She stepped out of the carriage where it had stopped in front of her childhood home. She fumbled through her reticule, withdrawing the last of her coins. She approached Mr. Fifett, opening her palm. Her heart pounded. Would it be enough?
His eyes fell on the coins, and he shook his head. “No, ma’am. Mr. Beaumont has already paid your way.”
“Pardon me?” She must have heard him incorrectly.
“The cost of your journey has been paid in its entirety by Mr. Beaumont. He is a very generous man, indeed.”
Eleanor could scarcely believe it. What had she done to deserve such kindness? Mr. Beaumont did not know her. He did not owe her anything. How could she ever thank him? Hot tears burned behind her eyes, sending tightness down her throat. Her heart warmed, her opinion of Mr. Beaumont growing in positivity.
She took Arthur’s hand, looking up toward the house in front of them. Nothing had changed—the house appeared as it had the day she left. She stepped onto the neat grass. The joyful emotion that pulsed through her was suddenly overcome by fear. Would Adam still want her here? Would he resent her? Would he understand? In the five years that she had been apart from her brother, she had lost a sense of familiarity with his character. She remembered his devotion and generosity, but what if he had changed? She certainly had.
Pushing aside her fear, she took one step, then another, closer to the front door. With a deep breath of fortitude, she struck the wood three times. The sound echoed through the air, pounding against her aching skull. Arthur squeezed her hand tighter as the door swung open.
The same butler that had greeted her on many occasions as a child stood in the doorway. He too appeared very much the same, but slightly older. His eyes flashed with recognition as he took in her face. Before the stunned butler could utter a word, Eleanor cleared her throat.
“Is Adam here?” she asked.
He nodded, stepping aside for her to enter. “He was on his way out for a ride with his wife, but I believe he is still in the nursery.”
Eleanor felt another wave of grief. Wife? Nursery? Mr. Quinton had taken her away from her family for long enough to miss her brother’s wedding? The birth of his child? The emotion in her chest rose and fell in waves, growing stronger with each pulse. She wiped the perspiration from her palms on her skirts before picking Arthur up and propping him on her hip. The butler seemed to recover from his shock for long enough to speak. “What has brought you back to Brighton? Why are you here? The master is not expecting you.”
The disdain in his voice was heavy and direct. He, much like everyone in Brighton, still believed her departure to have been voluntary, selfish, and cruel. She swallowed, reminding herself that this disdain was something she would have to grow accustomed to.
“I should think it is quite obvious that I have come to visit my brother.” She cast the butler a quick glance before stepping forward with forced confidence. “Shall I wait for him in the drawing room?”
The butler nodded, a quick tip of his head. “I will inform him of your arrival.”
Eleanor thanked him before turning the corner to where she knew she would find the drawing room. She took in the walls, the side tables in the entry, and the chandelier above, a wistful feeling pinching her heart.
When she entered the drawing room, she was surprised to find a woman sitting in a nearby chair. The moment the door opened, the woman turned around with a gasp, her blonde curls tight and bouncy as they framed her round, rosy face. “You nearly frightened me to death!” she exclaimed before fully taking in Eleanor’s appearance. The moment the woman saw her, the playful expression of fear on her face slackened. “Oh, my apologies, I thought you were my niece, Amelia.”
Eleanor stared at her. The woman looked much too old to be Adam’s wife. Her hand pressed against her chest as she gave a boisterous laugh. “I assure you, you did not truly frighten me to near death, I was only exaggerating as I always do. It is one of my most renowned qualities.” The woman’s pale blue eyes danced as she spoke, giving life and youth to the wrinkles around her smile.
“Does your niece live here?” Eleanor asked.
The woman watched her carefully as she carried Arthur to the sofa. Eleanor sat down, studying the details of the room. It had been redecorated, a task she could likely credit Adam’s wife for.
