Eleanor’s cheeks had refused to cool since Henry had kissed her and told her he loved her. Why had she been too afraid to say it back? She was tired, tired of being afraid. But she had told him the truth. Her courage was coming in small pieces, and she had to be grateful for that. The moment she felt courageous again, she would tell Henry how much she loved him. However, she was not feeling courageous at the moment. The only thing she could feel was anxiety. Arthur was so far away.
After speaking of the elder Mr. Quinton again, her feeling of peace had been fleeting. All she could think of was Arthur, and how she could hardly wait to return home to him. She had promised to see him before he went to bed, and it was growing late.
After listening to a poetry reading by Margaret and a violin performance by Lady Seaford, Henry stood, thanking the host and hostess, and excusing them from the party. It seemed he was as eager to return home as she was.
Before they could leave, Adam met them in the hall. Henry explained everything to him, exactly as Eleanor had said it, detailing the events of the day she and Arthur left. Adam hugged her, relaying similar words as Henry had, words meant to reassure her that Mr. Quinton was not a threat to be concerned about. But neither Adam nor Henry had met him. They had not seen the hardness in his eyes, the fierce ownership he had taken over Arthur—as if he had more of right to guardianship than his own mother.
Though Adam expressed the same phrase to Eleanor as Henry had, not to worry, her unease only seemed to grow as they took their leave and began the lengthy drive back to Worthing.
Chapter 15
The house was fairly dark when the coach pulled up the drive, very few candles burning in the windows. Henry helped Eleanor down to the ground, keeping her hand in his as they walked toward the front doors. He felt closer to Eleanor than he ever had, now that he knew she trusted him fully. He still did not know if she loved him, but he would wait patiently to find out. He had taken a great deal of time and effort to gain her trust, and he suspected her love was even more difficult to win.
Even so, Henry could think of hardly anything but their kiss as she looked up at him, her eyes shining dark under the night sky, her crimson lips pressing together. She had welcomed it, hadn’t she? He could not recall much from the kiss they had shared—nothing except the fact that it had felt nothing short of perfect. He had known that he loved her, but he had not known how madly he loved her until that moment.
He held her hand tightly as they walked through the front doors.
“Do you think Arthur has already gone to bed?” Eleanor asked, glancing toward the staircase.
“I should hope not.” Henry followed her gaze up the stairs. “You did promise him a kiss.” Henry found himself wishing he had received such a promise.
“I do not want to wake him, but I want him to know we are home.” Her voice came off nervous.
“Let us see if he is awake,” Henry said before leading her up the stairs. The second floor was not as bright as the main level, just as it had been at Pengrave that evening. All the doors in the hallway were closed, not a single candle burning on the wall sconces. Henry found it rather odd that Arthur had been put to bed so early, and Eleanor seemed to have the same thought, her brows pulling together as they walked closer to Arthur’s closed door.
Eleanor grabbed the handle, opening it just a crack. Moonlight from his window spilled into the hallway, and she pulled the door open wider before walking into the room. Henry followed, his heart dropping when Eleanor turned to him, her eyes round with concern.
“Arthur is not in bed.”
“He isn’t?” Henry took two large strides around her, his gaze landing on the made bed, with no sign that Arthur had been in it that night. His chest constricted with dread. “Perhaps he is with Adeline in the library. He does enjoy stories before bed.”
Eleanor seemed to relax slightly at his suggestion. “Yes, that could be so.”
Henry led the way out of the room and down the stairs. When they reached the library, his dread intensified. The doors were closed, with no sign of light within. Henry walked inside, finding the interior of the room deserted.
“Henry,” Eleanor’s voice cracked as she paced the hall. “Where else could he be?”
He stopped her, taking her hands in his to calm their shaking. “Not to worry. He must be with Adeline somewhere. We must first find her, and then we will have found Arthur.”
Eleanor nodded. “They could be in the kitchen? I know your cook has given Arthur scraps of dough during her evening baking. Perhaps he wandered there.”
