“I never thought I would see you attempt to scale a tree,” he said, the amusement returning to his voice.
She could think of little else besides the way his hands felt, strong and warm through the fabric of her dress, and the way his lips quirked to one side as he spoke. She lifted her gaze back to his eyes. She was both relieved and disappointed when he stepped away, turning his attention to the tree.
Henry took hold of the same branch she had been sitting on, hoisting himself up with much less effort than it had taken her. He reached upward, beckoning Arthur with his hand. “Come. There is no need to be afraid.”
To Eleanor’s surprise, Arthur let go of the trunk, leaning forward with both arms outstretched. Henry grunted as his balance faltered, catching himself on the trunk before pulling Arthur into his arms.
Henry handed Arthur down to Eleanor before alighting from the branch, landing heavily on the grass. Arthur clung to Eleanor, his arms wrapped around her neck and shoulders almost as tightly as he had held to the trunk of the tree. His face was buried in her sleeve.
Henry brushed bits of bark from his trousers before meeting Eleanor’s eyes with concern. “What compelled him to climb up there?”
Her gaze darted around them again, surveying every direction. “He thought he saw Mr. Quinton on the property.” Even as she said the words, her chest tightened with dread.
Henry frowned, taking a step closer to them. “Your late husband’s father? How could he have discovered your location?”
“I am certain Arthur imagined it. I do not see how Mr. Quinton could have found us.” She shook her head fast, unwilling to believe that they had been discovered.
Henry touched her shoulder with reassurance. “There is nothing he can do to take Arthur. The courts will be on our side if he tries to regain custody. We have Edward to vouch for us, and it seems the Marquess of Seaford is a close friend of your brother’s. We have connections that outrank Mr. Quinton’s and influence that he will never have.”
She exhaled a long breath. “You are right, but it is still troubling.”
“Yes.” Henry rubbed his chin, glancing behind him. “I will inform my servants to keep a careful watch on the grounds and to direct any unwelcome visitors to the front doors.”
Would it be enough? Eleanor chewed her lower lip. “Arthur,” she said, keeping her voice soft. He lifted his head from her shoulder, his eyes puffy. “Where did you see Grandpapa? Did he speak to you?”
He nodded. “He was by the yellow flowers. He said he wanted to take me home. I ran away.”
Eleanor exchanged a glance with Henry. “Are you certain it was him?” Henry asked.
Arthur nodded again, his chin beginning to quiver. “I don’t want to go with him, Mama. I want to stay here.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“You will not go anywhere with Mr. Quinton.” Henry stepped forward, brushing Arthur’s hair back from his forehead. Arthur stared up at Henry, desperation in his gaze. Eleanor watched as Arthur’s expression slowly relaxed.
“You are safe here. I promise.”
Eleanor held tightly to the promise. That had been the purpose for this marriage, to protect Arthur from Mr. Quinton.
Had he found them already?
Chapter 12
As the days passed, Arthur’s description of Mr. Quinton on the property became less and less plausible. Henry had instructed all his servants to inform him of any sight of a stranger near their property, and thus far, there had been no sight of him.
If Mr. Quinton knew of Eleanor and Arthur’s location, Henry could think of no reason why he would not call upon them to visit his grandson and discuss his desire for custody. Why would he sneak around the property without making himself known?
He wanted to speak to Arthur with more detail on the matter, but he didn’t wish to scare the boy when he was finally growing comfortable around him, so he strived to keep his time spent with Eleanor and Arthur light, happy, and free of worry.
One morning when he ventured down to the breakfast room, he found Arthur with Adeline, his nursemaid, where she was helping him arrange a plate of food.
Adeline glanced up when Henry entered, greeting him with her usual curtsy and smile. She was a quiet sort, much like Arthur. Henry supposed that was why they got along so well.
Henry smiled down at him. “Good morning, Arthur.”
“Good morning.”
“Where is your mother?”
