Chapter Eleven #3
“Eleanor was the woman I loved when I was a younger man. I wanted to marry her. However, my mother made sure I didn’t.
” Henry set down his cigar. “She drove Eleanor to suicide with lies and threats. I’ve kept my upcoming marriage a secret from my parents for a reason.
My mother is cruel. Manipulative. I know more now.
I’m older and smarter. I will not allow her to do the same to Sophia. ”
“What did she do? Exactly?” James said. “We must know everything.”
He told them about Eleanor—the special license, his mother’s visit while he was away. The forged letters, the threats to her father’s living, the psychological torment that had convinced Eleanor that dying would be the loving thing to do.
“She walked into the sea believing she was saving me,” Henry said, his voice raw. “Believing I would be happier without her. My mother murdered her with words and lies, and there was nothing I could do to stop it because I didn’t know until it was too late.”
“Christ,” James muttered.
“And Sophia knows all of this?” Sebastian asked.
“Yes, she knows it all. She knows what my mother is capable of. And I’ve taken precautions.
” Henry looked at both men. “By the time they learn of the marriage, it will be done. Sophia will be my wife, protected by law and by me. My mother can try her tricks, but Sophia is stronger than Eleanor was. And this time, I’ll be ready. ”
“Will you?” Sebastian’s tone wasn’t challenging, just concerned. “Your mother sounds formidable.”
“She is. But, in all truth, Sophia is stronger. Looking back, I can see clearly how vulnerable, how sheltered, Eleanor had been. Sophia is neither of those things. As she told me herself, given what she’s already been through, she can manage my mother and her trickery.
“Good,” James said simply. “Because if anything happens to Sophia—if your mother hurts her in any way—you’ll answer to me.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” James leaned forward. “Because I mean it, Montrose. Sophia has been through hell. She’s survived things that would have broken most people. She deserves peace. Safety. Happiness. If you can’t give her those things, then we cannot allow this marriage to happen.”
“I can. I will.” Henry met his eyes steadily. “I know what she’s survived. She told me what happened with her last employer. I intend to make the rest of her life a happy one.”
Sebastian’s expression darkened. “She told you about the assault?”
“Yes. And it made me want to kill the man who hurt her.” Henry’s hands clenched.
“But instead, I promised her she would always be safe with me. That no one would ever hurt her again. I intend to keep that promise. The thought of her being unhappy or hurt makes me…” He stopped, his hands clenching the arms of his chair.
“It makes me furious in a way I’ve never felt before. ”
“That sounds like love to me,” Sebastian said with a glance at his brother.
Henry picked up his glass of port. “I can promise you—I will spend the rest of my life trying to make her happy. Trying to be worthy of her. She deserves nothing less. As I said earlier, she’s brought the house back to life. And me too.”
James studied him for a long moment, taking a draw on his cigar, exhaling slowly. “Fine. I am convinced. Now let’s talk about practicalities. The estate. Is it entailed?”
“Yes. To the male line,” Henry said.
“And it came to you through whom?” James asked.
“My uncle, George Montrose. He inherited from his father, but he had no sons. Only a daughter—Charlotte, now the Duchess of Thornbridge. When he died six years ago, the estate passed to me as the nearest male heir.”
“And the Duchess has no resentment about this?” James’s tone was skeptical.
“None. Charlotte married well. The Duke of Thornbridge has substantial estates of his own. And my uncle left her a generous settlement in his will.” Henry paused. “Charlotte and I grew up together. She’s more like a sister to me than a cousin. She and her husband are my dearest friends.”
“The estate,” Sebastian said, returning to practical matters. “You said it’s entailed. Are there debts?”
“None. My uncle was an excellent steward. The estate is profitable, with two thousand acres, most let to good tenants. I’ve made some improvements since inheriting: new drainage in the lower fields, repairs to tenant cottages, expansion of the glasshouses. The income is solid.”
“And there is Sophia’s dowry,” Sebastian said.
“It is generous, your grace. But I would have married her without it.” Henry paused. “I’m not a wealthy man by ducal standards, but I’m comfortable. Sophia will want for nothing.”
“What about her pin money?” James asked. “Will she have any money of her own?”
“I’ve arranged for five hundred pounds per annum, plus full access to the household accounts for any expenses she deems necessary. And I’ve settled ten thousand pounds on her independently—it’s hers regardless of what happens to me or the estate. It will be formalized in the marriage contract.”
Sebastian nodded approvingly. “That’s generous.”
“As I’ve said, she’ll have whatever she needs,” Henry said.
Sebastian raised his glass. “To your marriage, Montrose. May it bring you both the happiness you deserve.”
James raised his glass as well, though his expression remained guarded. “To Sophia’s happiness. And your wisdom in protecting it.”
Henry raised his own glass, grateful to have won their approval. “I won’t fail her. Or you. I swear it.”
“Now then,” Sebastian said, setting down his glass with a decisive click. “I believe we’ve kept the ladies waiting long enough. Shall we join them?”
As they rose and made their way toward the drawing room, Henry felt his heart begin to pound. What he’d thought would be lies had become truth. He was in love with Sophia Ashford. He had fallen in love with his convenient bride.
And tomorrow, he would marry her, knowing that what had started as a practical arrangement had become something real.
At least to him. He suspected it was the same for her.
Regardless, he would give his full effort to making her fall in love with him.
She was worth fighting for. He knew it now, down deep in his bones. They were meant to be.