An Unexpected Bride Page 9

  Her legs shook as she stood. She needed to be alone to sort through her emotions. She walked to the settee and took Arthur’s hand. “It is time we retired for the evening. Thank you for the meal and for—for everything.”

  Henry smiled up at her, and the wick in her chest caught fire once again. How could he affect her so much with a simple smile? She felt she hardly knew the man. She cursed her pounding heart, attempting to appear unaffected.

  “Please, do not thank me,” he said. “All that is mine is all yours. Never hesitate to ask for anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  He glanced up, a teasing glint in his eye. “I said you need not thank me.”

  Eleanor smiled. “Right. I am sorry.”

  “You need not apologize for thanking me either.”

  She bit her lip. “Good heavens, I have a lot to learn, don’t I?”

  He chuckled, a deep, musical sound. She wished it would never stop. She loved to laugh but had not found a reason to laugh in a long while.

  Henry patted Arthur’s back as he stood, standing up beside him. Eleanor was reminded yet again of how very tall Henry was, how broad his chest and shoulders were, and the faint smell of soap and fresh linen on his clothes. “I will walk you both to your rooms.”

  Henry picked up the nearby candlestick and led the way. Eleanor followed Henry down the hall and up the stairs. The house, in all its vast hallways, had an eerie feeling at night. She had never spent a night in such a large house. And this house was hers. It would take a long time for that thought to fully sink in, as well as the thought that Henry was hers.

  They entered Arthur’s room, where the bed had been remade. Henry’s candle provided just enough light to see a faint outline of the rocking horse by the far window.

  Eleanor turned to Henry. “He needs me here when he falls asleep. He gets quite frightened, and I do not know how he will be in a new house.”

  Henry nodded. “Your room is just across the hall, as you already know.” He gave a small smile. “Do not hesitate to call Mary with any assistance you may need. She has unpacked your things and arranged them in your room. I hope it all is to your liking.”

  “I am sure it will be.” She refrained from thanking him, knowing it would bring about another round of teasing.

  Henry turned to Arthur, bending down to put his hand on his shoulder. “Goodnight.”

  Arthur smiled, just a shy lift of his lips. “Goodnight.”

  Henry straightened, his gaze meeting Eleanor’s. “Goodnight.”

  Her voice sounded so weak and soft next to Henry’s strong one when she said goodnight back.

  Henry set the candle on the table beside Arthur’s bed, leaving them with one last smile as he closed the door behind him. Eleanor stared at the closed door for several seconds before beginning her search for Arthur’s night clothes among his unpacked trunk. After helping him get ready for bed, she tucked him beneath his blankets.

  “What do you think of your new home?” Eleanor asked, folding the blanket beneath his chin. He pressed his chin down, keeping his neck away from her fingers. He had always been a ticklish one.

  “I wike it,” he whispered.

  “Do you like Mr. Beaumont?” Eleanor asked. She held her breath.

  A small smile spread onto Arthur’s cheeks. “Yes.” He rolled onto his side, nestling into his pillow. He yawned. “Will you sing me a song?” His request had come often, but for the first time, it had not come with any indication of fear, of a need to be comforted.

  She smoothed back his dark hair, running her fingertips over his closed eyelids as she sang.

  Hush, rest your head

  The rain will end

  The cracks will mend

  The clouds will part

  Rest aching hearts.

  Hush, close your eyes

  The sun will rise

  The robin sings

  Of happy things

  Of days ahead.

  Hush, fall asleep

  The past we’ll keep

  Let future reap

  A spring to hold

  A joy like gold

  Chapter 9

  Henry heard Eleanor singing almost every night, a tune he had never heard before. He had never been one for eavesdropping, but he had listened to every word. Among Eleanor’s growing list of fine attributes, Henry could now add singing.

