“I loved Mr. Quinton,” she began, “or… I was quite certain that I did. He flattered me, he gave me gifts, kind words, generosity. He made me feel more important than I had ever felt in my life. I see now that it was all a trick. Through a member of his regiment, he learned of the dowry that was given to me through our uncle.”
Adam sat up straighter. “You had a dowry?”
“No one knew of it besides Papa. He intended to keep it secret. Forty thousand pounds would draw in the greediest of men, Papa said. He advised me to keep it a secret, and I tried. But Mr. Quinton discovered it. I thought I could trust him.”
Adam seemed to guess at the rest, his face hardening.
“We had planned to elope. I knew Papa did not approve of Mr. Quinton, but I still wished to marry him. I thought I loved him. I was certain that I could come visit often after our marriage. Before we could carry it out, I learned that Mr. Quinton was only interested in my dowry, and I was heartbroken. I declared that I would never marry him. But before I could escape, he forcibly took me to Gretna Green. He threatened to come back to Brighton and hurt you and Papa if I did not marry him. I did not know what to do.” She shook her head, her stomach swimming with nausea at the memory. “We were married before the day was over.” She tried to pause, but the words continued pouring out of her. “Through the last five years, he has gambled nearly all of my dowry away. When he died, Arthur and I finally had our opportunity to escape.”
Adam’s chest rose and fell with a heavy breath. Amelia’s eyes shone with tears. She rushed forward to sit beside Eleanor on the sofa, touching her knee gently. “I am so sorry you were forced to endure such things. I cannot imagine the fear and loneliness you must have felt. You poor thing.”
“If he were still alive, I might have killed him myself,” Adam grumbled, coming to stand beside Eleanor as well. He sat against the edge of the sofa, taking her hand. “You are home now. You are safe. I should have tried harder to find you. I should not have given up.”
“There is no way you could have known. Mr. Quinton fooled everyone.”
“Not Papa.” Adam’s voice hardened. “Do you suppose Lord Ramsbury knew?”
Amelia met his eyes for a long moment before she shook her head. “When I saw him and his wife recently, I thought him to be a changed man. If he knew anything else, he would have confessed it to us by now. I am sure of it.”
“I am not sure of it,” Adam said. “I will go to his home tomorrow and ask him.”
“That is not necessary,” Amelia said, shaking her head.
Adam did not appear intent to drop the idea. He didn’t speak of it further, but he seemed to tuck the idea away for later discussion. “Are you certain Mr. Quinton did not leave you a jointure?”
Eleanor sighed. “Yes.”
“As I understand it, the common law would entitle you to one third of his properties at least, even without a premarital contract. But we will need to speak with a man more familiar with the law to affirm such details. I will take care of you and Arthur regardless of the result of such a discussion, but I do wish for you to reap all that you can in the way of money and property from such a miserable marriage. You deserve it.”
Eleanor nodded, relief pouring through her at her brother’s kindness. He would not turn her away. She had been foolish to think he would. But she still had not mentioned the issue that was the most pressing—the elder Mr. Quinton.
It was an irrational fear. He would not find her in Brighton. He would not have any way to prove what she had done, and he would not take Arthur from her. She repeated the reassurances to her heart over and over, until she started to believe them.
Chapter 4
There was something about a quiet house that led the mind to think of ridiculous scenarios. Henry Beaumont shook off the thought for what felt like the hundredth time. No, Mrs. Quinton had not been lying to him. What reason could she have to lie? He had mistaken her fearful expression and shifting eyes. Hadn’t he?
Henry put his face in his hands as he sat at his dining room table. Growing up in a home with a father, mother, elder brother, elder sister, and younger sister, he was still not accustomed to the eerie silence of hearing just one fork scraping across a glass dish at dinner. His own.