“That is very plausible,” Henry said, trying to keep his voice positive. His own chest still felt weighed down by worry. Nothing has happened to Arthur, he tried to reassure himself. He couldn’t imagine Adeline leaving Arthur’s side for long enough for him to get lost. But where the devil was she?
The kitchen was also empty. Eleanor framed her face with her hands, taking a deep breath. “I knew we should not have left him.”
Henry hated to see Eleanor like this. She began walking down the hall, stopping at every door and peering through it.
“Arthur!” she called. “Where are you?”
“Let us check below stairs. Adeline might have taken him down with the other servants.” Henry could not imagine why she would do that, but it was still a possibility. They hurried to the main level. Henry started toward the servant’s doors, but stopped when Silas rounded the corner, carrying a stack of Henry’s freshly washed trousers. “Ah, good evening.”
“Silas,” Henry said. “Would you assist us for a moment? We cannot seem to find Adeline, the nursemaid. Arthur was left in her care.”
Silas frowned. “I haven’t seen Adeline all evening, sir.”
Henry exchanged a glance with Eleanor, who had paled significantly.
“But I’ve been below stairs,” Silas said, shifting the stack of clothing to one arm, scratching his freckled forehead. “I s’pose she could be outside with the boy.”
Henry’s heart picked up speed, his senses on high alert. Eleanor’s face exhibited the same confusion he felt. “I do not understand. Arthur would never run away, and Adeline is perfectly capable of looking after him.” She paused, her eyes potent with fear. “Do you think Mr. Quinton came to the property?”
Henry could not deny that the thought had crossed his mind. He exhaled, running his hand over his hair. His anxiety was beginning to match Eleanor’s. “I do not see how he could have found a way past my servants. I instructed them to keep a close watch on the property, and if he had tried to apprehend him, Adeline would have made enough noise to draw attention to him and receive help.”
Henry enlisted the assistance of his butler, two stable hands, his groundskeeper, and Silas, all of whom helped circle the house and property in search of Arthur and Adeline. Henry kept Eleanor at his side as they searched, calling Arthur’s name. They even checked the same tree he had climbed before, finding the branches empty and dark.
“Look!” Eleanor bent over near the base of the tree.
Arthur’s bilbocatch lay half buried in the overgrown grass. Henry picked it up, a cold chill climbing over his shoulders.
“He was here.” Eleanor looked up at him, her eyes flashing with the same dread he felt. “It must have been Mr. Quinton. He found us, Henry.” She shook her head, covering her mouth. “He took Arthur, and he took Adeline with them.”
Henry studied the grass that led to the road beyond the trees. Silas stood nearby, seemingly noticing the same thing Henry did.
“Horse hooves,” Silas said.
“Horse hooves, Eleanor,” Henry repeated, pointing at the imprints in the grass. “Mr. Quinton must have taken Arthur with him on horseback. If he made his way onto the property from the trees, then he would not have been seen by the servants near the house.”
Henry took Eleanor’s hand and sprinted to the stables, throwing the doors open with a crash. The horses whinnied in alarm, stamping their hooves in the stalls. Two nearby grooms help
ed him saddle a horse, and Silas saddled one of his own, intent to help in the search. Henry chose a stallion for Eleanor as well, trusting the horse to be a sedate one. “Are you confident to ride on your own?” he asked her. She had told him that she hadn’t ridden in years.
Eleanor nodded, raising her chin. “I will manage.”
She appeared so small, so terrified, but trying to be brave. His heart ached. He would find Arthur no matter what it took.
As they led the horses out of the stables, Henry noticed one of his mares was not in her stall. He paused. The doors had not been left open so she could not have wandered out.
He set aside the concern, knowing it to be far less pressing than his current situation.
He helped Eleanor mount first, then mounted beside her. He had set her up with a regular saddle, knowing they could move faster if she rode astride. She still wore the gown she had worn at the party that evening, and thankfully the skirts had enough fullness to situate around the saddle and horse without tearing.
