Page 22 of Seven Days with her Duke (Hearts of Whitmores #3)

CHAPTER 22

R olling her bottom lip between her teeth, Eleanor shifted anxiously to the side as her husband passed her in the stables. He was just returning from somewhere, probably Parliament, and she was off for an afternoon ride.

“Good day,” she greeted him.

She still didn’t know what to call him. Technically, he’d never given her permission to use his name. Though she had done it a few times, she believed, when she should not have. But she didn’t like using his family name or his title. She’d attempted to call him ‘husband’ once but the word was awkward on her tongue and he’d stared at her blankly without acknowledging it. Or her.

At least she tried.

Eleanor watched him pull off his gloves. He glanced at her as he came by, and nodded. The steady gait of his faltered when he drew near. It was the slightest hesitation that made her hope he might say something.

“Good day,” he muttered before glancing away. Awkwardness was a ready friend between them as Dominic picked up his feet and took his leave.

Sighing, she slumped and freed herself from the tension as best she could. But it lingered. She could taste it in the air, salty and discomfiting. The man didn’t even try to speak with her. He could barely look at her.

So this is what it means to be married.

One week had passed. One week and they’d barely said a handful of words. It was one matter to agree to a season this year. But now she was a married woman, a duchess, and she couldn’t speak to her husband.

Or rather, he wouldn’t speak to her.

Eleanor was trying. She really was. She had lost any sign of confidence or fierce will around him, however, and she didn’t know how to get it back. This Dominic was nothing like the one she had known. It was easy to be annoyed with the first version of him that she had known. Annoyed and entertained. While he had chaperoned her about, she had come to appreciate his charm and his protection.

But this new Dominic, the married sort, was a stranger to her. And Eleanor dreaded strangers with every ounce of her being.

She didn’t know what to say or do or even how to breathe around him. Her chest ached whenever he left and just seeing him in the house began to make her stomach uneasy. The man was so devastatingly handsome. Even as dark circles marred his eyes and he forgot to brush his hair, Dominic looked like a fallen angel.

Handsome, yes, but no longer charming. The infatuation was dying and she was glad of it. What settled in its place, however, Eleanor didn’t know.

“Here is your mount, Your Grace.”

“Oh. Thank you, Henry.” Eleanor stepped up the block to climb into the saddle before accepting the reins. Having received her horse from Nicholas just the other day, she was relieved to have someone familiar again in her life beyond Rachel whose chatter was no longer as comforting as it once had been. “I think I shall enjoy the grounds today, so I won’t need a groom to come with me.”

The stablemaster hesitated, glancing back at the stable doors. “Are you certain, my lady? There are still dangers lurking amongst the trees. I’d feel better having someone there for you should anything happen.”

So old Henry, kind with countless lines in his face, cared more for her than her husband. The urge to cry made her eyes sting.

“Oh. Well, if you insist.”

Eleanor bit her lip. She thought she knew the grounds well after starting to take daily walks but she didn’t feel like arguing. Or talking. Already her mornings were spent talking with the staff and continuing to grow more comfortable in the large house.

Most of the time she liked it. But other mornings she’d walk about and catch sight of her husband clumsily sneaking into a nearby room just to hide from her. The servants noticed, too, and never said a word. They were all terribly kind to her while they all pointedly ignored whom she had married.

I suppose I should be appreciative. I spend so little time with my husband but how he exhausts me. I cannot stop thinking of him. Wondering about him. Worrying over him.

The last week had been an endless cycle of awkward silence from her husband and shy conversations with the servants. It was the strangest week she’d ever endured.

And it hurt. The lively and flirtatious man she had known seemed to have died and gone far away. Whomever remained in the form of her husband was a sullen, awkward, and defeated man who couldn’t look her in the eye.

Eleanor took a ride about the grounds, exploring a small pond and asking her groom about some of the history of this estate. It was beautiful and somewhat unkept. She would need to hire a second gardener on top of the countless servants she’d already hired on.

She was thinking this as she returned inside, fumbling with the buttons of her riding habit. Her bonnet swung about in one hand. So distracted was she that she didn’t notice where she was until she saw an open door––and inside was her husband.

“Dominic?” she said before thinking.

This had to be his study. Probably where he was hiding out, she supposed. Eleanor flushed as he jerked his head up with a guilty look, feeling just as sheepish. What was she thinking, calling to him?

“Do you need something?” he asked of her.

“I… No.” She took a step tentatively toward the door, wondering if perhaps they could finally talk. Except he didn’t invite her in. All he did was stare at her like they’d never known one another. Maybe they hadn’t.

His gaze glanced her over before he turned back to his papers like their conversation was over. The door wasn’t entirely open, but he must not have thought it necessary to close. With a glance down the hall, Eleanor couldn’t recall if she’d even been down here before.

Still, there was a pull to him that she could feel. It wasn’t infatuation, she told herself. Perhaps just a connection. The sort that a wife might feel toward her husband.

“I… I thought of enjoying a picnic tomorrow,” Eleanor volunteered.

