Page 28 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl (Marriage Mart Scandals #2)

The countryside surrounding Hartwell House was serene, almost idyllic, but to Miss Eloise Lennox, it felt like an endless stretch of quiet solitude. She had once found solace in the rolling hills and the whisper of the wind through the trees, but now, those same landscapes felt like the boundaries of her prison. Five seasons had passed, each one a blur of polite introductions, stiff dances, and the inevitable rejection. Now, at six and twenty, Eloise had resigned herself to the life of a spinster—a fate sealed not by scandal or disgrace, but by something far more insidious: being ordinary.

Seated in the parlor, Eloise glanced over at the window where her sisters’ laughter could be heard drifting in from the gardens. They were bright, lively, and still full of hope for the future. Eloise, on the other hand, felt as though her future had slipped quietly past her, leaving her with only the polite disappointment of her family and the unspoken acceptance of her spinsterhood.

"Are you not going to join them, dear?" her mother, Mrs. Lennox, asked from her place by the hearth. Her voice was kind, but there was an edge to it that Eloise knew too well.

"I think I'll remain here, Mother," Eloise replied, offering a small smile. "The sun is too harsh today."

Her mother raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. She returned to her embroidery, the rhythmic motion of the needle a quiet comfort. Eloise suspected her mother understood more than she let on, but they had long since stopped discussing Eloise's failed seasons. It was a conversation neither of them wished to revisit.

Eloise rose from her chair, her movements careful and deliberate, and made her way to the window. The garden was in full bloom, the flowers vibrant and fragrant. Her younger sisters, Clarissa and Beatrice, twirled beneath the canopy of trees, their voices filled with laughter and lightness. Clarissa, the younger of the two, was the picture of everything society expected in a debutante—radiant, graceful, and untouched by failure. At just ten and eight, she was preparing for her first season, full of hope that she would succeed where Eloise had not.

Eloise sighed softly, resting her hand on the windowsill as she watched them. There had been a time when she had danced with that same joy, when she had believed in the possibility of love and a future filled with companionship. But that time was long gone, buried beneath the weight of five fruitless seasons. Now, she was the dutiful daughter, the one who stayed behind to assist her mother in the household affairs and offer sage advice to her younger siblings.

How easy it is to fade into the background, she thought, her gaze lingering on Clarissa's beaming face. How quickly the world forgets those who do not shine as brightly.

The thought was not bitter, merely resigned. Eloise had made peace with her lot in life, or at least she tried to. But the hollow ache that sometimes crept into her chest, particularly when she saw the light in her sisters' eyes, was impossible to ignore entirely.

"Mother, will Eloise attend the balls with me this season?" Clarissa’s voice broke through Eloise’s thoughts, as her younger sister dashed into the parlor, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"I assume that decision rests with your sister," Mrs. Lennox said, her tone carefully neutral.

Eloise turned from the window, catching the hopeful gleam in Clarissa’s eyes. "I will attend as needed, of course," she replied, her voice measured. "But I think this is your season, Clarissa. You should enjoy it fully."

Clarissa frowned slightly but quickly recovered, her natural optimism shining through. "Absurdity, you simply must come! Who can say? Mayhap this season will prove to be different."

Eloise smiled, though the gesture felt forced. "Mayhap," she said softly, though she did not believe it.

Clarissa, oblivious to her elder sister’s quiet resignation, spun on her heel and skipped back outside to continue her carefree games. Mrs. Lennox glanced at Eloise, her brow furrowed ever so slightly.

"She means well," her mother said gently.

"I know," Eloise replied. "And she should enjoy this time. It will not last forever."

Her mother’s silence spoke volumes. Mrs. Lennox returned her focus to her embroidery, but Eloise could feel the weight of her disappointment, unspoken but ever-present. It wasn’t that her mother didn’t love her—Eloise knew she did. But there was no denying the fact that her failure to secure a match had cast a shadow over the family’s prospects.

***

The next morning, Eloise’s family gathered in the breakfast room, the sun spilling through the windows in warm, golden streams. The table was set with an array of fruit, bread, and tea, but Eloise found she had little appetite. She absently pushed a piece of bread around her plate, her thoughts elsewhere.

Her mother, Mrs. Lennox, sat at the head of the table, her brow furrowed as she sifted through a pile of letters. The faint rustle of paper seemed to echo in the otherwise quiet room, a reminder of the silence that had settled over their household in recent months.

"More invitations, I imagine?" Beatrice asked brightly, trying to pierce through the tension with her usual cheerfulness. She cast a hopeful glance at the stack of correspondence before her mother, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her tea cup.

