So it had not been Arthur’s imagination that day when he climbed the tree—when he claimed to have seen Mr. Quinton. Henry’s anger toward Adeline subsided, but was quickly replaced by renewed anger toward Mr. Quinton. Adeline was sixteen years old and he had threatened her, just as he continued to threaten Eleanor. Henry held Arthur tighter in his arms. He needed to get him and Eleanor out of the inn before Mr. Quinton arrived.
The innkeeper watched the exchange with growing concern. “I would never have allowed such a thing to occur at my inn. How atrocious! Where is this man?”
Henry handed Arthur to Eleanor, ushering Silas forward. “If Mr. Quinton is arriving at any moment, we must be prepared outside to meet him.”
Eleanor shook her head hard. “No. We must take Arthur home. We must leave before Mr. Quinton finds us.”
“I will not risk this happening again,” Henry said. “Stay here where you are safe, and Silas and I will wait outside for his arrival.”
Eleanor wrapped her arms around Arthur, her face pleading over his shoulder. “Please be careful, Henry.”
It was Mr. Quinton who would need to be careful. Henry gritted his teeth, stepping out of the doorway. There was no police force in England that would protect his family for him. It was Henry’s duty to do so, to defend their honor and their safety.
Henry turned to Adeline before leaving. “Based on his instructions, do you think Mr. Quinton will be arriving soon?”
She glanced at the clock on the wall and nodded, fear flashing in her eyes. “At any moment.”
He would make Mr. Quinton wish he had never dared threaten his family. Henry planned to prove once and for all that he was not born to be a vicar.
* * *
“Would you like my sword?” Silas asked as they stepped outside the inn.
Henry was not surprised in the slightest that Silas had brought his sword with him. “I do not think it will be necessary,” Henry said, squinting through the dark.
They waited for several minutes, Henry’s fists clenching at his sides. Where the devil was he? In the distance, a horse came into view, its rider indistinguishable in the dark.
“Is that him?” Silas asked.
As the rider came closer, Henry walked forward a few paces, catching sight of the man’s dark hair and large stature. Based on his age and overall appearance, he fit Eleanor’s description. The man could only have been Mr. Quinton. Henry’s jaw tightened.
Henry watched as the man dismounted and began walking toward the front doors of the inn. Henry and Silas stepped in front of the doors as he approached. The man removed his hat, his hair dripping down his wrinkled skin, two piercing blue eyes meeting Henry’s.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” The man’s voice was clipped, deep and gruff.
“I’m afraid we cannot let you pass.” It took all of Henry’s concentration not to plant a facer on the man that very moment, without warning. He took a steadying breath, fixing him with a firm stare instead.
“I beg your pardon?” The man glared at him. “Step aside at once.”
“Are you Mr. Quinton?” Henry asked.
The man’s eyes flashed with surprise, then suspicion. “Who are you?”
Henry took that as his answer. “I discovered my nursemaid’s scheme to deliver my stepson to you here at this inn. I stopped her before she could carry it out.” Henry didn’t want him to know that Arthur and Eleanor were inside the inn. If he could control it, he wanted to ensure that they never had to see Mr. Quinton again.
The man’s eyes hardened, flashing with anger. “Your stepson?”
“I know you have been trespassing on my property, threatening one of my servants, and attempting to abduct Arthur. I will not allow it to continue.”
Mr. Quinton’s eyes shifted over Henry’s shoulder at the inn door behind him before settling on his face again with chilling determination. “I will find a way to take my grandson away from his murderous mother and have her convicted for her crimes.”
Henry’s anger threatened to spill over. “She has not committed a crime. But you have.”
Mr. Quinton paced back a step, laughing quietly under his breath. “Your wife murdered my son before fleeing to Brighton. I will have her stand trial for it, and she will be accused. I cannot stand by while my grandson is in the hands of such a wicked woman.”
Henry stepped forward, taking Mr. Quinton by the front of his shirt. He jerked away, pushing Henry against the inn door. Silas intervened, stepping between them.
“Do not utter one more insult against my wife,” Henry said.