He picked up his goblet and took a swig, trying, once again, not to think about the meal he had shared the day before with Mrs. Quinton and her coachman. He had been reflecting and dwelling on it for the last twenty-four hours instead of performing the duties of managing his estate that he ought to have been focusing on. Regardless of whether or not Mrs. Quinton was telling him the truth about all things, he knew that she had lied about at least one thing. Her husband was not alive and well and sending her and her son off on a trip to Brighton.
He was dead.
There were definite benefits to being the brother of one of the most influential peers in the county. His brother, Edward, never missed a piece of news or gossip, having connections to all circles of society, and being admired and respected by all. Edward had many friends that knew of Mr. Quinton’s death and had been informed of it soon after it occurred.
It had occurred, Henry learned, just over one week ago. Edward had stopped by earlier that day on a ride with his wife, and upon Henry’s mention of Mrs. Quinton’s visit, Edward had broken the news.
Needless to say, Henry’s confusion had then doubled.
He pushed away from the table, wiping his mouth with a napkin. It wasn’t mere curiosity that made him eager to speak with Mrs. Quinton again. He wished to discover the truth because he worried over her. He had never seen such a fearful expression—such a permanent one—upon any face. He did not like it, and he knew that it certainly did not belong there. If there was any way he could help her and her son, he needed to find a way to do it.
The most effective way of finding the answers he sought, would be to go directly to the source. One might suspect the source to be Mrs. Quinton herself, but Henry knew that his brother was often the best source of information in all of Brighton. He had connections Henry could only dream of. The only connection Henry had was to Edward, which was a beneficial connection, indeed.
Henry set out for Brighton around two o’clock, arriving at Edward’s home within the hour. He dismounted from his Arabian, knocking on the front door.
He found Edward in his study, sorting through his ledger. Edward glanced up, the blue of his eyes sparking with surprise. “Did you miss me already? Lud, brother, you need to find a wife.” Edward gathered a stack of papers into his hands and rapped it against the table, straightening out the corners. A blonde curl fell over his forehead, adding to the devil-may-care appearance his brother flaunted. Though Henry shared the same blue eyes and blond hair, he was fairly certain his eyes had never sparked with mischief, and he preferred to keep his hair neat and as far from devilish as possible.
Edward had always teased Henry, saying that if he did not have any inheritance then he ought to become a vicar for his profession. There were times Henry wished for the life of a vicar, rather than the life of solitude he lived, managing his Worthing estate and the farms attached to it.
“I am still quite confused over my conversation with Mrs. Quinton,” Henry said. “I hoped you could offer a bit of enlightenment,” Henry said, pulling a chair closer to Edward’s desk and sitting down.
“You have been treating me as much more intelligent than I truly am of late.”
“You have become more intelligent since you married Grace. She has taught you well.”
Edward chuckled. “See, once again, I affirm my point. You need to find a wife, and then you will not have to consult me with all your curiosities. You will find that a wife is a much better advisor than I will ever be.”
Henry refrained from rolling his eyes. “I have given you plenty of worthy advice in your life. I am not looking for advice from you. I thought you may have information that could help me. Mrs. Quinton lied about her husband being alive, and I cannot seem to stop wondering why.�
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“You always were a curious one, weren’t you?” Edward laughed under his breath as he set down the stack of papers, leaning his elbows on the table to give Henry his full attention.
“I am worried for her. Returning to Brighton after her mysterious departure five years ago is going to hurt her reputation. I do not understand why she lied about her husband’s death. What reason could she have for that?”
“Perhaps she knew she would never see you again and decided to spare herself a thorough questioning about the method of her husband’s demise.”
“I am not so insensitive as that.”
“No, indeed. I am quite certain you are the most sensitive man of my acquaintance.”
Henry smiled, unable to help it. “And you are the most intolerable.”
“When my wife calls me intolerable, she means it as a compliment.”
Henry chuckled. “Grace and I have never been more different.”