Their mother didn’t look up, her tone flat as she replied, "Some." She opened one of the letters, scanned it briefly, then set it aside with a sigh that seemed heavier than the room itself. "The Earl of Westford has declined our invitation for the summer fete," she said, her voice laced with frustration.

"Declined?" Clarissa's fork clattered against her plate as she turned wide-eyed to her mother. "But why? Surely, we are—" She stopped herself, biting her lip as she realized how petulant she sounded.

Mrs. Lennox faltered, her fingers tightening slightly around the remaining letters. "It seems," she began slowly, "that his family’s interests lie elsewhere this Season."

The unspoken truth hung in the air like a storm cloud, and Eloise could feel its weight pressing down on her. Society was no longer as interested in the Lennox family as it once had been. She glanced at her sister, Clarissa, still untouched by the harsher realities of social maneuvering, who looked as if the ground had shifted beneath her.

Clarissa blinked, her voice small. "But why would they choose not to attend? Have we done something to offend them?"

Eloise forced a smile, her tone gentle as she replied, "Do not worry, Clarissa. There will be plenty of other invitations." She reached out to squeeze her sister’s hand reassuringly, though the gesture felt hollow. "This is but one event. The Season is still young."

Yet even as she spoke, Eloise felt the sting of her own words. How many seasons had come and gone, bringing with them fewer and fewer invitations? She had once believed—like Clarissa—that each year would bring new possibilities. But the truth was more painful than she could ever admit.

Mrs. Lennox, moved quietly at the end of the table, her hands resting in her lap. Though her smile remained fixed, her eyes flickered with worry. "Perhaps they have pressing obligations elsewhere," she said softly, her tone a mix of forced optimism and resignation. "It may be nothing personal. In any case, we may need to focus more on economising this year. The estate..." She trailed off, glancing at Eloise before looking down at the table. "The estate is not as prosperous as it once was, and we must be mindful of our expenses."

Eloise’s hand stilled on the linen napkin in her lap. The subtle weight of her words hit her like a blow. She knew what she meant, though she would not say it aloud—her failure to secure a husband, to bring the family the alliance they needed, had begun to strain the family’s finances. The unspoken expectation clung to her like a shroud. The estate was struggling, and she was, in some small way, to blame.

"I understand," Eloise said, her voice quiet but steady. She sat up a little straighter. "I will do whatever is necessary to help."

Mrs. Lennox eyes lingered on her, full of unspoken concern, before she turned back to Clarissa. The younger girl, oblivious to the weight that had fallen over the breakfast room, continued chattering brightly about the upcoming Season, the sparkle in her eyes undimmed by the realities Eloise now carried on her shoulders.

Oh Papa, I miss you so much, she thought. If you were here with us everything would be different… She blinked back tears, swallowing the ache of her grief as her thoughts drifted to the father who had once made everything seem secure.

It had been a sudden illness that took him from them—unexpected and swift. Only a few months had passed since Lord Edward’s death, but the wound it left in the family still felt fresh. He had fallen ill one bitter winter’s night, complaining of nothing more than a slight chill. At first, they thought it was something mild, something that would pass in a day or two, but by the time the physician arrived, it had already worsened. Fever took hold, robbing him of his strength day by day. Despite their best efforts, the illness proved relentless, and within a week, he was gone.

Eloise remembered standing by his bedside, her mother holding his hand until his very last breath, her eyes brimming with tears she refused to shed. The weight of his absence had hung over them ever since. The estate, which Lord Edward had once so proudly overseen, was now theirs to manage without his guidance.

And now, as much as Eloise tried to move forward, she could still hear her father’s voice in the quiet moments, offering advice, urging her to be strong. But with each passing day, it became harder to carry the burden alone.

***

Mayhap this is the life I am meant for, she mused, her gaze following the bees that buzzed lazily between the flowers. A quiet life, devoted to family and duty. It is not so terrible, is it?

But even as she thought the words, they rang hollow. Eloise had always been content with simple pleasures—her books, her walks, her quiet time of reflection—but there was something deeper, something unspoken that lingered beneath her acceptance. A part of her that still yearned for more, even if she had long since stopped admitting it aloud.

She paused by an old stone bench in the garden, her fingers brushing lightly over the rough surface. A memory tugged at the edges of her consciousness—something from her childhood. She had been sitting here, listening to her father speak in hushed tones with another man. She couldn’t remember all the details, but she recalled the words "debts" and "estates." At the time, she hadn’t understood the gravity of the conversation, but now, with her family’s financial concerns looming, the memory felt significant.

Eloise shook her head, dismissing the thought. It was just a fragment of the past, nothing more. She had no interest in dredging up old worries. Her focus, for now, was on helping her family navigate the present.

All of a sudden, a distant figure approached—one of the household staff, hurrying towards her with a letter in hand. Eloise frowned, unsure of what to make of the unexpected delivery.