Mr. Quinton glared at him, his eyes glinting like steel. “Where is the boy?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“It most certainly is. If you do not hand him over now, I will have your wife taken to court for her murder of my son.”
“She did not murder your son. You have no witnesses to support your claim.”
“I am only seeking what is best for the child,” Mr. Quinton spat.
“Do you truly claim to care for the boy? You only want control of the properties entitled to him. Did you know your son tried to kill him that day Eleanor fled? The only reason Arthur was safe in that house, living under the care of his own father, was because of Eleanor. She protected him. She saved him.”
Mr. Quinton’s anger only grew. “My son would never do such a thing.”
“Not only did he hurt Arthur that day, but he hurt Eleanor often.”
“For reasons she deserved to be punished for.”
Henry’s jaw clenched, and Silas had to stop him from lunging at Mr. Quinton, pulling Henry back by the shoulders. He took a heavy breath. Henry found himself wishing he did not have such a strong conscience and sense of honor. Being above Mr. Quinton in social status, he could not challenge him to a duel. It would be highly dishonorable. But he was tempted. He assumed Edward would have had no problem thrusting his fist into Mr. Quinton’s nose, and he would have encouraged Henry to do it too. Henry had never found himself wishing he was more like Edward.
Henry needed to do something. He could not leave Eleanor and Arthur to live in fear any longer. With Mr. Quinton determined to take Arthur, they would never be at peace. His own determination rose, and he squared his shoulders. He could not challenge Mr. Quinton to a duel, but if he could draw a challenge out of Mr. Quinton, then he would readily accept it.
“Your son was a monster of the most despicable sort,” Henry said. “He deserved to die that day.”
Mr. Quinton’s eyes flashed.
“Eleanor did not kill him. His own vile character killed him, his own greed and rage and dishonor.” Henry took a step closer to Mr. Quinton, his face just inches away. “And I see quite clearly where he learned it from.”
Mr. Quinton growled, slapping Henry across the face with his gloved hand. Henry’s cheek stung, but he maintained Mr. Quinton’s gaze.
“I challenge you,” Mr. Quinton said, his voice shaking with rage. “I challenge you to a duel at dawn tomorrow.”
“Until?”
“First blood.”
Henry expected nothing less cowardly from a man like Mr. Quinton. “Swords or pistols?”
“Swords.”
There was more that needed to be sorted out through the duel than a mere offense of honor. He needed to ensure Mr. Quinton never came near them again. “I wish to set more terms upon this duel. If I am victorious, you will vow never to come near my home or my family again.”
“And if I am victorious you will hand over the boy.”
“Never.”
Mr. Quinton gritted his teeth, his nostrils flaring. Without warning, he reached in his jacket and withdrew a pistol, aiming it at Henry’s chest. His heart seized.
The inn door opened behind him, the hinges creaking, momentarily distracting Mr. Quinton. Before the opportunity could pass, Henry grabbed Mr. Quinton’s arm, twisting it downward just before his shot cut through the air. A woman’s scream came from behind him, and his blood froze. No.
Henry turned around, shocked to see Adeline in the open doorway, crumpled to the ground, clutching her leg. Her skirts were already stained with blood from the wound Mr. Quinton’s shot had inflicted. The guests in the parlor all stood, gasping and shouting as men gathered in the doorway to help Adeline.
Eleanor and Arthur stood in the parlor as well, less than three feet behind where Adeline had been standing. Henry met Eleanor’s eyes briefly before turning back toward Mr. Quinton. Silas had already torn the pistol from his grip and was struggling to wrestle him to the ground. The innkeeper pushed through the crowd and assisted Silas in detaining Mr. Quinton. They forced him away from the scene, tying his arms behind his back.
Henry stooped over Adeline, taking off his jacket to apply pressure to the wound in her leg. A man claiming to be a surgeon stepped forward to assist Adeline. Her eyes, glossed and filled with tears, met Henry’s. “I knew he had a pistol,” she choked. “He always carries one. I couldn’t let you face him without knowing. I had to come down and warn you.”
