Bound by secret

Chapter seven

Eleanor sat stiffly at her vanity, watching Henry through the mirror. He stood near the door, his hands tucked behind his back, his expression unreadable.

“If you’re here to tell me how lucky I am,” she said coldly, “you may leave now.”

Henry let out a soft breath, tilting his head slightly. “You assume I came to flatter you.”

“Did you not?”

He chuckled, low and amused. “I wouldn’t waste my breath. We both know this marriage has nothing to do with luck.”

Eleanor turned to face him fully now. “Then why are you here?”

Henry took a slow step forward, his eyes scanning the room before settling on her. “I meant what I said. It would be strange if we never spoke before the wedding. After all, you will be my father’s wife. That makes us… family, in a way.”

The word left a bitter taste in Eleanor’s mouth.

“I am not your family,” she said sharply.

Henry smirked. “Not yet, at least.”

She hated the way he spoke calm, composed as if none of this affected him.

“You act as though this is just another business deal,” Eleanor muttered, crossing her arms. “Like I am some land being bought and sold.”

Henry’s smirk faded. His gaze darkened slightly, but he didn’t look away.

“Is that not what this is?” he asked.

Eleanor sucked in a breath.

She wanted to argue. To deny it. But she couldn’t. Because Henry was right.

She had no say in this arrangement. No choice. She was property, traded between powerful men.

Henry watched her reaction carefully, then sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Look,” he said, his tone quieter now, “I didn’t come here to mock you. Whatever you may think of me, I’m not blind. I know this is not what you want.”

Eleanor scoffed. “Then tell me, Henry. Why do you stand by and let it happen?”

A muscle in his jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Eleanor studied him carefully. For the first time, she noticed something beneath his cool exterior restraint. As if there were things he wanted to say but couldn’t.

Finally, Henry exhaled and took another step toward her.

“If you’re looking for a hero, Lady Eleanor,” he said, his voice lower now, “you will not find one in me.”

Eleanor’s breath hitched.

The words were simple, but there was something heavy behind them. Something that made her stomach twist.

Henry straightened his coat, his mask of indifference returning. “I should go. My father will be expecting those documents.”

Eleanor said nothing as he turned and walked toward the door.

But just as he reached for the handle, he paused.

Without turning around, he said, “Be careful, Eleanor. You may think you know the kind of man my father is, but you don’t know everything.”

Her fingers curled into fists. “I know enough.”

Henry hesitated for half a second. Then, without another word, he opened the door and left.

Eleanor sat there long after he was gone, his words echoing in her mind.

“You may think you know the kind of man my father is, but you don’t know everything.”

A cold shiver ran down her spine.

What was Henry trying to tell her?

And more importantly…

What was he too afraid to say?

The day of Eleanor’s wedding drew closer, and with each passing hour, she felt the walls closing in. The house was alive with preparations—maids rushing back and forth with fabrics, cooks preparing extravagant feasts, and her mother and sister gushing over every little detail.

But Eleanor?

She felt like a prisoner awaiting her sentence.

The morning had been unbearable. Her mother had insisted she try on yet another wedding gown, while her younger sister, Isobel, sat nearby, watching everything with wide eyes.

“You’ll have the finest jewelry, Eleanor!” Isobel said, twirling a pearl necklace between her fingers. “And Lady Blackwood your husband’s first wife had the most exquisite gowns. I heard she had a collection of silk imported from the East!”