest of smiles, but she appeared as nervous as he felt.

  “Fortunately, as you know, my estate is equipped with a warm hearth and a talented cook, one that I am told is the best in the county.” His intention had been to pull another smile from her, but it seemed she was incapable of smiling larger than a tight-lipped, simple twitching of her mouth. What was happening inside that head of hers?

  Arthur looked up at him from his place on the pink and white striped cushion beside her. His clear blue eyes were nearly identical to his mother’s in color, and his hair was almost as black. Henry had hardly heard the boy utter a single word. He appeared old enough to speak but seemed too shy to do it. His mother seemed just as shy in that moment.

  Growing up in the same home as Edward, Henry had always been more shy, more reserved, something of a shadow to his older brother. Henry could likely blame Eleanor’s late husband for casting a shadow over Arthur. The boy seemed to observe everything around him as if it were to be regarded with suspicion. It seemed he learned the trait from his mother.

  Eleanor stared intently out the carriage window, but watched Henry with quick glances, a wariness in her gaze.

  “I hope you will both be comfortable in your new home,” he said. “I hope to find many things to keep you both happy and entertained. How do you enjoy spending your days, Eleanor?”

  She seemed surprised to have been asked such a question. She placed a hand against her collarbone. “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh—well, I… I have not thought about that for a long while.” She gave him a shaky smile, one he recognized to be entirely forced.

  She had not thought about her favorite pastimes? “Do you enjoy music, painting, reading?”

  She shifted. “Well… life was quite different in Northumberland. I stayed inside with Arthur most days, and…that is all, really. I told him stories to pass the time and sang songs as well. We did not have any instruments, very few books, and no supplies for sewing or stitching. There was little to do except be in one another’s company.” She cast her eyes downward, smoothing back her son’s hair as he stared steadfastly at Henry, as if afraid to take his eyes away for a moment.

  A pang of sympathy struck Henry squarely in the chest. “Did you venture outside often?”

  “I’m afraid not. The weather was often too severe for Arthur at his young age, and we were not allowed—” Her voice trailed off. “We thought it best to stay indoors.”

  He found at least one explanation for her reserved countenance and porcelain white skin. “Do you like animals?”

  Eleanor’s eyes lifted. “We had a pet once.”

  Henry took note of that in his mind. He turned his gaze to the little boy. “Do you like animals, Arthur?” Henry was fairly certain the boy would be terrified of anything that moved.

  He sunk deeper into his cushion, glancing up at his mother before speaking in a soft, slightly raspy voice. “I wike tigers.”

  “Tigers?” Henry smiled, widening his eyes in an animated fashion.

  Eleanor gave another of her tight smiles. “Of the few books we did have, one documented the life of a tiger.”

  “I see,” Henry said, turning his attention back to Arthur. “I have something quite close to a tiger at my home. It is going to be your home too. Would you like to meet her when we arrive?” He had a neighbor with kittens, so that would have to pass for a young tiger.

  Arthur’s face grew even whiter, his eyes rounding. He shook his head. “I wike wooking at pictures of tigers. That’s all.”

  “This is a nice tiger. A small one.”

  Arthur clung to his mother’s arm, his chin beginning to quiver. “I don’t want to see a tiger, Mama.”

  Henry raised his hands. “I was only jesting. It is not a tiger. It is a kitten.”

  Arthur kept his face buried in the sleeve of his mother’s dress, a simple white muslin. Eleanor patted his arm, whispering reassurances in his ear while Henry took to staring out the window in silence.

  Blast it all. He had managed to terrify his new stepson within minutes. He raked his fingers through his hair, exhaling heavily. He had quite the task before him.

  * * *

  After what felt like the passage of hours, the carriage finally arrived in Worthing, pulling up the drive of Henry’s estate. Eleanor and Arthur did not have much in the way of possessions, so Henry noted that he would have to set aside funds for new clothing for them both.

  The estate had many books that would enable Arthur to begin his education, but he had little in the house that would appeal to a female. What did women enjoy doing? Growing up, his mother could often be found in the drawing room with a piece of embroidery or knitting. His estate had many musical instruments that Eleanor could learn to play or practice on. Before her first marriage she must have enjoyed other pastimes. It was as if she had forgotten who she had once been.

  He helped Eleanor down from the carriage. She touched his arm lightly before letting go. Before he could help Arthur down, she scooped him up.

  Henry felt entirely helpless. What had he done to make the boy so afraid of him? All he had done was mention a tiger, something which the boy had claimed to like. He took a collective breath as he led the way across the grass to the front doors.