Edward laughed before his expression grew slightly more serious. “Yes, I admit that when you told me of your conversation with Mrs. Quinton, I was quite curious myself. Her husband was a friend of mine, and I was surprised at the time to hear of his intentions of marrying Eleanor. He did not seem the sort of man to marry at all, unless it was for advantage. Eleanor did not have any dowry that I knew of, so I assumed it was for love. It was an elopement, as you know, and I was asked to keep it a secret until they could carry it out and move to London. I honored my friend’s request, but I must admit the entire situation felt rather… strange. It was out of Mr. Quinton’s character and as I understand it, out of Eleanor’s character as well.”
Henry tapped the oak desk with his fingertips. “Do you suppose Mr. Quinton was not the good man you thought he was? You did not see Mrs. Quinton that day. She did not appear to be on a joyful holiday. She appeared to be… fleeing. Running. Hiding. I cannot explain it. And then her son…he appeared afraid of everything and everyone. That does not simply happen to a child unless it is caused by something. What sort of a man was your friend Mr. Quinton?”
Edward shook his head slowly. “I am no longer certain.” He rubbed his jaw, an idea hovering clearly on the surface of his expression.
“What is it?” Henry asked.
Edward sighed. “I doubt I will be welcome…but we could pay a visit to Adam Claridge’s residence and seek our answers there. Or, we could simply keep our noses out of business that is not our own.”
“It has become our business, Edward. You must take responsibility for the part you played with aiding Mr. Quinton in his secret elopement. And… I wish to help Mrs. Quinton in any way I can.” Henry fixed his gaze on his brother, begging him with his eyes.
“If I could have half the heart and goodness that you have, Henry…” Edward shook his head, a slow smile pulling on his lips. “You simply cannot be swayed from the honorable, can you?”
“I’m afraid I cannot. But you—you were swayed from the dishonorable once.”
“And I intend to never go back.” Edward grinned. “So, I’m afraid that means I must help you.”
“I’m afraid it does.”
Edward stood, stretching his back and clasping Henry’s hand in a firm shake. “Do you suppose the Claridges will receive visitors within the afternoon?”
“They may receive visitors, but I do not know if they will receive you as one of them.”
Edward rubbed his forehead. “Adam does despise me. Amelia seems to have no quarrel with me. Perhaps she will convince him to receive our calling card with some measure of decorum. I will see if Grace wishes to accompany us. Amelia is sure to happily receive her.”
They walked out to the hall, and Edward called for a servant to deliver their card to the Claridge residence, informing them of their pending arrival. Shortly after, they gathered their hats, Edward a beaver and Henry a top hat. Grace left their young son, Oliver, with the nanny and the three of them set off for the Claridge residence.
As they rode, Henry tried to plan what he would say. It was common practice to inquire after the safe arrival of Mrs. Quinton, her son, and their health after enduring such a wet storm on their journey. After that, he would simply see where the conversation led and what he could decipher from her words—whether she spoke truth or whether she continued with her lies.
The ride took less than twenty minutes by coach, and Henry led the way to the front door. They were let inside and directed to the parlor. The well-decorated room was filled with more company than Henry had expected. He was not well acquainted with the Claridges, but he clearly recognized Adam and his wife. An older woman sat beside them, a cane resting against her knee. The woman glanced up at Edward with a sour expression before standing and offering the customary bow of her head.
Edward nodded in return, greeting Adam and Amelia with nods in the same fashion. Henry greeted the party, pleased to see that the greetings he received in return were less sour than those Edward had received. They must have still believed him to be partially responsible for what happened to Mrs. Quinton—whatever that might have been.
Henry’s eyes swept over the room again, and he found Mrs. Quinton and Arthur sitting in the far right corner, quiet and small, blending into the dark wallpaper behind them with their black hair. Henry offered a small smile to the little boy when he met his eyes, but the child glanced away quickly. Mrs. Quinton seemed to watch Henry’s every step as he came farther into the room.
The room fell into silence for several seconds as they sat down. Adam’s gaze was fixed firmly on Edward, and Henry had the distinct impression that the focus of this meeting would quickly come to be on Adam and Edward’s quarrel. He hoped it could be resolved with enough time to discover more about Mrs. Quinton.