"Miss Eloise," the footman called, his breath coming in quick bursts from the exertion. "A letter for Lennox family."

"For us?" Eloise’s frown deepened as she took the envelope, her fingers tracing the unfamiliar seal pressed into the wax. She did not recognize the insignia, nor could she think of anyone who might be writing to her.

"Yes, Miss," the footman replied. "It arrived just now, delivered by a rider in great haste."

Eloise wavered for a while before breaking the seal, her heart quickening with a sense of unease. The letter was brief, its message formal and to the point. As she read the words, her breath caught in her throat.

The Duke of Draycott requests Mrs. Lennox’s presence at Draycott Manor regarding a matter of business concerning Lennox family’s estate.

The Duke of Draycott. Eloise’s fingers tightened around the letter as her eyes scanned the lines again, as if willing them to change. She had heard the rumours about Graham Morland, the reclusive Duke of Draycott—the man the ton had dubbed “The Beast” after his accident. His scarred face, his temper, and his refusal to engage with society had turned him into a figure of fear and intrigue.

But what business could such a man have with her? And why had he summoned her to Draycott Estate, a place whispered about in fearful tones?

"Eloise?" Her mother’s voice startled her from her thoughts.

Eloise turned to find Mrs. Lennox standing nearby, her expression one of concern. "What is it dear?"

"It’s... it’s a letter," Eloise said, her voice barely above a whisper. "From the Duke of Draycott."

Her mother’s eyes widened, her hand instinctively reaching for the letter. "The Duke of Draycott? But why?"

"I don’t know," Eloise replied, the sense of foreboding deepening in her chest. "But he’ s ... requested your presence at his estate, Mama. It concerns Father’s affairs."

Mrs. Lennox’s face paled as a cough shook her shoulders, and she clutched the shawl tighter around herself. “The Duke of Draycott?” Her voice was nearly a whisper. “Oh, Eloise, no. I have heard such troubling things about him. The rumors—the accidents, his temper... How could he summon me like this? And why now?”

Eloise reached for her mother’s hand, her voice gentle. “Mama, I don’t think it’s a decision he made lightly. But... with your health... traveling so far is out of the question. You can hardly manage a trip to the village without exhausting yourself.”

Mrs. Lennox shook her head, her fingers trembling as they tightened around Eloise’s. “Then perhaps... perhaps we don’t respond. Perhaps we simply stay here and let him wait. It’s not as though we’re beholden to his commands.”

Eloise’s heart ached at the worry in her mother’s eyes, the desperation lacing her voice. “You know we cannot ignore him, Mama,” she replied softly. “If this concerns Father’s estate, we must face it. And if you cannot go... then I shall go on your behalf.”

Her mother’s eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth as she shook her head vehemently. “No, Eloise, absolutely not! I cannot allow you to go to that man’s estate, not alone, and certainly not to face him yourself. He is... they say he is a beast, Eloise. They say his temper is dark, his intentions darker still. I’ve heard of his cruelty, the way he’s driven others away... What could a man like that want?”

Eloise clasped her mother’s hand more firmly, her own voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her chest. “Mama, I understand your fears, truly, but... we cannot afford to ignore him, not with the estate’s future in question. I will go prepared, and I’ll take Lucy with me—she’ll act as both my maid and chaperone. We’ll be careful, and we’ll stay just as long as is necessary to settle the matter.”

Mrs. Lennox’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she looked at her daughter, torn between pride and worry. “Oh, Eloise... It frightens me. The thought of you going there, to him, and... the things people say about him...”

Eloise managed a soft smile, though her heart felt heavy. “I know, Mama. I know what they say, but... perhaps it’s only rumor. And even if it’s not, I’ll be careful. Lucy will stay with me as long as necessary. You needn’t worry about my propriety.”

Mrs. Lennox sighed deeply, her fingers gripping Eloise’s hand tightly. “I trust you, my dear. You’re wise beyond your years, and you have a good heart. Just... take care, Eloise. Please. And promise me you’ll write as soon as you’re able.”

“I promise, Mama,” Eloise murmured. “And I’ll see to it that you’re kept informed every step of the way.”

Her mother nodded, though the lines of worry remained etched across her face. “Very well, my love. If you’re determined... then may God keep you safe.”

As she made her way back to her chambers, the evening sun casting long shadows across the lawn, Eloise couldn’t shake the sense that this letter was the beginning of something that would change everything. And yet, for all her unease, there was a spark of curiosity—an undeniable pull toward the mystery that awaited her at Draycott Hall.

What could the Beast of Draycott possibly want from us? she wondered, the question occupying her thoughts as she prepared for the journey ahead.