  He had thought he might lead his wife by the hand, or even the arm after their wedding, at the very least, but Eleanor seemed quite intent to keep her arms crossed or hold tightly to her son, as if Henry might swipe him away. Did she not trust him at all? He felt as if two great pieces of glass were walking along beside him, capable of shattering at any moment. What had he gotten himself into?

  “Mr. Cranford, how do you do?” Henry said as they walked through the door.

  The butler took Henry’s hat and gloves. “Quite well. The rooms have been prepared for your wife and stepson.” He gave a polite smile to Eleanor and Arthur. The housekeeper, Mrs. Simmons, stepped forward to take Eleanor’s things. Henry had assigned the same maid, Mary, who had previously been a maid-of-all-work, to be Eleanor’s lady’s maid. She had been quite enthused over her new responsibi
lities, and Henry trusted her ability to make Eleanor both comfortable and fashionable.

  “At your service, m’lady,” Mary said. “Would you like to rest in your chambers?”

  Henry had hoped to give Eleanor a tour of the home upon her arrival. He was glad to see her shake her head. “I feel well rested, thank you, although my son might like a nap.” She glanced at Arthur, who gave a yawn in answer.

  “I have not yet hired a nursemaid,” Henry said.

  Eleanor shook her head. “There will be no need for one.”

  Henry hesitated. He hoped Eleanor would venture outside, socialize with other women, enjoy the things she had been lacking in the recent years. If she was constantly with her son, she would not have such privileges. He knew the importance of being a present and caring mother, as his own mother had been very caring and kind, but he also knew the importance of caring for oneself. His mother had been overwhelmed by him and Edward many times, and he could not blame her.

  “Are you certain? She would just be here to help with bathing and dressing Arthur in the morning and taking him to breakfast.”

  Eleanor seemed to consider it. “I suppose that will be fine.”

  “I will prepare an advertisement in town soon,” he said. “I do have a bedroom for Arthur, directly beside your chambers.” And his. Henry had moved his room to the adjoined chambers designed for the master and mistress of the house. He hoped it would not frighten Eleanor to have him sleeping just beyond her door. It seemed that everything put her on edge.

  Henry felt as though he were hosting two guests; the three were far from feeling like a family. He could only hope that in time they could. He remembered Grace’s words about love, how it was a choice. He did not think Eleanor was even close to choosing to love him. The first thing he needed to focus on would be to ensure she did not fear him.

  Henry was silent for too long, lost in thought. Eleanor began following Mary up the stairs, Arthur in tow.

  “Would you like a tour of the house?” Henry asked, or rather—spurted.

  She turned, her eyes round. “I—I suppose. Yes, I should acquaint myself with the property.”

  And your new husband. “Very well. When Arthur is settled for his nap, I will meet you here.” Henry smiled.

  Eleanor acknowledged his words with a small nod before walking up the stairs. He was thankful Mary was talkative. Perhaps she would teach Eleanor how to speak a little more. The moment they were out of sight, he exhaled, slumping against the banister. He could feel a headache coming on.

  Mr. Cranford cleared his throat, but it sounded something like a chuckle. “I wish you all the best of luck, sir.”

  Luck. It would take much more than that.

  * * *

  “I hope you’ll find this to your liking,” Mary said, smoothing her palms over the quilts on Eleanor’s bed. Arthur had begun exploring the room, babbling on about the smooth wood of the wardrobe and the soft velvet of the curtains. Away from the company of Mr. Beaumont, he had begun speaking again. “Mama! Wook! A bird!” He pointed a slim finger out the window where a robin had perched on the windowsill. “Is the tiger going to eat it?”

  Eleanor smiled, coming to stand beside him. “No, there is no tiger here.”

  His little shoulders slumped in relief, and Eleanor was quite envious of the motion. She had felt no relief since learning of her required marriage. The entire day had been extremely nerve-wracking and awkward. She could not seem to gather her thoughts around Mr. Beaumont, much less her words.

  “Let me show you to Arthur’s room,” Mary said, guiding them to the door. Arthur seemed quite comfortable around the maid already, having recognized her from their brief stay at the estate the week before. He seemed quite comfortable around everyone he met, except Mr. Beaumont. He was skeptical, and Eleanor fully understood why. It would take time for Arthur to grow comfortable with his stepfather.

  Arthur’s room was small, with a tiny wooden rocking horse in the corner near the window. Arthur stared at it, quite unaware of what a toy was. The only toys he had been given before had been ones that Eleanor made for him out of seashells and grass.

  “Sit on it,” she instructed.

  Arthur stepped forward, swinging his leg over the wooden saddle. He placed his feet on either side, holding onto the wooden handles so tightly his fingers turned white. Eleanor pushed gently on the back, letting it rock. Arthur giggled.

  “A precious boy, he is,” Mary said. “I’ll keep a close eye on him while you take your tour with your husband.”