Henry could hardly believe the man would be so bold as to fire a pistol in front of a crowded inn. The quantity of witnesses was more than enough to send him to court for attempted murder, and it would not be difficult to convict him. Adeline blinked rapidly, cringing in pain.
“Thank you, Adeline,” Henry said.
With the surgeon at her side, he stepped away, searching the room for his family.
Henry rushed past the crowd, finding Eleanor and Arthur standing where he had seen them before. He pulled them into his arms. Eleanor held him tightly, her small frame shaking. She rested her head on his chest, and he smoothed his hand over her hair, cradling her head close. She stepped away, and Henry lifted Arthur off the ground. He wrapped his arms around Henry’s neck, nestling his head into his shoulder. Arthur likely did not fully understand what had just occurred, but he would never have to see Mr. Quinton again.
“You’re safe now,” Henry whispered. He wrapped his free arm around Eleanor’s shoulders.
She scowled up at him, her features firm. “I thought you were going to die.” As soon as she said the words, tears sprung from her eyes. “You cannot do anything so dangerous again, Henry. I forbid it. I cannot lose you.”
He stared down at her, surprised by the tenacity of her voice. She seemed surprised by her own words as well, her watery eyes round as they stared up at him. Did she care for him more than he had thought? He couldn’t stop hope from rising inside of him. Until she spoke the words, he wouldn’t truly know if Eleanor loved him. But for now, as long as Eleanor and Arthur were safe, that was all that mattered.
Chapter 17
Eleanor had never had a sister growing up, but with Amelia and Grace nearby, she felt that she had two very loving, and very insightful sisters. Sisters-in-law at least. She stood on the beach in Brighton near her childhood home, pausing to watch the waves on her walk with Amelia and Grace.
After the events that had occurred two nights before, Henry had suggested that they take a visit to Adam to inform him of what had happened at the inn with Mr. Quinton. Eleanor felt exhausted, both mentally and physically from all that had occurred. Even so, Grace and Amelia had been too cajoling to refuse when they suggested Eleanor take a walk with them to the seaside.
Eleanor quickly discovered the motive behind their suggestion.
“You really must tell him,” Amelia said. “You must tell Henry you love him. It is not as difficult as it may seem. It is three simple words.”
That was not true. It was far more than three simple words. Eleanor could not possibly explain to Henry what he meant to her in just three words. “I do not think I can do it,” she said, her stomach growing ill just at the thought.
“Yes!” Grace tipped her head back with exasperation. “You must.”
“Were you not afraid to tell Edward that you loved him?”
Grace hesitated. “I was not so much afraid than I was uncertain and… rather stubborn. But that was a different situation entirely than your own, and you know Edward and Henry to be two very different sorts of men. Edward would have gone on pursuing me no matter what I said or did, but Henry… he is very patient. He will wait forever to hear those words from you. Would you not choose to put him out of his misery?”
Eleanor’s heart pounded. She thought of those years of darkness, when she had feared she would never be loved again—when she had felt so alone, frightened, and filled with despair. She had known love, yes, for she had poured every bit of her love into Arthur, into her family that felt so far away. But she never imagined she could love someone the way she loved Henry, the way she had dreamed of love since she was a young girl. She had given up on it. She had stopped believing in it.
She wanted to clear the uncertainty between herself and Henry. She wanted to share her life with him in every way, with no doubt and fear to come between them. There would be no more secrets, starting with the secret she had been hiding from him and from herself. She loved him.
“How—how do you suggest I… go about telling him? I cannot simply march toward him in the drawing room and declare my feelings.” Eleanor gestured up the hill where her childhood home lay.
Grace tapped her chin, a mischievous gleam entering her brown eyes. “Well no, of course not. You must first ensure you are away from any watchful eyes so he may kiss you all he wants when you are finished.”
Amelia burst into laughter, covering her mouth with one hand.
Eleanor felt her cheeks grow hot. She had hardly been able to forget the kiss they had shared at the dinner party in Seaford. How could one forget something like that?