She gripped the reins, her face tightening with determination. Henry mounted his horse and led the way toward the trees. Both Eleanor and Silas helped keep track of the hoof marks in the grass, but as soon as they reached the road, there was no sign of them. They chose to ride east, calling Arthur’s name into the darkness. Henry urged his horse faster, galloping over the deserted road. He prayed under his breath. He had promised to keep Eleanor and Arthur safe. He had promised, and he was nothing if not a man of his word.
The roads of Worthing were fairly uneven, and when it began to rain, the horses struggled to keep their speed through the mud. They pressed on through the wet storm. He could not wait until the next morning to call on the constable; he had to find Arthur tonight, before his captor took him too far to trace.
Eleanor’s voice had gotten stronger, more desperate as she called Arthur’s name. They rode as fast as possible. Henry’s clothing was soaked all the way through, his vision becoming blurred through the rain that pounded down on his head. The streets were hardly lit, the storm clouds covering the moon.
Henry slowed down to allow Eleanor and Silas to catch up. As lightning struck, his horse shifted anxiously. The sudden light afforded Henry a view of the ground below. His heart jumped in his chest. In front of their own horses was a set of hoof prints, stretching out for as far as he could see. The storm had just begun a few minutes before, so the animal that had made the prints must not have been far ahead.
Henry would wager it had been Mr. Quinton.
At least he was on the right path. He knew an inn to be on this road, and he suspected Mr. Quinton would have stopped there for shelter rather than carry on through the storm. Since the rain could calm at any moment, Henry led the way with more determination, urging his horse faster.
The light of the inn glowed in the distance, and when he finally reached it, he was relieved to see the tracks they had been following stop. He dismounted quickly, leaving his horse with Silas and helping Eleanor down from hers.
“Look who it is,” Silas said, walking toward a different horse that had been sheltered nearby.
Henry squinted before realization dawned on him. It was his mare, the one that had been missing from the stables. The coloring of her coat was distinctive, a unique shade of ginger.
“What is she doing here? How could Mr. Quinton have gotten past my stable hands?”
Silas simply shrugged, shaking his head in disbelief.
It was very strange. Henry turned to Eleanor. Her hair had fallen out of its style, hanging wet around her face, splattered in mud, just as it had been that first day he met her on her journey to Brighton. “Do you think Arthur is here?” she asked. Her gaze flickered to the windows of the inn.
“My mare is here, so its rider must be here too.” Henry guided her to the front door, pushing it open firmly. Silas followed close behind.
The guests in the parlor glanced up from their plates and card games, shocked by the clatter of the door. The scent of burning pine mingled with wet travelers wafted up to Henry’s nose. He could also smell a blend of cinnamon and herbs, as if they had been sprinkled about the room in an attempt to mask the unpleasant smell of the travelers. A man who appeared to be the innkeeper moved from behind the bar to greet them, a look of disapproval and surprise on his face.
Henry met him halfway. “Have you received a young boy with black hair with any of your guests this evening?”
The innkeeper’s surprise only seemed to increase with Henry’s abrupt question, his bushy grey eyebrows lifting. “I have many guests staying here this evening. I cannot say for certain.”
Henry opened his mouth to ask another question but stopped. A dark flash caught his eye near the staircase. He jerked his head toward it, catching sight of a small arm as it rounded the corner to the hall.
He heard Eleanor gasp behind him.
She had seen it too. There were likely a number of children at the inn that night, but he could have sworn it was Arthur he had seen. He stepped away from the innkeeper, rushing toward the hallway with Eleanor close behind.
As he rounded the same corner, he heard a door slam shut near the end of the hall. With large strides, he ran, not caring if he disturbed any slumbering guests.
He stopped in front of the door he thought he had seen closing. Eleanor stopped beside him, her breathing heavy. “Henry, please be careful.” Her eyes stared into his, large and round. Her voice fell to a whisper. “Mr. Quinton is dangerous, and I do not know what I would do if he hurt you—or—” she shook her head.