  Her husband. It would take a long while before she was accustomed to hearing that. Her heart thudded as she walked out to the vast hallway. Her bedchamber was on the second floor, and she knew the house to have just two floors. She did not want her tour with Mr. Beaumont to take a long time. But how else would she become further acquainted with him? She had grown used to very limited communication with her late husband. She had avoided being close to him as much as possible, especially after Arthur was born. He had flattered her at first, apologized for forcing their marriage, claiming that he still loved her.

  Mr. Beaumont seemed intent on communicating with her. He quite enjoyed asking her questions.

  When she rounded the corner, she saw that he still stood at the base of the stairs. He greeted her with a smile. She held onto the banister, trying to appear unaffected as she descended the staircase.

  “What did you think of your room?” he asked.

  “It is very nice.”

  “If there are any improvements you would like to see made, do not hesitate to suggest them to me or Mrs. Simmons.”

  Eleanor thanked him with her eyes, as her tongue seemed quite intent to avoid functioning. Blast the man’s blue eyes. Mr. Quinton had been charming too. He had appeared kind and caring. She had later discovered it all to be an act. What if Mr. Beaumont was only pretending too? How could she ever know for certain? She reminded herself that Mr. Beaumont had not told her any lies that she could detect. He had not fed her flattering words or false praise. That was a good start.

  “We will begin with the main level, then the grounds.” Henry paused for a short moment before extending his arm. She took it, letting him guide her down the hall to the right. The halls were fairly bare, with few wall sconces and small tables. They walked until they reached a single door, and he opened it.

  “This is my study. I spend much of my time here sorting through the financial records of the estate and other similar boring matters of business.” He smiled, glancing at her face.

  “I would not say it is boring,” she said. “I often helped my father in his study. He gave me the responsibility of straightening his stacks of paper and securing them with clips.” Her heart stung a bit at the memory. But it was a happy sting, the sort of hurt that had shaped her for the better, not the worse. Those were the memories she allowed herself to dwell on—the memories that had pushed her through the darkest days of her life.

  “Do you miss him?” Mr. Beaumont asked.

  She blinked up at him. “Yes. Very much.”

  “My father died four years ago.”

  “Do you miss him?” She felt strange repeating his question, but there was a certain indifference in his tone that made her curious.

  Mr. Beaumont seemed to ponder over the question for a long moment. “Not as keenly as I am sure you miss your father. Mine did not give me very much to miss, I’m afraid. I rarely saw him.” His eyes flashed with hurt, but it was so brief, she was unsure she had seen it at all.

  He closed the door, leading her farther down the hall to the library. He pushed the doors open, revealing a room with a lofty ceiling, every wall lined with bookcases, each bookcase filled. A table and wooden chairs rested near the fireplace, with a large armchair near the window.

  “I think this would be the perfect place to begin educating Arthur,” Mr. Beaumont said. “I thought we might search for the children’s books and arrange a shelf just for him. He will be old enough to learn to read soon.
”

  Eleanor felt a flicker of hope as she watched the excitement on Mr. Beaumont’s face. Did he truly care about Arthur’s education?

  “We might even hire a tutor to school him, one trained in educating young boys.”

  Eleanor couldn’t hide her surprise. “Truly? You would do that?”

  “Of course.” A slight scowl had marked Mr. Beaumont’s brow. “I am his guardian now. I will do everything I can to ensure he is raised as any boy ought to be, with every opportunity he deserves.”

  A surge of gratitude enveloped her. Mr. Quinton had never suggested that he would give Arthur a quality education. All Mr. Quinton had cared about were his games and his property. He had never claimed Arthur as his own or shown any interest in him, except to threaten and frighten him for misbehaving, for speaking even a word or making a sound. Eleanor, he had always viewed as his property.

  Her troubled thoughts must have reflected on her face. Mr. Beaumont stared down at her with concern before he stopped walking, turning to fully face her. “I wish to make something clear to you,” he said.

  Her heart thumped. Did he have a set of strict rules too? She lifted her chin, staring straight into his eyes. “Yes?”

  “Not only is Arthur under my protection, but you are too. I will do all in my power to ensure your safety and your happiness. You are safe here, Eleanor. I give you my word.”

  His voice was deep and filled with conviction, his eyes fixed on hers with sincerity. She clung to his words, hoping with all her heart that they were true. She clenched her teeth against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. After years of being stoic, of keeping her tears inside in the face of mistreatment and sorrow, how was it that she could be moved to tears over a few kind and genuine words?

  She blinked fast, hiding the moisture in her eyes. At least Arthur was not here to see it. “Thank you, Mr. Beaumont,” she said, finally able to find those two very important words.