Bound by secret

Chapter six

The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of Eleanor’s chamber, but instead of warmth, all she felt was dread. The wedding preparations had moved at an alarming pace, and now, the entire house was abuzz with excitement. Servants bustled in and out, carrying bolts of fabric, jewelry boxes, and freshly pressed gowns. Everyone was celebrating. Everyone but Eleanor.

She sat stiffly at her vanity as a maid ran a silver comb through her long, dark hair. Her reflection in the mirror was of a woman she barely recognized a woman being prepared for a future she didn’t want.

Then came the knock.

Firm. Intentional.

Before she could respond, the door swung open, and her father, Chief Arthur Ashcombe, stepped inside. His presence alone made the air feel heavier. The last time they had spoken, he had dismissed her protests as childish nonsense.

“Leave us,” he ordered the maid without looking at her. The girl curtsied quickly and scurried away, closing the door behind her.

Eleanor’s hands clenched in her lap. She wasn’t in the mood for another lecture.

Her father eyed her through the mirror. “You’ve barely smiled since the announcement,” he said, his voice deceptively calm.

Eleanor met his gaze in the reflection. “Because I am not happy.”

He exhaled, as if tired of hearing the same argument. “This is bigger than you, Eleanor.”

“Yes, I know,” she said bitterly. “It’s always about power, alliances, wealth. Never about me.”

Chief Ashcombe moved to stand beside her, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder. “You will be Lady Blackwood, the wife of the most powerful man in this region. You will have influence, security—”

“And no freedom,” she interrupted. “No love. No happiness.”

His grip tightened slightly. “Happiness is a foolish thing to chase. It does not build empires. Power does.”

Eleanor’s chest burned with frustration. “Then why don’t you marry him?” she snapped, turning to face him.

His expression darkened instantly. “Enough.”

For a long moment, they stared at each other, a silent battle waged in the tension between them.

Then, to Eleanor’s surprise, her father let out a quiet chuckle. “You are stubborn, just like your mother used to be.”

Eleanor frowned. “Used to be?”

He paused, then waved his hand dismissively. “She understands now. In time, so will you.”

Something about the way he said it unsettled her.

Before she could question him, the door opened again, and a guard stepped inside.

“Apologies, my Lord, but there is an urgent matter downstairs.”

Chief Ashcombe gave Eleanor one last, piercing look before nodding at the guard and stepping out.

Eleanor let out a slow breath, her mind racing.

Her father had never spoken of her mother as if she had once been rebellious. What had changed her? What had broken her spirit?

Would the same thing happen to Eleanor?

She swallowed hard, pushing down the fear.

But before she could dwell on it, another voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“You look like you’re preparing for a funeral.”

Eleanor’s heart jumped as she turned to see Henry Blackwood leaning casually against the doorway.

His presence in her chambers was highly inappropriate, but she barely cared anymore.

“And what do you want?” she asked, too exhausted to fight.

Henry stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “Just observing,” he said with a smirk, though his eyes carried something deeper something she couldn’t quite read.

“Observing what, exactly?”

He tilted his head. “A woman being forced into a life she doesn’t want.”

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “And yet, you do nothing.”

Henry let out a breath. “What would you have me do?”

She had no answer to that. What could he do? He was just as trapped by his father’s power as she was.

A tense silence filled the space between them.

Then, in a low voice, he asked, “Do you really despise him that much?”

Eleanor met his gaze. “Do you really not?”

Henry’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

That was all the answer she needed.

And for the first time, Eleanor saw something in Henry Blackwood not an ally, not a savior, but a man who understood the weight of chains.

A man who might, just might, want to break them too.