“I will not let him take Arthur,” Henry said, his voice gentle and resolute at once. “I promise. Did you see which room he entered?”
She shook her head, leaning toward the nearest door. “Arthur?” she called.
A small voice met Henry’s ears from within the room. “Mama! Ma—” The second half of the word was muffled.
Henry jerked on the handle, but the door was locked. He took two steps back, running at the door with all his strength, aiming his shoulder at it. The door rattled in the frame but did not open. Silas gave it his best try as well, but the door refused to budge.
“What the devil is happening here?” The innkeeper appeared in the hallway, his face red and puffy with anger. His eyes narrowed at Henry. “Get out of my inn at once!”
Eleanor turned to him, desperation in her eyes. “My son has been abducted and he is being held in that room.”
The innkeeper’s expression immediately shifted to one of concern, and he sprang into action. He withdrew a set of keys from his pocket, muttering to himself as he searched for the correct one. Henry felt close to bursting with impatience as the innkeeper tried three different keys on the door, none of which were correct. After his fifth attempt, the handle turned, and he threw the door open.
Henry barged inside, his gaze jumping around the room. He could see a four-poster bed, a dresser, and a curtained window—no sign of Arthur. When he walked farther into the room, though, he heard a muffled whimper from behind the door.
He stepped around it to see Arthur standing there, a hand firmly covering his mouth—a hand that was much too small to belong to Mr. Quinton.
Henry’s gaze jumped up to the woman’s face.
It was Adeline.
Chapter 16
Adeline released Arthur as soon as Henry saw her, backing into the corner behind the door.
“Arthur!” Eleanor’s voice was a mixture of relief and astonishment.
Henry scooped Arthur up and into his arms, far away from Adeline’s reach. Arthur wrapped his arms around Henry’s neck, his muscles trembling. Eleanor kissed his cheeks, smoothing her hand over his hair.
Henry turned his gaze back to Adeline, his brow tightening in confusion, his jaw clenching with anger. He couldn’t believe she would abduct Arthur, and he couldn’t imagine why. But here she was, appearing as guilty as one possibly could, with tears streaming down her face. “What are you doing here with Arthur?” he demanded.
> Adeline stepped out from behind the door. She wrapped her arms around herself, glancing ruefully at him. “I—I’m sorry. I had to take him.”
“Why?” From the expression on her face, Henry never would have guessed she would willfully abduct a child.
Adeline sobbed, sniffing loudly. “My master saw your advertisement in town and sent me to take the position of nursemaid at your home. He grew impatient. He w-wanted the boy, and he told me I had to t-take him tonight while you were gone.” She took a deep, quaking breath. “I stole your horse. I was instructed to meet him here, but he has not yet arrived. I do not know what he will do to me if he discovered I failed.” She wiped her nose. “I am sorry. I am so very sorry. I was so afraid.”
Henry glanced at Eleanor, who stared at Adeline with shock. It was not fair how many times Eleanor’s trust had been betrayed. Now, after Adeline’s betrayal, he knew by some small measure what that felt like. He had trusted Adeline to look after Arthur.
“Mr. Quinton is your master?” Eleanor asked. “You were in his employ before taking the position at our home?”
Adeline nodded. “Yes. He went to Brighton in search of you and Arthur several weeks ago. It did not take long for him to learn of your recent marriage to Mr. Beaumont. Knowing he could no longer secure custody of Arthur through the courts, he decided he needed a different way.” She swallowed, looking down shamefully. “He saw the advertisement for your need of a nursemaid, and he sent me to apply. I did not know his plan until he wrote me a letter with detailed instructions and threats, and then he came to the property to speak with me. He tried to take the boy himself, but he was unsuccessful. He needed me to meet him here tonight with Arthur. If I didn’t obey he said he’d put my entire family out of work.” Her eyes grew round. “I still should not have done it. I should have told you.” She continued her sobbing, tears falling down her face and dripping off her chin.
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