“Why, yes, she does indeed. My niece is the mistress of this home, in fact.” She grinned with pride before offering her own introduction. “My name is Margaret Buxton. I am visiting for the summer from Nottingham. I come as often as I am able to take the cure, you see. The healing qualities of the Brighton waters have served my leg quite nicely over the years.” She tapped her cane that rested against the edge of her chair. “I hardly need this any longer.” She beamed. “Forgive me, I am prattling on about things you do not care to hear.” She tipped her head to the side. “I daresay I have not seen you here before.”
Eleanor hoped that Adam’s wife was as instantly likable as this woman. There was something about the woman’s familiar and friendly disposition that gave instant ease to Eleanor’s fear. “I have not been here in several years. I am Adam’s sister Eleanor. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
The woman gave a loud gasp, making both Eleanor and Arthur jump.
“Oh! Oooh!” The woman stood up, fanning her face with one hand and holding her cane in the other, bustling around the room as if she did not know which direction to travel. She stopped in front of Eleanor, her eyes rounder than the saucers on the tea table. “You are Eleanor?”
“I am indeed.” Eleanor couldn’t prevent her own expression from mirroring the woman’s surprise.
“You have returned to Brighton!”
“Yes—”
“Oh, Adam will be so very pleased.” The woman’s pacing had increased in rate, and Eleanor noticed a distinct limp to her gait. She paused by the pianoforte to rub her hip. “I am so very pleased to meet you.” The woman smiled broadly. “We are practically family, after all. I have known you all this time as Adam’s sister Eleanor, the one who disappeared five years ago, the first summer I came to Brighton. How fortuitous that I was here visiting my niece when you decided to make your return. Oh, I do love a good dose of excitement and intrigue.” She seemed to remember something very important, her bright blue eyes darting to the door. “I must fetch Adam straight away!”
She started toward the door, limping as she went. When she reached the doorframe, she turned to Eleanor with a look that was somewhat stern, a sharp contrast to her previous joviality. “Stay there. Please do not run off again.”
Eleanor nodded, too shocked to speak. Margaret bustled out the door, muttering a string of excited and flustered words as she went.
Arthur tipped his head up to look at Eleanor, his tiny lips pinched in a frown. “Who was that?”
Eleanor had never met a more energetic woman above the age of fifty as this woman appeared to be. “That was our new friend.”
Arthur stared at the door, his brows contracting.
Minutes later, the door swung open again. Adam stepped over the threshold, his dark hair neater than Eleanor remembered it, his eyes sharp and blue and filled with tears. “Eleanor?”
She stood, leaving Arthur sitting on the sofa behind her. She hadn’t expected the surge of emotion that gripped her in that moment, firm and unyielding. She met her brother in the middle of the room, falling into his outstretched arms. Tears stung and burned on her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. Relief stronger than any she had ever felt washed over her in repetitive waves as Adam held her. She was finally home. She was finally safe. But her ruse was not over.
She stepped back, taking a deep, collective breath.
“Where have you been?” Adam asked, searching her face as if attempting to find the answer there before she could say it aloud.
“I have been in Northumberland.”
“I searched for you in London. I could find no trace of you.” Adam’s brows were drawn together, a certain reservation in his expr
ession. “Why did you never write? Why did you stay away for so long?”
She had expected to be assailed with questions, so she had spent much of the drive to Brighton crafting the answers in her mind. She did not know why she felt the need to lie. She could trust Adam! What was she so afraid of?
Still, the lies came pouring out. “I was grieving papa’s death on my own for so long, and I felt to speak to you would intensify my grief. When my son was born, I became quite busy. I suppose I became enamored with my new life, and I forgot to keep myself tied to my old one.” As heartless as the words sounded, she couldn’t help but speak them.
Adam glanced behind her to the sofa where Arthur sat quietly, watching the exchange with curiosity and a touch of worry. Eleanor stepped away from Adam, taking Arthur by the hand and guiding him toward Adam. “This is your Uncle Adam.” She watched Arthur surveying Adam, distrust evident in his eyes. He glanced at Eleanor’s face for reassurance. She had always been told that she and Adam had a clear resemblance. Both their eyes were blue with a similar shape, and both had the same black hair. She hoped the similarity would give Arthur ease. She straightened her posture, addressing her brother. “This is my son, Arthur.”