“She is still sleeping.” Arthur turned his gaze to the fruit tray, pointing timidly at a slice of orange. Adeline served it onto his plate, taking it to the table and helping Arthur onto the tall chair. Adeline glanced at Henry as she pushed Arthur’s chair closer to the table. “The mistress was up with Arthur much in the night. He has nightmares, you see. I suspect she is very tired.”
Henry leaned against the wall. He could think of many reasons why Arthur might have nightmares, and all of them had to do with his previous home and the Quinton men. Adeline did not know what Arthur had been through there. Determination grew within him to be a positive influence in Arthur’s life.
Henry needed to give him a distraction from his troubled thoughts. Perhaps then he would not have so many nightmares.
He sat down at the table beside Arthur, who glanced over at him as he took a bite of bread.
“Have you ever played with a bilbocatch before, Arthur?”
The boy shook his head, his cheeks full. He swallowed. “What’s a bilfocash?”
“Bilbocatch,” Henry corrected, smiling. “It is a toy that I loved when I was a child, and I have one, just for you. It is a wooden rod with a handle, that has a ball attached to a string. Would you like to play when you have finished eating?”
A gleam of excitement entered Arthur’s eyes, and he nodded, scooping up his food with greater speed. Henry fetched two bilbocatches and returned to the breakfast room. When Arthur saw the toy, he finished his plate within minutes and slid down from his chair without Adeline’s assistance.
Henry extended his hand and Arthur took it, walking along beside him until they found a place on the lawn. Henry handed one of the bilbocatches to Arthur, who stared at it in awe. He held it as if it were a mysterious object, dangerous even. He had no idea of what he was supposed to do with it.
Henry’s heart stung to see that Arthur had never played with one before. It had been Henry’s favorite pastime as a young boy, always creating competitions with Edward as to who could catch their ball in the cup consecutively for the longest.
“You must grip it there,” Henry pointed at the handle.
Arthur adjusted his fingers to the correct place, glancing up at Henry for approval.
“That is perfect. Now, see the ball that hangs from the string? You must thrust the cup into the air so the ball flies upward, then try to catch it on the cup.”
Arthur’s brow scrunched in confusion, so Henry demonstrated. He stood with his arm in front of him, holding the handle just below the cup. The ball swung gently, and he waited until it was perfectly still. In one motion, he flicked the cup upward, sending the ball swinging in the air. He repositioned the small cup below it and caught the ball.
Arthur smiled, a small giggle escaping him. He extended his arm as Henry had, waiting for further instruction. His first few attempts he failed to catch the ball, but after a minute or two, he managed to catch it for a brief moment before it fell off again.
“See, it is not so difficult.” Henry smiled, patting him on the back. Arthur’s grin had doubled in size since his first attempt, and he continued to swing the ball.
Amid the clattering of the bilbocatches, Henry hadn’t heard the rushed footsteps behind him.
“Arthur!” Eleanor’s voice was unmistakable as she turned the corner that led to Henry’s and Arthur’s location near the gardens.
Henry turned around, surprised to see the concern on her face. The moment she saw him, her posture slackened, her brow smoothing over. “Oh. I thought—” she stopped, b
iting her lower lip. “I did not know where Arthur was.” She pressed her hand against her side, breathing heavily. “I was worried something had—had happened to him.” Her voice still trembled, from exertion or worry, he couldn’t tell. He was glad to see that she was relieved when she saw Arthur with him but wished that she did not have to live in such fear.
“I should have told you I had him with me,” Henry said. “I wanted to let you rest.”
Her eyes flicked to the bilbocatches, as if noticing them for the first time. Her expression lightened, a smile stealing across her face. “I have not seen one of those since I was a child.”
Henry extended his toward her. “Would you like to join us?”
She met his eyes, reservation in her gaze. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
She took the bilbocatch gently, holding it in a manner quite similar to Arthur. “I’m not certain I remember how to play.” She laughed quietly, studying every angle of the toy as if it were a specimen meant for scientific study.