  A week had passed since their wedding, and he felt he was finally coming to know her a little better. Their conversations mostly consisted of matters of business as he taught her about the estate and the income it brought in, and the responsibilities she would have as hostess. They planned to invite her family to come for dinner often, and he hoped to introduce her to the neighbors as soon as she was comfortable.

  He rarely saw Eleanor outside of meal times, for she and Arthur often explored the grounds and house without him. He did not need an invitation, but he would have liked one. He felt bothersome to request to join them. They were adjusting to their new home, and he needed to stay out of it. He simply wished Eleanor would care to see him. He had not realized his frustrations on the matter until he had come to his fencing room that morning.

  He raised his epee and advanced on his opponent, Silas, his valet.

  This fencing match took even less time than usual, considering Henry always fought harder when there was a great deal on his mind. He disarmed Silas within two minutes, driving him against the wall and pressing the tip of his epee against his chest. Silas lifted his mask, a broad grin on his face.

  “You’ve gotten better, sir. I wish I could give ye more of a fight.” He wiped a bead of perspiration from his forehead. “Yer brother’s the only one I’ve seen give ye a challenge.”

  Henry smiled, lifting his own mask. Even so, Henry could count less than five times that Edward had bested him. Fencing had always been Henry’s talent.

  Here at his estate in Worthing, Silas had proved the best competitor of all Henry’s servants, and an even better friend and confidant. Henry had known Silas growing up in Brighton. Born to a lower-class family, Silas had been in search of work. When Henry inherited the estate, he had offered Silas a position as valet.

  “How does yer wife like the house?” Silas asked.

  Henry rubbed one side of his face. “I—I believe she likes it. In truth, I cannot entirely decipher her opinions. She rarely speaks them. She is a very difficult woman to understand.” Henry could not put it any other way. Eleanor was difficult to understand, and so was the draw he felt to her. At one moment she was detached and distant, and at another, she smiled and appeared comfortable. He wanted her to always feel the latter, but he did not know how to put her at ease. Surely so much change was difficult for her to bear. It was difficult for him. He wanted Arthur to feel comfortable with him too, and it seemed he was already making progress on that matter.

  “Does yer wife like you?” Silas asked. His freckles seemed to move when he smiled, dancing along with the teasing glint in his eyes.

  “What is not to like?” Henry smiled, stretching his neck and setting down his epee. He took a drink of water from his cup as Silas chuckled.

  Henry sighed. “In truth, I do not know. I cannot read her opinions if she will not state them aloud. Her face is of a most…stoic sort.” Stoic, but still lovely. The few glimpses he had seen of her smile had left him rather battered. He wondered how she would appear with a full smile, not just a whisper of one. He could not blame her for being stoic. She had endured so much. She had every right to be afraid and to be cautious. All he could do was be patient and try his hardest to earn her trust.

  “Yer a saint fer taking them in,” Silas said.

  “I married her,” Henry said. “I did not just take them in. She and her son are now my family.”

  “Right. That makes ye even more of a saint, I’d say.”

  Henry was tired of being called a saint, for being praised for what he did. It was what any man with a conscience might have done, and he answered to nothing if
not his conscience. He was a slave to it. He was fairly certain he could not do something wicked if it would save his life. He would wallow in guilt for the remainder of his days. To marry Eleanor had not been a difficult choice. It had been his only choice. To love her… he did not know how to choose that. Grace had made it sound so easy. How could he love her if she did not love him in return? Was it even worth trying?

  “I want to make them feel at home here,” Henry said, reminding himself of his most important goal. “I gather that they have had a very difficult life. I wish for them to leave it all behind. I wish for them to be as happy as they deserve to be. But the problem of the matter is… I haven’t the slightest idea of what makes a woman happy.” Henry paced the room with his cup, thinking.

  Silas shrugged. “I’d wager she needs female companionship. My sisters were always happiest with a group of ladies in the sitting room and a tray of tea in front of them. Content as a cat with a bird between its paws, they were.” Silas nodded to emphasize his words.