Adam smiled, leaning down for a closer look at him. “Good day, Arthur. It is a pleasure to meet you. I have a little girl of my own that must be very near to your age. She is your cousin.” Adam met Eleanor’s eyes. “Her name is Eleanor.”
Eleanor’s heart jumped, guilt flooding through her veins. She had to remind herself once again that it had not been her choice to leave. Yes, she had been foolish for trusting Mr. Quinton, but it was not her fault that she deserted her family, leading them to believe they would never see her again. She hated that it had caused such pain to Adam. “I’m sorry, Adam,” she whispered. “I should never have left.”
He stared at her, a look that was part awe and part frustration. “Why did you take so long to come visit? You might have at least told me where you were so I could visit you.” His jaw tightened. “Or did your husband prevent it?”
Her skin bristled, her tightly locked secrets begging to be unveiled. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. What was she afraid of? Mr. Quinton was dead. She could tell Adam he was dead without telling him what happened the day she left. She could keep some secrets. “My husband died.”
“When?”
“Just before I came here.”
Adam did not appear surprised to find little emotion in Eleanor’s voice or expression. She could not force herself to act as if she grieved the man. “Did he leave you with a jointure? Any property?”
She shook her head. “I left very soon after his death, so I have not been informed. But it would be my instant assumption that no, he did not. I would be quite surprised to learn that he left me with anything.” Standing beside her brother in the safe comfort of her home, she could not help but unleash at least one of her secrets. “I am certain he never cared for me,” she whispered.
Adam’s breathing grew quick, as if anger were pushing it out from his lungs. “What happened? I never entirely believed your letter. I couldn’t believe that you would leave us with Father so ill. I never thought you capable of leaving at all, risking your reputation and our family’s for a man that Father did not approve of. You loved Father, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Very much.”
Behind Adam’s shoulder, Margaret and a younger woman slipped into the room. Adam turned at the sound of the door, ushering the young woman forward. Only when she reached his side did Eleanor see the little girl walking beside her, dressed in a pale pink dress, her light brown hair falling straight and long for a girl so young. She stared up at Eleanor with round, coffee colored eyes.
Adam took the woman’s hand. “Eleanor, this is my wife, Amelia, and our daughter. We call her Ella.”
Eleanor met the woman’s intelligent brown eyes, smiling as much as she was able. The woman surveyed her in quick glances. Her face had a friendly warmth that could not be taught, a disposition similar to her aunt’s. Underneath it, however, was the same curiosity and confusion that Eleanor had seen in every expression she had encountered—especially Mr. Beaumont’s.
Amelia took Eleanor’s hands. “I cannot believe you are here.” Her voice carried a friendliness that matched her face. “I look forward to coming to know you, for I have heard such wonderful things from my husband.”
Did Adam truly speak highly of her? How could he after what he believed she had done? “I did not know my brother married while I was away,” Eleanor said, offering a smile. “I am so happy to meet you.” Eleanor felt an instant connection with the woman and suspected they would become very dear friends. She hoped Arthur and his little cousin could become friends too. Arthur hadn’t had the opportunity to spend time in the company of other young children. She glanced down at him. He watched little Ella with trepidation, holding fast to Eleanor’s hand. She introduced him to Amelia and Ella, who both seemed quite pleased to make his acquaintance.
“He is positively adorable,” Amelia said.
Adam touched Eleanor’s shoulder, calling her attention back to him. “Please tell me what happened. Tell me the truth.”
At the reminder of his earlier question, her stomach flipped. “I have already told you.”
“I wish for the truth, Eleanor. I have been searching for it—for you—for five years now. I deserve to know.”