He chuckled, noticing her grip was in the same place Arthur’s had been, her hand wrapped around the cup. He moved forward until he stood beside her, carefully taking hold of the base of the bilbocatch, then taking her wrist in his other hand, sliding his fingers over hers. Every time he touched her, he was surprised by the effect it had on him. It never failed to set his pulse moving a little faster.
His stomach flipped when her eyes met his. They were so blue. He returned his gaze to their hands, using his fingers to shift hers downward.
“There,” he said, taking a breath. “Hold it just there.” He had trouble breathing in that moment, with all the scents of her, the smell of roses wafting up from her clothing. He took a step back.
She stared intently at her bilbocatch. “And now do I swing the ball and try to catch it on the cup?”
“Yes.” Henry’s voice had turned far too professional, as if he were instructing a pupil. He was instructing her, yes, but she was far more than his pupil. He cleared his throat.
Eleanor gave it her best swing, catching the ball perfectly on top of the cup. She turned to him in triumph, her smile wide and bright. “Oh! Look!”
He laughed, warmth spreading through his chest at the image of pure delight on her face. She turned to Arthur, showing him the result of her first attempt as well. He grinned up at her, giggling as he tried again, showing no signs of discouragement as his ball missed the cup over and over again. Henry decided that he ought to introduce Arthur to spillikins and paper ships before he grew too old to appreciate them. Henry, of course, would always appreciate such games, and it seemed Eleanor would too.
For several minutes, Henry watched as Eleanor and Arthur practiced bilbocatch, laughing and smiling like he had never seen before. He would do anything to keep them so content. His own smile grew with each passing minute. Eleanor eventually set her bilbocatch down on the grass, letting out a long, contented sigh. She turned to Henry, the dark curls on her forehead twisting slightly in the breeze. “Arthur seems to love it,” she said, walking across the grass.
Henry sat down beneath the nearest tree, and Eleanor joined him. They watched, laughing as Arthur spun in a circle, trying to catch the ball at the same time.
“He does. I should have brought out the toy sooner.”
He glanced at Eleanor, surprised to see a sheen of moisture on her eyes, though her mouth still smiled. “I have never seen him so free or heard him laugh so much.”
Henry watched Arthur, deep affection and pride glowing within him. Arthur was not his son by birth, but he was his stepson. He had only known him for a matter of weeks, and yet the pride he felt for him was stronger than what he ever could have imagined he would feel for a son.
“You remind me of my mother,” Henry said.
Eleanor eyed him, silently awaiting his explanation.
“You truly care about your son, and you have taught him well. You are strong, loyal, and fiercely protective. He knows he can rely on you. If there is anything that should exist between mother and child it is trust and love. You and Arthur have both, just as I had with my mother.”
Eleanor rubbed her fingers through the grass, plucking out blades one at a time. Her smile had slackened, and deep thought showed in her profile. “I believe that is true for any other relationship as well. Trust is vital.”
“And love?” Henry waited for her eyes to meet his, to see if he could decipher anything from them. He certainly couldn’t by her actions. Did she care for him as deeply as he was coming to care for her? He believed that she was beginning to trust him, but he wanted more than that.
Grace had told him that love was a choice, but when it came to Eleanor, he was losing all choice in the matter. He couldn’t help but fall in love with her. His choice had been taken away when he first saw her smile and heard her laugh. His heart had surrendered.
But Eleanor had been hurt by love, tortured by it, and had learned not to trust when a man told her he loved her. How could he expect her to believe him if he did? He did not want to ruin the friendship they were building—he did not want to ruin the trust he had worked so hard for by scaring her away.
Eleanor glanced up at him, her cheeks growing pink at the centers as they often did. That must have meant something, didn’t it? Eleanor was difficult to read. He still felt a distance between them, a gap he did not know how to bridge.
“Love is very important too.” Eleanor said, her voice soft and thoughtful. “I think love is not possible without trust. But when trust is betrayed, love begins to hurt and destroy the person that dared to love at all. Thus, love betrays that person too.” There was passion behind her words. Her voice was strong, but a tremor could still be heard behind it. Eleanor began picking at the grass again, her shoulders square, her chin firm.