  Henry considered the idea. “Yes. I think you may be right.”

  “Am I ever wrong?”

  “Yes, more often than not.” Henry tossed him a smile. “But—I believe that idea holds merit.”

  Silas chuckled.

  Henry knew his neighbors just a half-mile south to be a household of ladies. He would invite the mother and her two daughters to tea the next day if Eleanor liked the idea. He would speak with her on the matter as soon as possible.

  “I suspect she would also enjoy a bit of frivolity,” Silas added. “You might host a party or secure an invitation to one.”

  Henry did not know how much Eleanor would enjoy frivolity, but he took note of the idea as he left the room.

  Once he was washed and changed, he crossed the hall to the breakfast room, finding it empty. As he passed the back door, he glanced out the window. Eleanor and Arthur were in the gardens, examining a rose bush. He walked out to join them, weaving through the shrubs and trees to where he knew the yellow rose bush to be located. They had not seen him yet, and he paused to observe them before making himself known.

  “These are wike the flowers in your story, Mama.” Arthur’s little voice was much louder and more confident than Henry had ever heard it.

  “Yes, they are.” He could hear the smile in Eleanor’s voice. Why didn’t she smile around him? “Is yellow your favorite color?”

  Arthur nodded, giggling. “How did you know, Mama?”

  She laughed.

  Laughed. Henry had not known she was capable of it.

  Devil take it. He would earn a laugh from her eventually if it was the last thing he did. He stopped a few feet behind them. “Would you like a rose?”

  Both Eleanor and her son jumped, whirling to face him.

  He held up his hands. “It is only me, not to worry.” He smiled, hoping to erase the surprise and fear on their faces. Good heavens, they were a jumpy pair. He took in Eleanor’s appearance—her black hair piled atop her head, with few curls left unpinned, and she wore no bonnet. He liked the style, for it gave him a clearer view of her entire face. She wore a pale pink morning dress, the sleeves reaching to her elbows, the bodice trimmed with white. Her pale skin provided a stark contrast to her hair and lips, and her blue eyes were striking.

  She shifted, her cheeks growing slightly pink at the centers to match her dress.

  He tore his gaze away, cursing himself for making her even more uncomfortable by staring so unabashedly at her. How had he not noticed her beauty before?

  “I am sorry to have startled you.” He smiled, turning his gaze to Arthur. “Would you like a flower?”

  “No. But Mama wants one.”

  Eleanor shook her head, half her mouth lifting upward. “No, I would not have such a lovely thing plucked away from all its friends. Look, it is so happy.” She pointed at the nearest rose, nestled among the leaves with all the others. Henry observed the whimsical expression on Eleanor’s face, wondering how often it came, or how long it would last. He was beginning to learn that Eleanor liked symbolism. The story she had told the week before had taught him as much.

  He tried to decipher all he could from her words. Plucked away from all its friends. Was she feeling much like a rose, plucked from a bush it called home? By marrying her he had taken her from Brighton, the home she had been longing for for so many years. Perhaps it wasn’t just new female companions and friends that would make her happy, but her old ones as well. He would invite her family to dinner soon or take her to visit them.

  Henry stepped closer, joining Eleanor and Arthur in their study of the flowers. “You are right. We shall not pluck any roses. I see the wisdom in leaving them here. Why take just one rose away to your room to admire it there, when you could come visit this bush each day, and see dozens of them?”

  Eleanor touched one of the petals, staring lovingly at it. “I did not have flowers like this in the North. There was little to admire besides prickly moors.”

  He studied her profile. “I will have even more planted if you wish.”

  “I am quite happy with just these flowers.” She glanced up at him briefly before returning her gaze to the rose. She lowered her nose to the bud, inhaling deeply.

  Henry turned to Arthur, bending down slightly to be closer to his height. His black hair fell over his ears and forehead, nearly covering his eyes. He would need to arrange a haircut for the boy. “Your mother has her roses. What is it you would like today, Arthur?”