He didn’t glance up but made a short humming sound as proof that he had heard her. Apparently it wasn’t enough for his attention.

“Would you like to come with me?” she tried, clinging to her dying hope. “There is a pond nearby. Have you seen it? I should like to… to skip rocks, perhaps. I could use some company to keep from falling in.”

That would work, she thought. She had just opened the door to a perfect jest. Several options would surely have popped into Dominic’s mind. He would have to say something. It might be a little mean but it would be silly enough to make her smile. Or she could scold him. Anything to bring back whatever sort of relationship they’d had before.

Except all she heard was the scratching of his pen.

“Your Grace?” she asked in a subdued voice, wondering if maybe he hadn’t heard her after all.

“You should take a footman. And your maid,” he added. “Close the door, please. I’ve correspondence.”

Air got trapped in her lungs and Eleanor couldn’t breathe until she had done as he requested, closing the door in her own face. A shaky exhale escaped her at last. Her shoulders slumped and she pressed her forehead against the door, her hand still on the knob.

What had she been thinking? Asking him for a picnic. Thinking nothing would change. Praying he would just marry her and save her.

He saved my reputation but it almost feels like I have destroyed the man inside. He’s a shadow of who he used to be. I feel the pain of it weighing on my shoulders every day. How could this have gone so wrong?

After a long bath, Eleanor went to the kitchen for pastries that soothed at least a small part of the hurt inside her. She used that and some sweet tea to wallow in her feelings before picking up her own correspondence.

A private parlor was set up across from her bedchamber where she kept a writing desk at a large window seat. She could admire the sunlight in the gardens below while she ate and drank and read.

“Is there anything more I can fetch you?” Rachel asked from another corner of the room where she was hemming one of Eleanor’s slippers. “You’re almost out of biscuits.”

“Am I?” Eleanor glanced up. She wasn’t hungry. She really wasn’t. But her mouth watered and she hated the idea of anything empty. “Please fetch some more, then.”

If she drowned her feelings in food once more, then so be it. Eleanor didn’t think anyone would care.

Her mood lightened just a tad when she saw a particular letter in her collection. She plucked it out and eagerly opened it, seeing her family seal and feminine handwriting. Missing Joanna was sometimes more than she could bear. She hadn’t realized how much she depended on her sister-in-law of late.

There was little Eleanor really had to do as a married woman in a house filled with servants who knew just what to do. So she’d been writing letters daily; it was a silly expense to keep writing and sending them, but Joanna didn’t seem to mind. The woman was bored and restless in the country during her confinement and thanked her over every letter no matter how little Eleanor had to say.

And every letter she received back, she was just as hungry to read.

Joanna appeared to be doing well enough. Nauseated on occasion, but her appetite had grown. Nicholas was due back in the country soon for a visit; he’d join permanently in the next month or so. Meanwhile, Joanna was seeing to the refurbishing of the house.

That made Eleanor pause. “I suppose it’s for the best,” she murmured. “I should like to see it new again after being untouched since…”

Since her father and brother had passed there.

She shook her head to pull the feelings away and resumed the letter, cautious and relieved when Joanna finally made reference to one of the concerns Eleanor had brought to her in a recent letter.

‘My dear Eleanor, I have received the letter where you raised your concerns about marriage. It is an ungainly foal that is unique and full of character no matter whom it is born to or welcomed by. New births, from my understanding, are always a tad awkward. Do you recall my first days of marriage to your brother? We hardly talked.

‘Fortunately, I have since learned of better pathways and can share some advice based on my experience. Every marriage will be different. It is bound to grow awkward on occasion.

‘Think of your marriage like a flower. The two of you have planted a seed with your vows and you must see it through. You’re a wonderful woman and I believe that your husband must care something for you. He must. Nourish your flower, water it, and help it to grow. He will see your efforts and surely something better will come of your union. I have faith in you, Eleanor.’

Slumping against the window, Eleanor set down the letter with a sigh.

“I cannot be the only one tending to the flower,” she muttered under her breath. She thought over the last week and searched her feelings before looking back at her letter with a frown. “But I can at least try to do something.”

Footsteps sounded at the door as Rachel stepped in. “Did you say something, Your Grace?”

Rachel was in her element; she adored being the maid to a duchess and was always trying to suggest Eleanor do this or that to engage herself in society. She wanted to live vicariously through her, it appeared. The young woman was energetic and eager to at least hear secondhand some of the delights of the city.

Most of the time, Eleanor was amused but paid little mind to it.

“I did.” Eleanor glanced at the final words of the letter before closing it up. “What a nice couple of days we’ve enjoyed, don’t you think? Resting and eating and walking. Perhaps tomorrow…”

Her maid came in quickly to set down a new tray. There was a light in her eyes as she asked, “Yes? Tomorrow?”

Determination swirled within Eleanor. For the first time in over a week, she felt full and awake and hopeful. She couldn’t live like this forever. It was time she let herself bloom in whatever way she could.

“Tomorrow, we go out,” she announced with a tilt of her chin.