“I have never known a man as patient as Henry,” Grace said. “He will wait for you forever, but if you love him at all, you will not put him through his agony any longer.” Grace sighed, touching her hand to her heart. “Oh, Amelia, have you seen the way he looks at her?”
Amelia nodded. “It is so very romantic.”
Eleanor had never considered herself to be a romantic, at least not since Mr. Quinton had betrayed her. Even so, she felt a smile pulling ferociously at her lips, a surge of elation entering her heart. Henry had been right about love being capable of healing. Henry was always right.
She turned to the sea, watching the waves as they moved softly with the summer breeze, raising tiny white bubbles as the water spilled over the sand. Courage spilled through her like the water, rushing up and up. “I suppose you are right. I must tell him.” She took a deep breath, puffing air out from her cheeks.
Amelia and Grace jumped with excitement, each woman taking one of Eleanor’s arms as they walked up the beach. Eleanor’s pulse raced as she mulled over the words she was going to say. Could one plan something as important as this? She felt it impossible to put her words together into coherent sentences in her mind. She struggled for air as well as words as they climbed over the rocky bank and up the slope to Adam and Amelia’s home.
They found Henry sitting on the back lawn with Arthur and his little cousin Ella, teaching them how to play lawn bowls. He glanced up as they approached, squinting against the sun, his smile widening when he saw Eleanor.
Her heart leapt.
“Come now, Arthur,” Grace said, extending her hand. “Shall we go have a cup of water?”
Arthur looked disappointed to be leaving the game, but he obeyed, following Grace, Ella, and Amelia to the back door of the house. Eleanor watched Grace’s expression as the door closed, unable to mistake the gleam of mischief in it.
Eleanor took a deep breath and sat down beside Henry. Before she could stop them, her fingers began picking at the grass in front of her. She could feel Henry’s gaze on the side of her face. Why did the words refuse to come? She felt as if she had lost the ability to speak. She gathered a small stack of grass on her lap before she found the correct words to begin with. She took a breath, preparing to speak, but Henry spoke first.
“Did you enjoy your walk?” His voice was deep and curious, as it always seemed to b
e.
She gave a quick nod, meeting his eyes with a smile. “Very much.” She looked down again, her eyes settling on the pile of grass on her lap. Perhaps she should count how many blades were there. Yes, that seemed like a wonderful idea. She began counting. One, two, three, four…
Henry’s gaze burned into the side of her face, unrelenting with each second that passed. He knew she had something to say—why else would Grace and Amelia have whisked the children away with mischievous smiles?
“How long do you wish to stay in Brighton?” Henry asked, breaking the silence once again. “Our stormy horseback ride to the inn was not what I meant when I said I wished to take you on an enjoyable ride through Worthing.”
Eleanor laughed, a forced, awkward sound. “That was not an enjoyable ride at all, was it?”
“No, it was not.”
She found his eyes again, gathering all the courage she could find within herself. Henry exercised his patience again, keeping his mouth closed until she found the strength to speak.
“I—I have been thinking,” Eleanor blurted.
Henry raised his eyebrows with an amused smile. “What have you been thinking about?”
“I have been thinking about the story I used to tell Arthur every night before bed, and the song I used to sing him.” She took a breath. “I created that story and that song as a way to dream of the future I wanted.” She looked up at Henry, cursing the emotion that choked her again. “My dreams were simple and logical. I wanted to escape the life that I lived. I wanted to give Arthur the freedom to learn and find peace and happiness. That freedom could have come in a number of ways, but in my mind it was as simple as a light. A light that would appear in our constant darkness. Something so small and yet so significant.”
She looked up at the sky. “I had given up on dreaming of impractical things, like living in a comfortable and beautiful home, or falling in love.” She bit her lip as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. “I never knew I could have everything. I never knew I would find you.” A tear slipped down the bridge of her nose. “You are everything I ever wanted, Henry. You have given me everything I ever dreamed of and showed me the things I had forgotten were possible. Kindness, compassion, friendship, love. You are my light, and you are Arthur’s light, and I love you.” Her voice cracked and she looked at him, tears spilling freely from her eyes now, and she spoke the words again with more conviction. “I love you, Henry.”
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