  Arthur shrugged, his large blue eyes squinting against the sun.

  An idea struck Henry. “I told you I had tigers, did I not?”

  Arthur’s eyes flashed with misgiving. “I don’t want one.”

  “I thought so. Would you prefer kittens?”

  Arthur nodded fast. “I wike kittens.”

  Henry’s neighbors had a cat that had just delivered a new litter of kittens the month before, and he knew that at least three kittens remained in need of a home. He had not interacted too closely with Mrs. Morton and her daughters, but he thought they could possibly provide Eleanor with the female companionship Silas had suggested she needed. Mr. Morton was agreeable, so the women of his family were likely agreeable too.

  “I happen to know three kittens in need of a new friend. Would you like to see them today?” Henry asked Arthur.

  He glanced at Eleanor to ensure she agreed to the plan. There was nothing in her face that showed protest, so he took it as encouragement. “It isn’t far. Would you be opposed to walking?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “I love to walk.”

  “Perfect.” Henry smiled, and Eleanor took his outstretched arm. The Morton’s residence took only ten minutes to reach. The housekeeper informed them that Mrs. Morton and her daughters had taken a trip into town and would return shortly, but she gladly led them to the place where the kittens were kept under the shade of a bush in the gardens.

  “You ought to take one of them home,” the housekeeper said. “The master doesn’t know what to do with them. He can’t keep ‘em all.”

  Henry watched with amusement as Arthur took tentative steps toward the kittens. Two of the kittens were black, and one was black with white paws. Arthur sat down on the grass, reaching out to touch the velvet ears of the nearest kitten. The housekeeper knelt on the grass near him, introducing him to each cat and helping him hold one in his lap.

  “Arthur loves cats,” Eleanor said, her abrupt words catching Henry by surprise. He glanced down at her. Though her voice was soft, it was sharp and clear. He never mistook her words. Her voice was slightly deeper than the average woman, but still feminine. He liked the sound of it. He had grown tired of shrill laughter and conversations with women that enjoyed being heard above their companions.

  Eleanor looked as if she were about to say more, so Henry simply nodded, listening.

  “We had a cat once,” she continued. “Mr. Quinton brought her home shortly after Arthur learned to walk, hoping the cat would keep Arthur preoccupied in hi
s room for more of the day. I named her Petal.” She smiled lightly. “She brought a great deal of joy to our lives.”

  Henry watched her expression fade to a fearful one, the spark of joy at the memory diminishing in her eyes.

  “What happened to her?” Henry asked, keeping his voice gentle.

  Eleanor took an audible breath, rubbing her palms over her skirts. “Mr. Quinton decided…he would rather have a dog. I never discovered what he did to Petal, and I do not like to dwell on it. But one day Petal was simply gone.” Eleanor’s eyes flickered up to his. “Arthur was heartbroken. The dog was large and not well-trained, and Arthur was afraid of him.”

  Henry moved his gaze to Arthur, where he sat in the grass, rubbing the black and white kitten’s tail between two fingers, giggling.

  Taking their cat was just the beginning of the harm Mr. Quinton had done before his death. It was likely only a small part of the things he had taken from them. Henry felt his jaw clenching. Anger roiled inside him, burning hot. “I wish I could have been there to protect you from him.”

  Eleanor’s brow furrowed. “From the dog?”

  “No. From your late husband.” Henry met her eyes.

  She looked down at the ground. “I wish it too. But you have offered us a way to escape, and that is more than I can ever thank you for.”

  Henry had given a lot of thought to the day he saw Eleanor on her journey back to Brighton. Why had she lied to him about her husband’s death? He sensed that she was still hiding something. What other reason could she have had to lie to him? His curiosity burned with questions regarding her husband’s death and the elder Mr. Quinton’s threats and accusations, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for answers. At least not yet. He did not wish to scare Eleanor away when she was finally speaking to him.