Amelia nudged Adam’s arm, giving him a look that was a gentle rebuke. “Eleanor has traveled far. We are all quite curious, but she and little Arthur must be quite fatigued and hungry.”
Eleanor shook her head. “We just ate and rested in Worthing an hour ago. Do you know a Mr. Henry Beaumont? He offered us a few minutes to rest and eat on our journey. He was very kind.”
Adam’s jaw clenched yet again, and a look of pure vexation crossed his features. “Yes, I know the Beaumonts. I am not well acquainted with Henry, but I know his brother to be less than agreeable. He knew of your location and kept it from us. Even so, he must have given us the wrong location. I was never able to find you in London.”
She debated again over whether or not she should tell her brother the truth in its entirety. What harm could it do? He was the only person she knew with certainty that she could trust. And her trust was not easily won. “I am told that Lord Ramsbury has changed a great deal in recent years.”
“Did Mr. Henry Beaumont tell you this?” Adam asked, his eyebrows rising. “What has given you the idea that you can believe a word he says? Of course he would defend his brother.”
“He was very kind.”
“Kindness and charm are often a ruse meant to lure in the most naive. Is that what your husband did?”
Amelia stepped forward. “Adam—”
He rubbed a hand over his hair, taking Eleanor’s hand with a long exhale. “Forgive me. I am simply… overwhelmed. There is no need to discuss the Beaumonts and my… rather strong opinions of them.” He gave a strained smile. “I am happy to have you home. We have many items of greater importance to discuss. I will have a room prepared for you immediately and make a place in the nursery for Arthur. Ella will be happy to have a new friend.”
“I’ll take the orders to the maid,” Margaret piped in from her place near the door. She hobbled out into the hallway, and Eleanor could hear her loud, boisterous requests echoing through the halls.
“Are you certain you have room for Arthur and me?” She had not known that Adam had a family, and another guest staying. The house was not large, and she hated to be a burden. But she had nowhere else to go.
“Yes, of course. You are always welcome here.” Adam gestured for Eleanor to sit. He and Amelia took a seat in two chairs across from her. Ella sat on Amelia’s lap, and Arthur sat on Eleanor’s.
Adam took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on Eleanor’s face. She had forgotten how much he looked like their father. It filled her with a pang of sorrow. “I will begin with the first, and most pressing questio
n I have,” Adam said. “Where have you been these last five years?”
Although her brother’s voice was gentle, it still struck her hard. Why was it so difficult to be honest with her own family? She had grown so accustomed to lying. Pretending she loved Mr. Quinton to avoid his punishments and anger. Pretending to be happy and comfortable in her home and in the company of her few neighbors. “I have been in Northumberland, and that is the truth.”
Adam sat back, exchanging a look with Amelia. “That is something we guessed but could not justify spending the money it would require to go there in search of you. We very well could have been wrong. We could find no trace of Mr. Quinton’s location. He abandoned the regiment and none of his friends knew where he went.”
Eleanor blinked. “You did not believe the words in my letter?”
“At first we did, but the more I pondered over it, nothing seemed to make sense. Your abrupt departure did not align with your character.”
Amelia peeked around her daughter’s shoulder. “I had not yet had the privilege of meeting you, so all I learned of your character was through Adam’s words. I did not believe any woman of sense would leave the side of her dying father, especially when the man she intended to elope with was a man her father did not approve of. That is what ultimately led me to suspect something was amiss.”
Something was indeed amiss, then and now. Eleanor wrung her hands together. “Thank you for searching for me. I—I didn’t know I was so greatly missed.”
Adam looked equal parts joyous and angry. “I missed you more than you know. Please tell me everything Eleanor. You know you can trust me.”
She gathered her strength, deciding the best course of action would be to tell Adam and Amelia of her plight, from the very beginning up until the day she fled. There was one detail she had banished from her mind, one that she could never tell speak aloud if she hoped to keep Arthur safe.
An Unexpected Bride Page 3