He glanced at her, meeting her eyes quickly before she darted them away. She stared at her hands in her lap.
“What has brought you here?” Adam asked, his deep voice breaking the silence.
Edward crossed his ankle over his knee. “It is my brother’s errand that we are on. I am merely accompanying him.” He turned to Henry.
Henry smiled, hoping to convey all his good intentions in one look. “Yes. As Mrs. Quinton may have told you, I met her and her son along their journey here. The weather was quite severe and—and I hoped to inquire after their health after being outside in such a storm.” When he finished speaking, he turned to Mrs. Quinton in the corner.
She cleared her throat, the piercing blue of her eyes just as intense as her brother’s, but without the malice. “We are quite well, Mr. Beaumont. I thank you for your concern. I give great credit to the hospitality you offered for the sustained health of myself and my son.” She gave the slightest of smiles before her expression fell back into the fearful one he had seen the day before. It was as if she could give no other expression unless it was with great effort, such as the smile she had just forced onto her lips.
He studied her downcast eyes and shifting fingers. Was she nervous because she knew she had lied to him? Did she now realize he had caught her in the lie? He did not wish to add to her fear; he simply wanted to discover the reason behind it. He would have to be gentle about the way he brought it into the conversation. As he sorted through the options in his mind, he heard Edward’s voice.
“I was very sorry to hear of your husband’s death, Mrs. Quinton. Please accept my condolences.”
Mrs. Quinton’s complexion grew paler, her hands fidgeting faster over her skirts. Her son sat beside her, and she pulled him onto her lap, as if to hide behind him. Her eyes flicked to Henry’s so quickly, he wondered if they had at all. She had been caught in her lie.
Henry shot Edward a berating glance, to which he simply winked, a motion so subtle that only the receiver would have noticed. He had clearly made Mrs. Quinton uncomfortable.
Edward’s wife, Grace, sitting on Edward’s other side, cast him a berating look of her own. Henry guessed that when Edward turned his head, he threw her a similar wink—or perhaps one with a bit more flirtation.
&n
bsp; It took Henry a moment to take advantage of the door his brother had left open for him. He cleared his throat. “I did not know you were widowed, Mrs. Quinton.”
The centers of her cheeks reddened, and he felt a pang of guilt for prying her secrets out of her. Secrets were often kept for a reason. “It was not something I wished to speak about.” Her voice came out close to a whisper.
“I understand.” Though Henry was far from understanding. “I am very sorry for your loss.”
She nodded. Why was it that she did not appear sorry to have lost her husband?
Adam’s voice cut through the air. “It has come to our attention that Mr. Quinton was not the sort of husband that my sister deserved. He was not a respectable man.” He turned to Edward. “Is this something you were aware of, my lord, when you kept his abduction of my sister a secret?”
Henry watched as Edward’s face blanched. He was not one to become easily uncollected. “Abduction?”
“Yes. She did not marry him willingly, and they were not living in London. He was keeping her in the North, prohibiting her to visit her family in Brighton.”
Edward exchanged a glance with Henry. “I did not know of this, upon my word.”
Adam eyed him with suspicion but remained silent. Awkwardness filled the air, pulsing with more vigor than Henry’s heartbeat. Mrs. Quinton had been abducted? That would explain her constant fear. What had he been thinking coming here? It was obvious that he and Edward were not welcome. Especially Edward.
“Mrs. Quinton, was the rest of your journey—er—comfortable?” Henry asked before he could think of a better question to break the silence.
“It was quite comfortable.” She blinked, as if shocked at his level of stupidity for repeating himself.
“The weather was satisfactory?”
“Yes, it was.”
Henry heard a choked sound come from beside him, knowing it to be Edward’s laugh, suppressed behind his tight-lipped smile. Henry lacked the social charm in conversing that his brother had perfected, and it was never more obvious than in a moment like this.
An Unexpected Bride Page 4