Henry leaned closer, trying to draw her gaze back to his face. “Do you not think love can also heal?”
Eleanor’s posture softened, and she looked up at him. She was silent for a long moment before answering, searching his eyes. “Yes.”
“But only if you dare to trust first. And only if you let yourself be healed.”
Her jaw tightened, her eyes settling on his with a weight he had never seen before. She looked as if she were about to speak, her brows drawing together and her lips parting.
Before she could say a word, Arthur ran across the grass, his giggles calling both their gazes.
“Look!” He held up the bilbocatch, the ball resting neatly on top.
Henry smiled, beckoning Arthur closer with his hand. “I knew you would be very skilled with a bilbocatch.” Henry winked.
Arthur beamed with pride, settling down on the grass beside them. “I wike it,” he said, studying the ball, rolling it between his hands.
Eleanor laughed, leaning forward to ruffle his hair. “I think you love it.”
He nodded, looking up at Henry from under his lashes.
Henry chuckled, leaning back on his hands. His right hand settled in the grass directly beside Eleanor’s hand, his index finger touching hers in the grass. He saw her arm tighten, but she didn’t move, and her posture slowly relaxed. He adjusted his arm, his elbow brushing against hers.
“I am glad you like your new toy. Do you enjoy the rocking horse in your room as well?” Henry asked Arthur.
He nodded, just a small motion. “Very much.”
“When you are bigger, I will teach you to ride a real horse.”
Arthur’s eyes shone with excitement, and he turned his gaze to the stables. “A real horse?”
“Of course. You will be a very skilled rider, I am certain of it.” He nudged Eleanor. “I believe your mother still owes me a ride.”
Eleanor’s lips twisted into a grin. They had been meaning to take a ride every morning, but she had either been sleeping late after staying up so long with Arthur, or he had been busy in his study.
Henry turned his gaze back to Arthur. “Is there anything else you would like to have in your new home?”
Arthur looked up at the sky, as if he were deeply pondering the question.
“You may ask for anything you wish,” Henry said.
Arthur lay down, picking up a handful of grass just as his mother had. He was silent for a long moment before deciding on his answer. “I want brothers and sisters.”
Henry dropped his chin, chuckling. Eleanor tightened, and he glanced at her face. Her cheeks had darkened to a deeper shade of pink. He and Eleanor had never discussed such a thing. When he did not respond, Arthur frowned.
“May I have brothers and sisters?”
Henry raised his eyebrows, not expecting to feel so uncomfortable. He felt his own face growing hot, and he was suddenly afraid to look at Eleanor. Blast it, why was he being such a ninny? “Perhaps…in time, I may—er—we may have brothers and sisters for you.” Could he have possibly sounded more pathetically awkward? He took a deep breath, glancing at Eleanor, who had begun plucking blades of grass again.
Fortunately, Arthur seemed to be satisfied with his response, returning his attention to the bilbocatch. Henry did hope to one day grow their family, but he would give Eleanor all the time she needed to trust him, to love him, if she ever could. He would wait forever if it was necessary, and he would never give up on the possibility of a marriage of deep affection and love. He hoped it was possible. His heart pounded when he looked at her, at the pink that had begun fading from her cheeks, the tight pinching of her lips. He felt he was constantly at a battle between wanting to show her how much he cared but being afraid of scaring her away. The slightest touch could frighten her. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her in his arms, but he didn’t know if the risk was worth it. But blast it, he wanted to kiss her.
Arthur began speaking about his rocking horse, and Henry suggested that he name it. Eleanor listened intently, offering her own suggestions. After much deliberation, the name Charger was decided upon, since the horse was brave enough to charge into battle fearlessly.
They stayed beneath that tree until the afternoon, laughing more often than not, until rain clouds drove them inside. They went to the library to begin Arthur’s lessons. Henry began to doubt the wisdom of giving him the bilbocatch, for his lessons were much more distracted with a toy nearby.
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